There was the big bang (mom and dad's) that produced me, of course. Then a year later my Cuz was born and we were attached at the hip for the next ten years or so. Literally. We would squeeze into the same large jacket and pretend to be one person.
The rest is a blur. Lots of crashes, scrapes, broken bones, broken hearts, dirt bike adventures, that silly punk rock phase, college (high school was a wash), romantic adventures, dogs, marriage, divorce, hot days at the track in skin tight leathers, shacking up, more broken bones, mountain bike adventures, still more broken bones, and poof, here we are at 46.
In all honesty, I shouldn't be here. Walking the earth, that is. I've cheated the grim reaper more than a few times, and kicked him in the ass as I walked away. But not without some lasting and permanent scars. And now, with each pedal stroke, I smile and give thanks for every second moving forward.
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| Deschutes River |
A couple weeks ago I road-tripped to Bend, Oregon to ride some of their legendary trails with friends. I managed about 65 miles over the course of two days, and drank some fine local brew to numb the post ride pain.
Since I started riding again one of my biggest fears has been crashing. I keep reminding myself that I can't afford to crash. So I've been riding overly cautious. Which I know is a recipe for disaster. When you ride too safe you ride tight. And mountain biking requires the pilot to be loose and relaxed. Unfortunately, my worst fear came true on day two, and on the most harmless section of trail. We had been clearing big rock gardens all day, yet while pedaling along on a flat, smooth section of single track I went flying over the bars after an innocent tree branch laying on the ground found it's way between my spokes locking up my front wheel and sending me into orbit.
I went down hard on my back, and every single doomsday scenario flooded my brain in an instant. I felt a twinge in my low back as I made contact, and thought for a brief moment that it was all over. I struggled to get up a first, but once the initial fear receded I stood, walked it off, and angrily grabbed my bike and continued on for another 20 miles. Sometimes riding angry is a good thing, because from that moment on I stopped riding to 'not crash', and simply rode my bike.
My back was cranky for a while after hitting the deck, but I managed to enjoy the rest of my trip, vowing one day to move to Bend, with Tiny Home in tow.
I knocked out over 100 miles on the mountain bike this past week, and have been averaging about 80 miles a week for the past couple months. Still hitting the pool, but down to 3-4 miles a week since pedaling is taking up more of my time.
I still experience a constant (annoying) pressure in my low back, and while some areas have improved, others, such as sitting on a stool or chair, haven't changed much. Some days are better than others, but when my legs hurt more on a ride than my back, I can't complain too much.
I hope you're all doing well, and keep the rubber side down!
Peace!
