My first bike was a hand-me-down bmx with rear suspension. This 1970’s oddball sported a coil-over shock that looked more at home under a car. Not surprisingly, the bike weighed nearly as much as a car. However, these concerns never entered my mind at the time. I loved riding my bike. Hopping off curbs, weaving in and out of driveways and, my favorite, riding to the end of civilization (or the neighborhood anyway) where a winding bmx/motocross course sprawled between the scrub oak in the foothills of northern Utah.
A life-long love affair developed between me and the rolling ribbons of dirt that meander well beyond the edge of the asphalt. Though the other pursuits of my life have varied widely since the carefree days of youth, mountain biking has always been at the forefront. I love to plan trips around it, share my favorite trails with new friends, or just sneak away for a solo ride, challenging myself to finish that lap a little faster or finally clean that sinister rocky section.
Now I’m passing these joys on to my kids, who are the unknowing beneficiaries of being the offspring of a bike geek. I look at their bikes today and laugh when I think how they compare to the tank I used to pilot. However, these concerns never enter their minds. They’re too busy hopping curbs and weaving in and out of driveways. And I am never happier than when I’m leading them along a gentle rolling ribbon of dirt and listening to them hoot and holler the whole way.
