For pure, dirty fun, hang with Disciples.

Byline: THE OUTSIDER By John Rezell The Register-Guard

It wasn't as though I'd lost all feeling in my toes. Oh, I could feel them, all right. All 10 of them. Like nubby ice cubes crammed into my boots.

That's to be expected - cold toes - after spending five hours playing around in the chilly, soggy woods on your mountain bike.

I looked down at my boots caked in mud and wondered why that extra layer or two wasn't working like insulation.

Hey, given everything else that transpired on Saturday at "the clandestine singletrack stash of the Disciples of Dirt" - aka Whypass - why not wonder about defying the laws of nature?

Because, simply put, that's exactly what the Disciples managed to do, at least in my mind: Defy the laws of nature, as I know them. They did it last year when they introduced me to mountain biking at night at Whypass, and did it again when they opened their little secret stash south of Eugene for others to share.

Excuse me if this reads like mindless rambling. That's because, for the life of me, I can't isolate a single image to sum up the magic of Whypass, where the sum of the parts exponentially exceeds the whole.

I mean, listen, this renegade pack of mountain bikers have found the way to capture the essence of the sport so thoroughly I can't really explain it, aside from my tired cheeks - fatigued by five hours of smiling.

The Disciples put out the word on the Internet (Disciplesofdirt.org) about their little get together and, viola! - Saturday morning there were nearly 100 mountain bikers from all around the Northwest getting their bikes ready up at the gravel pile.

Granted, we were all blessed with a fantastic January day. Temps in the 40s are fine and dandy as long as there isn't a constant downpour. The temperature warmed up enough to thaw out the 15 miles of trail and turn them into challenging mud.

But still, 100 people? They came from Corvallis and Seattle, from all over Eugene, and all over Oregon. Just to have some fun in the mud. And, as I've said, these guys know about fun.

When Dave Hallock looked for a show of hands for who has been to what they call the "Third Annual All Comers Meat," about half went up. When he asked who was a rookie, the other half appeared to go up.

Then we split into groups, based on level of ability and/or desire. That means just find the group that's right for you, where your only worry is having too much fun.

For me, that meant jumping in with the Slackers as opposed to, say, the Hammerheads. And with that, we were off into the woods where, over the years, these dudes have carved a wonderland for mountain bikers building and maintaining their own trails.

Once we rolled up the mountain away from the hoard of vehicles at the gravel pile, that was it. You couldn't tell if there were 10 or 100 mountain bikers swarming the trails.

Every five to 10 minutes, our group re-grouped. With a Disciple out front and one bringing up the rear, they made sure everyone stayed together. And they made sure we had fun.

Oh, boy, did we. Have fun, that is. I can't think of any time, much less the last time, I've seen so many people smiling and laughing - simply having the times of their lives - nearly nonstop for five hours. Pure joy. Pure mountain biking.

The demographics crisscrossed all lines - gender, age, income, politics, education, height, weight, hair color, gear choice, suspension preference - heck, even species (a couple of dogs tagged along).

You name it.

Everyone, undeniably, appeared to have a great time. Eventually everyone piled into their vehicles and disappeared down the road, leaving me wondering just how these guys do that. And, of course, how to keep my toes warmer next year.

- John Rezell, aka Raz, wants an invitation to join you on your next outdoor adventure. Contact him at [e-mail].