By Steve Jermanok, Globe Correspondent
RANDOLPH, Vt. -- We were 23 riders in all, ages 8 to 61, making our way up
the hills high above Randolph, along a ridge where the spine of the Green
Mountains could be seen in the distance. Soon we were coasting downhill on a
narrow, dirt trail past rows of yellow cornstalks ready for reaping, and
farmland so fertile that you felt like jumping off the bike and digging your
hands into the rich soil. Like good soldiers, we followed our tour leader deep
into a forest of evergreens, crossing a shallow stream, before finding
ourselves on a sinuous dirt road along a branch of the White River. It was
late September, and the maples and birches were starting their yearly light
show. As we continued our descent, red, yellow, and orange leaves whizzed by
in a kaleidoscopic frenzy.
We were on a 15-mile loop known as the Quarry Ride, one of many guided
tours being offered at the annual New England Mountain Biking Festival, the
first noncompetitive mountain biking event in the country. Other rides
included easy five-mile jaunts along winding streams and the strenuous
44.9-mile Circus Ride, which follows a route used in the late 1800s to bring
the circus into town.
The weekend festival, which attracted 2,500 participants in its third
incarnation last year, is held on the grounds of the historic Green Mountain
Stock Farm in Central Vermont. James Cagney and other racehorse owners
trekked here in the 1930s to purchase Morgan horses. On this day, though,
there were no horses to be seen; indeed, no racers of any stripe. This event
is for everyone else, including plenty of families who come from as far away
as Colorado and Montana, giving Randolph its reputation as the Mountain Biking
Capital of the East. My wife and I had even brought our son, Jake, though at
14 months he was still a little young to reach the handlebars.
That didn't stop Ed Wray, a Rhode Islander, from bringing his
20-month-old son, Connor, on a ride. ''He loved it,'' says Wray. ''I put him
on the back of the bike, rode fast, and he kept saying 'Go! Go!' There's so
much here for kids to do. They can be happy running in the wide-open field or
waking up as we do every morning to go on strolls near streams.'' Wray, who's
been to the festival all three years, brought his parents along last year to
baby-sit Connor when he and his wife wanted to go on more rugged rides.
When Reese Brown, president of Lowrider Promotions, first organized the
event, his instinct was to have a ''Woodstock on Wheels.'' He wanted to
attract the young hardcore bikers who venture to Crested Butte, Colo., and
Moab, Utah, sites of the two most popular mountain biking festivals in the
country. But these events can be intimidating to the first-time mountain biker
or to the experienced rider like myself who simply wants to enjoy the scenery
without having to race at Tour de France speeds. Fortunately, Brown soon
changed his mind, opting to make the three-day New England Mountain Biking
Festival the family-friendly, noncompetitive festival it is now.
Instead of races, Brown organized group rides that leave every hour from
8 a.m. until 4 p.m. Depending on your level of expertise, age, and sex, there
are rides for novices to advanced bikers, children, and women. These trails,
created by farmers or timber companies many years ago, are on gentle rolling
hills and are ideal for young or novice mountain bikers. Brown has also set
up a Product Expo and Demo Center, where practically everyone in the mountain
biking business gets the chance to display new wares. Riders can try the
latest bikes by Schwinn, Giant, and Gary Fisher on the trails. Youngsters can
tune up their Shimano gears and Rock Shox suspension at those companies'
booths, while parents grease up their dusty chains with Pedro's lube, and
pocket a few free PowerBars for quick energy on the next ride.
The sheer multiplicity of events is enough to keep everyone engaged. When
I returned from my Quarry Ride midday Saturday, I watched the tricycle races
-- 3- to 5-year-old children scurrying around a track that was really just a
small circle but big enough to keep the tiniest cyclers enthralled.
Later that afternoon, the Randolph Fire Department showed up with its
fire trucks and hosed down a part of a flat dirt field with 12,000 gallons of
water! The result was a mud bog. Now, mountain bikers love mud even more than
marine sergeants at bulldog camp; it provides traction. But this went beyond
traction. It was a muddy, sticky swamp, and the challenge was to make it
across the field without wiping out into the ooze. Emily Schneider, 5, of
Winchester, Mass., and her brother, Ed, 3, were having a jolly old time
lathering themselves up with dirt. ''I like jumping into the mud with my
friends,'' says Emily. ''Then I have to go shower with the girls.'' Thankfully
for Emily, the festival site has plenty of good, hot showers. Her father, Tom,
adds, ''My two kids learned more about biking this weekend than they did in
their entire lives.'' Then there was the annual mountain bike limbo contest,
which is just like the classic limbo dance except you duck while riding your
bike. I also watched a log-pull contest (a log gets hooked onto the back of
each bike), and a bicycle tire toss. All the while, every hour, dozens of
intriguing rides beckon.
In the evening, rock and blues bands from around New England performed
onstage. And, weather permitting, children under 8 were invited to sit around
a huge bonfire for story hour while parents roasted marshmallows.
Rain canceled the bonfire Saturday night but left the trails fresh and
slick for the next day. I woke up early Sunday, though not earlier than the
kids popping wheelies through puddles while their parents began to take down
their tents. With Jake in tow, my wife and I were alternating bike tours with
parental duties. It was now my turn to pedal.
I chose to ride alone on the trails that weave through the grounds of the
Green Mountain Stock Farm. Giving my trusty Trek 950 mountain bike a rest, I
took a test ride on one of the Schwinn Moabs with front-wheel suspension, a
feature designed to cushion some of the bumps when you roll over, say, a log.
Perhaps I'm a bit nostalgic for my youth, when everyone rode a Schwinn
10-speed or envied those who did. Now Schwinn is making a comeback with its
mountain bikes, and I was looking forward to seeing if the grand old company
still had that magic touch.
I biked past hundreds of tents onto a wet trail that led me high into the
hills. The route was lined with dense firs and maples, occasionally lowering
their branches to let a glimmer of light into this shaded forest. After
sweeping up and down on one trail, I found myself on a set of wider grassy
trails that led out of the woods into the hot sun of a cloudless fall day.
There was no one around except me and my Schwinn, which easily passed the
challenging test ride. The only sounds heard were the birds chirping above and
the squirrels scurrying by.
I hopped off the bike, sat down on a large boulder, and stared at the
valley of Randolph below. My body was covered in dirt. A pale yellow leaf was
stuck to the top of my shoe. I pulled it off, thinking of the poor souls who
were battling traffic on Route 7, trying to convince themselves that they were
enjoying their congested ride through Vermont's legendary fall foliage. Then I
jumped back onto my bike and continued to savor my good fortune. When I
returned to the grounds, my son glanced up at me from the bike pedals he was
playing with and laughed. Perhaps he thought Halloween came early in Vermont
and I was dressed up as Swamp Thing.
Published 09/13/98 in the Boston Suday Globe's Travel Section.
