DrinkWire is Liquor.com's showcase for the best articles, recipe and reviews from the web's top writers and bloggers. In this post, The Spirited Novice offers opinions on pairing whisk(e)y with mountain-biking routes.

As the seasons change, and the local mountain bike trails see less greenery and cold beer respites mid-ride, the new orange and brown hues, ever so picturesque, dance through the shadows, a new type of trail thirst begins: that of the whiskey flask.

Where in mid-summer humidity finds a desirable break with a crisp Indian Pale Ale or a Lager, they just don’t reach deep enough to warm our souls with reckless abandon, leaving us to brave the trails well after the fair-weather crowd has taken their leave. The remaining assemblage is made up of more than just those who find solace in small group camaraderie or those who savor miles of difficult single track with barely a hint of other riding groups. No, these individuals transcend such tidal things, and as such, long for liquids that quench more than just their thirst. They look for strong, deep flavors that hit the spot with but one swig, bringing smiles and laughter to all that share.

These thoughts run rampant in my mind as I navigate every log, every rock on my path, I start to ponder: What types of whiskeys would be best suited for different trail riding occasions? Having experienced the pleasure of riding in all types of misery, and of sampling a variety of whiskeys while enjoying the blood, sweat, and tears of laughter when another falls, I feel that I am appropriately qualified to tackle the subject in question.

Fall has arrived in the Appalachians

When fall arrives, we find ourselves caught in the middle of the transition from the stifling summer months to the bone-chilling winter ones. The 50-degree mornings are not quite warm enough for a T-shirt and shorts, but not cold enough to warrant a heavy coat. The earthy leaves adorn the trails just thickly enough to produce that “Oh, shit!” moment when you find yourself pushing the boundaries of speed vs. skill. It is at this point that I like to pause, feeling pleasantly sweaty, and giggling over near-misses on the trail, to pass around a great bourbon. Elijah Craig 12 Year fits perfectly into the picture with light wood flavor and a sweet smooth finish. The palate is still rambunctious enough to antagonize small banter between the “already grimy” and the “pristine”, getting us all ready for the trail ahead.

Green, wet, and grey of the great North West

It is 60 degrees, yet somehow it’s freezing. Only these wet surroundings and cool damp air could bring forth the deepest kind of forest green that leaves you feeling alive with hubris. The ground is a lush and nutrient-rich, yet suspiciously slippery when you need it to stick. Moss grows on whitened rocks as you descend into shadowed woods and unannounced drops leaving your adrenaline on constant standby. Stops are met with “Did you see that?” and “How did I/you/we survive that?” Wide-eyed and grinning from ear to ear, I feel that this place begs for Johnny Walker Black Label Scotch. With its smoky smell, yet fruity finish, this complex scotch leaves you just as happily perplexed as the next round of “I did not die!” trails. After the initial rush of the trails and burn of the whiskey, what remains is a calming notion that you are a part of something much bigger, vaster, more complex, which just begs to be explored.

Is that snow on the hill?

The bone-chilling winter cold has finally arrived, but you are determined to grin and bear it. What once was a fast-pace chase on the rampart of bone chattering trails now becomes a question of how to achieve a pace without creating so much wind that you find your fingers frozen to the handlebars. Perhaps just as bad as the leaf-covered trails of fall, the snow-white serenity of every hill leaves you second guessing the line your partner just took. “Was that really the trail line, or am I going into a ditch?” What seems like an eternity later, at the midway stopping point, you find yourself furiously rubbing your hands together in a frantic attempt to produce some heat. Now is the time to pull out the rye whiskey. Catoctin Creek’s Roundstone Rye has a particular spice that warms those chattering bones enough to loosen up movement in the iciest of places. Floral notes hit your nose at the beginning and last midway through the palate and, as it works its way back, the magic of the rye finishes it off with a long spicy note that endures long after you have returned to once again brave the cold.

The pre-spring thaw

As the days get longer and the wet dark brown of our long trails slowly start turning green, we see slightly warmer, but still crisp temperatures, and yearn for what is to come around the season’s bend. The long, hard, off-season winter training is now being replaced by playful frolics on local swooping trails. The exhalations of exhilaration and tears of break-neck speed doggedly let down by over-confidence are met with laughter by all. We feel the change in the earth; the environment is asking us to take part in this cleansing of winter run-off and we oblige until there is no breath left to talk with. We slide our backs down a rough tree trunk and into a sitting position, still attempting to get words out over long, haggard breaths. This is where a mellow Irish whiskey shines. Tullamore D.E.W. 12 Year Special Reserve hit the spot with its light and playful touches of vanilla and cream, wetting the mouth with vibrancy. The smell of sweet fruit plays well with the growth around you, and the taste of mellow honey puts the smirk of youth and life on your face, as you stash it away for the next stop along the trail.

A new trail appears

Often times you might hear the term “Whiskey Trail” used by people in search for bottles of this or that, or a distillery here or there — a path with an ending. Mine is different every time I find myself on it: new experiences, new friends, and new tastes. It is because of this that my whiskey trail never ends.

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