Why does my family insist that I am capable of mountain biking feats when they, out of anyone, should know my inexperience with said sport. In the past, my dad has been the guilty party innocently inviting me to "go on a bike ride." When I was a kid this meant around the block a couple of times. Now that I'm an adult, apparently it means following him into the random forest behind a neighboring subdivision and balancing on really thin fallen logs across semi-raging trickles of water.
My mountain biking experience was raised to a new level yesterday.
I borrowed my brother's friend's bike he keeps in his garage. My brother's short friend. Then I borrowed my brother's neighbor's helmet. My brother's large-headed neighbor. Then I realized that although I packed socks, I had forgotten tennis shoes. Brown flip-flops will have to do. Usually I find that when a helmet is required, so are closed toed shoes. Yesterday's jaunt through the woods was no exception.
At one point in our little ride, flying down a narrow bike path I hit a large conspicuously protruding root which in turn jarred my helmet over my eyes rendering me blind. I vaguely remembered a patch of soft sand proceeded by a sharp turn to avoid the lake coming up. I glanced down (my only available line of sight), saw the sand, and turned a hard left thus staying on the bike, dry and unharmed.
My brother simply glanced back at me skeptically as I teetered through the treacherous turn.
A few minutes later he asked if I was up for an adventure. I sighed and responded how every little sister does. With artificial confidence I stated, "Bring it on." Luckily for my life and the use of my appendages for the next 4 months, it had rained and that particular trail was flooded.
Does my family think that while away at school I was secretly training for a chance such as this to impress the family once and for all with my mad mountain biking skills?
Who do they think I am?
I was wearing flip-flops for goodness sake.
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