My First Time
By Tracy Ann Phelps

Mountain Biking is for Masochists

If you think traversing dangerously narrow, winding paths laden with tree limbs, plummeting dips and slippery gravel sounds like fun, seek help now! My husband, who, by the way, fits in the above category announced Monday night that he would be leaving straight from work Tuesday to go mountain biking at Faulkner Park. My immediate reaction was, "Oh! Can I go with you?" He reluctantly agreed and we set off the next afternoon, camel backs and bug spray in tow.

When we arrived at the park and approached the entrance, I felt quite confident. The trail I saw was wide, flat and only slightly inclined. Then Matt turned sharply to the right, down a trail, which couldn't comfortably hold two small eight year olds walking side by side. "This way, Tracy!" Matt called.

Please deliver me from death by tree limb.

Secretly, I had always fancied myself adventurous, based on two backpacking trips to Colorado in my teens. Come on, I've peed in the woods - surely that qualifies me for any activity that has the word "mountain" in the title.

As I am sure all my readers are clever, you have probably already guessed that peeing in the woods did nothing to help me navigate my way through the diabolical trail.

After I fell into the trees about five times, fell into my bike while trying to remount, and suffered a serious attack from some species of thorny vine, I gave up. I know, I know, giving up is not an attractive quality, but the damn trail won. It bested me. I walked my bike the rest of the way, never looking back and quite likely never to return.

The happy couple.

Poor Matt! I know I held him back. It must be so hard being so good at everything! (Sarcasm intended.) He really was very supportive, and praised me for being such a trooper - my brother-in-law would never believe it!