OK, this evening I digress. This is not a farm-related blog, but hey. Get over it! I spent the weekend away and it was - interesting!
So my husband, daughter and I joined my bestie and her hubby for a weekend outing down by the Mackenzie River. We had rented mountain bikes and were supposed to be shuttled up to a point where we rode back, a total of 26 miles. I was totally up for this. Or I thought I was. Or I did until Friday when I tore my knee out AGAIN and had it tightly wrapped all day. But by Saturday, it was tolerable and I figured I could make do with it, so off we went.
This was advertised as appropriate for all experience levels. Indeed, when we got there and were checking in there was a mom and her son, who looked to be about 9-10, getting their bikes too. Admittedly, the mom looked like she was related to Mr Pilates himself but I figured if a 9 or 10 year old kid could do it, I could. What he had on me in youthful exuberance and fitness I figured I could outdo with good old fashioned experience and fortitude. Hah!
The first hint of maaayyybe this wasn't the best idea ever came when the proprietor told us we would NOT be dropped off at the top, but in the middle. That the top 13 miles was just for experienced mountain bikers. Which we clearly were not! Alright, so that's reasonable. Not offended, thanks. Not a comment on our lack of youthful exuberance or indeed youthful anything, since mom and kiddo were also being dropped off in the middle.
The second hint should have been the second I sat on this bike to try it out in the parking lot. Like a leopard print dress for your daughter's wedding, some things you should just recognize immediately as a poor fit. There was no way to make the size right - if I raised the seat enough my knees were not so flexed I felt like I was pedaling in a kindergarten chair, then I couldn't reach the ground easily enough to stop myself from falling when balance became dicey. If I could reach the ground, my knees were uber-scrunched while pedaling, which beyond the basic discomfort of the position was acutely painful to my already damaged knee. But hey, I am a good sport and too persistent for my own good, so I just went with the flow.
So we piled into the vehicles and headed out. We parked Bubba at the end point and then rode in the shuttle bus to the start point. The proprietor gave us some basic info about the bikes, about avoiding roots and rocks and not breaking anything, and that there was no cell reception and no driver available so if something did get broken or we were in trouble, we were sort of on our own. Just so we knew what we were getting into, he said. OK, this is like the third point at which we might have taken the hint from the gods of bad ideas, but noooooo.
SO mom and son take off down the trail and are history. Our party is a little slower and a lot more wobbly. We had gone, I swear to you, less than fifty feet when people stopped in front of me, and in trying to stop while simultaneously avoiding two rocks, a root, and a rut (the new 3 Rs), I just lost my balance. And of course, could not reach the ground with my foot to stave off total disaster. So over I went, and I mean almost literally OVER, since another fifty feet down the trail the left edge was a precipice. As it was, I tumbled downhill a short ways, bike on top of me, bike got tangled in branches and vines, and multiple sharp things were poking me. I was beached. Totally stuck.
My friend and hubby hoisted the bike off of me and helped me to my feet. I turned around to pick up the bike and my friend said "ohhhhhh noooo." Then I think she started laughing. I am not sure, but in HINDSIGHT (pun intended) I do think she laughed. My pants were ripped totally asunder. I mean, like down the middle in the back and clear around and down my right leg to below the knee. Grand. At this point, I was done, kaput, with riding on this trail. Seriously, this was NOT a trail for beginners, very rough, narrow, obstacle-riddled, with washouts and precipices. We are fifty feet down the trail and there are like 12 miles of this.
So we started walking the bikes. This is not like walking your Schwinn down the sidewalk in your cute little pedal-pushers with your sweater tied around your shoulders. This is trying to walk on 12 inches of sandy dirt while essentially half-carrying a mountain bike off to one side. The body mechanics of this are not comfortable. I did have a sweater tied, though - around my waist, to keep my Hind out of Sight to those coming up behind us on the trail.
So that was the thing. LOTS and LOTS of people came up behind us on the trail. It was a veritable Interstate of bikes. Every few minutes it seemed, someone would come up behind us, we would have to struggle off the trail holding our bikes out of the way, letting them pass, while asking how many more were behind them. My husband and daughter were faring OK and went on, my friends husband took a bad spill and decided to walk with us. So we trudged on and on and ON AND ON. All the while being passed by a succession of bikers who clearly knew what they were about.
And let me tell you, people, these were not middle-aged frumpy bikers like yours truly. No they were not. They were Greek Gods. One after another after another. Jaw-droppingly nicely put together males of the species. Impossibly fit, impossibly tan, impossibly gorgeous. I mean SERIOUSLY!!! GUYS!! Can't you just run over me so I can look at you a while longer while you perform first aid?? Please???
And it did not escape my notice, although I certainly hope it escaped theirs, that they were approaching us from behind, and mine was flapping in the breeze, partially concealed by my friends little white sweater.
Finally after nearly 3 miles, we crossed the river and came to the first side road by which we could connect to the main road. My friend and I had elected to do this, to ride down Highway 126 back to the truck, then we could come back and retrieve her husband, while John and Kate rode on. I had torn living heck out of my knee maneuvering the bike down the bridge steps after the river crossing, and wasn't exactly looking forward to pedaling, but here's the deal. When you are at point A and you have no cell service, are pathologically opposed to hitching rides in the best of circumstance and definitely not while partially unclothed, and you have to get to point B, then you better just man up and do it. SO we set off.
Did I mention that this bike was UNCOMFORTABLE???? I am a very persistent person, and do not tire easily, so while my friend got tired of pedaling I just HURT from pedaling. And the seat! My friend was commenting on how it was starting to go where it really ought not, and I said TRY DOING IT IN YOUR UNDERWEAR!!! Seriously. Hell has a new definition and it involves NINE FREAKING MILES on a mountain bike, in the rain, on a busy highway, with a bad knee you can't stop using, and a seat that keeps finding new and creative ways to invade your space.
I nearly kissed my truck when I got to it.
I am eternally grateful that guy did not deem us good candidates for the full meal deal and drop us off 13 miles further away, such that we were hauling bikes through the lava fields. You fall in that stuff and it is serious business! So, I learned that either I am just not a mountain biker, or I need a vastly different kind of bike, or to start on a much more reasonable trail. I did also learn that I am still capable of toughing it out when I have to. And then I got to go back to the cabin and watch LSU beat West Virginia, so the day was not a total loss.
And I have newfound respect for Lance Armstrong. But hey, it really WAS all about the bike. And the pants.