Woodland

Woodland. My eyes infatuated with the smooth white lane in front of me, my gaze diverges just enough to notice the trunks and branches go by on both sides of the blurry tree corridor that I am riding through. The singing and humming of the fat studded tires rolling on the packed snow create such a pleasant melody that echoes under the forest canopy. The deep rumble, different from the sound of riding on dirt, gravel or pavement, but just as beautiful. A drumroll in anticipation of the next drop or banked turn. No struggle. Just allowing. No thinking. Just, in the moment, flow. Winter mountain biking conditions literally at it’s absolute finest. My riding mindset has definitely changed the last few years. My eyes no longer look for the fastest lines. My mind no longer focuses on the wheel ahead and behind me. It’s more about seeing and carving the trail’s smooth fun lines. Taking the longer line to carve a turn or hit a jump. The urgency of the race has left my reason. It’s absence creating space. Space for the exhilaration of the ride experience to surface. My riding is less about the adrenaline and more about the serotonin. The trail system no longer my proving ground. It’s my playground. Woodland.