On Saturday I planned to attempt the last dry ride of the season on Laurel Mountain. There were a few people lined up to come with, (I woln't mention any names Don and Aaron,) but on Friday night the weatherman issued an urgent warning that "A paralyzing winter storm is rolling in to paralyze the Northeast. With snow." Alack! Snow! With the mere mention of the word, the 'others' were out. But I totally understand. Snow can be absolutely terrifying:
Gregg and I decided that we would still go, and since PennDot was on a donut break until noon, the drive to the mountain took twice as long as normal. We parked near the base and started the ride up.
I was on a rigid SS 29er, and Gregg was on a full suspension 26 with a tripple. Both were equally useless in the snow. We pushed up to the top of the mountain, thinking that maybe it would be more ridable on top where the ground was flat. Unfortunately, as we ascended the mountain, the snow became deeper. Judging by the accumulation on the brim of my hat, snow was still falling at about a half inch an hour, and there was close to ten inches on the summit. After an hour and a half of hiking, and faced with the prospect of walking for the rest of the day, we decided to turn back.
The ride down was super fun and crash filled. I declared "Last one to the bottom buys Montana a strudel!" and the race was on. For most of the slippery bomb down the mountain I led, but when we hit the road at the bottom Gregg sprinted away and beat me to the Grumbler. Dejected, I tried to come to terms with buying myself a strudel.