James and I went mountain biking again this past weekend and we asked ourselves the same question that we do WHENEVER we go mountain biking... Why don't we do this more often?

We have been very busy this summer. Outdoor plays filled a couple weekends, and then there were James' bike races. And on Sundays, I'm afraid to admit, we're slaves to our menu planning, grocery shopping and chores.

A couple of weeks ago, though, James and I both took a day off to mountain bike at Devils Lake State Park. And then, this Saturday, we went to Governor Dodge.

The largest mountain biking loop at Governor Dodge is 6.8 miles. It took us about an hour to complete it the first time around. The second: 40 minutes. Mountain biking requires tactical skills. "Getting to know" a trail the first time is always the toughest. I, being the paranoid person that I am, hate to ride too fast into the unknown. I also get freaky about whether I'm in my middle or small ring if I don't know the route. Getting stuck on a tough hill in the middle ring can cause you to work a lot harder than you have to. It can also mean the difference between riding and walking up the rest of the hill.

There were three times on the first go around that I actually stopped my bike. I managed to cut that down to two on the second lap. The first major obstacle is right at the beginning of the trail. The trail literally starts on a steep incline and at the very end of the hill there is a much more drastic, steep incline. On both laps, this steep incline caused my momentum to come to a halting stop and I had to walk the rest of the way. It's very difficult to have a steep incline at the end of a long hill. I'm usually going pretty slow from climbing and then have little to no momentum for the steeper section. The second time around I tried to push a little harder, and I did get a little further. But evenually, my legs gave out and I came to a stand still. Actually, bike started to go backward instead of forward.

Climbing on steep hills can be really tricky, especially when Mountain Biking. If you stand for more power, you shift your weight to the back of the bike and if the incline is too steep, your front wheel risks being pulled up. However, if you stay seated, your quads are required to do A LOT more work... a lot more work than sometimes my quads can handle.

So, that first hill remains to be tackled by Mrs. Heather. As for the other two obstacles: both are steep hills (not as steep as the first) but they have tricky lengths of sand prior to the climb which is nearly impossible to get through... at least for me. There is nothing like sand to bring your bike to a crawl. One of the "sand traps" (as I like to call them, but I doubt they were put there on purpose) is about 25 feet long. On the first go around, I wasn't expecting the sand and had little momentum built up before plunging in and falling to the side a measly 6 feet into it. The second area of sand is shorter, maybe 10 feet, but still, I wasn't expecting it. I did make it about 3/4 of the way through, but my front wheel turned a bit to the left and that was it... I spun out. The extremely annoying thing about this section is that the sand ends literally two feet from a very, steep long climb which, at the top, is the end of the trail. On lap 1, I was in a high gear from some dirt-packed straights coming into the sand. Halfway through the sand, my bike spun out. I pulled my bike out of the sand, but because of the high gear I was in and the steepness of the hill, I was unable to get started again up the hill. I just didn't have the power and I did have anywhere to ride to downshift. So, there I was, walking my damn bike up the hill. I was hot, I was sweating. It took an incredibily longer amount of time to walk the bike up the hill than to ride it up. I finished at the parking lot where a variety of people were hanging out with their dogs and bikes and I was Miss Sweaty Wimp who had to walk her bike up the hill. I don't mind not being strong enough for certain climbs, but I always finish on my bike. I'm a survivor. And coming to the end of the trail walking is downright demoralizing.

I was bitching and moaning to James as I reached the top. He had gotten there much earlier than I. When I fell in the sand, I got tangled in some weeds and he just kept on going. So, I'm hot and tired and mad at myself. We decided to go to down to the beach to rest, drink some water and refuel with a Clif bar.

20 minutes later I was ready to do Loop #2. The big hill at the start was just as stubborn as ever. My bike came to a halt halfway up. But I managed to get back up on my bike a few feet further on and finished the hill. For the remainder of the ride, I was focusing on how to tackle that last hill. I DID NOT want to finish it walking a second time. When we reached Obstacle #2 (the 25 ft. long sand trap), I shifted into a lower gear. I was trying to spin my wheels as fast as possible and I rode on the side rather than the middle hoping the sand was shallower there. I got further than I had the first time, but 3/4 of the way through, I fell into some more weeds and had to drag my bike out of the sand.

We were closer than ever to the finish and I was running through the scenarios in my head: if I stay in my middle ring I can gain more momentum -- however if I fall off my bike it will be next to impossible to get started on a hill like the last time. However, I was afraid if I stayed in my small ring, I wouldn't have the speed.

I stayed in my small ring anyway. I figured it was worth a try.

I was cruising at a good clip when I saw the daunting sand up ahead. I downshift a gear and plowed right through. Near the end my bike started to spin out, but I kept on cruising through and somehow managed to stay upright.

Thank god.

I was upright at the start of the hill. It was killer steep, and I sat further back in my saddle. I was positive that if I tried to stand for more power, my front wheel would lift up. Instead, I downshifted even more and powered my way up the hill. James was at the top hollaring for me, "GO! YOU CAN MAKE IT!"

And I'm like, "FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU," with each pedal stroke.

Not very nice, I know. But my legs were killing me and I just wanted to finish.

At the top of the hill, my heart rate had sored to 92%. I was breathing extremely hard. And I was extremely happy. My ego was still slightly bruised at panting so hard while all the people in the parking lot looked on. But it wasn't because I felt like a wimp or was weak. They just had no idea how hard it was to climb the hill unless they did it themselves. I, for one, made it and finished on my bike.

At the end of the day, James and I had put in roughly 1.75 hours of mountain biking. Our blood was pumping and our legs had that tingly feeling from working hard. It was a beautiful 75 degree day and our bikes did their job as well as our legs.

On the ride home, I look at James and told him, "Thank you."

"What?" he said.

"Thanks for getting me into mountain biking."

"You're welcome, but really, we're both responsible for getting us into the hobby."

"It's not that," I said. "I just wonder if I would have ever done this if I'd never met you.

"Hmm.." he said as he pondered my statement. "Sure you would." But there was doubt in his voice.

Before I met James, a bike was something that grade schoolers used to get them around the block, to the corner store. No one I knew used a bike for exercise or recreation. I had a bike in college, but that was just to get me from building to building and, then, I didn't even use it that much. I prefered walking to class.

But the very first day I met my future husband, he was dressed in cycling apparel. I was in our Speech Team office for our very first Speech Team meeting. I was a freshman, 18 and didn't know anyone. Then walked in this slim man in biking shorts and he was the friendliest person in the room. I remember thinking it was cool that he biked. That he was different. I'd never seen a "cyclist" in real life.

I had no idea, though, that that was a life-defining moment. That I would learn more about Cannondales and Treks and cranks and pedals than I ever imagined. That I would one day watch the Tour De France and read the memoirs of a cyclist who won it.

I think a lot of times when we think about how people have affected our lives, we dwell on the large aspects such as, would I have moved here? would I have worked there? But these little nuances are life-defining as well. How different would I be if I didn't own a bike or never climbed a sand-trapped hill?

The answer is I don't know. And, frankly, I'm glad I don't.