Mountain Bike Ride to Hell

Relish Exposure

We took off, the trail flat on the plain but covered with pumice. The tires sank into the loose, volcanic pebbles, and my bike swerved one way than the other, but I kept riding, straining against the gritty friction. Ten years earlier when I had first encountered similar loose conditions, fear made me walk—I couldn't imagine how the bike would not slip sideways. This complicated machine, I now knew, was capable of crossing sand, rocks, stumps, dips, and mounds, but only with sufficient skill, and sometimes, only with sufficient speed for momentum and shock absorbers to do their work. St. Helens was on my left, Navi twenty feet in front, and Philip and Chad in lead.

The Plains of Abraham, happy for a moment.

We soared across the plain, gears purring, tires crunching, the movement intoxicating. I rose over a person-high mound, grabbed my brakes, and slid to a standstill. In front, a creek bed gleamed with shiny, volley-ball size boulders. On the other side, Philip and Chad were carrying their bikes, Navi not far behind. I got off and picked mine up, thinking back to the ride I had done in Post Canyon the previous week, a few minutes from my house. On those manicured trails in a park-like setting, I never had to get off. I said to my bike, "Time to break you in on a real mountain ride."

"Yeah, but are you the one to ride me?" I imagined it replying.

"Are you talking to me or yourself?" Navi said.

"To my beloved bike."

"I know what you mean," Navi said. "I'm attached to my bike as well. I've had more good times with this bike than in a lot of relationships." I laughed, but a twinge of sadness stabbed me: Navi rode to distract himself from a challenging girlfriend.

"Navi, do you trust Philip? Do you believe what he said about the ride?"

"Completely. I've ridden with him. He's a straight shooter. Dependable and super skilled."

In other words, much more skilled than I was.

"OK, I guess I feel comfortable, although I wish I knew more about Smith Creek."

"We'll figure it out. I know other people who have done the ride. Nobody said they had a terrible time."

After the stream bed we came around a corner and stopped again. My eyes tried processing what they were seeing, rejected the result, and tried again. The trail, uneven and layered with the same slippery pumice, ran for a hundred yards with a large rocks rising to the left and a void plummeting straight down ten stories to the right. Nobody could possibly ride this portion with that much exposure.

As if the exposure was not obvious, a sign advised mountain bikers to dismount and walk.

Exposed section with warning sign, Navi on far side.

Except Philip and Chad weren't walking. They finished defying the exposure and disappeared around the bend.

Nobody had mentioned this portion of the ride.

    Precipitous drop into the void from exposed section. 

Navi, to my relief, had just started walking his bike across the treacherous section. Navi would expect me to walk mine and Chad and Philip were out of the picture. I would have felt more comfortable crossing on my hands and knees but couldn't figure out how to propel my bike if I did that. Navi was walking his bike on his right side so that if anything zipped into the void, it would be his bike. At $8000 for his carbon beauty though, I wouldn't have been surprised if he sacrificed himself to save his bike.

Five minutes later, avoiding any glances to the right other than to take one quick photo, my bike and I reached flat ground, and I hopped back on. The danger behind me, I laughed. As dangerous as mountain biking could be, I always had the option of getting off and walking through anything too daunting. Right?

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