On Saturday I headed to Syncline Trail with Jason, who’d borrowed a Cannondale Jekyll. If each model in the Cannondale line has a slightly different purpose, the Jekyll seems to be designed for testing unorthodox rear shocks. Remember the “trunion mount” Jekyll? I do. In fact I sold some of those bikes, which is something I’m going to have to live with for the rest of my life.

This current version is much better. For one thing it doesn’t have the unique 50-degree seat tube feel from Jekyll days of yore. As is the Jekyll way, it’s sporting no less than a double-cannistered ray-gun-looking pull shock. Both Cannondale and Scott seem committed to sticking with classic single-pivot/faux bar bike designs, but building them as exotic and carbon-fibery as possible, and going all-out on linkage and rear shock uniqueness. Based on my brief and less than scientific analysis, I thought this current Jekyll rode particularly well. Not sure what living with that rear shock would actually entail, but I rode around very briefly on the new Jekyll without looking around in a panic for my 29er, which is unusual for me when trying to ride a 26-inch wheel bike.

One of the best things about riding here is the terrain. You get so many completely different types of terrain all packed into such a small area–sometimes within the span of a single ride. Having never been to Syncline before, we took care to do almost everything wrong, climbing what we’re pretty sure was Maui Trail, one trail further East than we’d intended, and much of the trail was exposed, little to no canopy cover, with dry, loose rocks on the climbs alternating with the occasional rock steps and slabs. Sure, you’re in the Pacific Northwest–big deep forests and stuff–but one of the sections on Syncline is named “Little Moab,” and not ironically. Once at the top we ended up on what I’m pretty sure was Crybaby, based on the off-cambers and sheer plummet of doom to the all-too immediate right. Under any type of tree-cover the ferns and mossy trees appeared again, along with enormous quantities of Poison Oak. It’s that time of year at Syncline, apparently. Some of the most fun, steep descents were made even more fun by my mad slaloming to avoid patches of the sickly shimmering stuff. Then out onto the rock outcrops where Mt. Hood comes into view again. Some fantastic riding, but we left a lot still unexplored. Definitely have to go back.

Rolling out of the parking lot earlier that morning, I’d noticed a guy riding a Corsair Marque. You just don’t see that too often, so it left an impression. Later we met him again on the climb and struck up a conversation. Likely fearing we were rabid brick-and-mortar guys, he was a little evasive at first about the bike’s origins, but admitted finally that he’d bought it from a place called Speedgoat. So the first person I talk to on a trail in the Pacific Northwest bought his frame from me–and such a nice guy. He was one of those guys who’s genuinely happy to be talking about the trails. I made a brief introduction, thanked him, and wished him a good ride. To this day I think some of what Pablo Tafoya was doing with those designs was really cool, but I was happy to hear the owner of the Marque was a mechanical engineer.

The best part of the ride, other than the views and the descent, had to be this, the best written “No Trespassing” sign ever written, pointed out to me by Jason.

It almost made me wish we’d brought cheese and wine.

You can find some good Syncline information over here.