Give It a Week

The first day I took my shiny, new Trek on the trail was a completely new experience for me. It felt so . . . squishy! It was weird! I really didn’t know what to think of it, but I did realize that my riding was more efficient.

After one or two days of riding, someone asked me what I thought of full suspension now that I had it. “I like the bike, but I honestly don’t know what to think of the full suspension. It feels so weird compared to my Giant.”

“Give it a week,” he replied.

Give it a week. That’s one of the greatest pieces of advice I’ve ever gotten, at least where cycling is concerned. I’ve found myself often passing this advice on to other riders.

The interesting thing about cycling is how one becomes so intimately involved with his or her bike. It’s almost sad how cyclists are more in tune with their bikes than with their loved ones. The cyclist can take the bike onto varying types of terrain in varying degrees of weather and know exactly how to react in these different situations to keep that bike not only under control, but successfully performing to the outer limits of sanity and beyond.

Enter new piece of equipment. I knew how my Giant was going to respond in different situations. I also knew that I just couldn’t ride that Giant on certain types of terrain, like the Hairy Toad and Barking Frog trails at Michigan Tech. When I got the full suspension bike, I had to almost relearn how to ride. I wasn’t quite sure how the bike was going to respond and how it was supposed to feel. After a week of gleefully flying through the woods on my new bicycle, I had it down pat! That full suspension bike was my new best friend, and I wasn’t looking back.

A New Era

Some people think I’ve been riding for quite a while. They are impressed by my dedication and strong desire to hit the trails almost daily throughout the summer. I love outrunning the bugs and dodging the squirrels and ducking the overhanging tree branches. There is nothing sweeter than successfully passing over that narrow bridge, or clearing the rock garden in all its sharp, jagged glory.

I think some of my passion and dedication for mountain biking is so prevalent because I am still a new rider – kind of.

I had a conversation with a stranger in May 2006 about outdoor activities in the Keweenaw. She asked me if I had a mountain bike. “Yes. I have a 1997 Giant Yukon. I never use it. I bought it for camping, but it’s practically brand new. I’m thinking about getting back into running though, and training for my third marathon this fall.”

“I’m thinking about starting a women’s ride on Saturday mornings,” said she. “I broke my collar bone last year, so I’d like to start riding again, but only slowly. It will be a beginner’s pace. Why don’t you meet with us when I get a ride organized?”

“Sure!” I was very excited about discovering more of what my community had to offer.

I’m afraid of the unknown. I had no idea what the Michigan Tech Trails had to offer, and I didn’t feel like I belonged there because I thought elitists would be using the trails. I was afraid of getting in the way. My new friend took me on the “beginner trails” that first Saturday morning. The trails were over flat terrain, insignificant hills, but they were bumpy with lots of roots. I took a bit of a beating on my hardtail.

After that ride, I decided to alternate my running with riding. I spent two weeks switching between trail running and mountain biking. The third week, I rode the first day. Then I rode the next day. The cycle broke and my habit took over. After the third week, I realized that I was giving up running for mountain biking. I started venturing onto new trails and realizing new fears. I developed a love for speed and a vengeance for hills.

Two months of dedicated riding had gone by. I realized that I could no longer improve my skill. Something was holding me back. What was it? After pondering this during a few rides, I realized I needed a new bike. It wasn't that my Yukon was an inadequate bike. It was a hardtail that was in great shape and ready to be ridden in. It was a very nice bike! The problem is that it didn’t fit. I realized that I couldn’t get my weight back far enough when going downhill to feel stable. Likewise, I couldn’t get my weight forward enough on climbs to maintain momentum and keep the front wheel on the ground. The top tube was too long for my reach.

Enter . . . the bike shop. Little did I know that this would become the place around which all my grocery shopping would center. Every pay day, I would head to the bike shop for chain lube, tire levers, socks, shorts, gloves, and sometimes just for that so highly revered bike shop chat! That very first day, however, what I did know was how I feared going into the very bike shop I knew absolutely nothing about. I was afraid of being sold a bike that wasn’t right for me simply for the sake of the shop getting a sale. My new friend, Michelle, who introduced me to this “crack habit,” as a fellow biker once referred to it, met me at the bike shop and brought her boyfriend along. I test rode a couple of bikes and they helped me with fit. I just didn’t know. Then, I rode her bike. It was an 18” frame and it had the familiar word across the down tube that many non-cyclists have heard of and equate with quality: TREK. It was a 2005 Trek Fuel EX7 WSD (Women’s Specific Design) that she had just bought on closeout. I fell in love with it and decided on the spot to order THAT bike. It came in a week or two later. I felt like my life had come to a new era. I was right.