This just in from IMBA:

Mountain bikers stand to lose access to many spectacular rides in the Beaverhead-Deerlodge National Forest in southwest Montana. The forest wants to institute a blanket ban on bicycling in backcountry areas managed as “recommended wilderness.” These areas contain some of the best singletrack in Montana.

Local cyclists have proposed companion designations and minor boundary adjustments to preserve these wild places and the singletrack experiences they provide. Unfortunately, the Forest Service has reiterated its intent to ban bicycles, eliminating 25 years of mountain biking tradition and setting a damaging precedent.

Take Action! Tell the Forest Service mountain biking and land protection are not mutually exclusive. The deadline for comments is Monday, March 31.

More Information

Mountain bikers want to work with other conservationists to protect their favorite quiet, backcountry trails. To assist in this effort, local riders are asking the Forest Service to abandon the blanket ban and consider bicycle access on a route-by-route basis.

Scientific studies have shown the impacts of mountain biking are similar to hiking and far less than other uses. In a recent comprehensive literature review, the authors conclude, “while the impact mechanics and forces may be different from foot traffic, mountain biking impacts are little different from hiking, the most common and traditional form of trail-based recreational activity.” (Marion and Wimpey, 2007)

The Beaverhead-Deerlodge National Forest is home to the Montana High Divide Trails agreement, a user-based collaborative process that brought together cyclists, equestrians, hikers and Wilderness advocates to formulate a proposal for quiet recreation and land protection around Butte and Helena. A blanket ban on bicycling in recommended wilderness would severely hamper efforts to create a similar working group for other areas of the forest.

The blanket ban would fragment bicycle access on the Continental Divide Trail (CDT), a 3,100-mile route running from Montana to New Mexico. The forest plan would prohibit bicycling on at least five sections of the CDT, and viable bicycle routes around these areas do not exist.

For more detailed information and talking points, including descriptions of trails at risk, please visit the Montana Mountain Bike Association website.

Writing Your Own Letter

Unique, personalized messages are extremely important. Concerned mountain bikers can submit their comments using either IMBA’s simple online form or through their own email address or a mailed letter. All options allow you to edit your comments for maximum effect.

Forest Plan Comments
Forest Service
420 Barrett Street
Dillon, MT 59725

comments-northern-beaverhead-deerlodge@fs.fed.us

Cleaning. That is an excellent thing to do to your house, bike, car and your inner/outer self. I find an art in the act of cleaning. Just like a ball of unformed clay, what you start with is always beautified and improved with a little effort. It has potential of being like night and day when you are finished.
I recently decided to clean myself out. That involved eliminating certain foods from my diet and consuming some additional calories and minerals via a metagenics powder. That is a certain type of powder that some people don’t approve of but some people love. I personally have no problem with this powder but the people that were joining me did not have a good experience. It was causing some serious pains in the stomach and disturbing the digestive system. That is not a good sign and has happened to other people, that is just time to call it quits.
It was an ideal time to take a break from some of the excessive consumption of certain items. Things such as caffeine, dairy, alcohol, wheat and whatever else you feel would be good to walk away from. There are plenty of foods to continue eating that are not as straining on the system to process. All the greens and produce you want, no need to feel weak and hungry. Obviously you are going to have an initial stress on the body because it is confused and may have a harder time functioning. Keep up with the daily vitamin and drink plenty of water like always, and you should feel fine. This is something that is best done over a weekend and for as long as you would like. Weekends are good because it may be your days off, or do it on the days that you get off.
It felt refreshing and made me test my strength. It makes you think more about your food selections and appreciate them more. I am currently reading Barbara Kingsolver’s book, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. It has motivated me to support one of the local farm shares in Pittsburgh. It is 5 or 6 months of locally grown produce that you get once a week and you could pay anywhere between $20-30/week. Not so bad for fresh veggies that last in the refrigerator for a week or more. I believe it was the fact from the book stating that if every American ate locally farmed veggies or meats once a week it would save the country 1.1 million barrels of oil a week. WOW. That pushed me over the edge. It is interesting that daily commuters get so much grief for driving when there are many other excessive uses of oil in our country. Lets just keep riding our bikes. That will make a small difference and keep us happy.

I’ve mentioned a couple of times how healthy the bike industry appears to be… Retail sales up in 2007, average selling price up, Shimano setting all-time sales records, Fox Forx trading on the stock market, and so on.

Still, we are likely in a recession, and a deep one at that. Not to mention the weakening of the dollar, the rise in energy prices, and the run on raw materials. The grand conclusion? You might want to buy that new bike yesterday. Word from the Taipai International Cycling Show is that bike prices are likely to rise 8 to 10 percent next year. Steel is in short supply, China will be shutting down their bike factories during the Olympics (trying to avoid the bad international PR of how frighteningly bad the air quality is in Beijing), and the cost of butyl used to make tubes and tires, is up almost 50 percent.

Me? I’m stocking up on 700c tubes and patch kits, and planning to prove to my wife that one man can ride seven bikes.

Hey, folks! Another new face has crossed the threshold of the Dirt Rag house. I feel lucky to be here and I am excited to share my enthusiasm and experiences in cycling with yinz (spoken in a true –Pittsburghese-British accent). Wow, all of the years I spent tinkering with bikes and reading Dirt Rag have resulted in the realization of my dream job. I suppose you’re curious about my life with bikes and how this cycling-crazed British yinzer came to be. Here’s the story…

Growing up in the small village of West Haddon in Northamptonshire, England, I had no idea that nearly 20 years later I would be obsessed with bikes (vintage VW restoration), married to a girl I call “Margie,” living in Western Pennsylvania, and working for Dirt Rag. Who knew those formative years I spent cruising my Raleigh Burner BMX around the sleepy English countryside would be the beginning of many experiences on the trail. After my family and I moved to the United States, I turned sixteen and left my bikes in the garage to collect dust and rust. Finally, when the novelty of driving wore off, I began to crave the excitement of my former mode of transportation, a bicycle. Soon after I learned of a great job, a bicycle messenger.

When I learned about this job, I said to myself, “You get paid to be outside and ride your bike all day. Where do I sign up?” I loved working as a messenger because I met some of the coolest people, including some of my best friends that I still have today. I also learned the glory of clipless pedals, essential bicycle mechanic skills, and became an avid rider. Ultimately, a group of messenger friends took me to my first outing on the trails of Western Pennsylvania. At that moment, I switched my tires from slick to knobby and never looked back.

I worked as a messenger for over three years and after having cars bounce me around the city like a pinball, I realized it was time to take a break from the messenger scene. This proved to be an ideal time to experience life again in England. It was great to be home again. I soon found a job as bricklayer and spent my free time riding my cross bike from village to village. After about six months, I began to miss my future wife, Maggie, so I returned to the States. Before leaving England, I learned of an upcoming cyclocross race and experienced my first taste of bicycle racing. At dusk, in the stadium-lit field in the town of Rugby, I raced around the cyclocross course hurdling barriers and hoping to finish the race in time to catch the last train home. I loved the excitement of racing and discovered my competitive streak. Upon returning to Pittsburgh, I still wanted to work with bikes everyday, so the next logical step in my mind was a position in a bike shop. The rest is history. I spent the next decade working at bike shops, mostly as a store manager and a mechanic, while racing just about every genre of off-road cycling available.

So here I am now, loving my new position as Fulfillment Guy. It gives me a chance to do what I love, working with bikes and great people who share the same passion for bicycles as I do. Look out for me, your British Yinzer friend in the upcoming issues, or on the trails !

I’ve always felt as though I’m a very lucky individual. Not in the go-to-Vegas-and-win-a-million sense, but things usually work out pretty well (I certainly hope that I haven’t cursed myself). Luck aside, I also can’t rule Karma out of the picture. Like most people, I’d like to think that I have accumulated more good Karma than bad throughout my 25 years. Well, yesterday I cashed the biggest karmic paycheck of my life.

What started out as a beautiful, crisp, and sunny early-spring day changed quickly when I glanced in my rearview mirror only to see it filled with the fast-approaching grill and headlights of a Dodge pickup. There was what felt like a micro-second between the realization that I was about to be hit and the impact which vaulted me up onto the hood of the truck, thankfully not underneath. After slamming the back of my helmeted head down on the hood, the truck catapulted me toward the shoulder of the road where I somehow managed to land on my feet. Elapse time for the whole operation couldn’t have been more than a second, but seemed both shorter and longer. As I made my way curbside I began the bodily evaluation; legs: working order–left calf’s a little sore, arms: check, core: bit of soreness in middle back–otherwise fine, head: definitely rang my bell but stayed conscious and only feeling a little fuzzy. At this point I was amazed at all the worse I was feeling after being rear-ended by a truck doing somewhere in the vicinity of 35mph. Now, that’s what I call luck.

As I write this I’m feeling quite conflicted about the idea of commuting–my confidence has been shaken. I certainly don’t want to give it up, but I’ve also taken quite a few precautions to minimize risk. Today, for instance, I was wearing my heinously-bright yellow jacket, and riding smack-ass in the middle of the right-most of two lanes. You’d think someone wearing a vivid yellow jacket riding on a moderately traveled straightaway would be visible?

Like many of you, I have always felt that driving should not be considered a right, but rather a privilege that must be earned. A more experience and education intensive licensing program, like those in many European countries, would make the roads exponentially safer for all. I also believe the elderly should be required to pass a physical and eye exam bi-yearly (or similar) in order to retain their license. Yesterday’s experience has only further solidified these ideas, as the older gentleman who hit me “just took his eyes off the road for a second” and “didn’t see” me despite every other driver on the road’s ability to plainly see what was about to transpire.

So what have I learned from this experience? Wear a damn helmet, and no matter how repulsively geeky a mirror might be, they are a really good idea. While a mirror obviously didn’t prevent my accident, I still knew what was happening behind me. As for helmets, I’m pretty certain I would be in bad shape right now had I been without. Seeing folks on the road without a helmet, which seems to be done for status or fashion, pains me immensely. Accidents happen and they can be totally out of your control, wearing a helmet may be the difference between walking away–or not.

Wear a helmet, please, I beg you.

–Justin Steiner

I love dirt jumping. I love dirt jumping in eastern Pennsylvania in the early spring and late fall — bookends to the season and a uniquely different soul and feel. I love the press and rebound of hitting the lip at speed, forcing it low, racer-style. I love the feeling of pumping backside and accelerating. I especially love ripping a big kicked out whip after scubbing a lip at speed. I hate the feeling of waking up out of the “dream” — happy thoughts and pleasant sunny days, resurfacing and realizing that you just bounced your face off the ground and spent the last hour asking the same question over and over…

Downhill racer Jon Gabor and I have been riding together for years, and our local racing battles were pretty legendary. Two big fish in a small pond, and the pond was pretty stacked for many years. Racing was cool, but jumping with him is what I’ve always liked the most. Jon is an exceptional jumper, fearless with unbelievable skill and killer style. I like riding with him because he rides with a Pastrana-like amp, and he is kind of old school — you’ll never see no-handers or kiddie Playstation maneuvers. Jon is pretty much pure-race. I like that Jon pushes me to jump stuff I normally wouldn’t. I hate that Jon was present for the three times I’ve knocked myself out — every time he shows up at the jumps I always wonder “is today the day for the 4th?”

Back in the early 90’s, mountain bikes were a pretty rare sight at the dirt jumps. Picture sleeveless t-shirts, Hammer shinguards, wrist sweatbands and whimpy XC bikes converted to instant slalom bikes with Azonic shorty stems, Club Roost riser bars and crappy chain tensioners and that was the scene (unless you had an EWR!). Along the Lehigh Canal at Riverside trails, a tree fell across the trail like an arch. You could still ride through it, but you had to duck, dive, then re-accelerate towards the longest set of doubles. Pretty silly, but I guess neither of us owned a saw. I must have ridden that line a million times that spring, always ducking the tree perfectly, until that one day with Jon. Pedaling head high and then bright light of the unmistakable smack of head on wood. It cleaned me off my bike at once, two hits; me hitting head, head hitting ground. When I came around, I remember running my tongue across my teeth feeling the chips. I can still feel them as I type.

That same year, autumn at Minersville trails. Fall colors, smoke from the firepit, BBQ, kids with cigs. Damp, foggy, and ominous lighting and mood — I never felt comfortable all morning. Try as I might, I just could not get into a groove and I just rode like shit. There were so many people there going off, and I really felt like an idiot — timid, stiff and apprehensive. Out of frustration I just went for one of the bigger sets there. I sort of remember that morning, and I sort of remember driving home. Like a double jump, there is nothing in the middle. It is still a foggy memory, vague faces and blurry memories, bruised and crooked and curiously all in sepia tone.

The next summer a lot of riding went down at “The Farm” outside of Kutztown, PA. Kids on a farm — a ton of wooded land, quadcycles, a Bobcat, imagination, a plethora of jumps, and a ridiculous amount of skill for a bunch of 13-16 year olds. I don’t remember their names, but the kids were sick. They had some sweet sets, and the dirt was choice. I went there a lot that summer, as did Jon and a few other as this place was kept on the down low. We had some good sessions there, and we always pushed each other to progress and one-up ourselves. Late in the day at the end of one session there, I decided to learn a “Hannah” — pulling the bike into you straight up and down, head forward near the front tire. I thought I knew what to do, pedaled at the jump, hit it and tried to pull up into it… Life was great! The best things in my life were happening, everything was perfect and I was King of the World! I was winning races, had a Porsche, big house, everything I tried I could pull off, no problem. I could do no wrong with life and I was the Mac Daddy. At some point I woke up and realized holy shit — none of that ever happened…

It was like Brad Pitt in the boxing scene from the movie Snatch, resurfacing and reawakening into the reality. My head hurt, my face hurt, I had a big-ass lump on my forehead. Everything was scrambled and I felt nauseous. Apparently instead of pulling my bike up, I instead pulled myself way too far forward. I completely overshot the landing, nosed-in and endo’d right to my face without ever taking my hands off the bars. Lights out. Taking inventory, I learned that I was walking around asking the same question for over and over again for at least an hour. I was seriously scrambled, and my face began to drain. The whole right side of my face would eventually turn black, heavily bruised and bloated and puffy. The white of my right eye also became engorged with blood — gross. Something to talk with customers about, eh?!

Three knockouts in the span of one year. It was scary and I wonder if there was any permanent damage? As the riding season unfolds here in the northeast, remember that there is always the possibility for danger. You are going to crash, it is just a part of riding and YOU are responsible for your crash. But that is what we ride for — to constantly challenge ourselves and beat down fears and complacency and the feeling of the perfect session. Dirt jumping is too much fun — digging, shaping, packing and riding. Jumping with Jon is always a learning experience, but I wonder when the next knockout will come. Factor in my snowboarding concussion and I’ve covered all the seasons! At least I cannot blame Jon for that one…