Even a Bad Day in the Dirt…

Cliche. I know, but truly, in spite of adversity, discomfort and other atrocities to the modern woman, a bad day mountain biking is still a spectacular day  in the life, and better than a great day “in the office”, as it were.

Having been “busy” working and making a living, my time on the bike has suffered. And my time on the mountain bike has unduly suffered due to the closure of my local trails.  This is never apparent until one decides to ride with those who have more velocity than oneself.  Dangling off the back of a a small group ride of 3 for almost 4 hours is more humbling than I care to ponder. Today’s ride was the Monrovia Canyon Loop which is Epic and my favorite trail. It starts up Monrovia Canyon past White Saddle, continues along the Ridge and descends into Chantry, then road back to Monrovia. About 35 miles all told.

From time to time, being dropped is good for the soul.  Keeping it real.  It was apparent to me after the first 30 minutes or so that I was not going to be able to keep on pace with the Alex and his friend Vu, and that I was going to have to slow down.  I was spinning like crazy in my granny and slowly fell back.  You know that feeling you have when you’re getting dropped. That “crap, now I am on my own. I am out of shape. I have no fight left in me. I suck.” I really didn’t want to fall too far behind, but isn’t it tempting just to sahsay up the mountain looking at the views talking to your self?  Finding a nice comfortable quiet rhythmic breath? Daydreaming and lollygagging?

There is something to be said about 2×9 gearing.  I am beginning to look at a triple on the mountain bike more like the triple on a road bike: useless.  When you ride with people on double (this is the configuration of the chainrings (gears) on the cranks/front end of the drivetrain. Some bikes have 3 gears in the front, some have only 2) and you have a triple, it is difficult to keep pace. I realized at one point past White Saddle I needed to get into my middle chainring, even if I had to cross-chain in order to catch up and keep up, shifting into a *gasp* 32-34 from time to time. And to think I can actually do this ride on a 32-17 (singlespeed).  Really? Yea. Really. After gearing up into the middle ring, I caught back up and stayed on fairly well enough for the rest of the ride, at least on the climbs.

Leg cramps  were only a mild misfortune compared to what was about to happen to me.

Soon after crossing White Saddle and taking on Rincon Road, we found the snow. As I waited for Alex to get his things this morning I wondered out loud if there would be snow. We concurred it was possible, but neither one of us were sure. This is LA.  There was snow. The snow was plenty, and deep in some areas, but completely rideable.  When hit the snow I somehow lost all the steadiness in my hands, and my front wheel twitched like crazy as I try to avoid crashing by hitting the walls of the truck tire rut we rode in- it’s been a very long time apparently.  Honestly, riding in the snow is some of the most fun to be had on a bike, especially in small doses.  It was a complete blast riding in the snow. It’s one of those things that reminds you why you ride, and reminds you how to let go and connect with your inner 5 year old.

As soon as we hit the singletrack, singletrack turned fire break mind you, I picked up a branch that decided to lodge itself in the chainstay yoke of my bike- one branch in the yoke, one around the chain, and one in the spokes. I thought I would just stop and it would fall out, but I had to stop and deal with this- yanking, puling twisting how did that happen???-  and by the time I was finished, the guys were already around the corner.  Ok, here we go!  I made it through the fallen tree ok, but it was only half a minute later I found myself on the ground, simply slid out on the leaves and acorns adorning the trail.  Although this was a mild slip, I nailed my knee, and the heel of my hand. Hard. Great, bruises- and that feeling you get when you realize you are off today.  ”I’m ok!” and I am back on the bike.  I seem to be flailing a bit, but it’s all good. I mean, really.  I am on my favorite trail in SoCal, and the weather is undeniably heavenly. I seem to be riding slowly. Slower than my slow, and I am ok on the super technical sections where I see people walking, I am riding, however I am falling farther and farther behind.

I continue to ride off the back, which is unusual for me on descents, but the reality is that is where I was.  the guys waited for me from time to time, and the next thing I know I’m doing Chataranga in the middle of a rock pile. Somehow I flipped over the bars. And endo to beat all other endos.

It was one of those slow motion crashes where you have no idea how it happened, but you realize you are about to smash your face.  Yoga and good reflexes kept it from being tragic, but the mild tragedy was that I did hit my lip and nose.  As I stood up, I was just thinking “great, now I am going to have balloons for lips and a broken nose.” I wiped as much dirt off my face, and looked my gloves. No visible blood.

I broke my nose I broke my nose I broke my nose… my lips must look like balloons, like baboons, oh my god… my face!!!!

My nose still worked and didn’t feel broken, and I didn’t hit my helmet. I did hit both of my shins somehow.  All right, this is becoming ridiculous. It’s still not bad enough to start crying, but there was a split second when I thought maybe I should just start crying anyhow. I lost my nerve, I backed off, I rode ever SLOWer.  This is the first time I have ever crashed on the Monrovia loop, and quite possibly one of the worst days I’ve ever had on a bike, fitness and technical wise.  I am not accustomed to being the last person all day long. HEY- I played that role many years ago when I first began mountain biking, ok? Do I really have to go through this again? (I know the answer to that, thanks, Universe).

I struggled up the infamous Chantry hill to the Ranger station where I was treated with a Snickers and Creme Soda (happy happy joy joy).  The flight down Chantry back to Monrovia was amazing. I just followed the line as we flew down the mountain, screamed down the mountain back to town. It’s all good. The adrenaline from the road descent cured all that ailed me from the dirt.

Funny thing is, I believed that even though I was having a rotten day on the bike, it was still one of the best days of my life. And in any case, when you feel the need to call your therapist, just hop on your mountain bike. it’s cheaper, and you’ll learn more about yourself than you ever care to know.

Because, the worst day on a mountain bike is still better than the best day at the office.

namaste

-Tonya