for any reason, ride with a younger and skinnier guy.
I made that mistake last summer.
It was our ward’s turn at girl’s camp. Our girl’s camp was at Cinnamon
Creek. I mentioned to a guy from the neighborhood I was headed up there.
He mentioned he had the same assignment. I was old enough to be the
grandfather to his motley crew. Our job was to eat their food, hang out,
and make sure the girls didn’t get any unwelcome visitors like
rattlesnakes, bears, cougars, or the worst, teenaged boys from the
surrounding camps.
The neighbor is a cabinet maker and must weigh all of about 150 lbs
with his soaking wet coat on.
I told him I was going to bring my Schwinn up to camp and ride it around.
So Skinny Shawn decides he is going to bring his bike and take me on bike
ride to Rosie’s Mine. I’ve never been to the mine, and in my mind the trail was as flat as the road to the campsite.I think to myself, I’ve tackled the hill on Highway 91 at Franklin and didn't die, nothing can be any worse than that.
Skinny shows up at camp with some light titanium bike with shocks on the
front fork and starts spinning tales about him and his dot of a wife
enjoying riding the trails of nearby canyons.
We grab our gear and get on our bikes and head for the mine.
After going over the first bridge and watching Shawn get his bike in a
lower gear and go up this mountain of hill lickety-split, I follow.
About then I figure out I’m in big trouble, but I’m up for the adventure.
With a flip of the lever into the lowest gear possible, maybe a little later
than I should have, I have zero momentum and tip over. I walked up the
mountain. When I got to the top, Shawn was waiting; probably making sure he
didn’t have to call Life Flight or do CPR. When I finally get to the top, he sees I’m going to live and shoots down the hill, literally jumping, both wheels off the ground at a time, over rocks and gullies to the bottom and waits at the bottom of the trail to a steeper mountain and beyond.
I follow, and with no shocks and my size, create my own gullies. When
I hit one of the many boulders Skinny Shawn jumped, they’re huge. My
hands, wrists, arms, shoulders, and even my head feel it. To my amazement I
was still on two wheels at the bottom. The vibration of such a gully riddled hill just about vibrates my head off of my shoulders. Skinny Shawn waits at the bottom of the hill again to make sure I’m not hurt, and then he heads up the mountain.
At one of the stops, Shawn explains the virtues of having a shocks and a
light bike. I think I can probably buy 30 Deseret Industry Specials for
the price of his bike. I try to listen, but the vibration continues. I
put my hands on top of my helmet to make sure my head is still over my
shoulders.
I’m sure he’s right. Unlike me he has no sweat dripping from his forehead
or heart beating out of his chest; he is “calm as a summer’s morn.” I’m
trying to suck what oxygen I can out of the air at that high altitude. I
do, however, try to act calm until he turns around and then I continue to
gasp for air.
It must be because of his light bike with shocks.
We have to cross a raging creek a couple of times more; once we had to
carry our bikes across a fallen log to get across the water.
To me, it must have been two or three hours getting to the mine, but in
reality it was only really about 15 or 20 minutes by my watch.
When you're huffing and puffing and going up these huge, mountainous hills,
it’s not the time to walk through a dark mine with a light stuck to your
head with a large rubber band.
My shoes get soaked with water and mud from the floor of the mine. I
clobbered my head on the rugged low rock ceiling, because I was still
gasping for air.
Our trip to Rosie’s Mine was anything but the glamorous trip I thought
it would be. The journey back to camp was darn near as bad, but seemed
much shorter.
When I got to the log crossing, still breathing like I’m about to croak,
I picked my bike up, which now feels like it’s made of lead,
and try to cross the log. The log shrunk since the first time. I lose my
balance and drop my Schwinn into the torrent. Skinny Shawn, who
patiently waited on the other side, slipped over to the creek and pulled
my bike, with one hand, out of the water. It all happened about as quick
as I caught my balance and got to the other side.
When I got back to camp, out of breath, my heart thumping ready to quit
anytime, knots on my head, my shoes and socks sloshy, I was where I
should have stayed.
Back at camp with the girls.
