The Perfect Crash and Burn

Just that you are reading what I have now written should be testimony enough that my body is still in tact after today's 21.5 mile mountain bike ride. With an introduction like that, let me dispel the frightening thoughts pillaging my mother's now disquieted mind.

We let from the front of the CAC (Cairo American College) with a gang of riders all twice my age. Geared with some of the top equipment in the field, including pretty sweet bikes, we rolled out at 7 a.m. It is somewhere between 2-3 miles to Wadi Delga where the adventure prepared for us awaited our assent. And ascend we did. We did climbed so much, I actually cramped in my thighs for the first time in my life. In my defense, it wasn't until after the 3/4 mark in the ride.

Being a rookie on the course, I claimed and embraced the fullness of the learning curve sent from God the Father himself. Just before the halfway mark two of our dusty clan sided on the way of ease, parting them from us back towards Caffé Greco for their postride latté. The truest of our troupe soldiered on to punch out most of the rest of the typical route. It was at this moment, I remember thinking, in poor form, how those guys must not be manly enough to keep on.

These tougher-than-thou thoughts continued for only a short while longer. We came upon a set of steep descending and rolling hills. As we approached, the man was graciously invited me to ride with them paused to assert a bit more of his bountiful wisdom. He explained to me how to ride this part and to be careful of my speed when riding up the rapid risers. I took it in but after the upon a successful mounting of the first launch, the ignorant pride set it. One more shorter hop, the culmination of speed, and without my permission or consent, I was no longer on my bike seat... 6 feet in the air. "Well self," I said to myself. "Looks like we'll be trading cells with some of the sandy rocks below. Welcome them with open arms." And that is what we did. Within the second after introducing my whole left side to Egypt's foundation, I had popped back up and remounted to kickoff into the next jump.

Our fearless leader, Kenny, watched the whole account and swarmed over in a haste of concern. I was reminded that it would be good and preferable to take a rest up for a minute to regroup. With a shrug from the shoulder worked, and a half shrug that looked more like a limp from the other, I responded by persevering with my resaddle and an "I'm ok. Let's ride on," from my mouth. So we did. He handed me two electolyte capsules and rode past with surprised agreement.

Despite the circumstances, (for I have taken worse spills before) that was not one of the instances when fear flashed my life in my blinking eyelid. The desert, for those who have never been to a real desert, is full of rock formations, plateaus, and hills begging to be climbed. Because of the combination of these, we rode, on occasion, along some ridges deeper than I would normally walk. It is here that we found ourselves more than conquerors. Courage and adrenaline bounding excitement replaced fear in the crags and corridors of my soul. It did rear its deformed face a time or two when a jutting rock caused a detour from the intended path, and also when the tail tire lost grip along one of these imposing ridges.

All together, I finished with an overwhelming sense of pride, self affirmation, sore tail bone, and a few raspberries leperring my left side like a dalmatian. Some call them wounds, I prefer the term "battle wound."

These dangerous gentlemen ride out nearly every weekend. I hope to pass their initiation and be named as one of this crew of rowdy dirt gangsters.