When I say that I'm attempting to ride and maintain my very first mountain bike, I mean that I'm an amateur in every sense of the word. Because one man's trash is another woman's treasure, I recently acquired a gently used, project mountain bike. Tonight, after my husband laughed when he realized I wasn't being funny when I said didn't know how to do it myself, I learned how to adjust the seat. Now this new set of wheels is just my size.
My fascination with bicycles started a couple months ago, after a cruiser-style pub crawl with some bike loving friends. Still high from all the honking cars and the onlookers' jealous stares as we pedaled along Gilbert Road, I chatted with one of the baristas at my local coffee shop about our epic ride. Stefano isn't just an avid mountain biker, he's a skilled mountain biker. Naturally, he steered the conversation that direction, eventually asking if I'd ever tried it. I answered that I hadn't, then wondered aloud how a person might ever get to try mountain biking without investing in a bike. How would I know I'd like it if I never tried it? While I might not know a lot about bicycles, I'm not completely dense and recognize that taking my cruiser on anything other than a paved surface would be like trying to take a Ford Taurus romper-tonking.
"I've got a spare bike. I'll take you sometime," Stefano offered. This moment would serve as my introduction to the unrestrained passion mountain bikers have for their sport. Stefano and I weren't exactly friends; in fact, we'd only recently managed to find a way to coexist in our respective barista and customer roles. But since we were talking about bikes, specifically mountain bikes, none of that mattered. In fact, he was quick to overlook our previous less than friendly exchanges, and invited me to experience his sport.
So eager to introduce a newbie to the thrill of MTB, the next time I saw Stefano he had already researched trails appropriate for a beginner. He showed me how to read the trail guides in Cosmic Ray's Fat Tire Tales & Trails, and we set a date. I left the final decision up to him, with a clear warning that I truly had never ridden a bicycle on any unpaved surface. Stefano waved off my concern, saying only, "You need to get a helmet by Monday."
Let's be clear, summertime in Arizona isn't for the faint of heart; the high on any given day in mid-July can hit 110 degrees easily, but I didn't want to miss my opportunity to try this adventure. When we reached South Mountain at about 10am, the day was well on its way scorcher status. That nonsense about it being a "dry heat" is simply that: nonsense. Hot is hot, and I was a sweaty mess before we even left the parking lot. Stefano kindly lowered the bike seat on my loaner ride, and instructed me to stretch my uninitiated muscles. Once he'd completed the necessary adjustments to his own bike, we slid on our CamelBaks (also supplied by Stefano), and strapped on our helmets. To any seasoned bicyclist's embarrassment, I did not own a proper bicycle helmet, and was not interested owning one until I knew there would be a second trek. However, I managed to get my hands on a loaner helmet without much trouble. I just did what any self-respecting 28 year old woman would do: I borrowed a skateboard style helmet from my 11 year old cousin. It fit (barely), but it would get the job done in the event I fell and knocked my noggin.
On the drive over, Stefano explained how the gears worked and which way to lean as I navigated the ups and downs. Not being the most mechanically inclined person, I really didn't understand most of what Stefano said about when to shift. He even tried to liken it to driving a stick shift, which I've done successfully since I was 16, but I'm pretty sure he could tell I didn't have the slightest idea what he was talking about.
As we reached the beginning of the National trail at South Mountain, Stefano took off down the first little hill. I followed behind, attempting to go as slowly as I could manage. This turned out to be more difficult than I expected. Stefano had advised that I go easy on the brakes, squeezin gently and infrequently. Besides, he said, "you need to go down the hills fast so that you can build momentum to make it up the next hill."
I gave the brakes an experimental tap as I careened down this first small hill, and instantly released my grip when I felt a sharp pull from the back tire and heard the beginning of a skid. I not only survived, but I was miraculously upright on the bicycle. I carefully navigated the desert dirt, the rocks on the trail, and suddenly realized that it was time to climb. With virtually no momentum, I recalled Stefano's advise about hill climbing: "Lean forward, and keep your ass in the saddle."
Leaning forward, I pedaled as hard as I could manage, and I made it. Only to be met by another treacherous slope, which was not only downhill, but also had a curve. Unsure how to maintain control and steer at the same time, down I went, feet flying from the pedals as I banked off a large rock. My ass stayed in the saddle, but I forgot all about proper leaning and I certainly wasn't in control. As a mountain bike virgin, I had fully expected to get beat up by the climbs; what I hadn't foreseen was the sheer terror that accompanied the downside of each of those hills.
The National was clearly an easy trail for Stefano, so he would ride ahead for a bit, and then wait for me to catch up to him. He'd verify my safety, and give me a quick knowledge check: "If you're falling and have to choose between a rock and a cactus, which do you choose?" Ever the eager student, I proudly answered, "the rock. Actually, I just ran into one back there." Then he'd nod, pop in his earbuds, and away he'd go.
By now the unrelenting sun beat down on my shoulders with such force that I couldn't seem to make it all the way the hills without needing to get off and push the bike the rest of the way. The next time I caught up with Stefano, I tapped out, panting "I can't go farther than I can make it back. I'm turning around." Undaunted by my self-proclaimed defeat, like any good coach, Stefano tried to keep from quitting, urging me further along the trail. Despite his words of inspiration, I knew this was the end of the trail for me. Any farther, and I might really embarrass myself.
I convinced Stefano he should continue on as long as he liked, and I'd wait at the car. I've hiked, and it's a trail, so it's not like I would get lost. Torn between the need to ensure I made it back safely and the lure of the trail, Stefano's exuberance for the ride won out. He blazed further into the desert, and I tucked tail and made for the parking lot. Exhausted from the ride, the heat, and the fear, I slowly pedaled back to the car, frequently dismounting when I couldn't find the strength to make it up another hill or the nerve to fly down the other side. There is literally no shade around the base of South Mountain, so stopping to rest clearly wasn't a wise choice. I did take a quick potty break on the side of the trail, and while squatting cautiously to avoid the cacti, I resolved to pedal the rest of the way without giving up on the inclines or chickening out on the declines.
As I came over the last rise and caught sight of the parking lot, I had never felt so relieved. I cruised over to the shaded picnic tables and immediately sprawled on the cool metal bench. As I lay there slurping my CamelBak and finally catching my breath, I knew I looked ridiculous, but I felt accomplished. I hadn't made it the whole way, but I'd done it -- I'd mountain biked. I suddenly understood where mountain bikers' get their unrestrained passion for the sport, and I wanted in on that. It's difficult and strenuous and exhausting, but back in the shade, I realized it's also exciting and challenging and rewarding. By the time Stefano returned, despite my fatigue, I knew I wanted to do it again. Maybe not this minute (and maybe never again on a day so hot!), but I felt my first silent urge to attempt to navigate two wheels across rough terrain.
I still have a lot to learn, but I'm excited to get back out there. More importantly, I'm grateful that someone took a chance on a girl who certainly hadn't earned a warm welcome, but initiated me into the secret thrill of MTB anyway.
I've wanted to share this recipe for a while, but couldn't quite seem to put my finger on the back story. I finally realized that one of my favorite recipes came from one of the not-so favorite parts of my life.
