Precarious Little Pit
The description on my Strava app reads, “Stoked that it was the first time ever to get up and out (without stopping) of a tough-nut-to-crack, corkscrewy, rollercoastery precarious little pit on my fav whiting trail.”
I didn’t have the space to add that I didn’t even try. I’d never been able to do it before. This time, I’d effortlessly floated to the top. It felt like a miracle. At the crest, I stopped, put my feet down, and straddled my bike. I looked around to see if anyone saw the surprising feat. I was baffled.
Headed home, I flew out of that canyon in Whiting Ranch like I was Muhammad Ali. I floated like a butterfly, stung like a bee.
I racked my brain trying to figure out how it happened. Maybe I’d navigated the turn and ruts and roots better this time, and so I had a little more speed going into the tricky dip than all the times previously. Maybe that combined with being in just the right gear. But still. It shocked me. It seemed like more. I felt towed.
Have you ever been in a precarious–even hopeless–little pit? I have. It’s been a deep one lately. Wasn’t the first one, probably won’t be the last.
I’ve tried to get out on my own steam. I’ve relied on myself.
Because I was so pumped and proud of myself yesterday, naturally, I posted my ride to Strava and titled it, “I rock.” It should read, “My Rock.”