Two Wheeled Humility

Weakly Adventure.

Fuzzy is an avid mountian biker and part-time torturer. His tool of choice - the rocky trails and hills of Virginia. Fuzzy is my friend... or so I thought.

We met up at the TOP of the mountian ready to go for what I thought would be a pleasant jaunt through the canopy. I could here Thoreau in my head - fresh mountian laurel swirled in my nostrils - The Indigo Girls sang sweetly in the background.

I haven't been on a bicycle of any kind for at least two years. There was a time in my life that I rode bicycles with vigor... but that time is long past. Long past.

I do happen to have some special sort of mountian biking shoes that have a sort of clip on them that attaches to the bike so that one might attain optimal pedal purchase. As it turns out these clips are part of Fuzzy's diabolical torture regiment. Very clever indeed.

The riding began. I fell off the bike within the first 5 seconds. I knew that things were not as they seemed. You see many of the trails in the beautiful Shenandoah Valley are rocky. They are covered with rocks. There are spring-loaded rock cannons that are set to fire upon all unwitting Thoreau reciting softies. And they fired at will.

I cannot recall the last time I had so much difficulty with anything. I was on and off the bike so many times that I lost count. I had to push the bike through many sections. I fell off the bike many times. Many times the bike feel on top of me while I was falling off of it. I wept openly twice. Thankfully Fuzzy was so far ahead we couldn't hear the sobbing. When I realized what was happening... there was no turning back. Only more. Only more of the sweaty sadness.

I only went over the handlebars once during the down hill portion of the ride. Again the bike landing on top of me. The downhill was a simple affair. All we had to do was navigate a one foot wide dry creek bed full of rocks at a forty-five degree angle for two miles while our muscles started to cramp. Did I mention that I didn't have any water.

And at last the only thing that lay before us was the ride back to the top of the mountian. Thankfully this was on a series of gravel roads. Unthankfully I could barely move. Imagine a staircase where all the steps are 10 feet high. Imagine that the only way for you to get up the staircase to to throw your bike up the 10 feet and then crawl, and scratch, and bite your way to the top without hand holds, or rungs, or hope. Just you and a jelly covered melamine wall with a looping laugh track.

Next week we're going to try and achieve unassisted bicycle flight.