My first exposure to mountain biking was a little over a year ago. Leah suggested I rent a bike and we explore some trails near her. What followed was one of the most frustrating, exhausting, and terrifying few hours of my life. Leah grew up on the sport, and even raced in college. Unfortunately, that didn’t make her a great teacher for someone like me. Things that were obvious to her, like shifting gears before going uphill, were foreign to me. At every steep drop in the trail, I’d panic, squeaking downhill with my fingers pumping the brakes, eventually losing my balance and tipping over. For the ascents, I wouldn’t have any momentum built up to smoothly make it over. What followed were several hours of me walking my bike up and down, shuffling to the side of the trail whenever a competent rider wanted to pass.

I felt pretty defeated that afternoon, but I knew there was more I could do. A few lessons later, I bought my own bike and we both made a trip out to Moab, the mountain biking mecca of the world. Despite only having been out on a trail fewer times than I could count on two hands, we committed to biking The Whole Enchilada, a 26+ mi trail with 7,000 vertical feet of downhill. Against the advice of online forums, we decided to go for it and had no regrets.

Since I was out West again, I figured I should rent a bike and explore Gooseberry Mesa, a similarly epic trail. I was sad that I’d have to go for it alone, but I knew Leah would be proud to hear I was making the effort. At the bike shop, the guys behind the counter more or less laughed at my car and told me there was no way I’d make it to the trailhead I had given how muddy it would be. Only one of them thought I’d be fine and could park early and bike the few miles to the trailhead from where the road became a mud path. It was on that thread of optimism that I hung onto.

A small SUV drove past, and I watched skeptically as it tried to maneuver through the mud that I decided wasn’t worth risking. Within a matter of seconds, the cars wheels were spinning in place and it was slowly moving sideways into a ditch. I watched from afar as I dismantled my bike. After 15 minutes, they hadn’t made any progress so I decided to take a look.

The group of Russian friends in the car couldn’t speak much English, but it was obvious they could use my help in pushing the car. I was doubtful that we’d be successful, but after some effort we managed to get the car to slide along the slippery mud.

I drove back to the bike shop and the owner was there this time. I told him my story in a very matter-of-fact way. I didn’t need the additional ridicule from the staff for me foolishly trying to bike in the mud. Instead of accepting the bike, he said he felt bad and wanted to give me advice on a trail that I should check out nearby. He said the Church Rocks loop is actually better after a rain storm because of how sandy it is in dry conditions. I had nothing better to do with my day and the shop owner insisted that I’d have a good time so I went for it.

It wasn’t the day I had planned but I was happy with how it all came together. I learned a lesson in being more open-minded and adapting rather than sticking to a plan when all signs point to it being less feasible in reality. I do still want to bike Gooseberry Mesa though. I think I’ll save that one for when Leah’s around and I’m tailing her trying to keep up.