How I got started on the bike

I remember running into our family room early Christmas morning when I was twelve and finding a small yellow Mongoose bike waiting for me. I didn’t care that there were other presents to open or that it was snowing outside. I threw on my snow boots over my pajama pants and was outside riding before my mom could stop me. I loved that bike. I would ride around the neighborhood with friends, doing what we thought were amazing tricks in the parking lot of the water company. My favorite things were the obstacle courses we would make and how we would race each other. Starting on an incline and looping around the building, swerving in and out of the parking curbs, jumping our bikes over the speed bumps before finishing. If I had known bikes could be ridden on trails at the time, I’m sure I would have been on them giving my mother heart attacks. Instead I spent most of my time on the basketball court or softball field, mastering the balance and quick reflexes that would one day prove useful when I would get my tires dirty.

My mom called me excitedly during my senior year of college with reports of her best yard sale find of her life, a practically new bike for only a quarter. I had just started running after taking a long three years off of any physical activity only to find out that eating the same as when you played three sports didn’t keep you the same weight. My mom had decided that getting me a bike would motivate me to keep moving forward with wanting to work out and lose weight. I was a little skeptical of how good of a bike she got for a quarter, but I was still unaware of trail riding and figured anything that worked would be good enough. My parents delivered me a dark green Mongoose that was in good condition. I slowly started riding it around my college area, and by midsummer of 2014 I was riding about 40 miles on the road.

In the beginning, I was undereducated about biking. I had no clue that there were road bikes and that they were way easier to ride any length of road than the 35 lb bike I had been killing myself that summer with. I didn’t know that there were different wheel sizes or that the gears on a bike made your life easier. I was clueless, but nonetheless I kept pedaling. I joined a local adventure group that had biking events. The first one I went to was on a greenway and there were so many different types of bikes in that group ride. I would hear the riders talk about road riding or trail riding and I listened as if I was in a lecture hall being taught some profound way of life. I absorbed every detail I could, amazed that I hadn’t been aware of this lifestyle at all.

I went to my first trail ride at Harmonie State Park in New Harmony, IN. It was the most terrifying thing I had ever done. I had imagined the trails being wide and smooth, but there were roots and it was tighter than I thought I could handle. After about an hour on the beginner loop though I started feeling like I was the best rider that had ever graced that trail.

Facebook recommended that I join the Evansville Mountain Biking Association (EMBA), and since I had a mountain bike and I was so amazing, I gladly accepted their recommendation. I was invited to the weekly group ride at Scales Lake in Boonville, IN. I had just dominated my first trail ride and was itching to keep riding and figured that I could go out there and hang with these other mountain bikers. Looking back on my first ride at Scales Lake is like looking back on a horrific train wreck. Not only did I crash on every downhill, I also managed to crash going uphill. I don’t think I rode my bike at all that first group ride. Actually I was so terrible that my bike was embarrassed and tacoed the front wheel so I would have to leave early. I cried the whole 25 minute car trip back home.

The next morning I was determined to get my wheel fixed and show up to the next group ride and at least walk/crash my way through the whole loop. And I did just that. I kept going back and crashing. Until I wasn’t crashing as much. I wasn’t walking as much. I started to learn how to shift my gears, and stand up and climb a hill. Or feather my brakes going downhill instead of squeezing them so tight that I would throw myself over the handlebars. I started getting better. And I had this group of amazing riders who were willing to ride with me and teach me how to get better.

After a month of riding, I went to a local women’s clinic in Evansville that was hosted by the women of EMBA. That clinic taught me the basic skills that I was lacking. I learned that there was an attack position for your feet and that your body position was so important when descending or climbing. I started to devote my rides to practicing these skills I was taught. Rides started to become more fun and less painful. I was smiling as I would be climbing up a hill. These women opened the door to me wanting to learn more. Any spare moment I had, I was on my bike riding. I started training with the woman who had put on the clinic. I didn’t want to stop, and I had people who were feeding my hunger for learning.

As much as that green Mongoose was a good bike, it needed a lot of fixing. Hobbies are fun, but they are expensive. When you have zero knowledge about your hobby, you aren’t worried about spending your whole paycheck to buy a fork that works or replace your bottom bracket. Actually you don’t even know that a fork has a real purpose to begin with, or that there are bearings in your bike at all. You just assume that a bike is in great working condition if the wheels hold air. I started getting new bike fever about the same time I was being introduced to racing. I would hear the other members talking about bikes and weight and became overwhelmed by all of this new information. What if my bike held me back from reaching my full potential? What if my bike cost me a race because it was too heavy? Why can’t I have a nicer bike? These thoughts made me feel like I was betraying the bike that got me started in mountain biking, but this is just something that happens. Sorry Mongoose.

One winter morning after a long and brutal gravel ride that I was 85% sure I was going to die on, I backed over my bike. This happened during a point in my life where I didn’t have a bike rack so I would load my bike in the back of my suv and where any ride that was over 12 miles felt like my physical and emotional being were going to combust from exhaustion. And that ride was 30 miles of trying to chase a handful of fast riders that I was never going to keep up with. And so after changing, I ran over the only thing that was keeping me happy. And it was the worst case scenario that could have happened. Sure I wanted a new bike, but I could not even begin to afford a new one. Not even a little bit. Life was looking bleak for a solid 15 minutes. I also did this in front of four men and was incredibly embarrassed. Who runs over their bike?

I met my friend who I had just done the gravel ride with at a Mexican restaurant. I had just gotten off the phone with my mom, who will tell you that I was in a panic and freaking out, explaining to her how I had ran over my bike and bent the frame and it was now ruined. I tried to compose myself before going inside. I didn’t want to tell her that in-between saying goodbye and meeting her, I had done something so incredibly dumb. However I’m pretty sure that as I was sliding into the booth I was telling her the horrific story. Both times I told the story, I viewed myself as completely calm. I hear that is not the truth. Only a crazy person could stay calm while trying to tell you that the love of their life was dead, and my bike is the love of my life. Luckily for me, my friend was selling her old race bike and offered to sell it to me to where I could make payments on it. It was already 10 times a better bike than what I was riding. It was a 26” Cannondale SL2 trail bike. And I am so incredibly grateful.

I was able to keep training that winter, riding every day that I could and pushing myself to get better. By mid-February, race dates were being set and I decided that I was going to participate in two local race series, Southern Five and the Kentucky Point Series. Deciding to race is a lot like deciding to become a parent (I assume, I have no experience in deciding to be a parent. However I am great at being told I am an Aunt, so same thing, right?) Everyone has an opinion. “Oh, this is your first year? You should only do one series, just to see if you like it.” Or “As a first year racer, you have to do cat 3. You don’t want to cat up too soon.” There is advice on fueling and training during the season and clothes. The list goes on.

I started out my first XC race season as a cat 2 racer (because I don’t like to listen to people when they ask “do you think you might have catted up too soon?”). My first few races were great learning curves for me. I didn’t understand that there were strategies and planning that went in to racing. I would burn myself out on my first lap and get passed by someone at the very end. My first race I ever did was a SERC race at Conyers, GA. I remember being incredibly nervous but holding my own. There was a racer who was behind me the whole time and would later pass me at the end of the field and sprint away to finish 3^rd while I got 4^th. Actually, that happened to me a lot in the beginning. I would hold a spot the whole race only to be passed in the last mile or so. And it was frustrating. I was good, but I still had a lot to learn. I was doing training rides and reading everything I could about training and racing. I started to do better in my races, but I was still sometimes burning out at the end or crashing and losing time. And every time I would crash, I would ask myself what the point was? Maybe I wasn’t a racer. I should just stick to riding for fun because I was never going to get any better than I was.

I was invited to go to a women’s clinic at Snowshoe in West Virginia.  Here I was presented with an opportunity to get better and I leaped at the chance to go learn with great women riders and racers. This weekend is the weekend that I credit to honing my skills that I learned at my local women’s clinic. I learned how to corner better, how to handle my bike better, descend without losing momentum and I gained so much confidence. I ride stronger because I don’t doubt myself as much anymore. My first race back from that clinic I felt stronger. I started to compete with more skill, and that helped me go faster and wreck less. No doubt by next season I will be competing with cat 1 racers.

My Cannondale has done so much for me, but I am rough on it. I push it hard and choose lines that are the fastest ones, but maybe not the smoothest one. I am lucky to have a friend who helps me fix my bike when it starts having shifting problems or really any problem. I think my bike is in the shop as much as it is on the trail sometimes. Not having my bike is probably the worst thing that happens to me. If it is in the shop longer than two days, I feel like I might go crazy (I obviously am not the patient customer at the bike shop). But if I want to do well in a race, my bike has to perform and therefore trips to the bike shop are necessary.  I’m learning so much about bike maintenance and how to understand what my bike needs from me so I can tune it up as I ride. I worry that it might not be able to sustain another season of racing without needing to have everything replaced on it at some point. For now we keep on riding, we keep pushing, and we make lots of visits to the bike shop for adjustments.

My series have ended and I won both of them overall. I’m proud of how I ended, but I mainly won because I showed up and raced. I didn’t have very many competitors. Being a woman racer means a smaller pool of potential competition. It’s awesome that I won the two series I was in, but I want to have a season where I am fighting for each place. Or that I get my ass handed to me because someone was better. I don’t want to start a race knowing that if I finish I win first place. That mentality isn’t going to motivate me to be faster or work on sustainability.  Looking back on how I started just last summer, I am impressed with my growth. I am proud of the goals I had set and at how I accomplished them. I am further than I thought I would ever be right now. I fell in love with this sport and I never want to go a day without being on my bike. My goal of making the loop at Scales Lake was accomplished and I can now ride all of it without falling (most days).

I have bigger goals now. Goals that are going to take work and focus to accomplish. To compete in a higher category, I must push myself to ride further distances on the trails and on hard gravel rides. I can’t skip the gym or decide that running is dumb. Cross training is just as important as riding your bike. And training started the day after my last series race. With hard work and dedication, I hope to go to nationals next year. I have bigger goals too. And I keep in mind that I can’t reach these big dreams without setting goals every year and following my training schedule. And by doing that, one day I will be wearing a USA cycling kit and be on the XC team and maybe find myself in the 2020 Olympics fighting for a gold medal.

For now, I make time to train. I find races. I travel to new trails. Cyclists are the nicest people you will ever meet. And I want to encourage everyone new that I meet because if I hadn’t joined EMBA, I wouldn’t be writing this essay. My green Mongoose would be leaning against the wall in my hallway, barely being ridden. I want to encourage others and tell them it is okay to fall. It is okay to suck at first. Just keep riding as much as you can because the more you are on your bike, the more confidence you will find. And just like me, you will stop falling as much. Grab your bike and ride. And if you know me, I am always ready to hit the trail with you!

I remember that feeling in my little body when I saw that yellow Mongoose bike in my family room so much because it is the feeling I get every time I load my bike on my car and see it in my rearview mirror as I drive to find some dirt.