And by other things, I really just mean mountain biking...wow! I'm hooked! It's like surfing, but with the risk of impending death from a jagged rock to the temple or a Sonny-Bono-style-tree-wrap-around. It's akin to horseback riding in a way but, you know...you have to do all the work yourself. I love the solitude of it. I don't ever think I could be one of those group-type riders. I don't want to talk out there. I really don't want to listen either. I want to feel those theta brain waves of being completely focused on something (that 'something' being my lack of oxygen on climbs and my commitment to a path on the downhills). I suck. And it's okay. Because every time I go I suck less and find my groove - literally - even more. I don't really enjoy being one of those girls that takes up all the hobbies of her boyfriend and so I'm a bit glad that I'm solo for the season. I'm not about to stick one of those white oval "FLG" bumper stickers on my paint, either. That's what's so great about falling in love with this sport...I'm in it for all the right reasons. I'm still me. I'm MORE me out there in the woods alone - just like sunrise surf sessions at Deerfield Beach. The only thing that could make me more Beth on that bike is if someone, good lord, would make some fashionable ladies' threads for the ride...cycling clothes are downright hideous. My bike is old and nearly broken, I don't have the right shoes or the right helmet, my seat is too hard, too narrow and badly torn and it's all, quite simply, fantastic.
I guess I should introduce Sandy. She's an orange 1999 Schwinn full suspension man's mountain bike...ridden hard for years but faithful. Her rear wheel is not true, her brakes drag, she refuses to shift into big gear. One of her spokes is bent. I did that one. I wish I had some great story about an epic crash or something, but I actually did it accidentally the first time I put her in the trunk. I pushed a pedal thru the wheel. Doh.
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