Controlled Mountain Burn

So I fancy myself somewhat adventurous and athletic in various sports arenas but this past weekend, I was put to the test. My family, my mother-in-law and I spent a glorious 9 days in Durango, CO enjoying family time, visiting the G-parents and LOVING the cooler weather. We spent our days horseback riding, fishing, panning for gold, reading, watching a little tv (you know the Olympics was on...), swimming, wading in the Animas River and various other kid activities. These kid activities included a day trip to the Purgatory Mountain Resort. Typically, you would ski on this mountain in the Winter, but in the Summer they offer outdoor activities such as gold panning (man-made), mechanical bull riding, rock climbing (also man-made) and the arctic slide (a luge-like slide where you ride the ski lift up and take a cart down the mountain at your own peril). Oh yeah, and mountain biking.....the one activity I am still trying to block out of my mind.

My hubby and I decided early in the week after we had filled almost every day with activities, that we would venture out without the kiddos for an action-packed day of mountain biking. Not really knowing what I was in for, I agreed to a 2 hour bike rental (helmet NOT optional) and willingly climbed on. We headed uneventfully up the mountain on the lift.  A nice, quiet, peaceful ride. I must also mention that my hubby is wearing his "Go Pro" helmet cam that I gave him for Christmas. Great idea Vanessa, gold star. What a perfect way to get the evidence on film.  I can honestly say I was completely unprepared for the treachery of the mountain. The bike trail is a 18 inch wide rocky, root covered trail that merges both blue and black diamonds with not a single speck of green in sight (for those of you who ski, and for those who don't..."Houston, we have a problem" was what my mind was thinking).  I allowed my hubby to go first down the trail and I happily allowed 2 bikers to go in front of me so as I would not clog up the path (nice, right??!). I did not realize THEY WERE 12 YEARS OLD and they were moving so fast I would never see them again except on the film footage we brought home. So the drama begins approximately 15 feet down the trail on a 30 degree slope when my front bike tire rubs along a visible tree root the size of my forearm and I do a header off my bike and land on the rocks. Over and out, but scars are cool right? 3 minutes on the trail and I am teary-eyed, bruised, my back is covered in dirt and my partner is nowhere to be found, nor can he hear my cries for help. So much for no man left behind....

With his camera running for the whole trek, this movie picks up with him backtracking to locate me where I have have walked my bike some 30 feet down the trail and am licking my wounds. After some smartly thought out comments directed at him and the mountain, we proceeded downhill. Suffice it to say our first run was not as fun-filled as I had anticipated. Approximately 1/3 way into our death mountain ride, a group of about 10 kids ranging in age from 6-10 came leisurely riding by. My partner only laughed a little when I told him I silently wished they would all wipe out and if they didn't, I could very possibly take them out with one fell swoop.  I think he knew I wasn't kidding. I made it to the bottom with no injuries other than chunks removed on both shins from the spikes on the petals, a bruised hip and deflated pride. 

It's funny how fast your memory fades (and exactly why most of us have more than one child) as I agreed to take our second and last run to exhaust our last hour of bike rental. Only this time I was prepared for the beginning 15 feet of the trail and walked my bike down. Go ahead - call me a wimp. I was completely gun shy and with Chuck riding in front of me to give me the go ahead or the "walk it down" signal, I thought I had it reigned in fairly well. I seem to hear that saying in my brain..."If you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plan". I am guessing that by now God has the silent laugh and hiccups too, from me doing a play-by-play in my head of how I am going to handle each curve.  Walk here, use your brakes, might want to swing out..., these were the words of encouragement I was getting thrown at me. While I know he meant well, a better description of MY attitude was pissed off. Why can't I ride like that??? I owned a pink huffy in 4th grade!!! I could jump curbs and ride with no hands!!! I thought you never forgot this crap! B*llsh*t on that.

So the second death-defying ride is somewhat the same. Stop, walk, ride a little, brake a lot, stop walk, fix chain (twice for me and only me), ride a little... Until the last half when the rain starts. Nothing too bad, just a solid drizzle but the thunder is making me even more nervous than the thought of another triple salchow into the dirt. So I decide to ride a little more and walk a little less. He tells me to take it easy on the hairpin curve and watch for the root that is jutting up in the air like a 3 inch glacier since it could cause me to run off the side of the path. Well...direct to God's ears.. As soon as I saw the root, I migrated to it. Right on top of it, me and my wet tires and was catapulted off the trail into the brush. 

The only good thing about wet dirt, grass, peat moss is that it is soft on the all fours landing. Chuck said he had never seen someone eject themselves from a bike from a sitting position, but evidently I have created a new Olympic sport. I landed on all fours on the far side of the trail only inches from a downed tree limb. That was when the waterworks started. And cry I did. Like a baby. I saw my life flash before my eyes thinking that I was going to have a head injury that would leave me a vegetable (even though I was wearing a helmet) or better yet, lose an eye AND end up in a coma. When I finally stopped sobbing, he promised not to tell anyone. Luckily, he can probably keep his word as he has no video footage to show and I can always deny. Instead, I told him I have chosen to use this as a teaching experience.    ATTENTION: For the novice mountain biker, do not let your husband fool you into thinking that you need to ride the mountain of death to train for your upcoming triathlon. It is simply not true. I know for a fact that the riders in Keller, Texas who wear the paper thin suits that cause no drag in the water would not be caught dead on a mountain full of roots and rocks the size of your head. Those nicely shaved legs and arms would benefit from some hair as they are rolling down a hill of moss and bark as a little bit of additional cushion couldn't hurt, right?! 

So next time you see me on my lavender mountain bike with the Maw-Maw seat, don't you dare laugh. I may just pull a mountain stunt that will take you and your pointed little pencil helmet down for the count. 

Ride on!
Queen Bee