Going for it post-meltdown
I remember very clearly my first public, trail-temper tantrum. I was riding with Juan Grande and Brian on a semi-secret trail in the lush loam of the PNW outside of Tacoma, Washington. It was an overcast day, and the air was crisp and smelled of wet dirt and moss. Juan Grande will always be the guy who mentored me into mountain biking. He has decades of experience on the the trail and is a mechanical wizard. Brian is somewhat of a prodigy; amazing riding skills and fitness, humble, nonchalant attitude, and all with just one arm. This first meltdown in the history of many meltdowns, was over a flat tire. It was way back in the pre-tubeless era of mountain biking. Although I was a beginner, I had changed many a flat at that point, having recently moved there from El Paso, Texas, (land of many prickly pears). My new bike was a Cannondale Prophet and I loved everything about it. Especially the lefty fork. Most of my flats happened on the front wheel, so rarely would I have to take off or put on a wheel to fix a flat. Well this day was a rear-wheel flat. So I had to change the tube, in front of these two dudes that I really wanted to impress. And I was probably hangry at this point in the ride, which never helps my mood. I'm sure that John and Brian would have happily pit-crewed and fixed it in no time flat (not punny, I know). But that would have ruined the whole independent-strong-mountain-biker-chic vibe I was trying to exemplify. So I fussed and fumed and struggled. With cold, slippery, wet finger tips and my stomach growling. After 15 minutes of this, poor Brian tried to offer some helpful advice and I snapped. I gave him a piece of my grouchy, feminist mind. A cold chilly shadow befell our ride.
Luckily, my mentor and champion, Juan Grande, piped in with an opportune quip of some sort, equally teasing myself and Brian, just as I got my rear wheel to re-enter its home in the drive train, and I was able to see what an ass I was making of myself rather than flinging the wheel up into a tree branch.
Disaster was averted. Fist fight did not ensue. And we all had a blast riding the secret dirt berms down a wicked section of DH that the fellas fondly referred to as "No Brakes trail." Juan Grande's sense of humor and the delightful terrain were just what I needed to completely forget about my embarrassing trail meltdown. Back at the parking lot it was high fives, smiles and deciding where to go for post-ride pizza and beer.
After years of reflection, I realize I learned a lot more than how to change a rear wheel flat that day. I learned to pay attention to my fueling and what it does to my mood. I learned that mechanicals happen and there is nothing wrong with accepting help and friendly advice from my more experienced riding buddies, regardless of their gender. I learned that after a meltdown, its best to apologize and move on. Like mechanicals, meltdowns happen. I shouldn't dwell on them or let them ruin an otherwise awesome ride. I should learn from them and do my best to be a Juan Grande instead of a Nitwit Leigh.
Luckily, my mentor and champion, Juan Grande, piped in with an opportune quip of some sort, equally teasing myself and Brian, just as I got my rear wheel to re-enter its home in the drive train, and I was able to see what an ass I was making of myself rather than flinging the wheel up into a tree branch.
Disaster was averted. Fist fight did not ensue. And we all had a blast riding the secret dirt berms down a wicked section of DH that the fellas fondly referred to as "No Brakes trail." Juan Grande's sense of humor and the delightful terrain were just what I needed to completely forget about my embarrassing trail meltdown. Back at the parking lot it was high fives, smiles and deciding where to go for post-ride pizza and beer.
After years of reflection, I realize I learned a lot more than how to change a rear wheel flat that day. I learned to pay attention to my fueling and what it does to my mood. I learned that mechanicals happen and there is nothing wrong with accepting help and friendly advice from my more experienced riding buddies, regardless of their gender. I learned that after a meltdown, its best to apologize and move on. Like mechanicals, meltdowns happen. I shouldn't dwell on them or let them ruin an otherwise awesome ride. I should learn from them and do my best to be a Juan Grande instead of a Nitwit Leigh.
Back in the day with my beloved Prophet
Fast forward to April, 2015, last weekend in Moab, Utah. I am enjoying a pleasant ride with the husband when I get a random thought that it just might be the day I finally have the nerve to go for the Super8 drop, which has been on my wish list for over a year now. I mention it to the spouse, who happily gives me the encouraging green light. Needless to say, I make an ape of myself spending a good chunk of sunlight staring at the drop. And a meltdown ensues. Because I have years of experience now, I know exactly how to handle myself in these situations and I proceed to cry and pout like a toddler. No, really, that's what I did. But then I ate a snack, collected my thoughts, rolled back to the drop and I sent it. Next step, apologize to husband, and finish an amazing ride.
Cheerful moment after the tears dried up
So maybe I haven't completely learned the lesson. At least I can recover from a meltdown without Juan Grande being there to save the day. And more importantly, I'm able to reflect on the darker moments and escape from them to enjoy the ride.
