My son and I decide that Mountain biking would be a great “Father and Son” activity.  I think it is a good idea because everyone else I ride with is so much better than I am. He thinks it’s a good idea because he likes to buy stuff.  I figure the price will be just under $500.  I’m pleasantly surprised that I can buy a full size mountain bike for $299.   Mine cost $1,500 so I figure I’m up $1,200.  My wife doesn’t seem to see it the same way. 

 We buy the bike and with the extra bike tube, tire repair kit, saddle bag to carry the extra tube, air pump, riding gloves, and camelback pack (actually since it cost $60 it is a not a pack it is a “water rehydration system.”)  We also get new pedals and bike shorts so the current price is $450.  I’m up $1,050, Cheryl still doesn’t think so. 

 I’m busy at work during the week so Matthew does some light riding not wanting to ride up the “monster” hill that we live on. Once he did go down the hill but his Mom picked him up so he didn’t have to ride up it.  The first weekend we finally get to ride together we go up the trail behind the house which he doesn’t like because of all the rocks. I take this as a bad sign since if you go mountain bike riding you see an awful lot of rocks.

 We head down the hill and then it is off to McDonald’s not because we are going to stop to eat but at five miles round trip it is the farthest he has ridden in the past.   We push on past McDonald’s but another mile out he is complaining about how he is getting a super wedgie. We are within a couple of miles of the bike shop so we decide to ride over and pick up some bike shorts.   It is lunch time but looking around Matthew wants to try some place new.  We live in this town so finding some place new on bikes is not very likely.  I decide that if we ride down Center Street in Provo maybe we will see something. 

 We head off still heading away from the house and then I remember a place, but it is even farther away, Matthew agrees and we head over to “The Brick Oven” a pizza place.   We have a very nice lunch and the ride has been pleasant so far.  We get back out to the bikes and I notice that we have ridden 13 miles.   We have been moving away from the house pretty much the whole ride and we still have the monster hill to climb.

 The trip starts to go down hill, not literally down hill but figuratively down hill,  We work our way back toward the house and the monster hill at about the 17 mile mark Matthew is in open revolt.   I explain that no matter what we have to ride home. We can take as many breaks as we want and can ride as slow as we want but we have to get home somehow.   He thinks about the cell phone I’m carrying and how easy it would be to call Mom but he knows I’ll never go for it.

 We get to the monster hill and after five breaks, and a couple hundred yards of pushing rather than riding we get home.    Matthew gets in the garage first and his helmet comes off and goes flying across the garage in disgust.   I’m disappointed and kind of mad.  Matthew is tired and doesn’t really care if I’m mad so he heads off to his room, more my decision than his, so I suppose he does care a little that I’m mad.   Everyone calms down and later Cheryl explains that 23 miles for the first trip might have been a little too long.  I agree but the first 13 miles went really well unfortunately they were away from the house.

 This also unfortunately is just the lead into the real story.  One of my friends talked to me about a great road up through the mountains.   It is called Squaw Peak road and it goes south along the ridgeline.   He has been across it via jeep and the views are spectacular.  I decide to drive up there with the kids and check it out.   We get to Squaw Peak look out point parking lot just in time to see a hang glider launch himself.  The road continues up the mountain but turns into a dirt road near the look out point.     I tell Cheryl that this might be a great place for Matthew and I to ride.   She can drive us up to the dirt road and we could head up the rest of the way and then coast down to Springville. 

 Cheryl who is much smarter than I am reminds me about the 23 mile fiasco and suggests that I might want to ride the trail once myself before I ride it with Matthew.

 I get up a little late on Saturday and putter around the house.  Matthew decides to go for a ride which I am not invited to go along on, so I decide to head up to Squaw Peak and do this pleasant little ride.  I have a bike mounted GPS so I know the time I started out exactly:  Saturday 6/28/2003 10:00:24 AM, I am at 6725 ft and I am traveling 0.1 mph on a course of 161° true, my exact location was N40 18.279 W111 37.146.   Now one tenth of a mile an hour might seem a bit slow especially since people walk at about 2.5 mph but the start of this hill is a bit steeper than I had anticipated.   I also have to confess that although I own a fifteen hundred dollar mountain bike, I am not really a mountain biker.  I am a five foot ten inch guy who weighs 230 pounds and lies about his height. 

 I continue on up the hill it is still kind of cool and I expect it to level off pretty soon.  So it is harder than I thought but still pleasant.  I was thinking that if I want to do this ride with Matthew we might have Cheryl drop us off a bit higher on the hill next time.

 Three miles later at 11:00 AM, I am at 7,718 ft. For my mountain biking friends this is a warm up, but I was thinking as I reached the top, “Man, I am so glad I did not drag my son up this hill.   I have a philosophy about child rearing and the relationships you can have with your children.  There are five levels:
 

1. “My dad is the best dad in the world and my very best friend.”  This is normally said when your buying them something expensive and shouldn’t and of course doesn’t last more than a few minutes.
2. “My dad is fun and I’m glad he cares about me so much.”  Also kind of rare but can last for at least a week like at Disneyland.
3. “My dad is firm but fair.”  You hope this would be the normal state but of course it isn’t, it is a transitional state between level two and level four.
4. “My dad is a freak’n moron.”  It can be brought on by taking your son out for a 23 mile bike ride as your first joint adventure.  It is unfortunately the normal state.
5. “My dad drove me to it.”  Normally screamed from the top of a clock tower while holding a high powered rifle.

 I was out of breath and wondering what level Matthew would be at if he had joined me.  I was sure he would be at least at level four but I just might have gotten him to level five.    I start down the hill. It is a gentle descent and I’m feeling pretty good about myself and life in general.  I get down to 7,008 ft around 11:15 AM and notice that the hill is no longer gently descending but is slightly rising.   This would definitely have pushed him into level 5 territory.  

 I continue to climb, it is slow going but I assume it will start to descend again.  71 thousand feet, 72 thousand, 73 thousand, 74, 75, 76, 77 thousand feet and now I am back at the same altitude that I had originally marked as the “Top” of this ride.  It is now noon the sun is right over head and even at 77,000 feet it is hot and I wished that I had remembered to put on some sun screen.  

 The road continues to rise and at each bend as I see the road continuing to rise I say, “You have got to be kidding me.”    78 thousand, 79 thousand, at 81 thousand feet my GPS batteries go dead.  It is 1:00 in the afternoon.  I rest, drink some water, and listen as the bugs buzz around me.   A few of them stop to lunch on me but I am too tired brush them away.  I also remember that I have water; extra batteries for the GPS, my wallet, and for some reason my Pocket PC.  I don’t have any food, no snacks, power bars or anything else that might help me recharge.

 I put the extra batteries in the GPS and then start to climb the hill again.  I can see that I have rested more than I have been moving; my average speed has been 2.3 mph.  I have traveled about 8 miles most of it up hill.    I assume I would now be at level 6 with Matthew.

 This is a new level were he kills me takes my cell phone calls his Mom who after hearing the story decides to help him dispose of my body.   I continue up the mountain a couple of off road motorcycles pass me and I hear them continue to climb. In a couple of minutes they are level with me again but above me on the trail, at least 1,000 feet above me.  When I get to each bend I no longer say “You have got to be kidding me.”  In most cases I put an expletive in front and behind that sentence but I always put one in front of “kidding.”

 I pass a few people on motorcycles and four wheel ATV’s, I keep thinking about asking them how far it is to the top but I just continue to ride slowly up the mountain.   I stop to look out at the view.  I have to wait for the pain in my chest to dissipate, the ringing in my ears to stop, and my vision to clear, it takes about 5 minutes.  I am looking down at Provo which is the half way mark I’m at 8,435 feet.  A guy on an ATV pulls up and says, “Unbelievable view isn’t it.”  I realize that I can not speak. 

 I cough to clear my throat and say, “Yes, unbelievable.  How much farther South do I have to go until this damn road starts going down hill.”   He is disappointed that I don’t see the majesty of the location but of course he drove up here on an ATV and I peddled my fat ass up on a mountain bike. He answers, “Just up there at the saddle, it starts down and continues down most of the way.”  I look about a mile in the distance and see what I assume is a saddle but not being from around these parts, I’m only guessing what a saddle is.   The guy sits next to me while I look at the distance and I use my favorite phrase, “You have got to be kidding me.”  He doesn’t answer he just drives away and I get back on my bike and ride gradually up the mountain. 

 Two Thirty in the afternoon I am 8,530 feet above sea level.  I am 1,805 feet higher than my start point and I have gone about 10 miles at an average speed of just under 3 mph.    I also remember that Matthew has a piano recital at 4:00 pm.   It is now 2:30 pm and it is 15 miles to my house.  My legs feel like Jell-O and the pain in my chest is either a heart attack or my lungs crumpling into my diaphragm.  I realize that I might be cutting it a bit close.  I can’t call Cheryl since I don’t have any service.    

 I head down the hill.  I have looked forward to this all morning but now as I start down the hill I realize it is not a gentle descent, it is the ride from hell.  When I see my speed I am doing 17 miles an hour, most of the time I can’t see the speed because the bike is bouncing down a rock strewn path.  My front tire is kicking up rocks which ping off my expensive bike frame or more alarmingly my legs.  I have stopped using all words except expletives.

I am moving at well over 20 mph when an arrowhead shaped rock smashes into my leg the blood trickles down and the swear words flow from my lips.   I am holding on to the bars which feel like a jackhammer and my back tire screeches every few seconds as it leaves the ground and then comes back down like a 747 landing at DFW.  I don’t see anything except the next pile of loose sharp rocks washed across the trail.  It is terrifying and I am late. 

 I finally see tarmac I think I am on the left fork of Hobble Creek Canyon Road 5,400 feet but still higher than my house so I assume I have a very fast downhill ride to the house.  It is 3:15pm.  I have 45 minutes to cover the distance that I normally cover in 25 minutes.   I then realize that the recital starts at 4:00 PM so we need to get there before 4:00 PM.   I crank it up a gear and push hard.  I’m making good time until I hit a small incline.  I am riding into the wind going up hill after just coming across Squaw Peak Trail.  I might not make it.  I call Cheryl as soon as the phone service is back and tell her to bring me a pair of trousers and a button down shirt.   I tell her I will meet her at the bottom of our hill because I will never make it up the monster hill in time.   I discover that although my house is down hill from my current location I am not always going down hill.  

 Cheryl calls me and I answer the phone while moving at 25 mph, completely out of breath and still five miles from our meeting point.  I don’t want to miss her so I pick someplace closer but easy.   She intelligently comes down a bit closer to me and I put the bike on the bike rack and hop in the car.  Matthew is in a shirt and tie, I am in bike shorts and a sweat soaked tee-shirt.    We get to the recital and I tell Matthew to go in and get setup.  I can not catch my breath since I went from peddling as hard as I could to a full stop in less than a minute.   I pull my trousers over my bike shorts and then pull the shirt over my tee-shirt.  I am sweating like a pig, you can see the outline of my bike shorts and the extra layer of clothes is the last thing a middle aged overweight guy who just road about 30 miles needs. 

 Matthew’s recital goes well and since he is fifth the ringing has stopped in my ears so I can hear again.   Cheryl wants to take him out to dinner but I remind her it might be a good idea for me to shower and to take off the extra set of clothes I am wearing.

 Matthew is ecstatic when we let him pick the restaurant.  He should be even happier that his Mother is smart enough to stop me from trying out a new trail with him along.