The Old Man and The Niner

“I may not be as stong as I think, but I know many tricks and I have resolution.”  Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea

A foreword.

For the uninitiated, there are currently 2 standards in mountain biking: the 26 inch and the 29 inch wheel. Another is getting into the fray, the 27.5 inch or the 650b.

Why a the bigger wheel? Simply put, the bigger the wheel the easier it is to roll over obstacles. Period. Think skateboard and the car. The smaller wheeled skateboard sees all sleeping police men aka “humps” as mountains and pebbles as rock gardens. But not the bigger wheeled car. Which when translated to the trail, roots, chutes, steps and many others are mostly non issue with the bigger wheel. 

That out of the way, on with the story, which is about the bike, the experience, of friendships and where it often leads to.

It has been two weeks and it still lingers. Something good always does.

Several weeks ago, I visited my favorite bike shop, hoping to find a good deal on an entry-level bike for my very confused wannabe mountain biker nephew, when I bumped into some folks who appeared to be in some state of utter bewilderment, severely dazed, very much like my nephew. I can feel the fierce battle was raging within these confounded people.

I am familiar with the symptoms. It innocently started as mere price fishing. And then the brewing storm: the apparent confusion between want and need, between the cherished item and the wife who may not serve you dinner or, worse, altogether cancel your “Thursday Delight” because you ran out of sane reasons for this untimely purchase.

Local bike shops can be a very difficult place to be in. I have to embarrassingly admit I am, without fail, short of frothing in the mouth whenever I get into one. Like this favorite store I just stumbled in, where a member of its successful marketing team happens to be a good friend (although he has yet to prove his marketing mettle on stingy me. Maybe the frothing scares him, I do not know.) But man, I can sit there for hours talking bike, breathing bike, feeling the bikes and still be treated to free coffee.

I now suspect it is some guilt ploy. The coffee I mean. After drinking gallons of free stuff, who wouldn't feel guilty if they don't buy anything?

But in spite of dazed visitors, zombie land it isn't. More like Nirvana. Free coffee or none.

That Wednesday Francis must have overheard me talking to CJ about his shift to a 29 inch wheel from a 26. I have, like forever, wondered if butt pain is inversely proportional wheel size.

The next thing I knew, he was telling me to bring along a bike carrier the following day. He was loaning me a Niner Jet9 for 4 days. I guess being the good friend that he is and, I dare add, a 29er biker himself, he can not and will not allow me to go on with life feeling so distressed and confused. Empathy defined.

So Friday found me giggling like a little boy as I blaze along Malipay, Saturday grinning and yelling like the Mad Hatter throughout Timberland, and finally Monday pushing myself like crazy in Filinvest. Absolute fun, two painful spills included.

To enjoy mountain biking one has to know how to keep balance and maintain momentum. Having learned all this the painful way, which was after several spills and endos (endo - being thrown over the handlebar for choosing the wrong line), the lesson has somehow ingrained itself into my being. Pain has a way of making you remember.

With bigger wheels then, when you have something that just rolls over almost anything, the fun factor rises exponentially. This is what a 29er gave me.

Focus is more on choosing my line and less on body English. Yes, in some ways, this Jet 9 made me a bit braver. And of course, having top shelf items on board does give you the edge. They always do, psychologically, at least.

But if there is one thing this amateur sees as big wheel disadvantage, the 29er does take a bit more effort to get up to speed. A bit sluggish from standstill. But since I did not suffer any lactic acid chaos in my legs during the course of using this bike, the effect of Newton's law on inertia is easily overlooked.

On the top tube is writtten “Pedal Damn It!” So pedal I did, damn it! A case of mind over matter? Perhaps.

While I am perfectly happy with my hardtail and its entry level equipment, to find myself on a big wheeled full suspension rocket is euphoria. It is like being the king of the hill, whatever that hill is. And while the battered butt took some time getting used to plush rear suspension, riding this rocket is a level up.

A level up in so many ways, indeed, made more profound because a friend believed on doing me one good turn.

It was the late Zig Ziglar who said that when we help others achieve their dreams, we achieve ours. While I do not know if I helped Francis achieve his, as he is still struggling with his marketing skills with me, most assuredly he helped me with mine. And while this blog has mentioned more of this experience of a lifetime, it is really an essay on where friendships often lead us.

Just like how big wheels roll over most obstacles leaving you free to focus on your momentum, real friendship, likewise, frees you from so many burdens so you can focus on your strengths, on your joys, on your freedom, on things that really matter. Real friendship is empowerment.

More than live the dream itself, albeit temporarily, this generosity helped me discover things that I never knew I had, things I am capable of, of true joy on a bike. I learned to love myself even more, actually.

And there, a four day adventure I will never forget.

Thanks, Francis!

The Man himself, far left.