7/3/19, Blue Mountain, Montana

Andrew Hawkins at the Equestrian Trailhead

This past December, my family embarked on a ski/snowboard vacation at Monarch Mountain, Colorado. It was there that I first experienced the thrill of launching down a steep slope on a lengthy piece of wood with nothing guarding me from rocks and trees except my helmet and the small amount of skill I had acquired in two days of snowboarding lessons. The snow however did provide a nice soft cushion to glide into when turning became too much of a challenge. If any slope brought up more panic than I was prepared to handle I could just slide into the snow and safely end the fear building up. By the end of the two days I was able to run down one intermediate level slope with one nice controlled crash at the bottom. That slope was my graduation ceremony from intensity building roller coaster drops in Florida amusement parks to slick snowboarding on the mountain slopes of Colorado.

Now just a few months later at the beginning of summer, and the snow has melted away, the flowers are blooming, and I received a text message from my studious, turned dare devil friend, Andrew Hawkins, “Do you want to go mountain biking?”

With no concept of the challenge and danger of mountain biking, being from the marsh land of Florida, I accepted the invitation. I was however familiar with high speed bike accidents onto not so pleasant surfaces. As a kid, I raced BMX bikes on one of America's finest dirt tracks with massive concrete turns in Oldsmar, Florida. My most vivid memory of racing this track is not winning a race or two, but slamming into my handlebars then rolling over them onto the first concrete turn in a late Saturday night race. My dad ran out onto the track to help pick up his seven year old kid and assisted me back onto my bike to finish the race. Crashing on the BMX track wasn't a regular event, but it occured just enough and hard enough to give me a taste of the future.

Our first go around was in the hills of the Rattlesnake Recreation Area. One would think I had enough fun in one day after the first two crashes, but I guess the landings were too soft to deter me. The downward spiral continued as Andrew blew ahead with a light touch on the breaks, while I questioned if my breaks even worked. Another tight turn came up that I pre-determined was impossible to make, so I steered for what appeared like a soft bush to the left of a rough tree. The soft bush which I put my faith in to provide me a nice cushion, was covering a log large enough to send me toppling off my bike onto a rock that was placed perfectly for my right knee to collide with. I took my time laying on the ground to process what just happened. Andrew had abandoned me chasing the feeling of air rushing past his ears as I began to wonder if I would ever make it down this mountain. I fiddled with my bike chain a bit to set it back on the gears and hopped back on in hopes the worst was over. I met with solid ground one last time in a not so friendly way, but at last the end was near. I managed to escape with only a few minor cuts and a funky feeling in my knee.

The next week we set out for the trails of Lincoln Hills. The uphill was brutal, the sun was beating down and my farmer’s tan was open for all to see. On the downhill I tried a new strategy of weaving on and off the trail instead of attempting to make the tight bends. My brilliant strategy was succeeding till my bike tires didn’t catch the trail as I weaved back onto it immediately sending me rolling down the hill away from the trail. The hillside wasn’t quite as smooth as the trail bouncing my back tire enough to cause me to flip forward sending me flying over the handlebars. I of course struck a Superman pose for the second I was soaring through the air, but unlike Superman a couple rocks waiting for me on the ground were enough to keep me down for a few minutes. I looked up and told God that I was ready to come home. He either wasn’t listening or was laughing, because I received no reply and continued down the treacherous hill on my bike. I saw Andrew stopped on a break in the trail, so I slowed down to meet up with him. We were almost down the whole hill and I was at least proud of the fact that I had only crashed three times, so far that day, showing improvement from the previous week. The last stretch of trail before the break was almost a straight shot down, so I pulled tight on both breaks to keep myself from taking out Andrew in one major collision. Andrew watched and laughed as my front tire braked hard on the hill forcing me into another front flip. This time I was greeted with an assortment of smaller rocks, which said hello to my forearms and knees. Andrew asked if I was okay and gave me a second to get up. We finished the ride soon after.

The next Wednesday our weekly mountain biking was interrupted by my solo camping trip. The following Wednesday I laid comfortably on the couch around six in the evening, and Andrew still hadn’t contacted me to go out on another trip. I was relaxed and perfectly okay with another week off from an uphill struggle followed by raising levels of anxiety with each rock that needed avoiding. Andrew then texted me taking away all feeling of peace and comfort.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be in a tremendous amount of pain that day, but my boredom got the best of me as I agreed to meet up with Andrew at Blue Mountain. I also promised him that a story would be written about our next mountain biking adventure, so I owed him at least this trip. I was around five minutes out driving on Brooks Street going about 55 mph when a small piece of gravel had flung up from the truck pulling a trailer in front of me and left a small crack in my windshield. Seeing this as a preview of what was to come, my regret on agreeing to this biking excursion already began to set in.

We met up at the Equestrian trailhead. Near the trailhead is a large open sloping area with forested hills a significant distance away. Trying to avoid another long uphill struggle, I said to Andrew, “The trail is probably before those hills, right?” He replied, “No, it’s there.” Andrew’s merciless words crushed me once again. It had rained earlier that day leaving the trail muddy and slick. Rocks also laid spread over almost the whole surface of the trail all the way up to the forest. Besides dodging rocks and peddling through mud, the incline did not leave my legs drained upping my attitude slightly.

Once we reached the forest the most unexpected action occurred: Andrew stepped off his bike. The unstoppable Andrew Hawkins, who wakes up at six every morning to dead lift for probably three hours takes a minute break then practices calisthenics, said he really didn’t feel like pushing himself today. I gladly agreed and then debated whether I would leave this part out of the story. A dramatic crash would surely be on the way leaving no room to write about taking our time up a hill. We walked our bikes up to the top of the hill discussing church, our workplaces, and when exactly Andrew hated me enough to invite me mountain biking with him the first time. The peak was reached and after a short water break, I braced my body for what was to come like before you walk into a frigid shower. Andrew took this eleventh-hour to inform me that these trails were a bit choppy with rocks, so I did the proper thing and thanked him for choosing such a lovely trail. My anticipation was at an all-time high, like being at the top of a roller coaster looking down at how far you are about to fall and there is nothing you can do but hope you might smile a little on the way down.

Andrew of course shot out ahead of me as usual and escaped my sight. Speeding down the trail with Andrew nowhere to be seen, the trail appeared to cut to the right. A turn in these muddy conditions I knew I couldn’t make. I rolled off the trail onto the bumpy ground fully expecting a reoccurrence of being tossed like a rag doll of my bike again. Pulling the breaks, I waited for the moment. Then I realized, my bike was fully stopped in the grass and I wasn’t laying on the ground next to some rocks. The cut in the trail turned out to be nothing but some dirt that veered to the right of the trail. I rode up to Andrew who was waiting for me before he went down the next descent. I explained to him my misconception and my mysterious rare survival.

Andrew rode down the trail with no hesitation, and more bewilderment on my side took place after rolling down a few switchbacks. I could still see Andrew! Normally I keep one hand pulling a break at all times, but today I dared to let myself fly, for about two seconds. The choppy rocks along with a few tree stumps Andrew spoke about earlier were starting to come up at a rapid pace. We both weaved in between the rocks on the narrow trail and each one could have been my doom. My focus was on keeping my bike stable between the rocks, so I missed sight of some logs laying on the ground up ahead indicating a turn in the trail. By the time I noticed it was too late. I squinted my eyes expecting the worst. My front tire smashed into one of the logs then propelled me off the trail into what looked like what would become a rerun of my nearly fatal crash at Lincoln Hills. The front tire collided back with solid ground soon followed by the rear tire and then by some extraordinary miracle my bike was perfectly motionless with me still resting on the pedals. People say that they don’t believe in miracles, so here is just more proof for the skeptics. After this second instant of God’s providence, I began to believe that if God would keep granting me these miracles of protection, I might make it down the mountain without a single dramatic crash.

I still had many more switchbacks to complete and even the great speed chaser, Andrew Hawkins, began having close calls with a few stumps in the ground. My heart rate was up, but not because of fear, but for the possibility of what could be accomplished. My confidence was built up as I kept a light touch on the brakes. Each sharp rock transformed from an obstacle to avoid into a challenge to be mastered. We rode around a deep gulch cutting into a tight turn and paused at the bottom of an uphill switchback. The pause was a break from the need to focus on each slight manipulation of our front tires and the necessary fast pace decisions on what would be the right amount of pressure to apply on the front or rear brake when cutting a sharp slick twist in the trail. Andrew also earned the title Captain Hawkins after the young and brave ship captain from “Muppet Treasure Island” for displaying bravery down each switchback. I don’t think he was familiar with the movie, but he accepted the title nonetheless with gratitude. I guess that made me the incredible Gonzo on this ride. The “Goonies” was also discussed at our pause, particularly the scene when Mikey’s older brother flies off a cliff at 30 mph on a children’s bike. We laughed about how much I related to that scene by now, but I would have no idea how real it would become.

We flew down the trail convinced we had been past the worst of it by this point. Riding at greater speeds, there was no way I could force a quick stop with my faulty brakes. The trail took an unexpected steep roller coaster drop and then suddenly disappeared. I flashed passed Captain Hawkins waiting for me at the bottom of the drop and straight ahead of me was “Dead Man’s Cliff” (I just named it that). It was one large imposing rock that formed a launching pad down to the forest below. Both of my brakes were called into action as I prayed for one more miracle. Andrew started preparing my eulogy, but it was in vain for this cliff would not end in my devastation. A miracle from heaven fell in front of me and as I rode toward the cliff with the brakes pulled back strong enough to shut down all forward motion, bringing me to a safe stop. The bike was now in complete rest and I looked up to see Dead Man’s cliff only a few feet in front of me. Destruction came for me only to be halted in its tracks, because on this day it was told to come no further. A few more switchbacks and we were out of the forest into an open field.

A sense of relief showered over me as we exited the forest away from the high-speed switchbacks. There were still slopes to keep my attention on the trail, but nothing to be afraid of. A few mud puddles lay scattered at different points in the trail soaking my shoes and peddles. Curving around a bend, I came across a slight drop with a mud puddle at the bottom. I rode through the puddle swiftly thinking nothing of it. A small splash covered my legs, but I guess one small splash can do more damage than I previously thought. My feet slipped off the peddles and my bike tire lost traction somewhere in the mud. I seemed to have lost control once again, except this time I didn’t have time to brace myself for the crash. Whatever was coming, it was coming quick and I would just have to accept it. There was nothing I thought I could do but wait for yet another crash I had hoped wouldn’t come that day. Maybe it was impossible for me to go just one trip without falling down and having to get back up again seemingly on my own. At least by this point, I was used to the feeling. The feeling of falling down and hoping I wouldn’t be too broken to get back up. Then it happened, my feet were back on the peddles. My rear tire caught back its traction and I rode up the slope with nothing, but a couple drops of mud on my legs to prove what I had been through. The ride turned back into a peaceful steady downhill descent back to the parking lot.

I caught back up with Andrew and the trail ended not being able to claim a single breath taken from my lungs. I took a short victory loop in the parking lot and celebrated with Captain Hawkins by taking a photo of my unscarred, but also muddy form. I looked forward to the next time we would come back believing that the grace would continue. Now I knew that it was possible: that I could in fact pass by so many rocks, cut around a series of switchbacks, ride through the dirty mud and not fall down.