Fat Man Mountain Biking

I wasn't always a fat guy. At my fitness apex around my senior year of high school, I was in pretty good shape. I and my friends did lots of activities which required a high level of physical conditioning, and to put it frankly, we were all in pretty good shape. Be it extreme mountain biking, running to the "Y" or to the top of Rock Canyon for a jog out of boredom, rock climbing & rappelling, waterskiing, backpacking in the High Uintas wilderness, riding off road motorcycles, or just being dumb teenagers, me and my 3 best friends were able to do it and do it well.

However, as time has gone on, I have let myself go to seed. I have steadily put on a small amount of weight each year. This wasn't a problem for the first 2, 3, or 5 years. Now that it has been over 15 years, with my jobs becoming increasingly sedate, I am in perfect shape - round, that is.

A few years ago, a couple of friends and I were reliving the past and decided to go for a nice bike ride. Rock Canyon, above Provo, is was a great place to ride bikes. However, as we have gotten older, the trail has become increasingly steep. Instead of all the work of riding up, we just want to ride down. So Rob, Zo, and I decided to load the bikes onto the back of my SUV and take them to the top of the canyon by car - an hour drive up a narrow winding road out of Provo Canyon, past Squaw Peak. It was early May, and we were sure that the roads would be clear for the trip.

We were wrong.

Our first problem came when we encountered a still snowpacked portion of the road. After a moments pause, we decided that we would be able to make it across, so into 4 wheel drive we went - about halfway across the snowpack before getting stuck. After forward progress was halted, I tried to back out the way I had came, but with no success - in fact, with every attempt to move my Bronco either forward or backward accomplished little other than sliding sideways towards a 15 foot drop at the edge of the road where it would certainly roll.

We were about 5 miles from the top of Rock Canyon, and with the road being completly snowpacked, we decided to unload the bikes and head back the way we came, planning to ride to Zo's home where we could enlist his brother and his truck to come help get us unstuck. At this point our visions of a leisurely ride down Rock Canyon are crushed, but we could still enjoy the ride down the mostly paved road to Provo Canyon, and from there ride the paved Provo River Trail to Zo's house.

The road from Provo Canyon leading to the Squaw Peak overlook is a very narrow and steep switchback road with sharp drops off to the side. As we began our descent, the first thing I noticed was that my brakes didn't seem to be working very well. I stopped a couple of times to check them, but could find nothing wrong with them. Oblivious to the fact that the real problem is that they have to stop almost 50 pounds more than they used to, I determined to just keep my speed down so that the brakes could function better. Before long, I ended up having to stop again, this time to fix a flat tire which had been punctured during our short ride. A little voice in my head started to question if I had thought things through, but my impatient streak took charge, angered by the 10 minutes we had lost fixing my flat.

We took off again, and in my haste to recapture lost time, I headed down the next hill at a faster speed than was prudent considering my braking issues. This became very apparent at the next switchback turn. I was braking with all my strength, but I still came into the turn at a much higher speed than I would have liked. To compound my error, there was a patch of loose gravel on the road at that turn.

Now stop and imagine watching the next events unfold before your eyes. It must have been like watching Wylie Coyote get into one of his tragic accidents.

Through the turn, the bike was trying to skid out from underneath me sideways, and I struggled to keep it upright. I was successful in keeping it underneath me, but slid sideways as I did so - right off the side with the drop off. (The only thing missing was a small sign saying "Yikes!" I could have held up)

I don't remember precisely what happened at that exact moment. What I do remember is a blurry mixture of the sky mixed with various tree branches rotating wildly around my field of view. The first clear memory I have was after I had come to a rest - about 15 feet down the hill, with the bike stuck in a tree, and myself hanging upside down from the toe straps on the pedals.

After I managed to extricate myself from the bike and cling to the tree, I passed my bike up to Rob and Zo (once they had stopped laughing), and then they helped pull me back up to the road. Surprisingly there was not too much damage - to either myself or the bike.

All in all, I had two more flat tires, a large assortment of bruises, and a fair number of scrapes, including a wound from one branch which had torn through the two shirts I was wearing and had gouged out a 1/2 inch by 3 inch stripe from my chest under my right arm. I was finished with this ride.

Zo pulled his cell phone out of his saddle pack and called his brother. After about an hour of waiting, his brother and a couple of friends arrived in a pickup to take us back up to get my Bronco unstuck. To add insult to injury, the brother took a look at my Bronco and said "You're not stuck! Give me your keys!" He got in, threw it into reverse, cranked the steering wheel and floored it. For a few seconds I was sure he was going right off the edge of the road and down the hill. It stopped about 6 inches short of the side, finally gaining traction and moving slowly back with all 4 wheels spinning madly. With my Bronco safely removed from the snow field, I drove very carefully back to town.

I don't ride mountain bikes very much anymore.