I have a bit of a thing about the trails we ride. Not the features or the gradient, or even how fun or tough they are to ride. I’m just really taken by their existence and their stubborn, persistence of being. To mash up our philosophical clichés, if a trail in the woods isn’t ridden by Schrödinger’s cat, does it still exist?
All of those trails that we love to ride, they’re there all of the time. When we sleep, that cheeky little drop-off after the corner… that’s still there. When it hammers with rain, those sweeping S-bends of white chalk are damply there. Frictionless, but still there. That view from the top of your favourite hill? It’s there, whether there’s anyone to take in the view (and even when there’s no view, as it’s in a cloud...).