Mountain Bike Madness

[ninevirtues]

I have now been mountain biking at Lake Cammack. The guy who built the trail, Richard, wanted to use a GPS to measure its exact length, so he advertised on the club email list to see if anyone else wanted to ride with him. I said yes. This would be my first time on a mountain bike in several months.

In short: I now know what it is like to mountain bike in the snow--it's hard! The snow is a cold, crusty, soft visual and physical impediment to your progress (like junior sand). The fiendish mind and hands of the trail builder (that would be Richard) placed fallen logs of all sizes across the trail for us to bunnyhop, and because he had a small area to work with, the trail meanders and takes many, many sharp turns.

I have the aerobic endurance to tackle just about anything. I do not have the core strength to wrestle the bike around to where I want it, or the technical skill to ride well. And I want to race MTB starting in April or May or so. Uh oh, I have a lot of work to do.

Richard, noticing my frustration and the inordinate amount of time I spent walking, finally tried to explain to me how to bunnyhop. I sort-of got that, and was able to hop smaller branches. (I did get better on the MTB by the end of our three hour ride. But I was very happy to see my car.) Finally, he suggested that I drink some soda (!) and then spend some time on a nice green lawn, trying to bunnyhop the soda cans without crushing them.

My housemate lives on diet pepsi. I have lots and lots of soda cans, and an elementary school with big soccer fields right next door. I can do this. When I can bunnyhop soda cans, I will return to Lake Cammack and abscond with a dead branch and some rocks; I will use the rocks to chock the branch, so it doesn't roll, and then practice bunnyhopping the branch.

Then there are curbs. And stairs. And stuff like that. Bigger, scarier things to jump. I can do that, provided I put in time on the soda cans first.

In a complete change of subject-- something happened that confused me. Our doorbell rang. (Bear in mind that you must buzz downstairs to get in, and THEN you can ring our actual doorbell. However, some people outside have been known to buzz every apartment until they find someone who will let them in. This was not what confused me; that comes next.)

So, I went to the door and yelled "Who is it?"
No answer.

Okay, maybe they didn't hear me. "Who is it?
No answer.

Then I did a dumb thing: I opened the door anyway, with great trepidation.
It was one of our neighbors I hadn't met yet, an approximately 75-year-old grandma type who brightly said, "It's me!" as though she'd been playing a funny joke on us.

Well, maybe she thought it was funny.

She proceded to ask if we had a "church home" and tried to give me a flyer advertising her own church. I assured her that it was handled, thanks. (I spend sunday morning working out, and my housemate spends it sleeping.)

After thinking for a long time, I was forced to conclude that someone who won't identify themselves in that situation is trying to ambush you. Even if that person is a 75 year old grandma, if she was doing the right thing (like wanting to introduce herself, or asking for help, she'd identify herself. On some level, she knew she was not welcome to proselytize.

The take home lesson: in that situation, next time, I will inform whoever is on the other side of the door that I will not open it, since they will not identify themselves.