Find Me on 12 and 13
More trails in the park, more changes in town
Find me, on #12 and thirteen.
Trails yet unnamed. The Backcountry. The Front Country. Brett’s Folly. Bill’s Jolly.
The Ups, The Downs. That’s where I’ll be. The full commitment of a sharp, steep descending hair pin. The steep, punchy, rotating climbs. Bike suspends. Straining to move the cranks of my one speed – 34/17 – up to 12 o’clock and down to 6. At times not possible and that speed shifts gears from 3rd, stand up and grind hard, to 2nd, get off and walk/push. It’s ok, I’m here for the miles, the views, the forest, to exercise the breath, to move vital prana.
I know that many will be over on 14, 15, 16 – the flow, the fast descents, more features, the tallest berms. I get it – carrying the speed, a feeling of flight, aloft but the tires still securely connected to dirt.
But, as that flow gives way to friction, the frequent weathering of the soil, more traffic, the constant change, some deterioration, I’ll return to the trails that start to feel more a part of the forest. Theses trails, the forest, my bike we’ll merge and, as the roots reappear and the ruts form, 12 and 13 is where you’ll find me.
Not all my days will be spent in the park, on the mountain. Eventually, I’ll need to head to town, encountering friction and change there as well. Byrd’s retiring from the recycling center this year. No more exchanging a BLT and fries from the café for him to look the other way in order to toss some lumber scraps in with the other refuse. In fact, I see the café is up for sale and has closed down. What’s more, Ricky has had a for sale sign up at the Mountain Trading Post for a while now. Not to be the face, and the voice, of gentrification but that could make a great location for a bike and coffee shop. Not sure what would happen to the mountains of firewood but I suppose a new owner could sell off the rest of the Trump ’24 and Don’t Tread on Me flags. It does seem likely that Ricky attached to the property deed that boiled peanuts be sold in perpetuity.
In town, business success seems to be a moving target as well. The nicer restaurant, Gather Uptown, finally closed its doors after trying a variety of hours, managers and advertising. I see the tattoo parlor didn’t make it and the nicer second-hand clothing store has closed as well. The presumably better resourced local entrepreneurs announced they would not be opening the fine dining restaurant in the Durham Hall building as planned. They noted that excessive cost and scarcity of local labor along with increased construction expense could not lead to a sustainable, much less profitable, business venture. Arthur’s a bit closer on that high-end brewery but word on the street is his vision, and demeanor, clashed a bit with the local contractors and slowed down progress.
Despite these struggles on main street, money continues to flow into building out the trails in the bike park. The new greenway, apparently a million-dollar investment, is going in now. Eight feet wide and winding a quarter mile so far, it’s looking good but causing plenty of concern and acrimony from the locals. Down the road a few miles, the Newry Mill renovation is complete and its impressive. Millions of dollars to bring it back from complete abandonment to upscale and, presumably, not totally unaffordable housing, a lot of money from somewhere.
There is great abundance here; but, as I see it, it is an abundance of incredible imbalance. Impressive growth and change amidst struggle and stagnation. This is the path for society to navigate in a changing world, one where the old systems and structures begin to collapse before they reset and finally find a new way to thrive.
This is the struggle to reach the top of the ridge on 12, and on 13. A little flow, then a grind, maybe a stop and push, but always the determination to reach the top and drop down the other side.
