In Which I Start to Grow a Pair

3 January

We're back in Mercer County Park. John is on his single-speed, Chris still has a cold, I have my new shoes, and Mike M. has his Blackberry's camera.

I'm determined not to flub the downhill from the dam this time. Chris stops at the top to make sure I don't miss the turn. I swing Grover down the hill before I have time to panic, and that's one less thing to be afraid of.

Now we're back at the playground. Mike pulls out his camera and positions himself at the see-saw. I'm at the edge of the clearing, my front wheel lined up with the base of the obstacle a good five meters away.

Chris and John are circling in front of me. Chris goes over. John topples off, lands on his feet, and makes it over on his second try.



He swings around to face me.

"You're gonna try?" He sounds surprised.

"My heart is racing." I clip in and reach the bottom of the teeter-totter at full speed, leaning forward. I'm on it. The back end flips up and I feel it propel me forward. As it was with the dam hill, it's over before I have time to think about what happened. I hear John and Mike cheering.

"Yesssssssssss!" I pump my fist in the air. "Did you get the shot, Mike? 'Cause I don't think I can do that again."

"Got it."



"Your turn."

"Maybe another time."

We move on through the woods. When we get to the Hughes Road bridge construction site I follow the guys along the unfinished edge, holding on to the cement with one hand and hoisting Grover with the other. No wind, no vertigo.

I still go around most of the big log piles, but I try more this time than last.

I ride over two wooden bridges in succession, wobbling only a little on the second one. "That was close," I think. "Dumb, too."

Along the muddy lake shore I follow Chris' line, crunching over frozen bits. This section was a mess a few weeks ago when the ground was still soft. Mike spots a buck with antlers. To our left are cedars whose lower leaves have been eaten away by deer. Up ahead a beaver has gnawed on a still-standing tree.

We wind through some tight stuff on a seldom-used section of trail. The sun is low and bright; my yellow lenses make finding the path a bit of a challenge. We're usually out here on cloudy days, when yellow is perfect.

The guys pedal through a stream. I stop at the edge, sizing up the depth. "That's a good line there," Chris says, nodding to where my front wheel is pointing. So I clip in and push through the stream. My feet stay dry, thanks in part to the frayed pair of booties I stretched over my shoes this morning.

I surprise John by bouncing over three medium-sized logs in succession. "Good!" he calls out. I reply, "I didn't have time to think about 'em."

We pass by the boat house and take the paved path back to the west side's Hall of Mirrors. John and Chris zip through. Mike and I find, lose, find, and lose our tight-stuff mojo. Chris says he caught his cheek on a tree, but he looks unscathed.

Mike has a flat and heads back to his car. The rest of us go on through the easier part of the Hall. I'm losing steam, and losing sight of John and Chris. There's just one quick descent and sharp rise -- a deep cut at the edge of the power line right-of-way -- left to tackle. "Ramming speed," I think, and hurl myself up the thing.

"You made it?" John asks as I emerge.

"Yep."

By the time we pop out of the woods near the marina I'm beat.

Today was a long one. John says we went fifteen miles. I didn't think there was that much trail in here, but there you go.

Before I head home I have to call Mike B., of course. I have to tell him I made it over the teeter-totter. "Oh, man!" he says, "I wish I'd seen that." It's okay; he'll make it up and over next time.