One thousand miles of single track, one hundred thousand feet of cumulative elevation gain. These were the riding goals that I had informally set for myself back in January 2011. I had been inspired, as 2010 came to a close, by the numbers that some in our tribe had posted in an online mountain bike forum to which I subscribe. Considering their numbers and their years in the sport, I believed that one thousand miles and one hundred thousand feet were achievable goals, and given that I was not quite a year back on the bike after my 8-year hiatus, realistic ones as well.
My only New Years resolution for 2011 was that I would be diligent in recording my riding totals. To fulfill this promise to myself as much as to keep me honest, I dug out my old eTrex Legend, and made a home for it on the handlebars of both my Specialized Rock Hopper 29er and my Cannondale Prophet. I have been pretty good at remembering to turn it on at the beginning of each ride, too. Most of the time, anyway.
January, February and March were big-mileage months for me, and given that I was already at 576 miles and 56,421 feet by the beginning of April, I figured that I was on track to hit my goals. I was taking into account the long, infernal months of a
I was fortunate to fall in with a great bunch of people to ride with, who have motivated me and inspired me along the way. They have turned me on to many more miles of “new to me” trails than I knew existed, even in my own back yard. I have been reunited with friends with whom I had lost touch, I have witnessed broken friendships mend. Our sport brings people together, and if you ride a mountain bike, you’re never without friends. Sometimes, their prodding is just what I needed to get off the couch, get out of my head, and get on my bike.
And the miles and feet? Well, they added up.
By the end of June, I was at 1051 miles and 103,534 feet. I was astonished at my accomplishment, and proud of the progress I had made over the year and a half since I had been back on my bike. Never before had I approached numbers like these.
And then...August 13, 2011, 10:47 AM happened.
No sooner was I airborne, having just launched off of a boulder I had intentionally left in the trail for just such acts of bravado, that I knew that this stunt was not to end well. I was well off of my line before even reaching the top of the arc of my flight. Ahead of me and to the right was a rather large staghorn cholla that I had been deliberating, for some months now, to trim back or transplant, as surely someone was inevitably going to run into it. In my desperate attempt to NOT be THAT person, I reached down with my left hand to arrest my fall and hopefully prevent impact with that menacing cactus. I didn't hear it snap, because as the ulna in my left arm was splitting up and through the end of the joint, my right knee was simultaneously ploughing a melon-sized, jaggedy cobble out of the hard red earth. But even this blunt trauma was crowded out of my primordial brain as my unceremonious uncontrolled somersault flung me through the staghorn cholla. I landed in a heap on the other side of the now-flattened cholla, blood pouring from the angry laceration smiling up at me from my right knee, and a dozen liberated segments of cholla attached firmly up and down my entire left side, ankle to neck.
As the on-duty intern at my local Urgent Care timidly tweezed out the hundreds of spines adorning my flesh, the doctor stitched on my knee. He began, of course, by laying the wound wide open to scour out the bits of matter that ought not to exist in the human knee - bits of decomposed granite, sand, clay, dried plant matter. It would be two months before I realized, to my horror, that he had missed a one-inch long fragment of palo verde and had sewn it into my knee. As the novocaine was wearing thin during Suture Number 6, I asked the good doctor where he had learned to stitch. "Prison," he grunted. He sewed in fourteen more.
The next day I saw my primary care doctor (if anyone needs a good doctor, I have the best). He took one look at my wrist and said, "You broke it."
The following day, my orthopedic surgeon pinned my wrist back together.
Three days later, I had to have the stitches removed from my knee as they had been tied too tightly and had become ingrown and infected.
Up to that incident, I had amassed 1,256 miles and 127,106 vertical feet. I had already surpassed my goals I had set for myself, but still, the next 10 weeks off the bike were not easy. Were it not for the support of my husband Mike, and the frequent checking-in by my riding brethren, I might have gone mad. Time off the bike was yet another reminder of what a lucky man I am, to have these great people in my life.
After six weeks, the pins came out. After eight, the cast was off. AND that fragment of palo verde popped out of the purple scar on my knee...I've seen prettier things. To celebrate being back on the bike, I entered the "24 Hours of Bootleg" race in October. I completed 40 miles. While it was far less than I had hoped for, I was just so damned thankful to be back on my bike!
I picked up another Rockhopper frame in November, and built it up as my first single-speed. I raced the "Dawn to Dusk" at McDowell in early December, hitting 100 miles in just over 10 hours. Though I was nowhere near the top, I was elated. As I told my friends after the race, if you're ever having a "low self-esteem day," put a singlespeed between your legs and ride in a race. The words of support and encouragement from fellow riders are generous and frequent.
So here we are, coming up on the end of 2011. I won't hit 2000 miles this year, but that's okay. What I have gained instead has been immeasurable, and to Mike, to James and Becky, to Roy, "K-Man" Kevin, John S., Seron, John B., Chris D., Chuck, R.J., Diana, Kevin, Whiskers, Dooley, Single-Speed Pete, Scott, Lance (who showed me some absolutely breathtaking trails near Sundance earlier this year), the Exhale Bikes family, the great folks at Slippery Pig, Two Wheel Jones, DNA and Adventure Bicycle, the parks people at McDowell Mountain Park, the volunteers and promotors and their families who so tirelessly give of their time and money and passions to further our sport, and to the dozens of other riders I have had the great honor and pleasure of riding with in 2011, thank you from the bottom of my Captains and Slant Sixes!
And in a few days, 2012. Who's riding Old Pueblo? I look forward to the many more miles we'll ride together in 2012, and to the new and ongoing friendships and discovery that are the very foundation, framework and fabric of our sport.
