Monday, March 22, 2004

Eating Rocks

Mountain bike riding yesterday for the first time this year. Briones Park in Pleasant Hill. Spectacular NorCal setting. Sun setting through gnarled oaks. Hilltops as smooth as a baby's bottom. Drastic climbs out of tight scrub-and-laurel canyons. Screaming descents of trails which can't be descended -- if you actually looked at where you were going. Long, leaping bunny hops for the sheer joy of flight. And to impress the girlfriend.

At the bottom of the hill, a 1/4-mile of chunky gravel snaked down to the parking lot. Perfect opportunity to practice power slides! Nailed three or four turns, whipping the back of the bike around in a spray of gravel...and then went down hard on an innocent-looking right. The rear tire went wide left, the front went right, and I smushed for ten feet through bits of granite that ripped the skin off my arm, my hands, my hips.

I watched myself eat rocks with a detached air of inevitability. First road rash of the season, after all. Had to happen sometime, might as well get it over with.