Mountainboard.net needs your winter photos!

For some of us, winter is a time where snow covers the ground and cold fills the air. The mountainboard is often tucked away into hibernation until spring and mountainboarding drifts away like as a memory. It is indeed a sad time for countless dirt shredders. Many turn to snowboarding for relief; a sport that helped inspire mountainboarding in the beginning. Unfortunately, snowboarding just isn’t the same.

So the question is, what do we do? I have a suggestion, I say we ride! I say we grab our mountainboards out of storage, pump the tires back up, and hit the trails. Snowboarding is great, but its just not mountain boarding.

This is an aggressive, no rules, anything goes kind of sport and here we are letting winter tell us what to do. Not anymore! I, on behalf of Mountainboard.net and the sport of mountainboarding, challenge all riders who live in cold winter parts of the world to get out and ride. Defy winter, get out and slash some slush!

While your at it take lots of pictures and help inspire other riders by sending them to me at Editor@Mountainboard.net before February 28th (THAT’S THE END OF THIS MONTH). I’ll post them along with an update on the winter slush slashing.

Good luck!

Note: Don’t forget to do your post ride maintenance, your board might be a little more wet than normal.

The buzzing of the power lines on the hillside were the only noise that accompanied me as I made my way up the dusty maintenance road. Not a single person would be seen for the entire day of riding and although mountainboarding is often enjoyed with friends or fellow riders, this time it was just me.

I took advantage of the quiet hike to think about a few things. I thought of my riding, of areas where I wanted to improve and specific portions of the road where I could attempt something new. From time to time I would stop and look down the winding dirt path and try to dream up how I would ride that spot when I came to it.

I took my time getting to the top but was soon as high as I could get. I set down my mountainboard and pulled my water bottle from my pack. Taking a seat between my bindings I took sips from my water while checking out my new view of the valley below. Although I was planning a fast and aggressive descent, the quiet moment was relaxing and soothing.

Soon however, the excitement of the ride began to creep in and overtake me and the still and the quiet were no longer what I was in the mood for. With anticipation of an awesome ride I strapped on my gear and threw my pack on my back. After pushing my feet into my bindings to that familiar “sweet spot” I ratcheted my bindings down a couple clicks, not to loose but not to tight- just how I like it.

With a sudden rush of energy I begin my descent. The quiet of the hillside was shattered by the sound of my wheels carving hard against the dirt below. The side of the road was lined with a steep embankment that was perfect for slashing. Huge clouds of dust hovered in the windless air marking my trail behind me.

Caught up in the flow of the ride, the long windy road seemed to come quickly to an end and soon I was power sliding to a stop at the end of the run. As the dust cloud settled and I stood back up from my crouched position, I reflected on the ride for a moment. It’s strange how sometimes the ride just sort of happens and it’s not until after it’s over that you’re actually able to think about what happened. That moment of reflection is what tops off the ride for me. It connect me with the sport in a way.

While we all love a good day of riding with friends, sometimes an epic solo slash session just seems to hit the spot. Taking time to reflect on what makes you mountainboard and what you most enjoy about it has away of defining you as a rider. It makes the ride all the more meaningful.

Who defines the sport of mountainboarding? Without hesitation, most would agree that definition rests with the riders. But as with every sport in existence, growth and progression often have a way of diluting the heart and soul of the sport. Are we allowing that to happen with mountainboarding?

New gear comes out each year, new parks and centers continue to pop up world wide, and new manufacturers and media companies spring up to add there two cents to the sport of mountainboarding. All these things help to push our sport forward and solidify our place among the sports of the world. Unfortunately, these are the same sources that can slow the individual creativity among new mountainboarders by controlling the “image” of the sport.

As an example, let’s look at a made up scenario. Let’s say we have two brand new mountainboarders, John and Steve, we’ll call them. John lives in the thick of the mountainboarding community, he has three centers close by his house, and a whole crew of riders that are ready to take him under their wing. Steve on the other hand, has never seen a mountainboard other then the one he now owns and he doesn’t have a single center within 1000 miles of where he lives, but he is surrounded by mountains.

Obviously there are the ups and downs to both situations. John will might never know what mountainboarding is like outside of a park or a center but he’ll have plenty of interaction with other riders and will be able to learn from them. Steve, wont know the life of the park riders but he’ll experience the raw version of mountainboarding that comes from slashing the local mountain sides.

Is there any one way to ride? Is mountainboarding about freestyle? Freeride? Is it about boardercross, or how about the urban riding as shown in Freestyler.com video that we have posted this week? We all know that mountainboarding has many flavors and there really is no right or wrong. The key is that each rider finds his/her own way to enjoy the ride.

In conclusion, mountainboarding is very much a sport born of creativity, and has many different avenues. Each rider has his/her own riding style. Many new riders come in this sport and look around wide-eyed for an example of what they’re suppose to be doing. Mountainboarding isn’t about what you’re “suppose to” do, it’s more about taking the opportunities that present themselves and turning them into the most epic rides ever. So are we, as riders, defining mountainboarding and allowing the “money-makers” of the sport to back us up; or are we letting them define our sport for us?

This article was first published in April of this year and has since been gathering dust in the MountainBoard.net archives. We decided to dig it out and repost it as Thursday’s featured story. Enjoy.

The howling of the coyotes in the distance broke the long silence that had accompanied me on my hike. I stopped to listen for a moment and looked out over the canyon in their direction. The moon was hidden in the clouds and only a few stars gave light to the winding firebreak road under my feet.

The weight of my pack with my board strapped to it reminded me that I still had a ways to go. As I turned to continue up the dirt road, a drop of adrenaline tingled through me disturbing the calm I had felt just seconds before. My purpose this night was a simple one, born of the quiet insanity that many mountainboarders share in common. Tonight I would challenge my senses on a solo mission I called, “Operation Night Ride.”

Each time I stumbled over a rut or a loose rock, the haunting feeling of hesitation would claw its way into my thoughts. The rules I had set for myself beforehand were seeming more impossible with every step. I had set just two simple rules. Rule number one was that no light would be allowed, not even a flashlight. The second rule was that no walking downhill would be allowed, every inch of the winding path that stretched for just under a mile had to be ridden. My pace slowed as I fought my doubts.

Soon I was at the top. A light breeze passed through the canyon. I listened to the tall grass as it swayed somewhere in the shadows nearby. I slowly strapped on my gear, still waiting for some kind of motivation to push away my fears.

My board squeaked as I stepped into my bindings. Then it was silent. No coyotes howling, no wind through the grass, not even a single cricket made a sound during that moment. It was in that silence that I found my motivation. Not a motivation that pushed away the fear; but a motivation that embraced the fear. Energy surged through me and all I wanted to do was ride.

Hesitation was swallowed up with the silence as the loud rumble of my wheels over the dirt and rocks tore through the night air. The air rushed by me as my speed increased. Straining to see the terrain was a hopeless cause and I soon found myself watching only for the faint glow of the path as it snaked it’s way downhill. I found that I had to adjust instantly to each bump and dip as I felt it. I couldn’t see ahead to plan. I had to ride the moment.

Each time I tried to use my eyes to see ahead, I was deceived by the shadows and would overcorrect and find myself slamming into the almost invisible ground below. The extreme confusion of it all and the overload of the senses seemed to drive me to get back up and follow my second rule, to ride it all.

At one section I felt several scattered rocks hitting my trucks. The thought of falling on the rocks distracted me from my focus and I hit the ground. I tumbled to a stop after rolling over several of the rocks. My whole body hurt. I had already wrecked so many times in such a small amount of time and this one seemed to remind me of them all.

After catching my breath, I crawled to my board that lay upside-down some 20 feet away. I turned it upright and collapsed over it. Then I started to laugh. All alone, bruised and bleeding in places I didn’t even know yet, I laughed. The insanity of the whole situation made me laugh even more. I got back up and finished the ride.

As I drove home, I took a moment to ponder what the ride had taught me. I learned first of instinct and how “letting go” can improve your ride, even when you can’t see. I learned that fear shouldn’t be pushed away, that it should be embraced in its positive form. Finally, I learned to ride the moment, whether you can see or not, the thrill is in the moment.

In conclusion, despite the throbbing pain that covered me for days to come, Operation Night Ride was a complete success.

The sun was high in the sky as the three of us hiked up the dusty maintenance road. For Tony and Rodney, this would be their first mountainboarding experience. I had done my best to pick a good beginner location with gentle slopes, “good dirt,” and plenty of run-offs to ease the mind of the often over hesitant newbie. With no boards of their own, I let them use my “loaner board,” an old MBS Sol 16 that has seen more than it’s share of quality mountainboarding chaos.

Aside from it being there first time mountainboarding, Tony and Rodney were two very different people. Tony, a fitness enthusiast in his early 40s, had never attempted a single board sport. He was the kind of person that appears quiet and serious on the surface but keeps you guessing the more you get to know them. Conservative at times but always full of a kind of active ambition, the kind of ambition that spurs great ideas like mountainboarding and base jumping.

Rodney on the other hand was a different animal. Almost 20 years younger and far from quiet. He had, to some extent, participated in nearly every board sport out there except for mountainboarding. On the day this story takes place, Rodney had a sore ankle from a recent injury involving too much alcohol, a flag pole, and…let’s call it a “patriotic urge.”

As you can see, two very different people, but both about to strap in for their first time. Rodney was eager to go first. “I won’t need these,” he said throwing the elbow pads back at me, “I’m a skateboarder.”

I didn’t feel the need to argue. What was the use. His recent flag pole incident had already proven his deep desire to make incredibly bad decisions. Who am I to interfere with dreams like that.

Once he was set I gave him a quick crash course and them rode down to the bottom of the stretch he was about to ride. Rodney didn’t hesitate to let the speed build up. His “less thought, more action” mentality showed in the huge smile on his face as he barreled down the hill. Unfortunately, the mild corner he planned to take was a bit much for the speed he was packing. Soon the flailing began and then, in a desperate attempt to spot, rolled over the berm backwards launching his right shoe about 20 feet. It was beautiful.

After we located the shoe and had a few laughs it was Tony’s turn. Tony strapped in a bit more hesitant than Rodney, possibly because of his nature and possibly because of the shoe-tossing wreck he just witnessed. But without much delay he had clipped on his helmet and was on his way.

His riding appeared somewhat awkward at first which might have had something to do with his conservative- “Listen I’m 40, seen a lot of people get hurt and I don’t want to be one of them”- mentality, but probably more due to his lack of board sports experience. His riding became more smooth as the day went on and he was aggressive enough to take a couple good spills.

All in all it was a great day of riding. Two brand new riders getting their first taste of mountainboarding along with the dirt that comes with it. As I watched the two of them ride I realized there was a few things we all can learn from these newbies.

Tony taught us the value of a good balance between being safe enough to not lose your shoe, and being aggressive enough strap in and ride, despite the hesitation. Rodney taught us on that reckless aggressiveness can have it’s time in place when we want to push through fear and learn quickly, as long as we come out in one piece in the end.

Next time you take a couple newbies out for their first ride, don’t sit back and think you are the all-knowing expert. There is always something you can learn from another rider, no matter what his/her experience level.