Maleficent madness

I read somewhere that Eskimos have over 50 names for snow. I wonder what they'd call the stuff we encountered on the hills of Gambrill/Watershed yesterday. The powder looked thick, fluffy, and inviting, yet was hateful. It was angry that Markie, Becky, and I spoiled her virginity.

It never allowed our tires to travel in a straight line. It melted and refroze on my glasses to give me a nice sheen of ice so that it was close to impossible to see. It did the same to my eyelashes so that it became difficult to open my eyes. It easily gave way and allowed my elbow and knee to plunge through and find pointy rocks. It sniggered at us for attempting uphills.

I had my EWR, built up with my Fox, and 34:18 gearing. It wasn't a good choice. I even slapped on my Nokian Gazzi 2.6 and pumped it up to 10 PSI so I can have some semblance of float. It was no use. Anything short of skis or a sled was an exercise in futility. On downhills and flats, I weaved no matter if I gave the death grip or relaxed and let the tires cut their own course. Bike and I charged everywhere but straight ahead.

There were a few things I learned on yesterday's ride. If you are going to ride at Gambrill in six inches of fresh powder while it is still steadily coming down:

1. Use a stupid low gear. 1:1 is what the two of them used for the bulk of the ride.
2. Stay rigid. You need no squish.
3. Fixie might have made things easier.
   
4. If you aren't prepared for the white-knuckle/ulcer-inducing/20 near-miss crash/3.5 hour commute back, stay home. I wasn't, and I wish I did.