I was crammed into the way-back of a van, squatting on a small piece of carpet with the "hippie dog" perched on my lap as we shuttled towards Lower Rock Creek trailhead, just outside of Mammoth Lakes, California. With the NORBA finals running me in circles for most of the day, the evenings were my only chance to escape. Hoping to unwind, and log a few miles myself, I was on my way to pedal with quite the posse, and running the show were the boys from NiteRider and Bike Magazine. Little did I know, I'd picked the perfect company.

My head was bouncing to the bass and we were passing around cans of Red Bull when the van screeched to a halt and we piled out the back door...into the dark. Unlike any other ride I've ever been on, we purposely waited for the sun to set before we headed for the trail. Our mission: bomb through the night, using NiteRider lights to illuminate the singletrack. Rumor had it, there were beers and burgers at the end of the trail for those who made it.

Outside the NiteRider trailer, Brien Prescott and Tom Vasconi were mounting headlamps on the frames and helmets of the 50 plus riders who'd decided to join the madness.

The NiteRider lamps easily attach to the handlebars and helmets of a bike (and just about anything else, for that matter,) with mini battery packs attaching to the frame. My lamp had three settings and a button mounted against the grip, allowing me to up or down the brightness of the light without taking my eyes off the trail.

I felt a bit like Medusa as I saddled up; on top of my helmet was a head cam with its wires streaming over my skull and snaking their way into my pack. I clicked my light on the brightest possible setting and dropped off the pavement. Ahead of me was the pack of niteriders, who lit the trail like a freeway.

On the singletrack, I let my groove take over. The only objects I saw, or cared to see, were those dead ahead. I ignored the roaring river as we sped within inches of it. I couldn't see the sharp rocks that surrounded the trail, but I knew they were lurking, just waiting to puncture. My eyes were pinned to the track, looking for my line. In fact, I was concentrating so hard, I forgot to blink. Rounding a banked turn, flying full speed and tucked nicely behind my bars, my contact lens popped out and stuck to my eyelash, stopping me in my tracks. I gave it a CamelBak bath, put my lens back where it belonged, and continued to motor.

The previous day, I'd heard some vicious tales of the trail and seen the scabs to prove it. I was waiting for that unexpected drop to buck me from my bike or the sharp turn to bloody my face, but the light gave me just enough time to react to any obstacle that dared clutter my line. Occasionally my pedals would ping against a rock or an unexpected corner would force me to lock 'em up, but for the most part, we were screaming through the dark, leaning into each corner, hoping that the line we'd picked was just right.

A ways into the trail I heard that unforgettable hissing sound as my rear tire deflated. I pulled off the singletrack and cut my light, allowing my eyes to adjust. For first time since we'd left the pavement, I realized the situation. The moon was so bright it illuminated the surrounding cliffs. It was nearing 10pm and not a soul was in sight. I'd just discovered a new world. Normally, my knobbies sat idle when the sun set, but the possibilities were now endless. Feeling the singletrack pulsing through my veins, imagining all the great trails I could ride in the dark, I found myself howling at the moon...

Well, reality kicked back in when it occurred to me that I was without a spare tube. I searched the deepest pocket of my pack without finding a patch, but soon enough, Dave Posey from Bike Magazine who was sweeping the group, rolled up with the proper supplies and a bleeding shin. He'd taken quite the digger and we used our lights to assess the damage. No serious trauma, just part of the fun. Using our headlamps to illuminate the tire, we made the change and the chaos resumed.

The trail crossed several bridges and threaded a few monster boulders as it wound downhill. Not much pedaling involved, just smooth, swooping turns and tight, technical descents.

As we neared the end of the trail, the singletrack began to widen and we let loose, jumping out of the saddle and stepping the speed up a notch. The end was in sight. I didn't want it to stop, but then again, just beyond the reach of my light, I could see the shindig in full effect.

We pulled onto the pavement where the party was bumpin'. In the parking lot at the end of the trail sat the crew from Bike Magazine and NiteRider, who had the grill kickin' and the kegs flowing.

After a single burger and several beers, I determined without a doubt — riding singletrack well after dark is definitely my second most favorite thing to do at night.

— Lucas Kane, riding with his eyes closed, for MountainZone.com