Fat biking is, ultimately, just mountain biking with big tires, but it’s also it’s own beast and it required that I turn off my autopilot and really consider all manner of things that I stopped considering decades ago on a “normal” mountain bike. And so began a long journey filled with little discoveries. Or, well, really not so crazy at all when you think about it for a bit. Inner unicorn thoroughly shaken, I dumped some air pressure at the bottom of the mountain and vowed to return the following day.Ĭrazy what a difference 2 or 3 psi can make in a tire that large. My sphincter muscle got an unholy workout as steep descents generally consisted of dread mixed with a pinch of panic and then topped off with a towering heap of terror. Despite the Jumbo rubber, I was ping-ponging down frozen chutes and ricocheting off icy roots that I didn’t even know existed. I can’t remember what I set my tire pressure at, but it was, apparently, waaay too high. When faced with the choice of flailing about in the snow on a fat bike or staying home and actually fixing the broken things I promised to fix, I will always choose the flailing. Simple joys-like being the only soul to lay tracks off of a little log drop today.īut then the weather gods went on a bender, Washington got good and buried in snow and those 4.8-inch Schwalbe Jumbo Jims started to call my name from the dark corner of my shop.
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