The Dirt Field

Dirt: Somebody once said “God made dirt and dirt don’t hurt.” That person, while probably cursed with three teeth, a shotgun, and a mullet, was completely correct. Dirt doesn’t hurt, not even when you slam yourself into it at a high speed. It does, however, work its way into every part your skin, hair, and nails, so that when you strip down after a long ride, it looks as if you’re still wearing white shorts, a white tee shirt, and white socks. Although I did discover the other day that if you fall hard and fast enough, the dirt actually goes inside your clothing and even ends up stuck to your bare butt and ground into your teeth. YES, I’m certain it was dirt and NO, those things were in no way related.

Humiliation: Does this even require an explanation? I ride in heavily traversed areas where other, more experience bikers frequently ride as well. I fall a lot. I am constantly covered in scratches and bruises that are clearly not a result of smoothly riding the trail. Nothing else needs to be said.

Trees: These majestic and silent beauties become the bane of your existence as a mountain biker. While the standard ecologist would argue that mankind is the greatest danger to our forests, the standard biker would argue that the forest is the greatest danger to mankind. Nothing can throw you off your bike quicker than flying down a hill and clipping the very edge of a tree with your handlebar. (Well, except maybe running squarely into the tree.) It is my firm belief that trees are not the stationary beings I once thought, but rather conniving Lord of the Rings-like creatures that whisper behind your back and conspire to slap you when you least expect it. I have to tell myself this because the alternative is that I am just crappy at steering.

Brambles: There is nothing more fun than falling into a patch of brambles, except maybe pulling yourself back out of them and then finding little thorns embedded in your exposed skin. I personally enjoy brambles the most for the reaction they create on my body; each little thorn leaves a small hole that bleeds a little and swells a lot, until I look damaged and diseased. The itching isn’t bad at first, but I learned the other day while printing a long document at work that it can flare up suddenly out of nowhere and THANK GOD the paper cutter was nearby so I could appropriately address the urgent need to scratch.

Skill: Oh, this one is here by accident. Please kindly disregard, as I have only come close to skill when other bikers pass me where I’ve fallen on the trail.

Debt: When I first started biking, I bought a bicycle, a helmet, a waterbottle, and a blinking taillight. I thought I was set for a long and happy life of biking. But then I realized that I needed special pedals, and those special pedals needed special shoes, and those special shoes looked better with special gloves. And then my first flat tire helped me to acquire a few spare tubes and a bike pump, AND just the other day I bought a Camelbak, because my life as a biker is not complete unless I can carry a huge reservoir of water on my back in a special pack. Nevermind that I hate water and drink less than 8oz a year. I’m still hoping to buy an expensive headlight for riding at night, but I have noticed that no matter how many fancy things I buy to look more like a real mountain biker, I’m not actually riding any better. If only they sold boxes of talent.