Over the Handle Bars

I LOVE mountain biking. It is a sport I never thought I would pursue. When I lived in Los Angeles I was a triathlete and preferred my road bike. I couldn't understand why anyone would ride dirt. It's much harder than riding smooth pavement. The bikes are heavier and the downhill a bit scary. Then I moved to the mountains.

Looking for a spin class one May morning, a local instructor said, "It's nice out - we don't ride indoors anymore." I was intriqued. "Do you have a bike?" she asked. "Yes, I do," was my response. I met her and four other girls at 5:30 a.m. at the Triangle in Fawnskin. We rode Grout Bay. It was almost magical, the light illuminated the wild flowers that lined either side of the trail. The ride was equal parts laughter and hard work. And even though the mountain bike I owned was a rusty, 36 pound, nine-year old Haro with an inch of travel, I still had a good time. Six weeks later, on my 40th birthday I bought a hardtail Specialized Stump Jumper. Then I dragged my boyfriend out on a rental bike and showed him how much fun it was. He was hooked and bought a Cannondale hardtail with a Lefty fork.

These last three summers have been about exploring the trails in my community. Meeting for early morning rides and developing friendships that will last a lifetime. My riding abilities have also improved. I rarely ever fall. Except for these last two weeks: My first was impressive. I sailed over my handle bars hitting a log drop. The log caught my chain ring and stopped my bike. I continued on, however, and scorpioned onto the trail with dirt the consistency of powdered sugar. I lay motionless, starfished in the center of the trail mentally scanning my body for injury. I felt only one rock jabbing at my right hip. Hearing another rider come down behind me, I reluctantly moved to the side. Covered in dirt I tried to brush it off - I couldn't. I wore it like a badge of honor as I climbed up yet another fire road for one more descent. Get back in the saddle, right? It took two showers to remove every particle but otherwise I was fine.
My second fall was stupid. I was crusing a relatively easy trail thinking how lucky I was to live in such close proxmity to great mountain biking when my front tire was swallowed by soft sand. As my bike went right, my body flew left. I let out a yelp before I hit - vocalizing the reality of my landing: Two very sharp rocks. My knee cap took one while my shin took the other. Though I couldn't walk for a couple of minutes, I did recover and rode back to my car. It has made teaching yoga a bit challenging this week and added to the army of scars I have accumulated since taking up the sport. But, again, I was fine.

Overall I am glad I fall. While I am not happy about the bruises or the pain - neither are permanent and that's pretty much a metaphor for my life ....