By "Blueberry Hill," I mean regular old dirt hills, not far from home...hills in Long Beach...who knew!?
And by "thrill," I mean actual thrills from riding my beloved mountain bike furiously up and down said hills. Well, slowly and somewhat painstakingly up them, then from swiftly to crap-in-my-pants-fast down them.
It's been a very long time since I've rode on a trail, and I've missed it dearly: riding on the pavement is no bueno...it's a little too boring for me.
Granted, it's not much as far as mountain biking goes. It sorta feels like one of those multi-"roomed" hamster homes, connected by a tube: I can go up and down in a few places, but I'm frequently riding in circles and experiencing my "thrill" on the same drops. Still, it's far and away more enjoyable than peddling on a paved bike path.
As with most bike outings, Gina joined me, but she took her time safely ushering her bike up the hills...until she reached the summit, and there was nowhere to do but down. Unfortunately for Gina, she wasn't very well acquainted with downhill biking and the speeds that accompany it, and we're talking about solid, paved ground. Doing so in the dirt and loose sand and closely flanked by stickery, scratchy bushes was a bit too much for her at first...annnnd...by "at first," I mean the first 10 minutes. She hemmed and she hawed, and she grimaced and she squirmed, but she eventually made her way down without harm.
The first hill was the toughest. Though only about 7-8 feet tall and not terribly steep, it was still much more sheer a drop than anything else she's approached before, and the path didn't simply continue on into the horizon like the bike paths of yore...and by "yore," I mean the past week or two we've been riding. Instead, it allowed for about 15 feet of travel before heading long into the dry, uninviting California brush.
The first strategy was simple enough: she agreed to follow me down as I went before her and only needed to guide her bike along the same path I led mine; this happened several times with me going it alone while she remained perched atop the hill.
Then we moved onto strategy number two, which involved her backed up to get a "running" start (she was afraid if she wasn't going fast enough by the time she started her decent she would lose control of the bike). She attempted this several times only to stop just before the drop, then stared at me with sad puppy-dog eyes.
In the end it took me bracing her from behind (so she didn't roll down another much steeper hill, backwards) and literally propelling her toward the perilous precipice. And wouldn't you know it, she made it down in one piece, just like I had been telling her the entire time.
"That was the hard part. The rest is easy compared to that," I said without having actually ridden it.
As we started down the much less steep, but considerably longer hill that led to the bottom, I quickly realized that I'm going quite a bit faster than I had anticipated. I gently apply the brake to slow my decent when I hear Gina coming up quickly behind me — both her words and inflection indicating she's going too fast for comfort and gaining speed, despite braking. Releasing my breaks (trying to get the hell out of the way) I let gravity pull me ahead of her, and promptly stop once I reach the bottom, just off to the side of where I know she's heading. As I turn around, I see her panicked but obviously relieved face wincing as she hits the final bumps in her path, until she too comes to a hault. With quickened breath she tells me, "I think this is an acquired taste...I'm definitely a water person." I laughed, gave her a kiss on the cheek, told her how amazingly well she had done and then started on our way back home.
I'm proud of my brave wifey...she done good.
And by "thrill," I mean actual thrills from riding my beloved mountain bike furiously up and down said hills. Well, slowly and somewhat painstakingly up them, then from swiftly to crap-in-my-pants-fast down them.
It's been a very long time since I've rode on a trail, and I've missed it dearly: riding on the pavement is no bueno...it's a little too boring for me.
Granted, it's not much as far as mountain biking goes. It sorta feels like one of those multi-"roomed" hamster homes, connected by a tube: I can go up and down in a few places, but I'm frequently riding in circles and experiencing my "thrill" on the same drops. Still, it's far and away more enjoyable than peddling on a paved bike path.
As with most bike outings, Gina joined me, but she took her time safely ushering her bike up the hills...until she reached the summit, and there was nowhere to do but down. Unfortunately for Gina, she wasn't very well acquainted with downhill biking and the speeds that accompany it, and we're talking about solid, paved ground. Doing so in the dirt and loose sand and closely flanked by stickery, scratchy bushes was a bit too much for her at first...annnnd...by "at first," I mean the first 10 minutes. She hemmed and she hawed, and she grimaced and she squirmed, but she eventually made her way down without harm.
The first hill was the toughest. Though only about 7-8 feet tall and not terribly steep, it was still much more sheer a drop than anything else she's approached before, and the path didn't simply continue on into the horizon like the bike paths of yore...and by "yore," I mean the past week or two we've been riding. Instead, it allowed for about 15 feet of travel before heading long into the dry, uninviting California brush.
The first strategy was simple enough: she agreed to follow me down as I went before her and only needed to guide her bike along the same path I led mine; this happened several times with me going it alone while she remained perched atop the hill.
Then we moved onto strategy number two, which involved her backed up to get a "running" start (she was afraid if she wasn't going fast enough by the time she started her decent she would lose control of the bike). She attempted this several times only to stop just before the drop, then stared at me with sad puppy-dog eyes.
In the end it took me bracing her from behind (so she didn't roll down another much steeper hill, backwards) and literally propelling her toward the perilous precipice. And wouldn't you know it, she made it down in one piece, just like I had been telling her the entire time.
"That was the hard part. The rest is easy compared to that," I said without having actually ridden it.
As we started down the much less steep, but considerably longer hill that led to the bottom, I quickly realized that I'm going quite a bit faster than I had anticipated. I gently apply the brake to slow my decent when I hear Gina coming up quickly behind me — both her words and inflection indicating she's going too fast for comfort and gaining speed, despite braking. Releasing my breaks (trying to get the hell out of the way) I let gravity pull me ahead of her, and promptly stop once I reach the bottom, just off to the side of where I know she's heading. As I turn around, I see her panicked but obviously relieved face wincing as she hits the final bumps in her path, until she too comes to a hault. With quickened breath she tells me, "I think this is an acquired taste...I'm definitely a water person." I laughed, gave her a kiss on the cheek, told her how amazingly well she had done and then started on our way back home.
I'm proud of my brave wifey...she done good.
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