I took my daughter mountain biking on Sunday. We’ve been mountain biking together before, but this was a real ride, MY ride. The one I take when I want to be alone, relax and not think about anything as my wheels hurtle downhill at an insane speed.
So I surprised myself and invited my 10-year-old, who has no serious mountain biking experience, to my place. You know the one. Where you go to be you, recharge and forget everything else.
My ride is in the Buffalo Creek Recreation Area. There are LOTS of trail options here. Here is one. I usually begin on a trail named “Nice Kitty” which is anything but. It’s a lung-busting, intense climb–at least the way I ride it. I’ve taken to calling it “Bad Kitty.” My ride usually runs anywhere from 25-45 miles and takes a few hours depending on how I feel. There are so many options in this area that it’s a real joy to explore. And if you get there early enough as I almost always do, the solitude is incredible.
So we got up at 5am, ate and were riding in the cool pre-dawn light at 6:30. Nice Kitty was upon us a few minutes later. And then it started. If you have kids you probably can image what “it” is…the whining and asking to go home.
“Nope.” I said. “We talked about this. We’ve got a 20-mile ride to do today and all day to do it in.” The whining was the same as it always is, but miraculously, my reaction to it was completely new. Somewhere in my brain a switch had been thrown and no matter the complaints or protests, I simply smiled–and meant it; I was having an incredible day and was confident that she would too.
I knew she was pulling out all the stops when I heard: “But Daaaaaaad, I have to get home soon so I’ll have time to clean my room.” The smile was on my face again. And now, as I was preparing to respond, I knew something was missing…my usual frustration was nowhere to be found. I felt lighter, happier, without the weight of my usual responses, which may have been gruff, sarcastic or even occasionally mean. I couldn’t understand why I was thinking so differently today. The smile was on my face, I was thinking about the sun beginning to light up the pine trees above us and how much fun was still in store for us.
“It’s 20 miles kiddo. You can either enjoy them or hate them, I have no control over that. I know what I’m choosing. Look at the sun hitting the tips of the trees above us…this is gorgeous.” And I smiled.
This went on for about 10 miles. And the happiness switch in my head was still engaged. No matter how she moaned or whined or asked to go home, the smile was with me. And none of the gruffness or sarcasm that I would usually have responded with. I’m well and truly addicted to this feeling at this point.
The biking was slow as you may imagine. I’d ride ahead, wait and repeat. Every time I’d see her approaching I was impressed with how well she was riding. I told her so every time she reached me. And I was still smiling. It was exhausting climbing, I was sweating, and in the cool of the still early morning, my sunglasses fogged up every time I paused to wait.
Finally it was upon us. I was paused, left foot on the ground, right clipped into my eggbeater clipless pedal, turned around looking for her. She zipped through a section of roots, pedaled through and up a tight switchback and then briefly hit the pedals hard in a short out-of-the-seat sprint and stopped next to me. I was smiling again…proud of her grit and skill.
The downturned lips foreshadowed her tone. “WHY are you so POSITIVE?!”
The laugh bubbled up from somewhere in my belly full of warmth, love and pride without even a hint of frustration. I didn’t know the answer to her question. I felt as perplexed as she so obviously was.
“I don’t know. I’m having the time of my life. This is my favorite ride in the world, I’m sharing it with you and watching you ride stuff that I never could have with your experience. I’m so proud of you.”
I left it there. “Ready?” I asked after she returned her water bottle to its holder. She nodded and I started off.
We’d finished Nice Kitty, taken a connector trail whose name I always forget and were biking the Colorado Trail; something changed in her there.
I was already impressed with her riding but after that brief interaction something happened. She’d found something inside of herself. She was twice the rider I’d seen earlier. Faster, braver, tougher–and most especially, happier.
She’d found her switch and flipped it.
We cruised down through rutted, root covered and sandy descents and clicked into low gear to grind our way up steep switchbacks, saying hello to hikers and moving over to make way for faster bikers on the trail. Now we were both smiling.
Our ride ended up being just shy of 26 miles. We took water breaks, snack breaks, faster-biker-passing-us breaks, can’t-breathe-anymore breaks and talked endlessly. It took hours longer than when I do it alone. But I wasn’t alone, I was sharing this with my daughter and it was the best ride of my life. It was a ride that didn’t last long enough.
When was the last time you looked back on your day and said “Nailed it!”?
You must be logged in to post a comment.