The knobby tires rolled over tree roots like a fat thumb over the whites of the piano keys. If I could see my knuckles under the two glove layers, they would be white and bloodless with the way I was gripping the Top Fuel as I bounced down the single-track at what I thought were breakneck speeds. Suddenly, the trail went straight up, and I squeezed the brakes when I should have shifted to a bigger ring while picking up my cadence. Instead, I balanced on the bike with the pedals at 3 and 9 o’clock for a split second before tipping to the side.
I put my foot down and breathed. My legs were shaking uncontrollably.
Colleen was at the top of the hill, having rolled over those roots effortlessly, using her bike like some nimble monster truck crushing cars like soda cans. I walked the rest of the way until the trail leveled off, and I could get my foot back on the pedal to start once again. I knew then if I hesitated, I was finished.
So for the rest of the ride, I tried to make a quick decision and stick to it when descending or climbing this trail I could barely walk on, let alone ride a bike over all of those rock gardens and long sections of tree roots strung across the trail like garland. If I took too much time to think, I failed. I had to trust the line I chose and follow it through.
For a few fleeting moments on the ride, the trail flowed below the bike like water as I stood up with level pedals and weight slightly forward. But then, there was no trail, just a stream six feet down, and I thought I was going to die and be buried right then and there because I was too scared to cross the narrow frosty bridge to the other side where a sharp uphill topped with a rock garden greeted me. I didn’t die. I just fell off my bike a few times. Thankfully, the ground was soft and met me half way.
Once I get another bike, I’ll return to the trails because I might just be part daredevil.