We didn’t get any significant snow last year. It was the kind of winter that made you believe in global warming… except for that super cold snap. No doubt climate is changing, but it seems spastic, not linear.

Snow has been blanketing the US this past week. It finally made it to us in PA the other night. I love snow. It changes the appearance of the landscape drastically. Long term I know it can become depressing, but limited incursions highlight its beauty. I like riding in the cold and snow; I think it’s mostly because I know there will be nobody on the trails.

I didn’t mean to stir up the ducks but I couldn’t see them as I crested the hill. They were nestled against the bank and took flight as I approached. Circling the reservoir, the falling snow filtered through the trees and softly covered the path. The faster I rode my bike, the more I slid around in the deep powder.

I set out to learn more about my new camera phone and test the case/mounting system for future social media use for Twin Valley Mountain Biking Team. It was a successful venture and my only regret was not having enough time in the day and charge in my phone.

Snow day Insurrection!

We had a small, wet snow fall not too long ago. On the anniversary of the insurrection that wasn’t, Carsen and I went for a ride in the snow.

As usual, I set out with fun, bonding, and photo capture in mind. We enjoyed sliding about and talking. At a split in the trail, I told Carsen to stay straight while I went around that section so I could video him coming down. He slid out in the snow and it must have popped open the battery door on his new wireless transmission. We didn’t know it at the time. His water bottle also ejected during the crash but we didn’t find it until we doubled back.

At the top of the hill CJ told me that he couldn’t shift and looking down, discovered the battery was gone. That was the end; how could something so simple and small ruin our ride? We retraced our route and dug through the snow in the most likely places but came up empty. It was still snow/sleeting this whole time and our tracks had been filling.

It’s an expensive battery. My first instinct was to come back with a metal detector and search our route. This was something I hadn’t done in a long time but seemed the most logical, even if it was a long shot. I’ve got a decent amount of experience looking for hidden things with a metal detector.

We loaded the bikes and drove back to the house, changed into some warmer clothes, and got lights and the metal detector. I didn’t hold a lot of hope but:
1. We needed to try. You don’t just leave expensive kit out on the trail and buy new. What kind of example would that set for my son?
2. I knew it would make for a good story and memory with my boy.

Our ride started in an old rail bed and there was an insane amount of metal in the ground. A cursory search at the surface was enough because our item couldn’t have sunk into the frozen ground.

The light was fading and I knew we should push to the most likely areas before we were searching by headlamp. We still stopped now and again to investigate a heavy metallic signature but took a brisk pace to the initial fall. We spent quite a bit of time there but didn’t find it. Depending on when the door came open, that little battery could have been launched off the trail, never to be found in the brush.

I commented to CJ that when I used to search like this in Afghanistan, every metallic hit could be something I did NOT want to find. It’s amazing to be able to hold memories of the war in my mind and remain at peace. As I was sweeping the snow, my head was filled with different missions and that constant back and forth swing of the metal detector.

That’s all they are now, memories. They don’t hijack my brain or put me in a bad mood. Some thoughts are filled with sadness, but acknowledging the sadness and expressing it in a healthy way is something I’m now capable of thanks to a whole lot of therapy and intense personal reflection.

In the end, I managed to locate the battery on the hill, just beyond where our bikes made contact. It was a miracle; like finding a battery in a snow storm…

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