That Prick on the Mountain Bike (769 hits)
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Submitted by gbusman (View user info) at 2004-08-17 06:39:46 EDT
I've never thought of myself as an extremely athletic person. After all, following mainstream media standards of sport, I'm a complete fool. Football, baseball, soccer, all terrible. Not even as a 6'1" 7th grader could I make it past the first cuts of the middle school basketball team tryouts. Instead I tried track, where I couldn't high jump over the girls' bar, or run faster than anyone, so I tried running the hurtles. On my first race of the season, I was dead last. But bless my sweet mother, she went out and bought me a fine set of running shoes with screw-in spikes and everything. On my second, and final race, I finished 2nd to last, because some kid tripped on the third hurtle and was hurt. I was a good 5 seconds behind the rest of the field, thus ending my track career.
"Why Bus," you say, "surely you are the most gangly unathletic 6'5" 180 lb 25 year old weakling who can't even dunk a basketball."
That's what I used to think too. Though my ace-in-the-hole, which few on the outside ever knew about, was swimming, the klutz on land swimmer stereotype definitely applied, so I rarely bothered to defend myself to my school peers. Though now that I look back on my childhood with a worldlier and more mature view, I'm inclined to reverse that stance.
I've been water skiing with my family on the river since about age 6. I was never really good with two skis, probably due to my legs' low strength and extreme length. But I begged to try to slalom. After numerous failed attempts at dropping a ski, I finally made it up by starting with one in the water on my first try. I could run a slalom course by the age of 8, when I started swimming.
Until the age of 11, my preferred method of neighborhood transportation was my skateboard. That is, until a swimming friend let me borrow his rollerblades. One try and I was hooked. I could only tolerate my second-hand intro skates for one summer, until I upgraded to some sweet Macroblade's, which I loved dearly until a fiery tragedy ended my perfectly sculpted and fitted skates a few months ago (See Davo's Fireball on the 405 http://www.ubersite.com/m/37396 .) Favorite pastimes of the summers included roller hockey and jumping over as many trash cans in a row as we could (4.)
That winter, my family's bi-annual ski trips for the last 6 years now became snowboarding trips for me, much to my swim coaches' chagrin. But once the Day-Of-Pain learning was over, I found snowboarding quite natural and many times safer than skis, owing to the increased control and the fixed relative position of the feet. And so, for my 13th birthday, I received my first snowboard. But before my 14th could roll around the next January, it was already necessary for me to upgrade my toy board for fear of getting laughed off the slopes with a board that didn't even have metal edges. But my next token of inspiration from my mother was truly a fine snowboard to behold, and received many complements from the lift operators.
By high school, I had developed a desire to ride extremely fast, especially in deep powder. I never told my high school swim coach about my next purchase. Otherwise he might not have been as willing to extend me the "special permission" to skip the famed killer Christmas Eve workout every year to go snowboarding with my family; a favor owing largely to the fact that I was by far the fastest swimmer on the team.
It was a Sims Mark Fawcett Signature Racing Board. An exact replica of the board he rode when he won the gold medal racing in the North American Championships. It was 171 cm long and symmetrical. When viewed from the back you might mistake it for a mono-ski due to its extreme length and slim and sexy narrow waist. It had hard-shell interface bindings that both pointed the same direction: down. There were not many people that could handle this board; it didn't even start to respond until you hit about 30 miles per hour. But once you hit about 40-45 mph, that baby hummed. And I played it like a fiddle, racing through the tougher blues and un-moguled blacks; weaving in and out of skiers like they were standing still; it was incredible. After high school, I would have loved to have pursued a career in snowboard racing, but I had a gratis education at the finest swimming school in the land restricting me from slope time and injury risk. Another time, perhaps.
My snowboarding aspirations were much more tame the few times I was able to escape during college (at my swim coaches extreme protest, and risking my scholarship upon injury; but again, I was very good... at both.) My tastes now switched from the more dangerous racing speeds to the more tame black diamonds and back powdery bowls. I had never worn a helmet, and I wasn't about to start unless I was seriously racing. A fall here simply meant a soft mogul landing, and powder to brush out of your neck; but that didn't happen to me very often.
I soon realized that I had to abandon my racing board to handle the increased demands of low speed maneuverability, and switched back to my freestyle board. Added bonuses that I dared not try before on my sleek speed beauty included half-pipe and tree boarding. The half-pipe was a little too pre-teen for me to take up at 20 years of age; but tree boarding, especially through a steep powdery bowl, is extremely spiritual. I still never felt the need to wear a helmet though, as I was never really going that fast, especially by my standards. I risked a mere fall into powder, or an abrupt brace of an oncoming tree; but again, that didn't happen often. But back at my home away from home in the woods of Alabama, I was learning a new hobby.
My parents bought me a Wal-Mart mountain bike for basic transportation around the Auburn campus. But once I got a car my sophomore year, I left the bike chained up somewhere on campus and never went back for it.
A year later, when my avid biker friend approached me about starting to do some trails, I tapped into some recent swimming prize money and bought some decent gear. At about $400 bucks, my rig is at the top end of the single suspension bikes, and can handle some pretty serious terrain. This was good, because the trails I learned on were no joke. These were some hardcore backwoods Alabama trails, with single plank creek crossings, logs intentionally scattered around the steep climbs, and sheer rock edges and jumps. I didn't really appreciate the quality of the trails until much later, but this is what I learned on and became accustomed to.
My buds and I would go out for a few hours at a time, and get lost deep in the woods, so we always outfitted ourselves pretty well. On my second trip, I was equipped with all the gear I wish I'd had the first time: camelback with water hose, clip-in shoes, padded biking shorts (wear them under board shorts, you sick old men,) sunglasses, gloves, a toolkit, a spare tube, a clip-on pump and as always, my number 7 USA dry-fit jersey that I traded a super-hot USA Volleyball player for a mere worn Speedo that I had raced in at the 1999 World University Games. But in the woods and rocks and creeks, I felt quite safe snuggled in the grasp of my helmet; it was the first time in my life I had really worn one, or felt the need to.
Fast forward 4 years to last week, and fate has found me bumming in Southern California for a month, having a hugely unsuccessful Olympic Swimming Trials a month behind me. Here in Orange County I've taken a particular fondness as of late to getting lit and riding really fast down the paved winding trails of my neighborhood hills, and slightly more challenging worn dirt paths of the nearby national park. I still equip all my gear, as the hot 98 degree California desert sun makes a token biker thirsty when the dust gets in his mouth. But there has been one notable substitution in my kit. My helmet has been replaced with a pair of headphones.
When I first got this bright idea, I rounded up my gear, tweaked the bike settings, and searched everywhere for a portable music player. Now for me, who has owned nearly every new technology upon inception, this should not be a problem. I specifically remembered having owned three distinct MP3 players and remembered in detail their respective software interfaces. However the only suitable device I could seem to find on this particular day was my portable DVD player that could play CD's. But it just so perfectly fit my camel back, and the headphone wire so seamlessly fed along the drink hose path, that I couldn't have asked for a less intrusive audio system, especially with my tiny remote control. Very well, I quickly compiled a CD of 80 minutes worth of alt rock like Sum 41 and Nine Inch Nails, and I was quickly on my way.
Now this was fun. I had no idea how expansive the public trail system around here was. There are miles and miles of paved and dirt-road trails through the desert hills. My music ended about 10 minutes before arriving home, meaning I was out for about 90 minutes. I rode pretty hard the whole time and was feeling pretty good about the workout I'd just put in. I need something to keep the body from stagnating after retiring from swimming, and I could get used to this between snowboard seasons.
My next couple times out, I became more familiar with the layout of the place, and was getting pretty comfortable and friendly with the passer-byers. Of course over the music, I could never hear them speaking, but I always smiled and offered a friendly nod as I zoomed by. I never minded my deafness as I figured no one was likely to sneak up on me, going as fast as I was, and I could see everything coming at me. However I had noticed a few odd glances from all the helmet-clad fellows as I sped through the parking lot at the national park. But I rarely paid them mind, as I was quickly re-lost in my own world in the middle of the desert hills. Today, however, I was to have a different experience.
About 5 minutes into my ride, my music went dead. Great, I decided I would check out what happened 10 minutes up the path at the national park entrance. I picked up the pace a little bit, as I was not keen on riding without my music, and I was feeling plenty confident having added an extra sense to my perception of the world.
Upon stopping and unpacking, your humble narrator discovered that he had most regrettably forgotten to charge the batteries on the DVD player, which only lasts about 90 minutes on a full charge (like I said, I got one of the first of these things.) So now I have a choice: turn around or head on. Upon deciding on the latter, I folded up my headphones and packed them away, having nothing but the crunching sound of tires on dirt to keep me company.
As I am happily rumbling through the desert, I spot an on-commer about 20 yards up. The trail is narrow here, and desert hedges line the sides, so I accommodatingly slow my speed so that I may move into the lighter brush and let him pass. His eyes meet mine. I'm balanced at almost a dead stop waiting for him to pass.
I smile and nod and say "Hey,"
To which he replies, "A helmet will save your life."
And in the seconds before he escaped audible range, I spewed forth the following proclamation:
"Old man, what do you think you know? You think I'm just some arrogant youth who thinks he's too cool to wear a helmet? Let me tell you something, Sir."
I raise my voice as we pass.
"For the past 20 years of my life I have been an extremely active and athletic individual. I have participated in all manner of sports from the mountains to the seas, and I have endured many hardships. I have received scrapes, cuts, bruises, sprains, stitches, and broken bones, and I have learned valuable lessons from each one."
"I have fallen on all manner of terrain, and tumbled through the raging rivers, but never once, in all of my life, have I struck my head against any ground or object, save an airline TV monitor that my 6'5" frame failed to duck under. I scan the horizon for dangers worthy of donning a helmet today and I see NOTHING!"
I'm shouting now.
"These are mere dirt trails, well worn and clearly formed. They are well kept by the park attendants and frequently used by the public. There are no rocks, or logs, or trees to challenge a speeding thoroughfaree. The trails are lined with desert brush. which provides a soft landing should the unfortunate event of an unseating take place. Should an all out collision occur, as happened to me the other day when another rider was speeding around a blind corner, you merely steer into the brush, which combined with your brakes will absorb most of the impact. No harm, no foul, lesson learned. Now we're more careful around that corner."
"But you, Sir, what makes you so afraid? I've seen you riding with your happy family, each in their helmet and pads on the designated bike paths. I see the way you look at me, as if I'm a terrible influence on your kids by demonstrating to them that it is not necessary to wear a helmet. I see the fear in your eyes, the fear of impending death. It scares you and motivates you unlike any other force on earth. Out of fear you will do everything in your power to avoid death at all costs."
"But tell me, is there any function within the fabric of the earth that will cease to be upon your death? Is your mortality so amazingly important that life will not go on without you? If your raging sense of self-preservation is not motivated by this sense of self-sacrificing honor, you are no doubt driven by fear."
Still shouting,
"The fear of death stinks on you, and it poisons our society today. But fear of a thing does not stop if from coming. And come for you it will, my dear Sir. You too are human, someday you will die. Someday you will have to own up to that fact. And then what will you do, Sir? Hole yourself up in your mansion that your cautious and methodical life has provided for you, shrivel up and expire?"
"How can this lack-luster approach to life possibly be adequate for you? How can you stand to dwell in your cesspool of terror, having never known the truths or absolutes of taking chances and milking life for everything it is worth?"
"I am not eager for death, but neither will I live in fear of it. If it is my time to die, than so be it; I shall face my death like a man and prepare to answer to my God."
"But if wearing a helmet on this trail will someday mean the difference between my living and dying, then please, let me die, and spare me the life of inadequacy I would be doomed to lead being so weak as to be done in by that paltry bramble shrub."
The last thing that old man heard as he rode off into the distance was the fading sound of my voice crying to the hills:
"PUUUUUUUSSSSSSSYYYYYYY!"
-Bus
User Reviews
Submitted by gbusman (user info) at 2004-08-17 15:21:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Why does everyone want me to hit my head?
Submitted by Fellow3 (user info) at 2004-08-17 12:19:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
plus two
Submitted by Kristen (user info) at 2004-08-17 10:59:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
"Why Bus," you say, "surely you are the most gangly unathletic 6'5" 180 lb 25 year old weakling who can't even dunk a basketball."
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How did you know?
Submitted by runninginplace (user info) at 2004-08-17 10:26:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Very good until the end. If you had hit your head, it would have been perfect.
Submitted by punchdrunk (user info) at 2004-08-17 09:02:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by AlahAckbar (user info) at 2004-08-17 08:40:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
+2./
Your going to die from a severe head trauma because you're "too cool to wear a helmet".
I think that's funny.
Submitted by Ainkara (user info) at 2004-08-17 07:59:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2004-08-17 07:51:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by AlwaysAnEagle (user info) at 2004-08-17 07:21:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You, my friend, have a lot of rage.
Submitted by DeathJester (user info) at 2004-08-17 07:21:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I'd give you the finger for passing me on your bike.
BLOODY KIDS!
Submitted by Philst82 (user info) at 2004-08-17 07:18:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Very long and rambling.... I was waiting for you to get your come-uppance.
Submitted by GodChicken (user info) at 2004-08-17 07:11:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You Prick!
Submitted by triple_optics (user info) at 2004-08-17 06:51:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
How long do you want it to be ey?