I was told Tsali was "flowy" and mostly a beginner ride with a few "technical" spots. That seemed doable, right? I had sprained my ankle two weeks before, but I told myself I could tape it up and ride. I had just accomplished half an Asheville on Bikes road ride. Of course, I had no idea what was in store for me.
I had to borrow a mountain bike and getting used to it was a whole new thing. At one point Jason had to remind me that, "he knew I was a strong rider". But I wasn't feeling very confident at all. We headed out toward the trail. It was unlike anything I had experienced before. I spent so much of the ride in shear terror. The trail was thin and bordered by a cliff on one side and trees on the other. Jason waited up a head for me to catch up. I was slow and had to "push" some of the time. In the end I was glad for the new experience, but weary that I would catch on. At one point I got hung up on a root and went over. I was bruised, but managed to not re-injure my ankle. The only way for me to get through it was to talk my way through it. I kept telling myself to let go and just ride. I survived my first trail ride.
I promise myself I will do everything five times. If after that I get bored, lose interest, or just can't quite swing it I move on to something else. After the Tsali fiasco I got a mountain bike book to read. I learned about sitting back on the bike to balance my weight. I learned about using the brakes in a way that allows for front wheel mobility. I learned how to keep my feet ready to peddle out of tight spots. I was ready for our next adventure.
I scheduled a day trip to Wilksbrough. There's a dam near there that features trails developed by mountain bikers. A few are great for beginners. Jason went with me again. He brings his dog Tungsten on the rides who, when he's running along side you, makes you feel incredible. This trail felt more manageable. The one major piece of advice I got was, "don't look where you don't want to go." Okay, that makes sense, so I hit the trail feeling empowered. I'd read the book and I certainly wasn't going to look where I didn't want to go. But then I came to hair pin turn after hair pin turn. I'm thinking, as I'm going freaking 20 miles per hour on rough terrane, "how'my supposed to look where I want to go if all I can see is a freaking tree and a cliff?"
There we have it. The best life lesson. Everyone will have these pithy bits of advice, but when you're in the moment, there's always some glitch that prevents them from being meaningful. How can we use the theory in the real world? In that ride I realized that I had to just look in the right direction just as far as I could and that the rest of it was well...faith. Faith that the people before me who created this trail wouldn't leave me hanging. That Jason was somewhere up a head waiting and that in the end I would be okay.
I'm on my third trail ride and ready to actually buy a mountain bike.
Enclosed in these woods
up ahead clearing to sun
let go, hold on, free
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