The people here at The Compound are Bike People. 

Sam and Amy have been telling me for years that their cousins in Arkansas are bike people.  The trick is, you never really know what someone means when they say that they are ”bike people.”  That could mean a thousand different things.  My family and I, for instance, have deep roots in the BMX world, love mountain bikes and torture ourselves on road bikes on a fairly regular basis.  Some people that are “bike people” are just one of those things.  Or even still, they might be into just one thing, and that one thing might not be one of the things that we’re into.  They could be velodrome nuts or dirt jumping enthusiasts or, if they’re really weird, into trials.  You, dear readers, may not have any idea what any of those things are.  And that’s okay.  All you have to know is that there are just as many ways to ride a bike as there are to skin a cat.  You get the drift.  It didn’t take long to figure out, though, that these kind of people are damn near the same kind of bike people that we are. 

I got up at 7:00 this morning and set out on a 29-inch mountain bike to ride with Crystal, our lovely hostess.  She hauled my ass back into the trials behind the house, about 5 miles of quality single-track that she and her family  have cut into their hilly, densely wooded, creek laden property.  I was really glad that she took the initiative to lead me through the trails, because I would have been downright embarrassed to have anyone close enough to hear the not-quite-an-asthma-attack that I had for the duration of the time  I was chasing her through the woods.  I thanked God in Heaven every time she had to stop to remove a branch (or small tree) that had fallen across the trail.  Even though I was much to exhausted to help with the trail clearing, one time I feigned like I was going to get off my bike and assist.  She must have seen how exhausted I was; she simply held her hand towards me, palm up, signaling that I should stop and perhaps take a sip of the neglected water bottle on my bike.  Apparently I looked as bad as I felt.  Regardless of my huffing and puffing, she never asked me if I wanted to quit early.  We bobbed and weaved through the first trail, and I was feeling really good about myself when we popped out of the woods and started riding down a dirt road.  I patted myself on the back, congratulating myself for surviving the whole mountain bike trail experience without breaking down into tears or having to stop. 

We had only been riding for about 25 minutes at that point, though, so I should have known that it wasn’t over yet.  As soon as I got done with my internal gloat session, Crystal pointed out the next path that we were going to take to go back into the woods.  I grinned.  She turned away from me on to the trail.  I mouthed cuss words at her, myself, and then Amy for telling them I was a bike person.  I even cursed Lance Armstrong and his stupid cancer for making me look like such a wuss.  Then I followed her onto the next trail.

She gently informed me, (while not looking back to see my face the color of a red crayon, about to pass out from exhaustion) that this was the beginner trail!  It’s a nice little trail, she continued, that you can take a person on who’s never ridden a trail before, and it’ll give them a good idea of what it’s like!  I thought to myself: VICTORY.  THIS MUST BE THE TRAIL HOME.  Surely, I reasoned, this was the first trail that they made, before they knew about switchbacks and climbing and all the misery of hairpin turns!  I goes straight and flat from here to the house and Life Is Good.  I even went so far as to convince myself that it was a SHORTCUT.  This must be the FASTEST way home! Faster than the road!  I was allowed to continue with that train of thought for four glorious minutes.  That’s when she hollered around a corner at me, “Okay, this is where it starts to get harder again!”

Super.

I love it when it gets harder again.

It went on like that for another 30 minutes.  So many uphills! With the climbing! And having to pedal the whole time! How do people possibly like this!?  In my defense, I continued to not cry.  I’m not sure what the difference is between hiking and biking that allows me to not weep when I’m exhausted on wheels like I do when I’m on foot, but I guess I should be happy for it.  I didn’t even get teary until the very last climb.  The trails end at the bottom of a very steep, very sandy jeep road.  She told me that we were at the end! And then she mentioned that the only part we had left was a big climb in order to get back to the houses.  I said okay! And then I turned the corner and saw that she wasn’t messing around.  She meant it when she said it was a Big Climb.  Luckily she’s in very good shape so she motored right up to the top, leaving me to climb up the hill in peace.  I cranked it down to the lowest gear possible and resolved that I was going to ride up that stupid freaking hill if it was the last thing I did.  Then, as I got to about the half way point, I crawled off my bike and resolved that, instead, I was going to walk up that stupid freaking hill if it was the last thing I did!  I AM SHOWING THIS HILL WHO IS BOSS.  Then, as my long strides up the hill slowed to a shuffle, and my throat began to produce a wheezing sound not unlike the sound the throat makes during an asthma attack, I revised my goal again. I was going to keep breathing! HAH! See this inhalation and exhalation!?  I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes as Crystal crested the top of the hill and began circling around (like a vulture! I was feeling very damaged by that point) and I decided that I wasn’t going to give up on that last goal.  Not crying, still breathing, I shuffled slowly to the crest of the hill, then collapsed.  Crystal, being the kind human that she is, didn’t mention the fact that I’m the most out-of-shape 25-year old that she’s ever had to drag through her family’s trails.  In fact, she must have some experience with truly exhausted people because she, very graciously, didn’t ask me any questions either.  She just told me about how when she first started riding the trails she couldn’t get all the way up the hill either, and how accomplished she feels every time she conquers a new riding goal.  And I was happy to have the encouragement to accomplish my goals, since the my latest goals (forming at that very minute), were to muster up enough energy to move my arm to the water bottle and to continue breathing without crying.