I am a mountain biker

After Moab last year, I spent a good bit of time and energy trying to be a 'real' bike racer.  One of those with sponsors, responsibilities, race schedules, training plans, and clean, functional, bikes.  (Okay, I was lying about that last one)  I fretted about teams, training, what races I wanted to do, how I was going to afford it, and FatCamp.  I rode hill after hill in the quest for fitness, not only burning the candle on both ends, but taking a giant blow-torch to it, melting the wax until I stopped trying to ride with people because I was too tired to keep up. 

I'd rest tomorrow, I needed fitness today.

And then I came to my senses.  In the middle of a long skate ski at Devils Thumb, I stopped halfway up a hill, looked at the sky, and screamed.  It was a weekday, so luckily, no one was around to hear my insanity.  I AM SO SICK SICK SICK OF TRAINING! I informed the universe.  I WANT TO RIDE MY BICYCLE!  ON A TRAIL! ON ROCKS AND ROOTS AND DROPS AND LEDGES!  I am an addict, and I cracked.

So we went to the desert.  To clear our minds.  To clear our hearts.  To refresh our spirits.

It nearly didn't happen.  A spring storm closed in on the state Friday afternoon.  We learned that it had been raining all day in Fruita and was scheduled to do so for the rest of the night, ensuring that trails would be clay and we'd be reduced to having driven 4 hours to ride pavement. Vail Pass closed (forcing us to eat a RiceCrispy treat at Starbucks) and the drive tested our resolve for tires to touch dirt.

 

It was only when we awoke to sunshine at the glorious White House (that was actually yellow) in Grand Junction that we allowed our hopes up.  Just slightly.  Could the trails have dried out overnight?  You never know until you look.

Single track is like a long lost lover.  After a six month hiatus, we were rusty at first.  Testing the limits, continuing old coversations, starting new ones.  Feeling out how each of us had changed over the course of a snow covered, dark winter.

I'd forgotten the joys of riding with others.  Specifically, of riding trails with others.  Of hooting and hollering down twisty ribbons of dirt among the junipers.  Of shouting encouragement as people sessioned rocked gardens.

 

Of using a team effort to fix a broken brake with a strip of ducktape.

 

Of grinning and laughing and joking and the desert miles rolled away under our wheels.

 

This, now this, is why a ride a bike. 

It's not to see the maximum amount of power I can put out in a 17 minute LT interval.  Or how fast I can ride a 100 miles in the high mountains of Colorado.  Or how many miles I can ride in circles in a 24 hour period and then contact Guinness' Book of World Records to seal my name in the history books of mountain biking.  And it's definitely not about the amout of free stuff I can get from the bike industry.

Nope.  None of that.  It's about smiles.  And friends.  And wide open vistas.  And laughing until our bellies hurt when the staff of La Guatalajarra's sings Carney Happy Birthday in spanish after he just drug himself back to Fruita after finishing the Rim Ride in Moab (and we'd all downed our fair share of beer and margs while waiting).

It's about Martian landscapes, and big wheels, and switching ponies for laps of Mary's.  It's about seeing BeautyWild rally my Waltworks and proceed to try to trade me some gels for it after collectively deciding her pony didn't even remotely fit her.  It's about collectively cursing broken ponies, and seeing them as an opportunity for new ones (we all know Jj wants to ride a Waltworks in her heart).

It's about allowing a Y-chromosome to join us for our second day of frolicing in the sun, shading our eyes from white legs and wondering how it's possible to get a sunburn under arm warmers.

 

It's about giving difficult issues a good long think and emerging at the trailhead certain what to do about them.

It's about love.  Pony-love.  Trail-love.  Friend-love.  And even boy-love.  Sometimes you just need to go to a very big place to feel very small, and from that smallness, feel an infinite about of energy radiating from those around you, those who you love, and cherish, and admire.

In the end, maybe it is about the bike.  As a vehicle for so much that is good in this world.

Comments

[jenyjo]

oh beautiful woman!!! thanks for the tri-tag-team heavenward effort this weekend! what a spectacularly perfect and wonderful weekend!!

ed is yelling at me from the other room: "you ate rice krispy treats from starbucks!!!!!!??????"

ppppppuuuuurrrrrrrrrfeeeccttt!!

what a brilliant an beautiful post!

wwwhhhhheeeee!!!

let's go back for more... tomorrow morning!

jj

[Walt]

Great post, E! I'm jealous!

[jenyjo]

walt -- just to let you know: you were very much THERE with us, in all sorts of ways.... ;-) ohhhyes you were ;-)

next time! next time! next time! you, too, can be the y-chromosome!

;-)

jj

[Carney]

Yup, I spit up some coffee looking at the photo from on Macks.

I'm no interpretive dancer, but I think my body language and facial expression tell EXACTLY how I was feeling!

[chris]

JJ, did you clean that section on the pix? More of a Mare than a pony.

[jenyjo]

chris, i did NOT... and to be honest, it's starting to piss me off ;-) i've tried it every time i've been out there... to no avail. it's just got too much "slip" in the last 1/4 of the way up. I got kinda close tho ;-)

ggggrrrrrr......

next time... NEXT TIME!!

;-)

wiat. what are you saying about my pony -- that she's big? i don't know what that means ;-)

jj

[Fred]

Nice post. Amen on the training thing.

[Scott Morris]

Wow, great post, great trip and good thoughts. Thanks.