Saturday, August 3, 2013

ruts

I don't like them...I try to get out of them...even at Triangle Road...a place where minibikes and knobby tires rule. Mud ruts keep you in place and puddles have rocks and dips that either keep you there or knock you over. Despite the fact I have experience with gears and two wheels, I was a newbie trying to negotiate the loam and rocks. Squishy mud, bendy trails...this is new on many levels. Around a curve, through a puddle, up, down, around...back tire going left then right...too much gas...then not enough. My brain tries to catch up to the rhythm. My arms look for reprieve. I am in a rut..but not the kind that pulls you under...it is the kind that keeps you moving forward. As my last hurrah I bravely consent to riding down and then up - what feels and seems like a huge feat. I am unsure - nervous - scared and yet as I take off that brain of mine has not yet engaged to what I need to do at the end...and in a moment of panic I realize brakes are not applied and I am instead heading toward a sludgy puddle...and that is what happens. The bike sails forward with me over the handlebars, into the pond...laughing...relief...A few scrapes..a bruise...but out of the rut.

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