Remember Your First Mountain Bike Ride?

Megan Ross July 12, 2008

I was a sophomore in college. My riding partner—an experienced mountain biker I was secretly in love with—took me on an “easy” trail in Virginia’s George Washington National Forest.

When I arrived at the trailhead I almost didn’t recognize Ian. He could have been plucked from the cover of Bike magazine. He was decked out in black lycra, a colorful jersey, and special shoes that clipped into his pedals. He took a sip of water from a blue plastic tube that connected to his backpack.

“You ready?” he said.

I carried nothing. One of my tennis shoes was untied and my helmet was so loose that it tipped backwards on my head. I could barely lift my bike, a 40-lb. purple hardtail I bought from a friend’s dad for $75.

“Ready!” I said.

Ian looked hesitant. He walked over to me and leaned in close. I thought he might kiss me. Instead he grabbed the strap under my chin and yanked. “That’s better,” he said, jerking my head as he tightened my helmet. Then he pulled a pump out of his pack and added air to my tires. He lubed my chain, raised my seat two inches, and handed me an extra water bottle.

“Now we’re ready,” he said.

“Let’s do this,” I said, ignoring the realization that I was in way over my head.

On the climb, a steep pitch littered with rocks and roots, I had to stop every 25 yards to catch my breath. Why do people do this to themselves? I wondered, gasping for air. I watched in disbelief as Ian sailed effortlessly over logs and rocks the size of footballs. When I tried to mimic him, I fell—repeatedly—until my legs were dotted with scratches and purple welts. I went at a snail’s pace on the downhill, death-grip on the brakes, paranoid that I would flip over my handlebars.

The five-mile loop took us two hours. When it was over, I felt like someone had beaten me with a baseball bat. “Thanks for the ride,” I told Ian, trying to sound positive. “But I don’t think mountain biking is my thing.”

“Trust me,” he said. “It gets easier the second time.”

Eleven years and hundreds of rides later, I’m glad I listened.


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