November in review.

I bet you've been thinking that the colder temps have forced me to hang it up for the season.
Well, weather is a factor, but not as much as you might think. I won't go out in a downpour or if the roads are covered with wet leaves, cause that's just silly. But snow on deserted roads in the Catskills... sounds like fun!!


The early November snow wasn't sticking to the roads, but it was gorgeous on the grass, the trees, the cars and everywhere else. I had a lovely trek as the snow was falling all around me and the tires were splattering wet stuff up my back. Solitary, cold, quiet, damp, absolutely gorgeous. I could forget the fact that my biking tights were soaked, that my legs were frozen and that I was in a totally unfamiliar area. I had no idea what would appear around the next corner, how challenging the next hill would be or how treacherous the road might become. I could turn where it interested me and back-track anytime I wanted or I could head back to thaw myself with a warm shower. This was my journey that I could end if and when I wanted to end it.

There's nothing quite like being out there alone. You get to experience things on your own terms to your own satisfaction. It's a bit of a narcissistic gift, but something that we should all take time to do, in one way or another.

Mountain biking has had that appeal for me. The rides I've taken so far have been alone. I've had the opportunity to discover my abilities without following any set guidelines.

One week, Rob told me the there was a lake in the woods, I had to find it on my own. The next week, he mentioned a tower at the top of a mountain and a foundation from an old castle or house... yep, had to find that too. I got myself in and back out of some tough situations that I would never have attempted if I didn't have the goal set in front of me.

I've taken some spills and learned from them. I tried to navigate over a log and learned that if you don't pull up enough, It can take you down like a bug on a windshield(Logs make big bruises). I also learned to expect the unexpected. While transferring from one track along a pipeline to another, I hit an invisible patch of sand that tossed me off my bike and landed me with my face inches from one of the coolest mushrooms I'd ever come across. A wide and nearly flat, barely pink cap, round except for a heart like dip in one spot. Cool... If I hadn't fallen, I'd never have seen it.

I also figured out that your tongue should always be firmly planted behind your teeth while on trails.(Fortunately, I did not learn this one by error but by projection while going down an incredibly bouncy incline, teeth chattering from the impact of the terrain on the wheels... Imagine if...)

I've learned that there are certainly times for riding without having your shoes clipped in(so you can ditch easier) but never a time when your feet shouldn't be in control of the pedals. I learned that particular lesson riding down a single track on the pipeline. Brutally bouncy and rocky, feet unable to find the pedals, legs dangling, too treacherous for a lot of breaking, and all the while bouncing on and off the saddle like I was riding a bronco and waiting to get tossed(that's one ride where I was very thankful for not being a guy!) I held on all the way to the bottom by sweat and prayers. Then put my feet on the pedals where they belonged.

More lessons; always know what's ahead of you and... it isn't over till it's over. Coming down a fire road at a good clip, I took my eyes off the road for a second. Then, I slid on small rocks while avoiding some large ones. I lost control just enough to run off the road and into a wide ditch with very treacherous rocks and dips. I knew I was going down and was hoping for a soft spot to land on. Then, just before the ditch ran me into a large cement drainage pipe, I pulled up and got back on the trail. Holy crap! My heart was in my throat! It may have been all of 5 seconds of peril, but I saw my life flash before my eyes!

And after all of this, I still wanted to get back out there and see what I could do.

Another time, I hit some real single track that Rob, again, had mentioned. I must have hit the wrong trail at first, cause I couldn't imagine that he'd ever send me on this one intentionally. I'll call it the "Black Trail of Death". No way, no how anybody was ever riding up this thing and fairly unlikely anyone was riding down it either. It started with four feet of nearly vertical rock face that I had to shoulder my bike for and climb up. If you were going down it, there was zero room for error and a sharp, narrow, unforgiving trail as you came off the drop. Up was surely the way to go... that is, if at all, and if you had little concern for self preservation.

After the climb, it was a short but very technical run into a the "Yellow Trail of..." (come up with any name you like) that ran through the woods. I did climb the yellow trail. I went through young trees so close together that I had to lean from side to side to clear the handle bars through the saplings.

I worked my way up a couple good inclines on this single track trail that I wouldn't have thought I was strong enough to attempt. Then, as all things that go up, so they must come down, I faced an intimidating downhill. I stopped to size it up. Or, to make my list of excuses.

It was getting late, I was alone, I wasn't sure how much further this trail would take me or when it would get me back into the parking lot, so I decided to turn around on this yellow trail and head back to the twisty carriage road I was familiar with. Funny thing, as I backtracked on the trail, going down the hills I had come up seemed even more intimidating than the downhill that suggested I turn around!

So here's the thing, the way we look at an obstacle can determine whether we can overcome it.

If we determine that the road is too long, the mountain too high, the journey too tough, we might as well take a nap and forget that they exist. But if you're in it for the adventure, the challenge, the accomplishment or just the fun of it, you might find power and drive within yourself that you didn't know existed.
Does this hold true off the bike?
Does it hold true in real life?

Try it... and you tell me.

Till our next adventure,
Sandie