Mellow Velo

First mountain bike ride: Colorado

Posted on 25. Jul, 2010 by KFullerF4 in MTB

They’re complaining about the heat, these poor, thick-skinned Coloradans. Meanwhile, I am basking in the sweet joy of sub-90-degree days that are as dry and complex as a fine Pinot Noir. It also means I am not preparing for winter by storing up fat. The weather has drawn the Mr. and I away from unpacking to play outside every day of our first week here, and today we finally headed out for our first Colorado mountain bike ride.

The trail we chose in Bear Creek Lake Park was fairly simple, but to me it was an exhilarating, humbling ride. Very little off-road riding was available where I used to live, and even less in between extremely technical and extremely simple. Needless to say, my skills are vastly eclipsed by my interest.  I both fell in love with and struggled through the mix of single- and double-track, lengthy climbs and rapid descents over dirt and rocks, riding along ledges, ripping through hard dirt and grass, skidding through sand and gaping at the wide-open views.

Long, steep descents were the least familiar and at first terrified me. (There aren’t many mountains in south Texas.) I rolled down alternatively shouting “Whee!” and “Augh!”  while keeping a death grip on the bars and grabbing a fistful of breaks at very un-opportune moments. I know one must let the front wheel flow a little more freely on the way down – and I’m still trying to unclench my fingers – but as one who has ridden a road bike much longer than a mountain bike, I still feel somewhat out of control on the bigger machine.

A road bike feels like an extension of my limbs and nerves. Like a sports car or small airplane, slight flicks of the wrist and minute reflexes are the only movements needed to make the bike respond. The hefty Gary Fisher, on the other hand, lumbers all over the trail like a MAC truck wheezing at low-oxygen high altitudes (actually, that would be me). Eventually I realized that speed is my friend, fear is only useful as an acquaintance and those rocks aren’t as big as they look. By the end of the trail – thanks in large part to the Mr.’s experience and unending patience – I was motoring down steep pitches I had feared only 45 minutes prior.

I am nowhere near proficient or strong enough, but I am hooked by the beauty and serenity of what it means to be a mountain biker in a mountain state, rather than an off-road cyclist in a flat city.