Don't Slag My Ride!
by Trisha Petrella
In high school, before I started mountain biking, I had a bad habit. I would walk timidly up to my mom and ask for the keys, silently slip out the door, and carefully drive out of our quiet suburb. But, as soon as our house disappeared behind the first stand of trees, the stereo volume went up and so did the speed.
I couldn't help myself; I was a total adrenaline junkie (which probably explains why I like biking so much now). I'd cruise around town with the windows down in my mom's 4-door, jet-black Topaz. I was SO cool! My friends and I even dubbed my borrowed wheels, The Batmobile. I, of course, was totally oblivious to the fact that this car was a piece. I was having too much fun.
One Friday night in mid-June. My two friends and I were out cruising when a cherry-red, newly shined Camero pulled up on our left.
The guys, both at least in their early 30's, obviously thought a loud, shiny car should impress the socks off a carload of sweet young teens. My friends and I all stared straight ahead, hoping they would ignore us. From the back seat Sarah was muttering under her breath, "Don't make eye contact…don't make eye contact…"
The driver began revving his engine, since obviously, we couldn't have noticed his red pseudo-ego or we would have been giddy with desire by now. As any typical girls would do, all three of us immediately turned bright crimson, and giggled uncontrollably.
But, I also started to edge up to the stop line a little.
He revved his engine higher now. I revved mine in reply to his challenge. The guys, eyeing my car, grinned in disdainful amusement.
I ignored them. All my attention was focused on the adjacent stoplight; it had just turned yellow. I edged a little closer and started to play the engine. Now the Camero guys were laughing. 'I didn't seriously think I could take them in a Topaz, did I?'
The loud pounding of the blood in my ears drowned out their laughter. Eyes darting between the two lights, adrenaline rushing like high-octane fuel, I waited with every fiber and muscle poised for action.
Wheels spinning, I dropped the clutch.
In that insignificant fraction of a second between the other light turning red, and ours turning green, my little black, 4-door family car was going… going… gone.
My little Batmoblie beat the Camaro to the merge. We drove infuriatingly slow for the next 5 km, laughing like lunatics, till the guys finally passed us and drove off in humiliation.
So, why am I telling you all this? Certainly not as a plug for street racing, which in retrospect, was incredibly stupid and dangerous. I'm telling you this because I still race around on a junky vehicle, my bike. It's not quite a K-mart blue-light special, but I can't count the number of snickers and skeptical glances I've gotten at trailheads from other riders. Like the Camaro guys, they dismiss me before we have even begun.
Of course, an expensive, cushy ride builds confidence and increases the amount of terrain a rider can handle. But, it doesn't give anyone the right to look down their noses at those of us that have neither the cash, nor the desire, to get the most expensive trail-eating rigs available.
It's easy to get caught up in gauging another rider's ability by inches of travel or price tags. I even caught myself doing this the other day, and I don't even HAVE a good bike to be snobbish about. In the end, if someone is out there doing what they love, who cares if they're riding a less than $4000 bike, have a *horror of horrors* rigid fork, or even *gasp* bar ends. Check out the grin on their face, that's the best measure of success.
That night in June, I beat the Camaro guys partly because they put so much confidence in their ride and didn't take mine as a serious threat, but mostly because I wanted it more. In the end, that's all it really takes. Equipment can make a big difference, but not nearly as much as attitude.
I now reserve my racing bug exclusively for the times I am on my bike. And yes, my rig might not be as sweet as yours. But, don't slag my ride - it might be the last thing you see before a big cloud of dust.
Trisha Petrella
Trisha@nsmb.com
