head over heels

A few years ago now, I wrote a column called Chain of Fools for Mountain Flyer Magazine. In this edition, the fool meets some new friends and makes the best possible first impression. This story ran in Mountain Flyer, Issue 76.

We meet at the trailhead early, but not too early. Waiting for the stragglers to arrive, there’s a lot of looking at bikes and talking about tires and toying with suspension. I’m the new girl. I try not to be nervous. I don’t know this crew yet, but I do know they ride mountain bikes just like I do. Bikes. It’s just bikes.

The ride begins with a climb. Is it better to climb first or climb home? Eat your vegetables, then you can have dessert: That’s what my mom always says. My inner whiner wants dessert both now and later. There is no too much when it comes to the good things in life like long descents and frosted donuts.

We string out on the climb and happy not to be last, I settle somewhere in the middle. The dirt changes with the elevation as the soil’s minerals stain each layer a different hue. Eventually, I will come to learn the sequence so well that I can count down each climb. But that’s for the future. Today it’s all new to me. The climb ends sooner than I expect, which boosts my confidence.

At first, I don’t see it. The descent drops abruptly off the edge of the fire road and makes a hard right turn. The fall line looks more fall than line. The first corner’s off-camber and littered with dry California dust. Manzanita bushes and assorted spiky plants surround the trail. A few loose rocks pitch in to keep it interesting. Looks fun, I tell myself.

I’m definitely lying. One by one, riders drop in. Then it’s my turn. I got this. I totally got this. Then, well, I totally don’t. The dirt at the turn’s apex turns out to be softer than it looked from the top. Swooshhhh. There goes my front tire.

Before I know it, I’m upside down in a Manzanita bush. Also, my bike is on top of me. And I’m very definitely stuck. The more I wiggle, the more tightly I sink into the Manzanita’s prickly embrace. I’m going to be here forever, just me and my new best friend, the Manzanita. I start laughing. There’s nothing else to do.

Above me, I see blue sky and a circle of helmets peering down at me. Someone rescues my bike and gives it a careful inspection. Typical dude, worried about the bike. Gloved hands reach out to me. I grab one, and scramble awkwardly out of the bushes.

I feel more dirt than human, and thanks to the stabby plants, I look like an extra in a slasher film. Innocent victim #5. I wonder if there are any bandaids in my pack. Digging around, I find three kinds of food bars, a bag of peanut M&M’s, and two empty Snickers wrappers. No Bandaids.

Whatever. A little blood never hurt anyone. If I squint at it, the smeared ombre of blood and dirt almost looks like art. Too bad I didn’t wear my red flannel. Someone asks if everything’s good. I feel like an idiot. Sure, it’s all good.

I saunter over to my bike with as much cool as I can muster. It looks at me reproachfully. Like, what was that? I walk down the trail without a backward glance at the satanic corner. I pretend the blood makes me look badass. Lying, again.

Then the trail snakes downhill through a series of switchbacks. We whoop over rocks and slam through the straights. I forget about being nervous. I forget about feeling stupid for falling upside down in a Manzanita bush. Here we are, riding mountain bikes under the brilliant sun and laughing for no reason at all. I’ve found my people.

Somehow we miss a turn. It was up there somewhere and we blew right by it. Wondering what to do, we stare at the trail ahead. Above us, the sky’s infinite blue has no answers. Which way to go? The sun drops and the shadows deepen. We don’t have forever. We never do.

We decide to push on. The trail drops into a steep drainage. The shadows loom heavy where the sun’s fading light can’t reach. Through the dry creekbed, we ride over the tumbled boulders of last year’s rains. Up the other side, our reward awaits just out of view. We float down a swift flowing descent that dissolves the world into a dizzy joy.

Then it’s over. Somehow like magic, we arrive at the start of the climb where the day began. Follow the twists and turns far enough and you’ll end up right back where you started. I stand in the sun’s last golden light and banter with my newfound friends. There’s talk of burritos on the way home and another ride next week. New friends, new scars — the best gifts in life are free.