Kinfolk

This is one of the stories that speaks to the essence of mountain biking, even though it doesn't involve any "epic" pictures or "gnarly" video. No, just a testament to how rad mountain biking is as a lifestyle and community.

I've enjoyed going to book stores and reading magazines for years and years. From snowboarding to music to biking, the topics have changed but the pleasure I take in a few minutes perusing mags amidst the smell of fresh books is one of my favorite things.

This past Mother's Day weekend, I accepted the fact that I can't choose gifts for my wife and dropped her off at one of her favorite shops with a bit of cash while I headed for Barnes and Noble with the kids. With the addition of children to the family, by bookstore routine has only been interrupted slightly: I still grab a couple magazines, but instead of heading for a cushy chair, we march back to the kids section where I sit at the little kiddy table, soaking in the latest while keeping a semi-watchful eye on the little ones.

Our arrival at children's section was quickly followed by a mandatory bathroom trip, so I stashed my copies of Decline and Dirt on a shelf and we made the voyage. When we came back, what did I find to my surprise (much like Goldilocks) but a guy sitting at the kiddy table with two bike mags. At first I thought he had found my stash, but no, there they were where I left them. I grabbed them off the shelf, sat down across the way and said, "I'm glad I'm not the only one"  as I held my magazines up.


The conversation caught and then snowballed. We talked trails, shops, injuries, adjustable seatposts, 29ers...about an hour later I had a new friend and I had no idea where my daughter was. (Don't worry. I found her.) I've been involved in a number of hobbies and pursuits, but none of them seem to elicit the instant kinship that mountain biking does. I love that.