I took that sliver of single track heading north from the trail head, quietude abounding still. Rolling fat up along the barbed wire, I was making a loop of the bottom of Noble Canyon, wanting to play on its rocky ending. It was a truly soulifying mid-afternoon:
Up more, I went, and then on to the little connector over to Noble Canyon Trail, where a few hints of autumn hung in the trees’ leaves:
See, we can all get along, can’t we?
The top of the loop was complete and I started back south. With the fat tires and feeling a bit care-less, I enjoyed going up the slog. Nothing like getting into a “zen” pedal:
When it crested out, I stopped to take a piss, enjoying this wonderful view:
Natural beauty was my only companion on this ride.
Wait. What is that I hear? Voices? Shit, they are coming this way. Ugh. Humans.
Wait. Is it music? It’s getting louder.
Yep, it is music. Has to be a mountain biker.
Water drained, I see him through the chaparral. His music is loud enough that I have to talk very loud, asking only one question: Are you going now?
Breathing heavy, swiping the screen on his phone, wearing a suit of “pock” armor, he mutters that he’s waiting for a friend. The Cure is blasting out of his hydration pack.
I hop quickly on my bike and get ahead of him. I want nothing of his “I’m gonna play my music so f!cking loud that everyone beyond ear shot is going to hear it” lifestyle. Seriously, I ask myself, what jerk rides a bike in the back country playing music that loud? Ear buds, okay, fine, I don’t have a problem with that. Lately, though, this whole thing with music invading quiet air space while people ride bikes is a growing problem.
Why do I have to hear your music when I am in nature?
Mountain bikers want access to wilderness areas, but if this kind of shit is going to be going on, it will make for a miserable experience, for some of us.
I’m blasting down the trail, having a riot of a good time. Up and around before the final descent through the rocky fun, I continue and do not hear Robert Smith chasing after me. Thank goodness. I decide that when they finish, I’m going to walk over to them and suggest that music at that decibel level on the trail isn’t cool.
And then…I balanced and shot through and rolled clean all the way back to the car for only the second time ever. I was so damn happy to have not unclipped once while pedaling the entire day!
I loaded up with burrito on my mind. I couldn’t hear any music.
At the Frosty Burger, I ordered what I get every time: beans, rice, guacamole, and this time she added some onions, tomatoes and a little lettuce. Veggie burrito, no cheese for $3.77. Bigger that your belly.
I ate the entire thing, and as I got into my car, “pock” dude drove past. Down the road, he went, likely completely unaware that he disturbed my peace.
One Square Inch of Silence, I thought. I should have scribbled it on a piece of paper and put it under his windshield wiper. Next time, because unfortunately there will be a next time, I am going to do that.