Baby steps

I've been riding a mountain bike for a little over two years now.  Yep, I just re-upped my SWAMP membership for the third year.  I have a road bike and was riding that a lot up at Flatwoods.  I didn't even know what fat tire meant.  I ran into some people who kept telling me how much fun it was.  I had a hybrid at the time and finally took in on a trail.  Squiggy was the first one I went on.  I thought, man this is great fun.  Then I tried Panther (sign going in saying Very Difficult Trail) and said huh-uh, this is not for me.

The point is that I'm a chicken.  Squawk, squawk.  I'm not particularly interested in the tough stuff.  I've had enough bad falls as it is, I don't want to invite trouble, you know?  I took the 'Intro to Mountain Biking' class right after I started riding off-road, and I'm sure they thought they'd never see me again.  I was too scared to do the dips, the really big palmetto roots struck fear in my heart, and I wasn't brave enough to try to jump a small log.  I remember running into the instructor a few months later and he said, "Oh, yeah, you're the woman who wouldn't try anything."  I wear my weenie mantle with pride.

But that doesn't mean I don't want to improve.  I do.  I want to be a better rider. I have improved....slowly.  When I first started riding, my buddy John told me I'd be one day barreling over a section of roots like it was nothing.  And he was right.  Things that used to terrify me don't anymore.  Things I used to walk my bike over I can clear with ease.  But considering how little it takes to intimidate me on the trail, uh, that's not saying much.  No, no, I'm not trying to put myself down; I'm trying to be realistic.  I've come a long way, baby, but I've got a long was to go, too.

I've got a bad case of the nerves.  Fears, neuroses, whatever you want to call it, I got it bad.  Oh, and they're selective, too.  One bridge I can't do, another one, exactly the same, I can.  One dip with a rooty out is no problem, the next one will stop me cold.  And I'm my own worst enemy. A year ago, someone said to me, in exasperation, "Jennifer, what is wrong with you?" I'm sure she didn't mean it to become a catchphrase that I flagellate my self with, but alas, it has.  I can't turn off the negative tapes that loop in my head, no matter how hard I try.

So, the other day, HWWR and I were riding along and there was a probably 4" log in the path.  No big deal, I should be able to clear it with ease.  NOT.  Like a horse refusing a jump, I just stopped cold.  I approached it about three times before I said 'forget it', and apologized profusely for my idiocy. HWWR kindly dragged the log off the trail and we continued the ride. (HWWR is a kind fellow.) I can't do the hard stuff with other people watching, no matter how friendly, nice or kind they are.

It is an internal battle.  I want to get better, but if I'm all worked up and afraid then I'm not having fun and what's the point in that?

So when I went out yesterday, I decided to try jumping logs.  After all, there was no one else around (to judge or condemn me.)  I found a place on a double track that had lots of fallen branches around.  At first I set up 3 fairly small ones and practiced on those.  No problem.  Then I found a bigger log, bigger than the one I had refused the day before.  I avoided it the first time by, but turned around and nailed it.  It felt like jumping a horse.  (Something I haven't done in over 30 years, mind you.)  And I did it again and again.  It was fun.  It was good.

So, yay for me.  One more tiny baby step towards proficiency (at least how I define it.)

OK, and it was a really good day for seeing wildlife.  Let me count: one gopher tortoise,   two wild turkeys, one raccoon, two whitetail deer, one wild hog, one snake (may have been a moccasin; didn't get close enough to figure is out) and two bald eagles.  And today had a ride with hubby Ed and my friend Susan.  Saw a large bird swoosh down ahead of me and land right by the trail.  I came abreast of it and was staring at a very large owl.  It took flight, leaving behind a dead squirrel.  I'm sure it came back for his late breakfast after we were gone.

I had two solo rides this week.  Thursday was on my road bike at Flatwoods and put in  about 32 miles in two hours.  Friday I was on my mountain bike and put in a little over 17 miles in about two hours.  Both days had my IPOD on, rocking to tunes.  I was so miserable by the end of the road ride; I just wanted it to end.  I was bored, bored, bored.  Not so on my mountain bike.  I was happy and mellow and sorry the ride was over.  So, I need to make sure that I've got someone to ride with when I do road rides.

NP: Frank Turner Poetry of the Deed