Intercontinental Ballistic Mercedes Benz
By Jonathan Riebli

Never fails. Whenever the coolest stuff happens (or the most unusual even if it isn't cool) you're alone and if you could describe it, like actually vocalize it, you couldn't because words can't do it justice

And, anyway, if you found words, you'd be accused of waxing hyperbolic.

So, that's the spot I'm in here. It's not as of the last time I got on a bicycle the front wheel was bigger than the rear. Not quite. Way back when mountain biking first started, I remember being in Crested Butte for a friend's wedding and, as usual, I had my enduro bike hanging off the back bumper of "Ambassadora".

During a break in the weekend, well, maybe weeklong, revelry and at a time when I felt sober enough to ride quasi-safely, I took off up toward Maroon Belles. I'd done the Crested Butte-Aspen ride many times (and been marooned in the Maroons). This time I'd have to be conservative because I was alone and there was still quite a bit of ethanol in my veins. I ran across a guy named Rich who was on a big-tire three-speed cruiser and talked him into switching with me. With full motocross gear on a bicycle, I had my first taste of mountain biking. Fabulous.

The next time I crashed my dirt bike and had to go to the hospital was the last time. I said sayonara to motorcycles (at least until recently) and bought a mountain bike.

This was like the Ice Age of Bicycling, circa 1977-79. No one disputes that mountain biking saved the industry. And, in recent years, with ski areas opening their trails to bikes in the summer and fat asses like myself being able to ride a lift to the top instead of pedaling there, the industry has again responded with bikes especially designed to do this.

And, since evolution is the driving force, bikes are now extremely complicated, technologically advanced and, if you're a little crazy, you can really haul ass on the newer generation bikes. It's like you become invincible. This is great until it all comes to a crashing halt and you gimp away not being able to lift your arms for a week or so.

Of course, you can never quite put your finger on the exact maneuver that eats you and, sometimes in retrospect you don't even remember being eaten. I remember one time when I was racing enduro's and after a day trying to keep up, when I took off my riding clothes I noticed, for the first time, that my underwear were full of tree roots and, to this day, I don't know how they got there.

I've felt the hand of the earth reach out and grab a wheel while full bore down some single track. I understand the idea of the earth suddenly smashing into your face, or vice versa if you believe that you're actually the one in control. And, through time, I've had many opportunities to ride the best bikes available, from Kleins to custom-made titanium. And, around Taos, we have some of the finest riding in any one place. Varied terrain and varied lengths. I mean, you name it and it's available

Now I had this unbelievable chance to match these trails with the full-suspension Mercedes Benz Mountain Bike. First introduction, though, came in California. As pleasurable as it may be zooming down the streets of Pacific Grove or shooting around the "boardwalk" in Monterey that can't be compared to high-speed get-offs or somersaulting into rocks and brush (or the looming fact that it's going to happen.) And that part is what I'll tell you about.

I will say that, just like it advertises, I got the Mercedes in a suitcase with almost everything necessary to make it rideable except air in the tires. That last was a hassle because the MB has presta valves. But, I met the challenge.

Full suspension. Disc brakes. Everything top-line, except the running gear which, surprisingly, was XT and not XTR (shame on you, Mercedes).

And, light. Like 23 pounds. My initial ride was uneventful. To the top of Pacific Grove and then down into town and on to the seawall. Just feeling out the bike and trying to adjust the ride. I noticed some problems here and made some mental notes about adjustments I'd make when I got back to my tool box. The seat post was long and the stop at the bottom of its tube to keep it out of the suspension, prevented it from getting down to a comfortable height. So, it needed to be cut a couple inches. The brakes were super-tight. For disc brakes, that's not good. Overall, it took a couple of good rides to finally get the bike dialed to where I felt comfortable enough to go flat out on it and see what it could do.

Back in New Mexico, the first serious shake-down cruises were done on a trail known as Divisadero Peak, right outside Taos. Tight switchbacks, rocky terrain, mega up in places but steady up everywhere. If you ride up the front side and then around and down the back, you can get a good feel for any bike because of the variety of terrain.

The first time was death defying. I hadn't cut the seat tube enough and both front and rear suspensions were not correctly pre-loaded. This is important. Because of the way the front AMP link suspension works, either too loose or too tight will pitch you forward. You can imagine the downside to this when you're flat out. Suffice to say the first outing was an experience. Both the ride and the risks exhilarated me. Cool, though. I'd had a peek at the prize.

The next ride up Divisadero was just a fine-tuning deal. I'd cut the seat tube. The suspension had been used enough to where it had "settled" and could be adjusted for keeps. The brakes were perfectly led and could be relied upon to not grab. By now, I probably had about 80-100 miles on the bike and I'd had a couple get-offs. But, the ride was there. It was time.

Talking Greg into anything is as easy as making the call. "Let's do a Gallina high speed." The stage was set.

HIGH SPEED TEST 1

The up-hill from Greg's house to the top of the Gallina Canyon is a short 20-minute sprint, if you're a sprinter. If you're "Sluggo", you can commiserate with the squirrels and birds and not have to worry about running off a cliff. Once at the top, the story changes.

Like anything, if you do it a lot, you can get pretty good at it. Knowing where to glide; where the rut entries and exits are; where there're no rocks in the creek-bed: these are all clear advantages. It had been a while since I'd been down the Gallina, but I was familiar enough with it to accommodate minor changes.

The trail is single-track with mild terrain changes, but for the most part it's downhill in a fair decline. It follows along a little stream that, at the right time of the year, can sweep your bike out from under you. Otherwise, it corkscrews around big pine and streaks through small aspen groves, just like you'd want a bike trail to do. Oh, so pastoral!

NOT!

Try this tranquil little setting using a highspeed sled, sucking in the terrain; glissading across contours and small shale slides; swooping up small inclines; catch a little air and then a berm-shot in the bottom of a creek bed. And then full speed into another grove of gold keeping a perfect eye about 40 or 50 yards out in front. What a sightseeing trip!

My body positioning. Nothing had changed over how I would normally ride a hard-at-both-ends bike. I still used the tank hug-stand on the pegs motorcycle stance. The difference, Big Time! No sore forearms. No hands tingling so badly that you have to look at them to see if they were still gripping the bars or were just flapping.

Awesome control. With the suspension in conjunction with body position, I was able to run full bore into corners and then grab just enough disc brake to slow but not skid the front end. And then, with the rear end unweighted just enough to lose a little adhesion, I could flick it into just the perfect attack angle to either exit or enter the turn. I was in heaven and Greg (remember him) was in the dust. He later said that he just flat couldn't keep up because of the jostling he was getting on the Klein. Of course, aluminum frames and drop-bars will really stiffen a ride.

I finally hit the crossover to make the return loop back to Greg's house and I waited for nearly five minutes before Greg showed. Needless to say, for my first real downhill, go-for-it ride, this bike performed flawlessly. But, by now, I was beginning to appreciate other little things about the bike. Mostly, and again this ride unveiled it, the rear wheel was almost glued down when climbing through rough terrain. Combined with the light weight, this bike was scoring on both sides of the deal: up and down.

HIGHER SPEED TEST 2

Another day. This time, however, no Greg (off somewhere.) I knew my time with the bike was nearing an end. I figured I'd ride the Gallina again since it was safer(?) for a solo flight. Like I got a little bit of blab going here, but remember when I said at the beginning that the cool stuff happens when you're alone? This was one of those times. Remember the priest in Caddyshack I? This was my day in the Gallina.

For added security, I threw my cell phone in my fanny pack along with some other staffs of life and set out. People assume a cell phone buys a lot of security. Unless, of course, you're too dazed to remember the emergency number. Or you can't make your fingers move the buttons. Sometimes, however, cell phones ring at the absolute worst times.

When I made the "first top" and descended toward the first creek crossing, I was searching my mental notes from the previous day and remembered where to go into the creek and come out going up the correct hump. The road is deeply rutted here, partly the remains of the Turkey Creek Gang. But, these ruts are unrideable and, if you get sucked into one, you go down. It's not a bad down but at a bad spot because it's almost impossible to get a rhythm again and you usually wind up walking out of the hole.

Not this time.

Perfect in and out. And riding up the hump and just rounding the corner with my heart making visible pumps on my chest wall - bleep bleep bleep - my cell phone goes off. I thought my ears were ringing and that I was about to have "the big one". That was it. I turned the phone off for the duration. I'll take my chance that there're enough breaths left in me to turn it on before I really need it.

The upper portion of the Gallina, even now that I knew the newer lay of the land, is always tough. Lots to see and not enough time to do everything. You wind up having to really slow your pace or risk losing momentum with heavy braking periods. Usually, I just select as close to high as I can get, gear wise, and just power in and out and stand on the pedals when I really need to torque through something. And I did just that.

The difference is the amount of speed that you can carry through turns with the suspension system on the MB. Mind you, the total movement of the suspension, as best I can describe and still be able to tell you about it and not keep driving my spoon into my forehead, is short; only about two inches. This is not a long-legged bike. You still have to do what I was doing to make the bike work and, that is, suspend your body on the suspension. And then, with the disc brakes, you can reel in just enough of the speed to effect control. It's just a different braking feel than out-board mounted rim grabbers. Much more controllable and, thus, you don't need as much to accomplish your direction changes. A little brake; a little body position, and you're on to the next one.

Since I'd timed my descent on both days, I had a good measure. I was blown away to find that I had trimmed almost four and a half minutes off the descent. That's a lot of time and I could tell, while it was happening, that I was faster into and out of the turns; a lot faster. And, totally controlled. In retrospect, if I'd ridden a third straight day, I could have trimmed a couple more minutes off. Or, I could have trimmed a little off some part of my body in the effort. It's unbelievable how much control you can exert over something when a bunch of your energy is not getting spun off through rough handling and riding.

With the high-speed portions complete, and Mercedes wanting their bike back, I had just enough time to put one last ride together. I tried talking someone into joining me with no luck. I finally got my landlord to drive me to the Santa Fe Ski Basin where I'd heard of a trail called Winsor.

KAMIKAZE RUN THROUGH THE WOODS

I'd only heard of the trail. It sounded too good to be true. Drive to the trailhead at the start and then plunge downhill for nine miles into the Tesuque/Bishops Lodge area of Santa Fe. The initial part, through logging slash and generally gnarly roots and branches and an occasional water bar or log step, made me glad that I'd over-aired the tires into the 40 psi range. I'd come to find that you could run higher air pressures with the suspension. As a matter of fact, high pressure is almost mandatory to realize the full potential of the shocks or links or what have you.

I was generally burning along through here and then started a short ascent that was an easy stand-on-the-pedal event considering how much speed I'd learned to carry on this bike.

As you can tell, my confidence level on this bike had elevated pretty high. I was approaching invincible. Just point and go as close to flat out as possible. So, when I started off down the second part and the actual trail itself (since the first part had been gutted with log slash) I immediately went into high gear.

Just about as immediately, the whole deal came to a crashing halt.

I'd managed to get a good head of speed in the first 100 yards of the trail. When I saw the first step, I was almost on top of it before I could react. Off I went, just catching a little braking surface before going airborne; landing in a rocky rut; and then going off another step, this one about 24 inches as opposed to the 18 or so of the first one (who's counting?). And then right back into a single-track, rock-strewn rut. When I grabbed any brake I could, I knew immediately that it was too much. Airborne again, but this of my own velocity. "Oh, shit, this is gonna' hurt!" Over I went, a complete 360 before separating and performing the famous "flying W".

I came to a rest, still clipped to the bike by one foot and thinking immediately of my promise to Craig Morningstar at Mercedes Benz that I wouldn't hurt the bike. I was crashed, blood just showing on my shin and knee, but the bike was fine. And I remember Monty Python's "just a scratch" and got back on and took off before my senses totally gripped me and made me slow down. I had time to make up on the clock that was ticking in the back of my mind. Maybe it wasn't a tick, but a drum beating instead, like on the old slave ships. Anyway, I was on it.

What I was doing, going full speed down a trail I'd never seen before, was bound to take its toll but I'd decided that I could push it as far as possible before breaking the "twig". Push it I did. What a ride! I mean single-track heaven across side-hills with 80-100 foot drops if you go off. Not free fall. You'd get to ricochet off a couple of big pines on the way down.

Every so often I'd come into a stretch of log or rock steps and now I was totally onto the technique and would quickly shoot my butt back beyond the seat and kind of lower over the rear wheel. Man, I mean, talk about control with this bike! It was cookie dough. I could stick it anywhere and it would track along there. And, when the going got rough, I could just steer the front wheel through the rocks and, staying off the seat, the rear end would just follow along and not go through any big skipping scenes.

My confidence was rebuilding after my first disaster and I found myself willing to let the bike run freely along the contours and I was able to pick up huge amounts of speed. Of course, this just kept gaining and, at the same time, I was soon out-riding my ability to absorb the trail ahead. When I began noticing "another" trail below me, the last thing I thought was "switchback".

Sure as anything, I noticed that I was quickly running out of trail and going out onto a point and, yes, the trail was falling away in a sharp 180 left. I grabbed as much brake as I dared, considering the speed, the sidehill, the terrain and, when I still didn't have enough speed scrubbed at the absolute end of the trail, I "last ditch efforted" the bike into the corner, pitching it into a soft berm on the outside of the trail. The front wheel stuck and, like a cruise missile, I went straight over the handlebars and right off the end of the point. I saw the leg get whacked off the knight. "What? You think you've hurt me."

But the drum was gonging stronger than ever and, only to feed the frenzy of a shark, I grabbed the bike, hopped back on and took off down the trail, like Napolean looking for Waterloo. Within moments, I was going as fast as ever. At one point, I remember coming across a couple of guys riding UP the trail. Can you imagine that? Whatever for? This trail was meant for going down and this bike was meant for going down it. I remember hearing these guys mutter: "Far out bike," as I winged by.

Did I say it ran along a creek? Oh yeah, all the way. In and out of water. Some deep, some wide, some rocky, some with logs... Get the picture? You're in and out of water all the time. On a regular bike, you'd be in a panic with the constant wetness around the rim braking surface but, with disc brakes, once again, fully controllable speed no matter how out of control the rider.

This trail was full of continual surprises but, like anything, the more you do it the better you get. All told, it took me 90 minutes to make the nine-mile descent into Bishops Lodge. Oh, I stopped a couple more times outside of the get-offs. Just to take in the view or to refresh my body or, once, just because I honestly thought if I didn't stop I'd kill myself.

I can hardly wait to get another try at this trail. Without a doubt, it's totally possible to descend this in an hour flat, maybe even less. No stops; no get-offs; just balls-to-the-wall for the whole nine miles. Did I say an hour flat? Less. Couple of times and you could edge down to the 45-minute mark. Think about that: Running flat out through the woods to average 12 mph. Kind of reminds me of my old enduro days when I'd run flat out just to stay on my minute in a 15mph section.

Take notice of some of the things that I haven't talked about in this diatribe. Things like forearms tingling; back aching; thighs burning. You've not heard it because it didn't happen. Clean, refreshing riding. No big pains of unknown sources. There's nothing you can do about some of the bruises and scrapes and most of these are of non-specific origin. Those you get anyway, no matter how much you've paid for the bike.

So, ultimately, you get to the point in the story where you say: "Would I buy the item?" In all fairness to Mercedes, what they've done, is paste their name on an AMP package and make the item a little more portable than your standard issue AMP.

It's yours to decide. The bike is brilliant. The price is $3,300 with the Mercedes Benz star. However, I'm on a budget here. If I were buying, I'd go for the technology but I'd leave the AMP nameplate on it. I'd upgrade all the components to at least XTR. Beyond that, there wouldn't be much else to change. I'm saying that you could buy this bike without the Mercedes name, but with upgraded components for a price in the $2,000 to $2,200 range. That's a saving of some $1,100 to $1,300.

Then again, that star has major impact whether on a car, truck or bike. Your call.

COOL HAULINGS:
New Chevy vs Old Toyota (This is a TEST?)

By Jonathan Riebli

The Mission, should you wish to accept it: use a '97 Chevy C/K 4X4 pickup to do the weekly Way 2 Cool Soda run to Taos. How does this stack up to the usual delivery wagon: an '85 Toyota X-tra cab with 225,000 miles on the odo? In brief: the difference between making it and maybe not.

THE BLIND TASTE TEST

Receive the vehicle in total darkness as in, "It's parked out front," and catching the keys in-flight. First impressions: Plush interior. Even when it's cold outside, it has the "warm" feel as soon as you settle in. Fire it up. Quiet. You have to look at the tach to make sure it's running. Adjust the mirrors. Perfect. Slip it into "R". No clunk. Smooth. Quiet. Drive it around to the loading dock and slide in 35 cases of Way 2 Cool. It's definitely higher than the Toyota. Quick look down the side. Hmmm. Bumpers aren't dragging. Fill 'er up. Estimated weight: 1,500 pounds. Isn't that what's said on the side? The Toyota at this point would already be giving it up... Off to the first stop - 15 cases of Way 2 Cool off; 18 of wine back on. Still no squat.

Dark. Ready to go to Taos. Hop back in. It's still comfie. Is the engine running? Yep, the tach says so. Reach out for radio control. Wow. A knob. No push bar. Set the radio right on where you know the station is. Way 2 Easy. Now, lights. What's the green headlight icon on the dash mean? I drive across Santa Fe in near dark with just the running lights on, fidgeting with the dimmer trying to get the dash lights to work. At the last stop light I find the right switch and the display lights up. Ah ha. The green light's gone. (My first experience with daytime running lights which are on all GM vehicles.)

Zoom on up Opera Hill. Wow. This is power. Nice steady pull even loaded like it is. Traffic's moving about 65. No problem. The stereo radio's really pounding out the sounds. Neil Young praising his "Transformer Man". Man, this is really livin'! I feel like I'm gliding along behind a picture window on the traffic. So, this is what the world looks like! Wow, what a ride! Smo-o-o-oth. I have to remind myself that it's a 4X4. That's what the lever's for, right? As I pull into Espanola, Jackson Browne is just starting on "Lawless Avenues". It's funny how life has those coincidences. Looking out on the sea of low riders and tinted windows,I feel like a target. For a moment, I want my Toyota. But like a flash, it's all behind me and I'm out on the road again. The clouds are just catching a hint of red as the sun is sailing over Gallup and the whole Espanola Valley is lit with this eery glow, kind of like Toledo (in a storm). No not Ohio, the other Toledo.

Finally the road narrows to two lanes. Almost home. And, of course there's the requisite "I'll race ya' to the narrows and then poke at 45." Not this time, Rollo. Mash the throttle and see ya' later. As I'm heading to the first 90 degree bend (the one that always slows down the "novice" hard chargers) I let off and the truck just seems to set up perfectly for the turn. Around it. Smooth. I'm impressed. I'm able to run up the canyon curves at a solid 70 without a hint of sway. But, the real test for this truck is still ahead.

Pilar Hill. From river level to the top of the mesa, it's one shot, no level-offs and just a couple of turns near the top. This is where the Toyota excels. People can't believe it when I sail past on the up-hill. The Chev is no slug either, but I'm only able to get it to about 75 from an almost stopped 20 at the bottom. A quick check on the gas gauge tells me that I've paid dearly for the express.

Finally, the lights of Taos are upon me.

THE 4X4 TEST

The best 4X4 test is to get to where you can without using four wheel drive. Once again, off to Taos Ski Valley for deliveries. They've had eight inches of fresh snow over-night. I'm already half empty so the drive up is really quick. Even the little bit of slush doesn't make the truck loose and I get all the way to the Ski Valley without even going into 4X4. As I pull up to the guard shack, Dean looks at me and says, "I can't believe you broke down and got a new truck. I didn't. Only a test. Can I go up to the St. B?"

Now, THIS is a test. In my Toyota, I have to get a run at this hill. It goes straight up and then turns sharp left about midway and gets even steeper. If there're any skiers coming across, you don't make it. As I slid by the pagoda I was begging someone to step out so I'd have to stop. No luck. Instead, I choose to creep up. I got it to just spin at the hook, switched into 4X4 and rolled on up to the top. This is really livin'. Quick unload. Junior says, "You should ski."

Back down to Tim's, my last stop. In walks Greg. "You should ski," are the first words out. Now I'm curious. Let's see, what's stopping me? Nothin'. Off I go. Grab a ticket and a pair of parabolicas; get some stuff out of my locker at Club Lock Up and it's "highway to hell". First run: Spencer Bowl. Wow, shin-to-knee deep snow everywhere. Then, on up to The Chutes, Pipeline, Blitz. Total burn until the bell rings then back down the mountain. As I climb into the Chev, I'm instantly reminded about the plush. I need it. Every part of my body is pulsing. Quick, grab some ibuprofen.

THE TEN DOLLAR TEST
Well, how far did I get on gas. Hard to say but an even bet would be it takes $30 to fill the tank. Ten looked like a third. So, the same ten in the Toyota and I was like almost a week farther down the road. Lesson learned: All is plush but it sucks down the gas. I wonder what it would have been if I'd had my foot in it. But, for the 250% gas increase, the trade-offs are immense. The luxury can't be denied. Then, the four wheel drive, as I've always maintained, in Taos you can get by without it.