Suck It Up Princess

Back in (and off) the Saddle

Words by Mark Mayo.

Some of us managed to produce offspring and keep riding lots. I haven't touched the Bullit in about 2 years. At some point last week I crossed that magical line from "hmm, I've got a few extra pounds on" to "my f@&king lord, I'm f@&king fat as f@&f. f@&k me." So I pulled out the Bullit Friday night, combed the whole bike top to bottom looking for evidence that it was unfit to ride, found no such excuse, and planned for a Saturday morning ride up on Eagle. I was buzzing from excitement all evening in anticipation.

How did it go? The push up was shitty. I mean, really shitty. There's a lot of snow still in places. I did, however make it to the top and stopped for a snack and rest. Didn't spot a soul anywhere. Eagle is nice like that. Riding with friends is great, but I've always preferred the solitude of being alone in the mist on a mountain with a bike. I love the calmness, and quiet. I won't recount where my thoughts took me on that long push up, or standing at the trailhead there, but I will say that my soul is still thanking me for it.

The first 2 minutes on Massage Therapy were a little sketchy (snow didn't help) and I slid out the front crawling down some steeper bits a couple of times. But I actually felt pretty good. Before long I was carrying a little speed, and having a blast. A little jump over a rock. Lay it down in this turn. Slide the back around here... Hey, wow, just like that it's all back and this is great!! I almost forget that the push up nearly drained me! Rock on!

Then my 5th Element blew up as I cleared a little rock steep, pogoing me over the bars and down a nice bank into a tree. The good news is that I managed to squeeze myself into my Dainese suit (images of stuffing english bangers would be appropriate here) and escaped without a scratch. Bad news is that I now have to ride the pogo stick the rest of the way out. "Hey, I've ridden blown 5th elements down CBC before! Suck it up, princess!!" is what I think to myself. Funny how walking away from a potentially serious crash unscathed can f@&k with your brain chemistry, huh?

I got about 10 more minutes down the trail, taking it easy and walking a few steeps bits here and there. Came to that section of flat skinnies. Decided to give it a shot. After a few tries I got up onto the damned thing and pedaled to the point where the sharp turn is. Immediately spotted the large pointy stump to the right, and of course drove the front tire right into it. You go where you look, dumbass. A little jump dismount and tumble later, I go to pick up the bike. WTF?! A dozen spokes are ripped out of the front hub, dangling daintily from the rim. At this point I'm thinking, man, I don't think this mountain likes my bike.. I grab some duct tape from my pack and secure the spokes so that I can at least wheel the bike down the mountain.

About 2/3 of the way down two kids catch up to me and stop to ask if I need some help. I recognize one of them, Ethan, who lives up the street from me. I can't tell if Ethan's look is one of amazement or bewilderment. My question is answered quickly: "What are you doing up here Mr Mayo? My Dad rides the trails at the bottom, but not the steep stuff! What's in your big backpack? Why are you walking? What happened to your bike? Are you ok?". So I have at least another decade of these rapid-fire, never ending questions, I note to myself. I answer "I'm was looking for something I lost, but my bike seems to think I shouldn't have come. How was your ride?". The two of them walk with me for 5 minutes asking about bike this and bike that and what was I looking for? "You might find it when the snow melts", says Ethan. Perhaps. We part ways at the trail junction, they're headed towards Buntzen, I'm taking the direct route back home.

When I get home, after a walk through the new subdivisions on Heritage Mountain, I'm asked "How was the ride?" I didn't know what to say. I'd crashed. My bike was wrecked. I was exhausted. I maybe rode the damned bicycle for 20 minutes out of 4 hours. Yet I felt victorious. Liberated. So I summed it up with a single word, "great!", and left it at that.

After lunch I spent a solid two hours with my little boy Charlie cleaning the bike, taking it apart, noticing that I busted a brake lever too, looking for tools I haven't used in a couple years, and generally freezing our asses off in the garage. It was brilliant. I'd forgotten how enthralled I used to be when my Dad was fixing something. The next morning all Charlie wanted to do was ride around the garage.

Even after getting tossed a few times, it's nice to know I'm back on the horse.

Ever taken a long hiatus from the saddle - so long you almost lost the desire? Questions? Comments? Serve 'em up here.