Sometimes what you were afraid of never happens; and other times, what you were afraid of would have been so much more manageable than what came to pass. Either way, fear of what MAY lie ahead is a waste of your present energy. You are either going to experience your dreaded situation twice, or you will experience it once but when it is entirely unnecessary to experience it at all.
I had heard Daniel and his friends talk about the Whole Enchilada, a ride in Moab’s La Sal Mountain Range, many times before. An iconic ride for the mountain bike enthusiast that is essentially 20+ miles of fast descent and rocky switchbacks. After being a bystander to their depictions and conversations of this infamous ride, it was now time for me to join them – at the encouragement of Daniel. I was apprehensive to say the least.
“Are you sure that I can handle it? But how steep is it really? Be honest. Are you sure I will be okay?” I asked Daniel these questions numerous times in the days – and hours – leading up to our ride.
His response wasn’t exactly the most reassuring.
“You can handle it, though it will be hard. It is probably going to be the most challenging ride that you have done. It isn’t crazy steep, no, but it is technical. It will get you out of your comfort zone. You will likely need to walk some.”
Yikes.
Not one to back away from a challenge, or an adventure, I simply said, “Well, let’s give it a try!”
The day came and I found myself squished into a van with four men and our bikes. As the van crawled up the mountain pass, we watched the temperature gauge drop to 34 degrees fahrenheit. The mountains already had a blanket of snow and we knew the beginning of our ride would be a bit wet as a result.
I was quiet the whole drive up, lost in my own nerves and anxious excitement. What if I fall and break my face? What if I take hours to complete the ride and the guys are stuck waiting for me? What if, what if, what if… Living in the fear of what may come to be.
Finally, we reached Kokopelli TrailHead where we were to begin. Right away, the trail proved to be slick, our bikes skidding beneath us, zig zagging across the muddy service road. Now and again I’d find a sense of flow, mud spraying off of my tires and leaving dark speckles across my vest, my leggings and my face.
I quickly lost sight of the men, them having sped down the trail at a much faster rate than I, a great deal less reliance on their brakes. Unfortunately, the mud grew thicker as I made my way along, collecting on my wheels and adding weight to my bike. At exactly 1.3 miles – 15 minutes – into my ride, my bike came to a slow, sludgy stop and I toppled over with it … right into the mud.
“F@¢K” I thought … well, maybe I yelled.
My gloves were now oozing brown goop. I pulled my bike out of the thick clay and attempted to mount and resume riding. I couldn’t get my pedals to turn quick enough though and I found myself toppling again and again. Hot tears pricked my eyes as my frustration and anger grew.
Not only was I stuck, but I was alone in the middle of nowhere and it was COLD. The guys had to be miles ahead of me at this point, surely free of the mud and cruising along – hair blowing in the wind and smiles on their faces.
“What am I going to do?” I whispered. I began to push my bike, slowly and with great effort, through the muddy path. And with that the tears gushed out of me, along with a long, loud string of expletives.
From deep within my vest pocket, my phone rang out. I delicately pulled off my filthy glove so as to retrieve my device. A picture of Daniel and I hugging flashed across the screen.
“I am stuck! I can’t move!” I wailed into the phone, sobbing as the words tumbled out.
“I know, I know. This is terrible. I am stuck too. I am going to leave my bike and come to where you are, just give me a minute.”
Daniel emerged around a bend in the trail, covered in mud himself, and laughed at the sight of me. I, in turn, cried even harder.
“I am stuck. I can’t go anywhere. I ruined your whole ride!”
He snapped a picture of my distressed, mud encrusted, face and then wrapped his arms around me in a tight squeeze.
“No, no, no. This mud is the worst I have ever experienced. We shouldn’t be riding in this. My bike is stuck as well. We need to go back. It isn’t your fault! We are all struggling with this.”
His words calmed me. It wasn’t just me. It isn’t that I am a weak link holding everyone back. This would be a difficult mess for anyone.
Daniel called Josh to see how far the rest of the group was from us and to let them know we’d be turning around. With that Daniel went back to retrieve his bike and we began our trek up to the van.
Daniel was able to lift his bike onto his shoulders, making it a little easier, and quicker, to carry. Though, he still slid across the trail, working hard to steady himself. Not being able to do this myself, I told him to go ahead. Once he could get his bike out, he could come back and help me with mine.
Again, I found myself alone with my bike and the mud. With every step I took forward, I felt myself slide slightly back as I worked to push my bike through slippery, wet muck. I would stop every couple minutes or so to pull chunks of mud from my wheels, the frame, and the bottom of my shoes. This was the only way for me to keep my bike, and myself, moving ever so slightly forward. Still, when I would pull mud from my bike, my gloves would then be covered with thick goo. In an attempt to rid my gloves, mud would be flung all over my clothes. I grew about 8 inches every few feet or so, as the clay was collecting on my shoes – also resulting in me lifting ankle weights with each step.
I was making such minimal progress that I contemplated just sitting down, giving up, and waiting for Daniel to come and get me. The tears and swear words returned as I found myself falling into the mud again and again, my bike falling with me – bruising my thigh – each time. It felt pointless to even try, was I really getting anywhere? Stopping didn’t make sense either though, it would just further delay ending this nightmare.
Finally, Daniel returned – his bike now at the van – hands free and able to help me. I think he was a bit surprised and disappointed with how little headway I’d made. He attempted to lift my bike up and rest the frame atop his shoulders, like he’d done with his own. Yet, my once orange bike was caked in a thick, now drying, layer of clay that had to weigh around 60 pounds. Within steps he cried out that the bike was digging into his back, making it impossibly painful to carry uphill. Pushing it also wasn’t a great option, as it would take hours to get the bike, and ourselves, out at the rate we were moving.
We (well, Daniel really) decided our best option was to take the tires off, that way he could carry the frame and I’d take the two wheels. Eventually, Daniel ended up with both the frame and a wheel, with me carrying the second.
About two hours later we made it to the van, covering the distance it had taken us a mere 15 minutes to ride down.
When we got to the van, covered in mud, we stripped down to our underwear and sucked water from Camelbaks out and onto our hands, so as to clean them before crawling inside and starting the engine. Daniel’s hands were numb, and as the water began to warm them back up, he yelled in pain. We must’ve looked like quite a sight – two muddy humans, standing in their underwear in a snowy parking lot, spitting water onto our hands.
Once we deemed ourselves clean enough, we slid into the van and blasted the heat. It was done. We were out, on our way back to civilization…where there were things like showers, and beer.
I had been nervous for what I’d anticipated would be the most challenging mountain bike ride I’d ever undergone. Nervous for rocky drop offs and steep terrain. Yet, what we’d just butchered our way through was 10X harder than any mountain bike ride I could’ve imagined. In fact, I’d place it in the top five hardest experiences of my life – mentally, physically and emotionally draining. Still, we’d made it through. I hadn’t given up and now it was done. Quite honestly, I felt stronger and more resilient for it.
I am not totally sure what the point of writing this all out is … what deeper meaning I am trying to draw from this experience; is there even one? That being said, what I do see through reflecting upon all of this, is that the time we spend in fear or worry around a future event, is often a waste of our body’s energy – encouraging a stress response that is unwarranted. It may be that what actually occurs is far better than we’d imagined; or, possibly, far worse. Either way, it will come and then it will go. We will get through it one way or another. As such, we might as well stay in the moment and embrace whatever comes for exactly what it is.
Down the line I am sure Daniel, the guys, and I will look back on our muddy day and laugh – grateful for the memory of moving through a challenging experience together.
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