It's All Downhill (Vail Article)

 It's All Downhill: Vail, Colorado

by Brenda Andress

I'm not gonna lie. I thought I'd be good at it.

When I was three years old, my parents strapped skis as short as skates to my feet and gave me a nudge down the mountain. My mother (who happened to be a decent skier) had to speed down the white slope after me. When she caught up, my glued-on smile melted when she reprimand me for being out of control. The thrill of rocketing downward never left, I just eventually learned how to look around and make sure I wasn't going to collide with another unsuspecting flatlander.

So, naturally, I assumed that any sport involving an association with gravity would be easy. I mean, how hard can it be to simply steer a bike where it wants to go anyway?

A couple of months ago, my husband received an email from his younger brother. It was one of those emails that had the same effect as shotgunning a double shot of espresso. It was an invite to go on a mostly-all expense paid mountain biking trip to Vail, Colorado.

The first day at altitude, we boarded our cross-country bikes and hit a trail on the north side of the valley. After climbing a fire road for almost six miles to an elevation of over 10,000 feet, we ate lunch at the gorgeous Lost Lake. It was a beautiful, small lake hidden among the aspen and pines at the pinnacle of the trail. We refueled and rested, then descended the rocky, but sweet single track back down to our vehicles.

The next day, we were incredibly blessed to meet up with Lee McCormack. (Lee is the author of several books on biking, specifically the training manual for the National Interscholastic Cycling Association. He has trained numerous professional bikers. Check him out at leelikesbikes.com.) In a parking lot down the river from our condo, Lee taught us the basics of mountain biking technique. Later, we rode the gondola up Vail mountain and tried our best to put the skills to practice on the dusty downhill switchbacks, still on our cross-country bikes, but salivating at the thought of returning the following morning, ready to rip on our borrowed long-travel rigs.

Day three was the big day. We readied ourselves with all the necessary equipment: shin guards and elbow pads, chest-protectors and sturdy shoes, and finally the full-faced helmets. (At this point, I was beginning to feel a bit uneasy. I was trying not to imagine putting all this gear to the test.) Nevertheless, it was finally time to prove that vertical limits didn't apply to this 33-year old woman. I was ready to add "downhilling" to my resume of cool biking experiences.

It's really a shame my mom wasn't there. I can picture her shaking her head, hollering down at her out-of-earshot, speeding daughter, "Slow down!" The rattling rocket was awkward under me, threatening to buck me to the aspens as the slowly absorbed bumps got quicker and squirrelier with each section of the black diamond trails we were rolling.

My hands were screaming. My feet were trying to find purchase on the flat pedals. "Heels down!" "Light hands." "Get low." My brain was repeating the information I had received in my lesson the day before, but my careening, armored body wasn't responding too well. It didn't help that my legs were heavy from the two previous days of riding.

I felt like an accident waiting to happen. I knew I needed to "slow down," but doing so took more energy than my body could muster. Without too much hesitation, I decided to lighten my load and swap the foreign rig for my light and comfortable 29er. After the quick exchange, I headed up the gondola several more times and loved every minute of the descents back down. Vail had recently constructed a new blue trail called "Radio Flyer" that was sheer awesomeness. It was flowy, the corners had decent traction, and the bumps and jumps made me feel like I was on snow skis, floating down the mountain. The grin on my face would have made mama proud!

 A special thanks to Mike Angelovich and his family for their generous hospitality.