One and Done

Supposedly Park City, UT has some of the greatest mountain biking on Earth. Or at least that's what my dad says who mountain bikes almost every day of the week. I, on the other hand, do not. I wish my first mountain bike ride had been in Park City so maybe I would’ve learned to enjoy it. Instead, I was forced to learn to mountain bike in a place called Fruita, CO. 

The middle of no where is actually kind of pretty!

Every year the Park City Ski Team goes on a camping trip. I was so pumped to hear what we would be doing this year; hiking in Canyon Lands, rafting on the Colorado river, discovering slot canyons in Escalante. So many incredible options, my head was reeling with the possibilities. The decision made by our coaches was to take us mountain biking in some random place called Fruita, Colorado. Once I heard the news I didn't have the slightest desire to go on this "team bonding" trip. I had never even been on a real mountain bike ride how could I possibly make it through three straight days. It sounded like pure torture. Of course my dad, "the professional mountain biker” wouldn't take no for an answer and insisted that I go. About a week later I found myself in a van full of fifteen kids on our way to Fruita, Colorado, a.k.a. the middle of nowhere. 

Don't look down!

I wish I had never woken up on Friday morning, if I hadn't maybe the idea of staying in my tent all day would have become an option. But of course that didn't happen, and of course I found myself mounting a bike I had never even used before, not to mention wearing clip pedals for the first time.  The thought of having my feet attached by a piece of metal to my pedal didn’t help matters. Can you say intimidating? They were bound to cause problems as my day went on. 

We pulled out of camp onto the dirt road which I struggled to find my balance on at first but after about twenty feet I was feeling pretty pro and wondering why I had felt so much anxiety for this moment in the first place. I thought to myself, “this ain’t so bad! I got this.” Almost immediately after this thought crossed my mind we pulled up to a trail head. What I had originally thought was the trail we would be riding was actually just the road to get to the dreaded trail. My confidence level practically shook the ground as it dropped.

I fell eleven different times that day and twenty-one times that trip, but who's counting? Obviously I was.

Before the trip to Fruita, my mom kept on saying one thing to try to convince me to go: "Liza, you cannot live in Park City and not know how to mountain bike." I will admit that this may have worked at the time, however I will not believe it for one second anymore. I attempted this so called sport once and that should be a good enough excuse not to try it again. I could spend my time doing plenty of other activities. 

Fun games beat mountain biking any day!

That is the wonderful thing about Park City, there are an endless amount of things to do. I feel as though I take full advantage of this benefit so I am not going to let sitting on an uncomfortable seat while hurling myself down a skinny dirt path filled with sharp rocks, elusive roots and most likely a hungry mountain lion lurking behind a bush kill my vibe to enjoy the great outdoors.