Desert Mountain Biking

 

I want to fly like an eagle, to the sea. Fly like an eagle, let my spirit carry me. The Steve Miller Band grins through the sunshine of my mind on a kaleidoscopic joyride through this wonderland of cactus and red rock. This is living at the core of my being. Flowing. Caressing. Inhaling the very essence of the the desert. To be alive in this place of seductive beauty is like making love to God herself. Climaxing over and over until the orgasm becomes my new reality. This is when I truly begin to see.

The plants breathe, the trees dance, the raven speaks its truth, and we dance, dance, dance on two wheels, floating through space on six inches of air. The buzz of rubber vibrates against slickrock and we become one, the bike and me – the only way. Keep moving forward, eyes fixed on the trail. Not the cliff! Look where you want to go, never where you don’t. The truths and realizations come at me a mile a minute, because a false move here could mean disaster. Any moment of hesitation resulting in flesh grinding against sandstone, bones crashing into rock, or worse.

DON’T THINK. RIDE!

I careen around the next bend a little too fast, into…

Six inches of suspension is a beautiful thing. The sticky rubber of my front tire clings like Velcro to the rock as I thread the needle, through a jumble of square edged boulders, down towards the trailhead below.

Back at the car I crack a Modelo, taking in a deep breath of the cleanest desert air I can ever remember breathing. I smile. It’s been a good day.

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