Okay, hi there friends, and thanks for checking out another episode of Skylines. In this essay, I hope to describe how I've been fortunate to experience challenges, thrills, and satisfactions in my own life that, you know, for endless possible reasons, not everyone else out there has had the means or ability to experience for themselves. So I want to share what these things have provided in my own life, and what they feel like, at least to me. Not in a way to glorify myself or my accomplishments, but actually to recognize how fortunate my life has been, and as part of this entire Skylines project, and my efforts to share what inspires me, and reasons why, if you can, you should try these things too.
I sincerely hope it's received this sharing and not bragging. So off we go with episode 34, go fly a bike. As a little kid, I never had an overly strong desire to fly, or glide through the trees like a bird. Much of what I was interested in was on the ground or in the water after all, and I felt like moving through the world in a magical way was already at hand.
I just ride my bike. Riding a bike is to me a form of flying. It's flying that is exponentially more obtainable to the average person, and a source of unbridled freedom for those who take hold of handlebars, grasp the balance of life on two wheels, and tap its potential. I've been tapping its potential since I was three years old, fortunate to enjoy most of my life behind bars.
Handlebars, that is of course. Riding is one of a few mental spaces that I can always call home, and it's played a major role in forging the person that I am today. For those who may not relate to this connection, I offer this essay as a recommendation of why you should try really riding a bike. I sincerely consider riding a therapy as powerful as any other.
And whether it's pedaling a bicycle down a trail, or piloting a motorcycle 80 miles an hour off road, there's opportunity for bikes to make birds your spirit animal, and take the training wheels off your life. Straddling the polished aluminum gas tank I recall gripping the crossbar of my dad's 1980 Husqvarna handlebars. The span of my arms was too small to reach the actual grips, but I remember being plenty content, feeling like that small crossbar was a special set of bars just for me. Ghostly blue shapes of sweet smelling two stroke exhaust lofted into the coastal sky moments after dad kickstarted the throaty engine to life.
Brightness from the headlight reflected off the front fender, increasing with the RPMs as he blipped the throttle, warming the motor and closing the choke. The vibrations that reverberated from the air-cooled 250cc motor matched the acoustic notes, trumpening from the spark arrestor. Dad would pull in the clutch, clunk the transmission into gear, and with the gentle rev of the motor paired with releasing the clutch lever, we begin to roll, magically. The knobby Metzler tires would hum at escalating tempos as my dad would wind the motor up and clutch through the six gears, accelerating up the steep two lane road that pointed away from our home and directly into national forests, dirt roads and trails, all running endless in my imagination.
I think there are defining moments the first time a person rides a bike, be it a bicycle or motorcycle, and they seem to stick firmly in one's memory. With a bicycle, it's that sparkling instant you realize that you're actually balancing, rolling forward and riding a bike without falling over. It's a landmark moment, often as a little kid, and perhaps the first taste of thrill and freedom in a very young life. The first time riding a motorcycle has its own impactful point, although I think it's often more accompanied by a surge of nervous energy, or even fear for most of us.
When you pull that clutch lever in, someone coaches you to take your left toe and shift the bike from neutral into gear, slack in the chain snaps tight as the transmission is now engaged with the rear wheel and you can feel the bike jump in the starting blocks. It's nerve-wracking and startling. It's like a bucking Bronco in the rodeo shoot, or pulling a bow to fold your off for the first time. Tension, power, and energy held by the mere human flesh of your own fingertips.
It's ready and waiting to be released to launch, to fly, and for better or worse, take you with it. I crawled aboard my first very own motorcycle at the age of four or five. Motorcycle riding and racing was a primary activity for my dad, so he got me started in it early. It had to have been an amazing milestone of childhood development to be entrusted to operate my own bike at such a young age, illustrated by the fact that I was indeed too young to even a call.
But I do have clear memories of riding mountainous logging roads, trailing my dad on his bike, and expanding a sense of freedom and independence as I chose my own path through rutted mud puddles and obstacles of any variety. I think those experiences of riding my own bike behind my dad instilled a strong sense of independence in me at an early age. To this day, I'm probably the most independent person I know, meaning that I'm easily capable of having the greatest days of my life completely alone, be it hunting, fishing, or riding. Or of course with my family and friends too.
But I think that as a little tike that time inside my own helmet, taking on challenges and reaping rewards of accomplishment, set the stage for the person I've become. I'm grateful for that. The following decade or so of childhood would find me gazing through the backseat windows of our family car or the school bus. I'd imagine that I was out there keeping pace alongside while tackling the ditches, roads, and berms and passing terrain with ease, not flying, but riding my motorcycle.
The feeling of riding a motorcycle at speed is fairly easy to describe, but words and descriptions can only accomplish so much. And just like so many other things, the more you put into it, the more fun it is. And like many other physical disciplines, let's say skiing for example, there is a large wall of learning that has to be scaled before all the distractions of necessary ability can fade away and pure experience can be achieved. I know, it sounds like I'm describing some far out spiritual nirvana or religious meditation here, but that's because I am.
I've heard surfers explain a moment of euphoric clarity when the wave takes hold and propels them forward. And I've thought to myself, yeah. I like peeling around a banked and rutted berm, accelerating out of a corner, flying off the lip of a big double jump. That is a great feeling.
The surf analogy is something I can imagine and try to relate to, but not as it feels to those who actually surf with develop skill and ability to really feel this effect of big waves. So the same is true now I suppose, to those that I'm trying to describe what flying a motorcycle feels like to me. I've heard this euphoric feeling well explained in a beautiful short documentary by The New York Times called Slomo, which I highly recommend by the way. The character describes elements of the inner ear that respond to acceleration in a way that stimulates pleasure receptors in the brain, releasing pure happiness, satisfaction, and pleasure.
It's like the fun of a roller coaster, but moderated so there's not the element of terror or being restrained without a way to control the ride. Whether riding my mountain bike, dual sport bike, or motocross bike, that wave slash roller coaster analogy is what the pure joy element of riding is like for me. Mixed of course with the physical elements of holding on and keeping control of the bike and the skill elements of achieving speed without crashing. Making any kind of bike fast is all consuming.
There's simply no space left over in the mind to fret about human conflicts, to ponder silly financial matters, or grind over the political shitstorm of the day. Every fiber of being is focused on piloting this machine, reading the terrain, and commanding actions and split second reactions to keep upright and sailing forward. It's tunnel vision, it's therapy, it's like throwing all the contents, all the baggage of your mind into a coma, and opening the valves for endorphins in adrenaline to rush through the entire space of your consciousness. It's fantastic.
Mountain Bikes vs Motorcycles Comparing and contrasting mountain bikes and motorcycles, both disciplines have shared roughly equal portions of my time and heart over my four decades of riding both. I've debated the merits of each of these over the years, and still consider the comparison something of a draw. There is a fundamental divide between riding a mountain bike and a motorcycle that I've always recognized. It's tempo.
And tempo is something that attracts me so much to motorcycles. I can get into a groove and simply put, stay there. It's like being able to set a pace and get into a mental and physical space that is continuous, flowing and uninterrupted. It's like floating in the endlessness of space to me.
This is the purest form of thrill for myself. When riding a motocross track or a single track trail and being so infatuated with how much fun you're having, that all the real world, physical thoughts and objects are stripped away and replaced by the pure and primal sensations of holding onto and controlling an ungodly amount of horsepower. This tempo, relative pace and speed can be maintained as long as I'm physically capable of holding on. And it allows my mood of the moment to unwind into a style of riding that expresses what I'm feeling at that time.
I am drawn to the uninterrupted capacity of riding a motorcycle when compared to the inevitable segmentation of tempos with cycling, as I just don't know many downhill roads or trails that can last for two hours straight. At times I may be pissed and want to thrash some anger out. I can slam into corners, accelerate hard through the gears and in a flicker of a moment, scare myself so fast that being mad is instantly erased in a massive wave of self-preservation. It's hard to stay mad when you nearly wad yourself into the ground at warp speed.
Even there are times that I just want to sail, and I'll ride at a decent pace but stand perfectly straight up with locked knees and arms leaning forward over the bars with my head way up over the front wheel. Riding in this position gives a complete view of the world presented like it's on a conveyor belt and no part of the bike is even visible. It's a feeling of pure and absolute freedom. It's flying, jumping and landing from one portion of the earth to the next.
I would argue however that it would be even more fun than flying because of what's required to keep from crashing. If one were flying around along the ground, something like the Ewoks and Star Wars characters did through the forest, or some other imaginary jetpack device, that flying would lack the forces of hard braking and input from the ground. That engagement, interaction with the ground is one of my favorite parts of off-road riding, and reading, anticipating, and absorbing what the ground throws at me as a rider is arguably the funnest part of riding. Whether it is dry pavement on a street bike, gravel road on an adventure dual sport bike, ruts, jumps, whoops and berms of a motocross track, or the natural features of terrain made up of rocks, logs and dirt, reading and traversing terrain is insanely rewarding for me as a rider.
It's an application of skill that not everyone can relate to, which is precisely why I wax poetically about it now, as an invitation to try riding up by fast and find out by yourself how hard and really fun it is. Learning to read terrain and choose lines at high speed is like keeping up with an auctioneer and speaking a foreign language. I mean, watching the ground come at you at speed is demanding, and if you're into self-preservation, you better have sharp eyes that can spot rocks and hard edges really well. Reading the soil is a big deal too, as spotting places where your tires are going to grip and hold versus skate and slip like a cat sliding down a tin roof can change from inch to inch.
Is that ribbon of brown, soft and loamy, or hard pack and driselick? How much are my tires going to push and drift when I lean into that turn? Can I make this corner at this speed, or is my front wheel going to wash out and slam me to the ground instantly? Balance is necessary to lean the bike away from things you don't want to hit, and towards safe passage, like tightropping the crown of a rut tall as a railroad track, without slipping each wheel off opposite sides, or holding a line within half an inch between logs or rocks without clipping a foot peg and wadding up hard.
Riding what the bike, suspension and tires are set up for and capable of handling, pushing the boundaries of braking traction and going into a skid, or slide, or drift. It's like let off the brakes to hook up some traction and steer, or stay on the gas and keep the rear wheel spinning so it continues to swing and doesn't hook up laterally and pitch you off the bike in a high side crash. These are all elements of off-road riding that become mere habit and reflex. Each reaction option is different, and depending on whether it's under braking or acceleration, will have different consequences and outcomes.
Riding fast can be as busy as martial arts combat with all that the body and mind are simultaneously processing. Part on the gas, shifting through the gears, and standing on the pegs to absorb terrain at the bike's beating you, shifting your body weight 4 and 1-2 as needed, clutch speeds, hard braking, front and rear wheel, weighting the front end to entering corners, elbows up, feet high to counterbalance other corners. It's like a matrix movie for the body and mind. It's pure chaos.
It's pure dancing. Between a flawed human rider and an elegantly capable machine. It's beautiful to watch. It's even more beautiful to experience.
Crashing is an art form too, actually. I've had a few dannies in my years of off-road riding and racing. Over time I've become good enough at not crashing, but I've reduced it to once every few years or so. But all in all, a couple definitely do come to mind as worth sharing.
In 1996 or so, I was working hard to be a competitive racer, and often rode alone. I'd park my truck at any number of Central Oregon locations where I'd mapped out single-track loops of 10 or 20 miles and link them together. I'd focus on riding at race pace for several laps, developing stamina and endurance for races that typically hovered around 100 miles in length. I knew the particular section of trail that I was riding well, and was approaching a portion with basketball-sized assault rocks firmly planted in the trail.
Previous times I'd pick my way through the rocks, somewhat ping-ponging my way at about 15 miles an hour or so. Too fast to put a foot down, but not fast enough to maintain charging, straight-line fluidity, or momentum. This time through for one reason or another, I don't recall precisely, but I chose to hit the first set of rocks hard and use them as a ramp to jump the span of remaining lava rocks. Problem was that this section of trail passed beneath a large juniper tree, and when I launched off the first rock, I caught more vertical air than I expected, sending my head up into the branches.
I recall coming to, just a few seconds later, head and arms draped over my handlebars and literally rolling to a stop off the side of the luckily level in clear trail. I'd actually managed to stay on the bike like a limp ragdoll and coast safely to a stop. I'd wrung my bell hard, the hardest ever, and definitely sustained some level of concussion. Walking around for a while trying to shake out the cobwebs, I read my tracks that told the story, filling in the blanks that I could not put together.
Lying there in the rocks beneath the tree were several live branches my helmet had struck. One of them was thicker than my arm, sporting white Bellmodo 3 paint, marking the shattered point of impact. Well before the time of cameras in every pocket, a photo in caption of that would make a hell of an Instagram post today. The risk of crashing does make surviving each ride rewarding, if not actually thrilling, but I wouldn't call myself a thrill seeker per se.
I've never been an adrenaline junkie, embracing the extreme elements of the sport. In fact, I've always kind of recoiled from that fringe element. Sure, it is the aspect of modo that draws the most attention, but mainly because of the sheer jaw-dropping wow factor that bikes and Yahoo riders are indeed capable of. I totally get it.
To me and many of my riding peers however, there is a camaraderie that we share, especially when pulling sweat-soaked helmets off our heads back at the truck and recapping our modest levels of craziness, relative close calls and near misses that we share with each other. It's something like a feeling of tempting a little bit of fate, putting a little bit on the line and living to tell the tale. There is of course a balance of being a responsible rider that makes it to old age, versus a complete idiot who crashes his brains out on every ride and ends up bankrupt or worse from trips to the hospital. But even with level-headed, responsible enthusiasts who share motorcycle adventures together, there is indeed a certain brotherhood and kinship of recounting war stories and glory days, and every rider certainly has their own tales of each.
Fitness is the cloaked element of motocross that is, frankly, really only relatable to those who ride. It's something that never ceases to amaze me each time I throw a leg over an MX bike. I've tried to think of comparisons to other sports that I'm experienced in, whether it's cycling or running, soccer or wrestling, but those just don't really match the elements of riding, fast that is, on a track or rough trail. Mountain biking is similar for example, but on a bicycle, it's easy to understand the effort of pedaling the bike.
So sure, that is one part of it, but so much more is involved in just holding onto that bicycle, shifting your weight under braking, holding tightly to the handlebars and brake levers on long downhills, there's all kinds of side factors that are really demanding and can often be what pulls riders to the side of the trail to rest, as often as the actual pedaling. So, imagine the core exertion of holding onto and controlling over 50 horsepower in a machine that weighs 220-some pounds. Enduring the G-forces of acceleration and braking, launching off of jumps and absorbing landings alone, dwarfs any exercise I've ever known. The strain on the entire body to ride that bucking bronco never ceases to amaze me, and it kicks my ass so hard it always blows my mind.
So, the best comparison that I've come up with is what I call milk juts. Any tub of lard can sit on a motorcycle and ride it around the parking lot for a while before fatigue sets in. About the same as any tub of lard can walk around a parking lot with a gallon of milk any chant, or a while before fatigue sets in. Now track picking up the pace of either, and I would say the comparison of jogging with a gallon of milk any chant, for me at least, is about as physically demanding as riding a motocross track all out.
Actually, as I sit here right now, I'm confident that I could jog with milk jugs longer than I could last at race pace on a motocross track. Seriously, holding onto and controlling an MX bike going fast, like actually competitive in any class at any local track, is that hard. While it may lack direct cardio comparison that's relatable to running, it really is there. Hidden behind goggles and a full-faced helmet.
Blared over by the sounds of motors and spinning knobbies. It's all there, and it's all intense. So when combined and all totaled, the elements that make up riding a motorcycle package what is for me my hands-down thrill of life. Fishing and fishing encapsulate great bounty and intimacies with the natural world, and probably make up 40% of my outdoor passion when combined.
But it's carving through life on two wheels that I think I'd have to call my favorite past time. And half of that favorite past time is actually flying bikes powered by the forces of my own body and gravity. Mountain biking. And so, with all that hot exhaust spewed, exalting the virtues of riding motorcycles, it's a mountain bike that's really taking an upper hand in my day-to-day life.
Mainly for the simple reason that I can and do jump on my mountain bike, and in a few minutes from home, can be climbing my way up foot after a glorious foot of pristine, single-track trails. It's one of several reasons I have such admiration for where I live here in Boise. Riding a mountain bike on a primo trail is for me arguably just as fun as riding a dirt bike on the same trail. If that is, of course, it's on a section where I have enough speed to make it fun.
Because even with my background as something of an athlete, I'm not going to sit here and try and say that pumping pedals, gasping, and wheezing is fun for everybody. It is, however, rewarding, productive, healthy, responsible, low-impact, yada yada yada, I can go on and on listing the merits of cycling and mountain biking. But for me, that caveat of mountain biking is the broken tempo. It's inevitable.
And I hate it. I hate it when a thrilling section of trail comes to an end just because you're at the bottom of the hill. It can feel like, man, that was so much fun and I was just getting into such a great groove and then it's over. Maybe this ties back in with the surf analogy and the letdown that must be felt when the wave crumbles and the ride is over.
That must suck. But I certainly can see that the fact that the ride ends is part of what makes you want to go again. I'll just add a little bit of water to the next opportunity. I do get it, but just imagine if that surfer could ride a wave that lasted two hours.
Anyways, mountain biking is that mix of work and reward provided by nature. It's what gravity enables, just as it does for the backcountry skier, the kayaker, the surfer. It's literally riding the good vibes that the laws of physics give us. Your ride returns exactly what you put into it.
Nothing more, nothing less. If I wanted a section of trail to be faster, more engaging, more challenging, I have to pedal harder. It's a form of balance that's holistic. I gotta say though, I frankly consider mountain bike trail riding more dangerous than dirt biking.
It's just a necessary reality of the gear. My buddy Blake put it so well when he described how he felt much safer riding his motorcycle than his bicycle, simply because of what he's wearing in motorcycle gear. Standard Moto gear for me includes shim-high, motopoots, plastic shin and knee pads, specialized pants and jersey, chest shoulder pads and neck brace, full face helmet, goggles and gloves. And on my mountain bike, Blake said, I'm basically wearing my wife's underwear.
Getting tossed on the ground at speed in those two different outfits has vastly different outcomes. So there's certainly a thrill or risk element that stirs the primal pot of chemicals in the brain that I find fun and rewarding. There is a shared camaraderie with others who relate to the thrills and scares of riding fast and do know what crashing can be like. All this stuff just makes life so much more colorful and dynamic.
Riding a bike and feeling the wind in your faces invigorating, raindrops that pelt your cheeks never go unnoticed, dust, dirt and mud actually smell amazing. And falling on the ground is a great way to feel alive. Bruises, scrapes and scabs precede scars. Every scar has a story.
What do your scars say about you and your life? So with that, I propose to you, when's the last time you physically scared the hell out of yourself? Then we're able to laugh hysterically about it. When's the last time you moved your body in a way that stirred an emotional response?
Go do something fun. Go fast. Go skid. Because that thrill of the first time you rode a bike without training wheels, it's still there.
And it's just waiting to make you feel like a squealing little kid again. Skip the gym. Skip work. Go fly a bike.
Why walk through the rest of your life when you can fly? I'm Brian Husky. Thank you for listening and coming along. Alright everyone, if you've stuck with me this long, you are a dear friend to me and I thank you.
And I can't emphasize enough how much I still need your help getting this production off the ground. People who contact me to say how special these stories are to them are shocked when I tell them how few plays they get. It's really staggering considering the input that I'm getting is so overwhelmingly positive and sincere. So for the core listeners and at this point that means you, please share this with a friend or 10.
I am indeed trying to build skylines into a career with a small income here at some point so that I can remain a stay at home dad and fulfill this passion of writing and storytelling. On behalf of myself, Ali and Ashton, thank you.