Posted by David Paul

 

An Encounter with Willpower

I bought the mountain bike on a Friday morning. It had been nine years since I had been on a bike, and I was anxious to go riding with my friend the next day. He was taking me to the Gila National Forest to try out some of his favorite mountain bike trails. I decided it would be a good idea to familiarize myself with the bike before I got on the trails, so I headed out for a short ride.

Leaving my house in Silver City, I rode up the hill that intersected with Highway 90. The mile-long climb seemed effortless, and I decided to keep going. Crossing the highway, I began riding down Ridge Road. After three miles, the paved road turned into dirt. I felt good and wasn’t ready to turn back, so I kept riding. Speeding down the winding dirt road, I imagined that I was an off-road racer. I leaned into the corners and swerved around rocks and holes. I can’t wait to get on the trails in the forest, I thought to myself.

I rode for several more miles through hills and valleys. It was monsoon season, and the ground was covered with a green carpet of desert grass and yellow wild flowers. The fresh smell of the earth and the desert flowers motivated me. When I reached the top of one of the hills, I stopped and gazed out over the country. I had left the city behind, and the desert opened up before me. To my right, there was an old ranch house about a quarter of a mile off the road. The house was surrounded by large cottonwood trees. I noticed two dogs loping down the driveway towards the road. They looked like blue heelers. Focusing on one of the cottonwood trees, I noticed a porch swing hanging from one of the lower limbs. This would make a great painting, I thought.

Looking back towards the dogs, I saw that their lope had turned into a trot. I narrowed my eyes trying to get a better look at them. I wonder if they’re friendly? I asked myself. Deciding not to take any chances, I continued pedaling down the other side of the hill. This would later prove to be my biggest mistake.

Glancing over my shoulder, I expected to see the dogs sniffing around the edge of the driveway or standing by the side of the road. Instead, and to my horror, the dogs were sprinting directly towards me. They were side by side, speeding down the road as if it were a racetrack. The surge of adrenalin hit my heart like a sledge hammer. Snapping my head forward, I rose from the seat and stood on the pedals. I pedaled furiously, frantically trying to find the “escape” gear on my bike. My mind was spinning as fast as my legs, and I envisioned the dogs tearing me from the bike and ripping me to pieces. I rounded a corner, and the small slope I had been descending turned into a steep hill. As I picked up speed, I took a deep breath and a feeling of relief washed over me. Sure that I had escaped a certain death, I shot a quick look back at the dogs. Incredibly, they were keeping up with me even as I was speeding down the hill. For a fleeting moment I actually admired the dogs for their determination and stamina. That thought was shattered by the road underneath me turning into washboard.

“ Too fast! Too fast!” I yelled out to nobody. I struggled to keep the bike underneath me. My head felt like the tip of a jackhammer. My teeth were crashing together, and my eyeballs seemed to be detaching from their retinas. The links of my watchband gave way under the violent jarring, and the watch flew from my wrist in a silver blur. Knowing that I could not maintain my current speed and stay on top of the bike, I began applying pressure to the brakes. The bike slowed down considerably. The dogs did not. As a matter of fact, my sudden deceleration seemed to encourage them. It was as if they knew this was going to happen–like they had been in this situation before.

By the time I had regained control of the bike, it was no longer necessary to look over my shoulder to see the dogs. I could look straight down. One of them was at my heel and appeared to be clocking my right foot going up and down on the pedal. In my peripheral vision, I could see the other one starting to pass me on the left. My already heightened level of panic began to increase even more. They’re working as a team, I thought to myself. It’s all over. I looked ahead, hoping there was a cliff for me to ride off of. The dogs started making horrible noises. They were yelping and howling, like a two-member war party celebrating a victory over their fallen prey. Realizing that the chase was coming to an end, I began making preparations to abandon the bike. Still pedaling, I looked around for a good landing zone. Right before I crashed into some scrub oak, I was blessed with a miracle. Suddenly, the dogs slowed down and then came to a complete stop. I assumed they had reached an invisible boundary line. I kept riding, looking back over my shoulder. The dogs were standing in the middle of the road watching me pedal away. It was clear to me now. This was their road. Going back this way was not an option.

I stopped at the top of another hill and paced back and forth across the dirt. Facing west, I looked out over the desert terrain that I had just crossed. I guessed that I had traveled about three miles since leaving the pavement of Ridge Road. The desert no longer looked beautiful and inviting. Now the landscape looked desolate and grim. After a few minutes, I came up with a plan. I would keep riding east. Eventually, a vehicle would come along in the other direction. I would flag it down and ask for a ride back to Ridge Road. I got back on my bike and started pedaling down the dirt, washboard-rutted road.

It was about seven miles and an hour later when I reached the county airport. I was still in the middle of the desert and had not seen a single vehicle. Two miles later, I found myself at the intersection of Highway 180 and the airport road. Coming this far had not been in my plan. I turned left and headed towards the first of four small towns that separated me from my house in Silver City. As I pulled onto the shoulder of the highway, I began calculating the distances between each one of the towns. I estimated that I was eighteen miles away from Silver City. It wouldn’t be easy, but I knew that I could do it. I lifted myself up with words of encouragement. I failed to notice the monsoon clouds forming on the horizon behind me.

By the time I had passed through the first town and reached the City of Bayard, my optimistic attitude had deteriorated. That wasn’t all. My body was starting to fail. After eight miles on the highway, I had blisters on my hands. Since I hadn’t planned on going this far, I had not changed clothes and was still wearing jeans. I was now faced with a serious chafing problem. I could feel the heat radiating from the sunburn on my neck. My throat was raw and my lips were caked with dirt. After all, I had just gone out for a short trip–no need to fill up the water bottle.

Sitting on a parking block at a gas station in Bayard, I spent some time reflecting on my situation and my options. How had this happened? I had just wanted to try my bike out, and now I was in Bayard. I was so far from home, I might as well have been in Bangladesh. What had I done? How was I going to get home? I worked as a paramedic for the hospital in Silver City and contemplated calling the guys at the station and having them send an ambulance to give me a ride back. I quickly dismissed that idea. I’d never live it down if those guys found out about this. I did not have any family or friends in the area except the guy who asked me to go riding with him. He was one of the guys at the station. The more that I thought about my predicament, the more upset I became with myself. OK, moron, I berated myself. You made your bed and now you’re going to lie in it. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Get on that bike and start pedaling. You’re half way home.

After filling up my water bottle, I got on my bike and headed west out of Bayard. I was still busy verbally abusing myself when it started to rain. The rain did not help with my chafing problem but it did soothe the sunburn on my neck. Three miles later, I had passed through another small town and entered the hills of Arenas Valley. At this point, my mental health was becoming questionable. Cars whizzed by me. I cursed at the vehicles as they drove by and yelled obscenities at the people inside of them. I was soaking wet, and the inside of my thighs were being grated away by my jeans–which had taken on the texture of twenty-grit sandpaper. I began thinking about how good it would feel to take my jeans off and ride in my underwear. I pressed on through the hills, naming them as I conquered each one. “I name this hill, Burning Calves Mountain!” I screamed, coasting down the side of one of the hills. I was on the verge of tears as I began climbing the next hill. For the next three miles, I was in a mental maze of lunacy.

By the time I reached the Arenas Valley gas station, I was worn, tattered, and emotionally numb. It had finally stopped raining, and I was sitting on the store’s sidewalk wringing out my socks and inspecting my feet. After being wet for so long, they resembled two, swollen prunes. A man walking out of the store stopped and asked where I was going.

“ Silver,” I said, staring at my feet.

“ Where are you coming from?”

“ Silver,” I said again. As soon as I said the word, I realized how ridiculous it sounded. “I came through the airport road,” I added.

The man was quiet for a moment. I could only imagine what he was thinking. “The Grant County Airport road? Do you do this very often?”

Without a word, I slowly raised my head to meet his eyes and stared blankly at him.

“ Well, that’s incredible,” the man said as he hurried to his car. “I couldn’t do it. Good luck.”

As I watched him drive off, I began to think of everything that had happened. This is incredible, I thought to myself. It’s not just incredibly stupid; it’s something more. As I put my shoes back on, I began to realize that this ride was also an incredible feat.

So far, my only goal had been to avoid being run over on the highway. Now I had a new goal: to make it the last five miles home unassisted. I was on a mission. I had come to a point where I would have refused a ride even if it were offered to me. It had been almost six hours since I had left my house, but early that evening, I reached my goal. I called my friend, told him I didn’t think I’d be making the bike ride tomorrow, and collapsed on my bed. It took a week for all of my “battle wounds” to heal and a lot longer than that for my pride.

I learned a lot about myself that day. Among other things, I found that I had a will that I never knew existed. On Friday morning, if you had asked me if I could get on a bike and ride thirty-five miles through crazed dogs, pouring rain, and highway traffic, I would have laughed at the idea. I would have told you that there was no way I could do something like that. Though I was not in the physical shape necessary to make that ride, I somehow found an inner strength that kept me going. When I am faced with a daunting task in life or what seems like an impassible obstacle, I now think of that day and say to myself, “If you did that, you can do this.”

 

 

 

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