Was just remembering a mountain bike ride from five or six years ago, back when my dog, Eddie, could run with me all day. I was at my local trail system, the Middlesex Fells, and I came to a brook littered with bowling ball-sized rocks running across the trail. At the time, I was into practicing trials-like maneuvers. I had an elevated sense of my own bike handling skills. I threw myself into the brook looking to carom my front tire off the first rock and use it to hop the rest of the way across the water.
Instead, I planted my wheel just off center on that slippery stone and while moving body forward to unweight the rear end, I went careening sideways across the rocks, bashing and gashing my ankle. I came to rest half in the water and half out. Sensing my predicament, punctuated by a spell of manly tears, Eddie circled back to lick my face. I lay there for about five minutes wondering if my ankle was broken before picking my sorry ass up and riding on.
I was thinking how much I miss those days and hurting myself through ego-fueled idiocy, and now I'm really looking forward to Sunday mornings on the trail this summer.
So that's nice.
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