Personal best? The weekend’s rides were a series of little ones—not one overall. Getting to the best part of me as a son, a father, a partner, a businessman, a citizen, a musician, a writer, a paddler, a friend, or a rider, takes training and practice and a little gutsy resolve.

The trails are Nature’s mentor in many ways. Learning where the lines are cleanest and where the roots and jumps can be most treacherous. Constant attention and familiarity reduces risk and offers up a predictably better finish. But taking the familiar and continuously improving on the same path lures one into staying on that path because we know it. Living life, I mean living it, has much to do with trying, and failing, at the proverbial “less traveled.” I am drawn to the unknown. I love it best when the woods are quiet and deep and absent of other humanity, but full of an audience of wildlife whose bleachers are the trees and the creeks and under the logs and around the fallen things.

I rode various trails over the two days. For whatever reason, with each approach to the places that offered the safer (bypass) or Expert options, I chose only
the more challenging path. There are times I want to glide and enjoy the maturing of a faster outcome for the whole. But these two days were more about getting a little better at the edges, the hazards, the precarious. It was an attitude. I wanted to explore both new terrain and new potential.

So I pushed. I never clocked my overall time. I did find that my turns were sharper, some of my landings more solid, my acceleration out of the turns faster, and a little more air was under the frame.

At the top of Whitewater’s Goat Hill, I smiled. The burn in my thighs was matched by a rapid pulse and mild gasps for the Spring air. I tried, and succeeded at single-gearing it all the way.

The next day, on the ramp at Beatty I did what I thought I would never do. I jumped off the down ramp instead of carefully leaning back and sliding through the descent. I landed hard but never lost stride. There is this adrenaline that is rooted in fear at the pull of the bars heading into the jump, then, an equal amount that turns to a rush of “Holy Shit, I just did that.” This chemistry of opposing highs mixed with the familiar racing through clean lines and the known paths made for a day to remember.

A blueprint for life.

Sean

What can a 20″ wide bridge over a small creek teach me about leadership and life. Riders ride and train on these trails all the time. There is

this one bend that leads down to a short bridge over a tiny creek that, for whatever reason, is the nemesis for so many. I have watched for years and even succombed myself to flying around the bend only to throw on the brakes just prior to the bridge. There are MANY more technical elements on this nice set of trails. But THIS ONE gets in a rider’s head. The fear of not hitting it just center and possibly sliding off to a two-foot drop (not much even if it happened, but would require dumping the bike) is enough to almost give it a nickname.

On those days when I’m not thinking about it–or about the 3 or 4 other challenging ramps or drops–I fly right over it. Then on other other days when feeling less confident and thinking too much, the anxiety builds 1/4 mile away and often results in a redo.

I recently parked my jeep at the trails near the ballfields at the park. I stopped to watch the kids in practice and was taken back to the best times in the best places. The diamonds of my early and late youth. Those proverbial fields of dreams that so shaped me and caused me to love the sport … and all sports. As I watched the infielders taking grounders and the batters taking pitches I was reminded that skill may come naturally to some, but much of the game is about practice. As a second baseman and shortstop most of my baseball career I have taken thousands and thousands of grounders. It built a sense of timing and led to an almost intuitive response to the dance between the ball and the grass and the dirt and the velocity off of the bat. Kids in T-ball or the pros whose season began only days ago have the same routine. Grounder after grounder. Pitch after pitch. Swing after swing. Throw after throw. The result is confidence and continuous skill improvement.

I jumped on my bike and took the shortcut to the bridge. Not a rider in the woods this early evening. A cool breeze swirled around the trees just getting fitted in Spring’s green. The trail’s dirt just moist enough after the weekend’s rain to offer a little extra grip.

I got some speed, looked ahead at the descent and the bridge, took the high route and flew right over it. I had no sooner taken the bridge and the subsequent 90 degree turn uphill that I grabbed a shortcut and headed back to run it again. Two, three, ten, twelve times. With each turn and brake adjustment and gear change this tentative annoying 8 foot stretch over moss covered rock became insignificant.

There are these things in our lives that get in our head. We avoid them or go around them or excuse them away. The rear their ugly self and try and rob confidence. They wake me from time to time and attempt to distract me from the good.

I choose more these days to lean into them. To practice. To take the speedy grounders that hit me in the chest or brush my arm and leave a leather burn and, more often, land in the sweet spot of my life’s glove.

Practice, practice, practice. I will.