I've had my share of fear-filled pivotal moments, standing completely still and staring anxiously down some misshapen escarpment. One foot readily pressed against the leading pedal, my other foot planted firmly in the seemingly safer ground beneath me. Eyes transfixed with a piercing gaze in the supposed path I should take. Although my planted foot may leave the ground to meet briefly with the other pedal, and my sights may lift up to the bottom of the line below, my fingers remain clutched against the brake levers. And while the wind whips cold and never gives up on trying to rip the shirt from my back, I just can't seem to find an answer to my rhetorical question, "Should I go?"



I've been putting myself in that pivotal position a lot this year and it's a scary place to be. In one hand I can have my celebratory moment where work and risk pay off. But on the other hand everything could blow up in my face before I even knows it's coming. This year in particular, the other hand often seem more likely. I have had a lot of friends going down hard and coming up short with major injuries. Haunting nightmares of their injuries and my potential absolute destruction have plagued my daydreams and the hesitant moments while hiking back up the roll in. Still even with all the scary moments and all the horrifying thoughts that occasionally cross my mind I have been stepping up to the plate and pushing myself to ride bigger jumps, trick sketchier lines and tweak my bike further and harder than I ever I thought I could.



What's my motivation? I have a continuing curiosity that bugs me so much that I can barely call it a curiosity anymore; it's become an obsession. I am constantly asking myself, can I do this? If I have been shredding for years and I don't keep stepping it up, am I just wasting my time? I'm not totally sure where the questions stem from, but every time I drop in it feels like the opening track of an old punk CD. I'm a little too excited, a little bit aggressive and admittedly, maybe a little misguided. But for the first time in my life, I sort of feel like I have something to prove. Maybe at the end of the track I won't be any further than I was when it started, but at least I'll know I tried. So even when I'm feeling more than sketchy, and the whipping wind tells my planted foot to stay planted, I am letting my fingers off the brakes. I'm dropping in and the best is yet to come.

Its Only May

Check out what I have been getting up to lately with my friends Matty Miles and also Kaleb and Jim from http://www.tnlphotography.com !



If I told you I handled a year of riding in the past six weeks, would you believe me? I suppose everyone rides on their own schedule and a rider's methods of measuring the ride will vary. But what if you rode almost everyday? And every lap was a balls to the wall, all killer no filler, blast straight to the bottom succeeded by floods of laughter and equal amounts of excitement from all your friends? By those measurements I feel content in my exaggeration. I've been rushing to cram as much as I can into every day and between the rides I've taken and the people I have shared them with, I certainly crammed a years worth of golden moments into April alone.
Surrounded by friends I pedaled into sticky trails while whoops and hollers echoed between the trees. Pedaling faster I chased the sun across picture perfect photo frames. Silhouetted against the shimmering layers of hills I became a black sail in another spectacular sunset. I'd Shred and slash from side to side through silt and loam and mud, dodging branches of leaves who had barely began to bud. Skidding up to my truck I would toss my bike to the tailgate and rally shuttle roads at an uneasy pace. I was in a mad race, squeezing out the final moments of glorious sunlight and laughing about the few sketchy minutes before the forest turned completely black and cold. The fires felt so warm and the beer tasted so cold while the scent of fresh split wood and wide open meadows stained the sleeves on my flannel sweaters. And between fast laps down the trail and slow sips of the bottle I couldn't help but wonder, why am I in such a rush?
I worry about a lot of things, really unnecessary things, and that's probably why I'm always rushing. Will the barely budding leaves have the chance to glow green before they fade to yellow this fall? What if the sun doesn't set so bright for another six or seven nights? And even if it showers tomorrow, will the trail ever be that tacky again? In retrospect it seems ridiculous to me, but in their conceiving moments those worries are valid reasons to trade a good nights sleep for a killer set of photos and some black bags under my eyes. It's only the middle of May and I've already counted over 50 rides, helped out at some races, snapped some photos with Gibby, filmed a few videos and launched a new website on the side of working full time every week. At least the rushing is productive. Maybe I should slow down a bit, drink a few less coffees and stop rushing so much. After all, it's only May.