Old, Fat and Bloody

Here's an oldie, but a goody. This was one of the first pieces I sat down and banged out on the keyboard. It's a little rough, as I had not yet developed my "voice" (or a firm grip on proper English). This was written in about 2002 and had to do with my introduction to the world of mountain biking. Lord help an old roadie...

Teaching an Old Dog New Tricks

Let’s get a few details out of the way first. I’m over forty, over weight and over the hill. Years ago I was road biker, not a good one, but I was out there cranking and feeling pretty cool about it. I would ride to work right through the heart of Phoenix during rush hour. This was not very popular with most of the vehicles I encountered along my route, but I held my head high and held my lane position. Needless to say, my wife thought I was nuts, but she learned to live with it. I only had one minor incident during this time, but it really wasn’t as bad as the paramedics made it out to be.

This is also when I started doing charity rides. It gave me my first taste of riding with a group. I discovered the joy of drafting and the high that comes from knowing you are pulling about 40 other riders behind you at a 26 mph pace. I was on top of the world. I did the MS150 ride out of Phoenix for 5 years in a row and loved every turn of the cranks. But then age started to catch up to me, or so I thought.

I started to have some joint pain. Next came muscle pain. By the time I finished a 20 mile ride, my knees would be screaming and my legs would be on fire. I just couldn’t do it any more, so I parked the bike in the garage and parked my butt on the couch. I figured bikes were for kids and it was time I started to act my age… big mistake.

Five years and 85 lbs later I found out what the real problem was. For years my doctor had me on a medication to lower my cholesterol. At the suggestion of my wife, I was taken off of it in the spring of 2001. Within a week my knees were feeling better, my joints stopped hurting and the muscle pain was gone. I was overjoyed! It was like some one had turned back the clock. One of the first things I did was dust off my bike and climb back into the saddle. My trusty steed groaned under the added load, but it held up.

My legs seemed to instantly recall the cadence, and that familiar feeling of freedom I remember started to return. My pace was much slower now due to the time off and the added weight, but I was back at it and that was all that mattered to me. I didn’t know it yet, but the real fun was just around the corner. I was about to get my introduction to mountain biking.

At the urging of Josh, my niece’s husband and an avid mountain biker 15 years my junior, I decided to take to the dirt and see how the other half lived. The first thing I needed was a bike. I didn’t see the point in sinking major bucks into the latest technology until I knew if I was even going to like it, so I bought a used hard-tail from an Oregon-State police auction on eBay and fixed it up. After a couple of loops around the forest to get used to the shifting, I was ready to take the plunge, and what a plunge it was!

It was a beautiful July morning and the sun was just coming over the mountains east of the valley as we loaded the bikes in the truck and took to the highway. We were heading for McDowell Mountain Park, an area with trails developed specifically for bikes. My wife’s last words to Josh as we went out the door were something like, “Don’t bring him back broken”.

Now let me ask you this; if you were taking someone out for the first time, where would you start him out? Would you choose to find a dirt road somewhere, or maybe a gently rolling trail? Well, McDowell Mountain is a competitive track consisting of three loops, the Sport Loop, the Technical Loop and the Long Loop. Do you see anything in there named the Beginners Loop? I think you see where this is going…

When we arrived at the park, we were almost alone. This being central Arizona in July, most people had already finished their rides and headed for the bagel shop. We unloaded the bikes, checked the map, took a few snapshots and headed for the Sport Loop. This was the real thing now and I was ripe with anticipation.

The trail started off easy enough. It was twisty and rolling, kind of fun, but having no technical skills yet I took it slow. Then the first hill reminded me just how long I had been off of a bike. I had to stop and catch my breath at the top, allowing a little extra time for my breakfast to make it’s way from the top of my throat back down to my stomach. (Note to self: no McDonalds right before a ride!)

As we began the next leg of our adventure, I found myself staring down a steep drop with a quick run back up the other side followed by another downhill. The whole thing wound up with a hard right at the sandy bottom of a wash before the next climb. After watching Josh’s technique, I stood up on the pedals, hung my butt behind the seat and down the hill I went. I flew up the other side, over the top and down the next drop. I checked my speed down and, thankfully, I was able to get off of the bike without incident when I buried the front tire in the sand during my turn. I had survived my first technical section!

My adrenalin was pumping now so I was able to grind my way up the next hill without too much trouble. At the top, the trail became pretty flat with occasional twists and small rolls. I picked up my speed a little. I was starting to get the rhythm now, and my confidence soared. “So, this is what mountain biking is like”, I thought to myself. Not at all like the steady spin of the road, more like a roller coaster ride! The roller coaster was about to jump the track…

As we started down into the next big wash Josh was about 40 yards in front of me. He was showing a great deal of restraint, trying not to get too far ahead even though I could tell he wanted to just cut loose and fly. This is where I had my first encounter with washboards. This encounter ended with my front tire in a bush, but I was still upright and undaunted. I backed out of the brush and pointed down the hill once more as Josh flew up the other side.

When I rounded the corner at the bottom of the hill, things really started to go wrong. I swung a little wide and my front tire clipped a fist-sized rock. Not being used to front suspension, I overcorrected instead of just letting the shock absorb it. The front tire started to snowplow sideways in the loose dirt, catching a root. The bike stopped; I didn’t. According to Josh I was talking all the way down. He said it was the first time he had heard a running commentary during a crash from the person who was doing the crashing!

As the dust settled, I picked my self up and uttered a few choice words, blood seeping from several new openings in my body. I limped over, stood what was left of my bike up and started to inspect the damage. Josh was flying back down the hill toward me. As he closed in his first words to me were, “ Don’t move! Let me get the camera!” I had now been baptized into the brotherhood. I had dirt in my blood, literally, and he seemed to feel it was important to document the occasion. I understood the need and struck a pose.

After the photo session concluded we assessed the damage to both bike and body. I wasn’t too concerned about the blood that was now covering my entire right forearm and running into my glove. I was more concerned with the front wheel of my bike as it now resembled something you would order at Taco-Bell. We were a mile and a half into a four mile loop and this puppy wasn’t rolling anywhere. I was not happy that I wouldn’t be able to finish the ride. Josh informed me that the fact that first-aid was of no concern to me at this point meant that I was going to be a real mountain biker.

We briefly discussed our options at this point. I told Josh to go on around the loop and finish his ride while I toted my mangled mess back the way we came. After a little urging he agreed and we set off in opposite directions. Josh was now free to cut loose and fly while I was grounded, pushing my bike on the back wheel.

I was more than a little disappointed about being on foot and with every step I moved farther away from disappointment and closer to anger. It only took about 100 yards to reach totally ticked off! I figured since I rode this hunk of metal in, I was going to ride it out. I threw the bike on the ground, lined up on the front tire and stomped! I repeated the process until the front wheel was straight enough t0 clear the fork as it rolled, unhooked the front brake so it wouldn’t rub and climbed on. The ride wasn’t exactly smooth, but it was still a ride and that’s what I came out here for.

The next problem I faced was that I was now going the wrong way on a one-way trail. In the distance I could see the paved road that lead back to the park entrance. I shouldered my bike and danced through the cactus and rocks until I reached the pavement, jumped back on and cranked the pedals. You should have seen Josh’s face when I rolled back into the parking lot bleeding, tires wobbling but in the saddle!

We loaded up and headed for home, a little worse for the wear, but happy. I don’t think I stopped talking the whole time, reliving the experience in slow motion and trying to learn from it. When we pulled up to the house, I wasn’t sure what I was going to say, but Josh had the situation well in hand.

As we came through the door he spoke up, “We didn’t go riding. We got tattoos instead! Bob’s looks a lot like a cut!”

With that I proudly raised my arm to show of the mark pride I had acquired. Debi was not happy… “ WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?”

Josh protested, “I knew she was going to blame me for this!”

After a round of story telling and a shower to remove the gravel from under my skin, all was forgiven.

It’s been more than a year since that fateful day and a lot has happened in that time. I completed the MS150 ride for the first time in 6 years, lost 50 pounds and bought a new full suspension mountain bike. With that first crash on that first trail, I was sold. I knew I would be doing this for a long time.

The other thing that this experience has taught me is that bikes aren’t just for kids. They are for making you feel like a kid again. Growing old is inevitable, but growing up is optional.