Abstract:

On my bike is where I feel my sense of place; it is where I feel at home and it is where I am
happiest. Throughout my essay I explore how my bike has changed from just an after school
activity to my source of overall well-being and the places that I have been because of my bike. I
also discuss how these places that I ride in must be preserved as they are so that I can continue
to enjoy these outdoor spaces without fear of it disappearing.
*
Bliss. Its early on a crisp, late-July morning, the sun having risen only a little over an
hour ago. The dew is still thick on the skunk cabbage surrounding the trail and covers the rocks
in a layer slick as snot. Mist hangs in the air amongst the needles of the the pines just ahead up
the trail, creating a screen between us and the forest. Light chatter bounces between us while
our cranks slowly turn as we take in the views up Engineer Mountain Trail. In a short time we
will emerge from the heavy, dusty, blue canopy of the pines and into the light of the final
meadow.
My lungs tingle from the lack of oxygen as we spin through the blush-colored indian
paintbrush thriving at nearly 11,000 feet. My legs fatigued and overworked from a long season
of racing beg me to stop. Were almost to the Pass Creek turn off so I tell them to shut up and
push on.
Regrouping at the Pass Creek turn, we get off our bikes and lie amongst the damp grass
and high altitude wildflowers surrounding the base of Engineer Mountain. IPhones are drawn
from backpacks and jersey pockets, capturing the grins and giggles being shared by the group.
Our love for eachother and riding in the mountains is forever frozen in the screen.
After remounting our trusty steeds, we begin our descent down Pass Creek to the
bottom of Coal Bank Pass. The trail is abrupt and demanding, full of dusty switchbacks and
technical rock drops. The left side of the trail drops off to a cliff that leads to the valley below.
Morning sunlight bounces from the calm water of Electra Lake off in the distance. My hands
cramp and begin to go numb due to the steepness of the rough terrain which causes me to hold
onto my grips harder than usual. Calves burning from the constant standing position as I hover
over my saddle. After twenty minutes of technical descent, we fly into the parking lot atop a
short dirt road at the trailhead.
Being on my bike is all that I have ever known, riding has consumed my life since I first
kicked off the pavement and quickly face-planted not ten feet from the end of the driveway at
around age five. Despite the rocky start, I peeled myself off the asphalt and stuck with it and
twelve years later, here I am. Over the years, it grew from being just an after school activity to
the medicine needed cure my everyday issues. Everyday is consumed by the bike; from
practice after school to riding before the sun is up to slogging it out over the weekends for hours
on end into a headwind. Biking has taken me places that I may have never explored had it not
been for my love of fatigued quads, burning lungs, calloused hands, and chamois tans. Ive

been deep into the heart of mountain ranges and forests, atop miles of slickrock and through
acres upon acres of plains all while clipped into the pedals.
As I sit on the top tube of my Specialized Fate surrounded by these grinning goofballs I
call my friends, I realize I am at home. With salty sweat stains on the straps on my helmet,
freckles of mud on my legs, damp jersey sticking to my back: this is my place. Not the dusty
gravel parking lot buggy from the irrigation pond a mere 50 yards away, but on my bike in the
mountains. Here, is where I am happiest, where I am content and I am able to simply be.
This takes me back to all the times that I have traveled to race my bike, from Sun Valley,
Idaho all the way to Allentown, Pennsylvania, Mammoth Mountain, California and hundreds of
stops in between. While I never felt connected to one place in particular, I never felt out of place.
I had always planted myself atop my bike seat in some trail-covered, mountain town like
Durango, giving me the ability to fit in how I pleased. Every time, since my calloused hands
were placed on the handlebars of my carbon fiber bike and I was surrounded with good-hearted
mountain-biker people, I felt a sense of home. Not completely at home, but close to it. The
mountains surrounding Durango always pulling me back with their moon-dusty switchbacks and
leg-scratching scrub oak.
At this point everybody has reconvened in the parking lot and we start dispersing
amongst cars to go on our separate ways; some home, some work, and some on to the next
adventure. Bikes are loaded onto racks and helmets are removed revealing sweaty foreheads.
We give out our finals hugs, take our last pictures, and pile in our cars. Upon returning to the
highway from the dirt road pull off, I look back at the mountains towering above the valley below.
Im sitting there, Osprey pack at my feet, munching on a Clif Bar thinking about how I dont want
any of it to change. While yes, I know that July will turn to August, summer to fall, leaves to
snow, but I dont want the mountains changing anymore than that. Im deeply in love with the
vast expanses of organic space stretching out as far as the eye can see.
This brings me to a quote by Edward Abbey from Freedom and Wilderness, Wilderness
and Freedom: No, there are better reasons for keeping the wild wild, the wilderness open, the
trees up and the rivers free, and the canyons uncluttered by dams. We need wilderness
because we are wild animals. Every man needs a place where he can go to go crazy in peace.
(229) These mountains are my place where I can go to escape everything. I can clamber up
onto my bike seat and do my thing, pushing the pedals, taking myself deeper into the heart of
the mountains. Being out here is my stress relief and my place to piece myself together
everyday before returning to reality. It has been this way for as long as I can remember so I
dont know what I would do if this organic space was taken from me.
This land that I take for granted to exist in, is so immensely fragile in all of its stunning
glory. I want it to stay the same, earth untainted by man except for the microscopic veins of trail
systems visible only when you stray off the blurry highways and away from residential
developments. This land that I romp around in, marked only by the rugged trails, must be
preserved as it is for all of time. This land needs to be preserved as is so that we as people can

leave behind reality and escape for a bit. The trails, rough and rutted two-track, and river access
are all essential to the land for this purpose, creating an avenue for adventure and inner peace.
As Abbey said, man needs a place to be wild.
I think back to the time I hiked Silver Mountain a couple years ago with some friends. We
left the chilly parking lot surrounded by prickly raspberry bushes before the sun rose high
enough to shine within the depth of the canyon. Crossed the slippery creek bed to get to the trail
before heading straight up. It took hours to get through the thick, lush forest before getting to the
near vertical, exposed scree fields of the final pitched. An eternity later, topping out at 12,500
feet, Durango a speck of glitter in the distance, and a tupperware the size of a shoebox full of
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We sat in a circle eating our abundance of peanut butter
and jelly and dreading the knee-braking descent to the cars. Or the long summer days spent in
the Jemez Mountains in New Mexico camped at French Mesa; a place my dad has been going
since he was a kid. Not seeing a soul for days as we rode around on the endless criss-crossing
cattle trails and winding fire roads. Our camp spot nestled underneath the only shade-giving
trees in the field, listening to Bob Seger and snacking on homemade guac. And the time we
hiked up to Ice Lakes, not seeing another person or dog for the entire trek even though its a
popular trail. The brilliant blue waters nearly freezing our fingers and toes as we decided it
would be a good idea to skinny dip before scrambling to get our clothes back on before the rains
came. Making it most of the way down without a drop falling on us but our luck running out as
we rounded the final switchback to the parking lot. Arriving back to Silverton in a torrential
downpour, causing us to seek shelter in a gift shop because nothing else was open on that chilly
August day. These are just some of the place where I have sought out solace and found my
happiness when the going got tough. I am extremely grateful for these places and I cant
imagine what life would be like if I no longer had access to it or if it was all destroyed.
Upon returning to my house from the high altitude adventure, I park myself in my
driveway with a garden hose and Simple Green. I clean the dried freckles of mud off my bike
until it looks good as new then wiped it down with an old t-shirt. I then return it to the shed and
smile as I close the door, ready for the next adventure.