Guiding Mtn Bike Trips is Like a Box of Chocolates

Sadly the over-quoted line made so famous by Tom Hank's character, Forrest Gump, applies to every aspect of life including mountain biking. You just never know what you're gonna get is right. Most of the time I would prefer to be sitting on that bench with Forrest contemplating life's philosophical implications, but, instead, I am sitting on a bike seat that closely resembles a 2X4 in comfort, imparting my bike wisdom upon folks who are complete strangers yet place their lives in my hands.

On my most recent guided mountain bike trip, I led seven unsuspecting riders into the unknown. Every trip is this way. Everyone signs up for what they believe is a true mountain bike experience complete with Red Bull and Mountain Dew commercials playing in the background, fireworks, and Kidd Rock riding in on a unicorn but imagining the trail itself to be akin to greenway riding. Ultimately, they accept their fate and enjoy the ride for better or worse.

It was made apparent almost immediately that the terrain was NOT what customers had imagined. Two groups had been unfairly forced to share the same time slot on the same day; a father and son duo with some biking experience and a mom/dad and three kids with zero experience bravely stepped into my world for a few hours. Apprehensive about the compatibility of the two groups, I soldiered on and hoped for the best.

The father and son had, prior to departure, regaled me with stories of their ski slope biking experiences and how much they enjoyed it. Initially, I was relieved to hear that they had at least done some mountain biking, however, the knowledge that it included being lifted to the top where they were dropped and sent bombing back downhill with no effort required was a bit of a red flag. Mountain biking, at least in the traditional sense, is work. Lots of work--specifically cross-country riding.

Upon the realization that the shuttle bus was inoperable (no surprise there), we were forced to ride to the trailhead that is only .7 mile away (but is located off of a major highway).  We have done this in the past, but I don't like having people who are already uncomfortable and nervous now have to battle with traffic whizzing by at 60 and 70 mph looking down at their cell phones and fucking with their radio.

Everyone seemed comfortable with braking and shifting; their seats were adjusted properly; helmets were on properly; water had been passed out. We were off! I gave specific instruction on how to follow me alongside the highway to relieve their anxiety and limit the amount of "thinking" they were doing. That thinking stuff gets in the way when one is already a bundle of nerves.

At the trailhead, the group received another pep talk, a few more instructions, and hit the dirt. The mother began to almost immediately call out, "This is not for me! This is not for me!" as she continued to peddle a few feet and fall over. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

The father was the same story only he had an epiphany after his third fall, and I visually saw the light come on for him. But it was too late. The damage had been done. I was forced to send the father and mother back. As much as I hate to make those types of decisions, they are made with the safety of the group in mind. We are limited in resources, the heat is almost unbearable, and then there is that damn Time to have to contend with. Tick tock. Tick tock. I hear it loud and clear each trip.

Mom and Dad were happy to be "returned to sender." I called the outpost and gave them the heads up requesting that someone take the couple to another location to ride their bikes so that at least their efforts (and money) weren't in vain. The group, now at five, were back on track.

The father and son duo followed me closely with the three other kids spaced out evenly behind. So our little group was now somewhat balanced. The young girl who chose to be the caboose wrecked every-single-time she stopped. Normally, I would be alarmed at this and rush to her aid, but she was perfectly content with her inability to stop. It became routine, and everyone laughed making her the comic relief for the trip.

The total mileage for this ride was originally 6.5 miles--beginner worthy. The father/son duo stressed that they wanted to double that, but that never happens. Refer to the above statement about mountain biking being hard and stuff. With the subtraction of the bus, we were looking at 10 miles--a noble effort for sure.

We had zero mechanical issues. No one died. Everyone rode just fine. I couldn't have asked for a better group of riders. But...yes, there's always a 'but' or a 'butt' in there. The father of the father/son duo continuously mumbled about "the trail not being what he thought it would be" but "the other trail might have been too easy" and "this trail is really narrow." By the end, I finally asked him to explain his expectations of the trail prior to signing up. Again, he reiterated something about it being so narrow and despite me explaining that we no longer ride the "other trail" because it is unrideable due to rocks and ruts and people going to the emergency room and shit. No, I didn't say, "...and shit," but I wanted to. My patience was wearing as thin as Madonna's underwear. I continued to calmly ask questions in an effort to gain a better understanding of his expectations.

What I learned:
1. Apparently, you can order up mountain bike trails to suit your needs. Who knew?
2. People think mountain biking is being shuttled up to the top of a dirt road and turned loose. Hmmm.
3. Mountain bike guides have the ability to magically give you ultimate biking super powers. Yeah, I don't even have those, and I've been biking for over 20 years. Good luck with that.

Luckily, a thunderstorm blew in quickly making the decision to return to the outpost in leu of another lap of which no one would have survived but me (maybe not), and I was starving so I might have decided to eat the slowest rider. We made our way to the highway and buzzed back down the hill and up again toward the outpost getting caught in the edge of the storm which came as a huge relief. Our charred arses needed the flames put out. Talk about hot!

In the end, the father/mother and three kids who really could not ride very well were champs. They were happy with their efforts and the father/mother even admitted to being proud that they had tried. Good for you!

On the other hand, the father of the father/son duo, who displayed much mountain biking enthusiasm, attempted to smile through gritting teeth while still complaining. I pretty much dropped the mic and walked away because today...today, people who were the mountain biking underdogs developed an appreciation for something new. That's enough.

Damn You Winter, Clinton, and Kanye!

I remember riding my mountain bike in rain, sleet, snow, and hail as a kid with no thought to the amount of money it would take to restore my bike to pristine working order not to mention the love and attention required to clean and maintain it. Nowadays, I pause before loading up and heading out into the elements. I am reminded of the many injuries I have sustained over the years and the length of time it takes to recover as well as the mountain of greenbacks it takes to pay for it all.

Winter is here, and there is a new element in town--cold. I hate the cold. When I say, "I hate the cold," I mean there ain't no damn way in hell I'm stepping one inch outside with the tiniest bit of bare skin exposed to ride a bike. Each winter I tell folks (and myself), "I'm planning on riding all winter long," you know to stay in shape--for Spring (sits back at desk, props feet up, and sips hot tea).
Yeah right. No bigger lie was told except maybe the one Bill told Hillary when he and what's her face played Daddy in the Oval Office --or-- when Kanye told Kim he loved her because well, Kanye doesn't love anyone as much as he loves himself.

I say, "Damn all of you!" I'm taking it to the gym this winter! Maybe.

So I have a confession about spin classes. I taught them for years. I LOVE to teach them. LOVE! But I can't stand most of the people. You know the ones. The ones who pretend there is no one else in the room and commence to catching up after only 10 minutes has passed since their last text message to each other.

I turn the music up gradually hoping to drown out their voices, but they just talk louder and louder until they are talking over the music. I am no longer focused on teaching (or participating). My anxiety rises like a mercury thermometer in hell, and all I can think about is slapping those silly bitches in the face.

 While I feel this class of spin participant falls into the same category above, they are deserving of acknowledgment. They are the smart-phone addicts. No matter what is going on in class, stand, sit, sprint, turn up the resistance, they are on their phones. I have no idea what is so damn important that it requires someone's attention 24/7. Perhaps they have a porn addiction. Perhaps they are getting caught up on their umpteen-million text messages from their ex-poodle groomer. Perhaps they are inventing the next alien language. Who knows. They are the same folks who are on the toilet grunting one out and texting or talking to their 80-year old mom who hears, plop, plop, splash, and asks, "Are you doing the dishes?"

Yeah. The dishes. That's right.

Anyway...where were we? The gym. Right.

So for 2016, avoid spin classes or you might end up in jail, get your ass to the gym and get in shape, and PUT THE CELL PHONE DOWN! I know you are not going to ride outside. Stop lying to yourself and to me. I have my excuse. I blame WINTER, "Damn you winter!"

What's yours?