As my bike coach and best friend once told me, sometimes the most memorable moments are those that just appear out of nowhere, late-night last-minute episodes that add to the color and vivacity of Life. This was one of those moments, random and unplanned just as he likes it. I also learned that one doesn't always need to leave the country to taste adventure.
10 PM. The night felt dark, yet glistened in a perpetual
twilight as the orange glow of distant city lights flickered playfully
in the warm air. Crouching in the bushes and dead silent with but the
shuffle of a blade of grass or snapping twig, we anxiously waited.
Headlights up ahead - Duck! What a rush of excitement at such a late
hour! Hopefully, the park patrol didn't see us. A string of lights bounced along through the
grassy silhouette from their congregation at the end of the road. Go!
Matt and Paul sped off ahead only to be consumed by the dark depths of
the grassy hills. Yes, I know what you're thinking, how those two names
seem to have developed an affinity with all things adventurous,
intrepid, and occasionally clandestine. Rigorously peddling to catch up,
every breath I took was a reminder to myself of how fortunate I am to
have found such a daring duo who have made truly unique contributions to
my repertoire of experiences, particularly in a stage of daily life predominantly defined by flavorless uniformity. Last night was a refreshingly new
spin on the standard Saturday night, something habitual to them but
entirely novel to me.
With the threat of impotent security behind us, we took to the dirt, Matt and Paul on beat-up cruisers and I on my thirty-dollar, back-alley bargain. As avid cyclists with years and plenty of miles of riding experience, Matt and Paul certainly threw me into a sea of both astonishment and personal embarrassment as they effortlessly glided up the rocky terrain on their single-speed bikes. In spite of having all the gears in the world, I still paled in comparison to their strength and finesse, at times appearing to struggle even more. But as I have learned from the half marathon and journey to Mt. Whitney with them, it is amazing to witness what one can accomplish in the presence of such inspirational company. My fears have been tried and tested on so many occasions with Matt. Haunted by a murky past, I virtually vowed to never ride a bicycle again. I could have never foreseen that 10 years later, I would be facing my unease and re-learning everything again under Matt's invaluable tutelage, a gift I will never forget. And to think that I have grown to a level where I was now riding off-road and in near darkness? Mashallah.
Through a combination of riding and walking, we ascended through Bommer Canyon towards Ridge Park, passing under the unsightly 73 freeway that shreds an otherwise intact and exquisite shrubland. Gasping behind as I walked my bicycle up the slippery slope, it amazed me to see Paul, light as a feather but with soles of stone, continue to peddle his way up the incline so delicately. Take note, Sharja - work on your balance. Emulating Matt, I tried standing while peddling, fighting to get my crankset to even budge. Another note, Sharja - somehow grow calves. Arriving at the top and just barely evading a sinister patrol car, the relief of downhill riding finally lay before us. Or was it a relief? My gingerly peddling suddenly mutated into a frantic and uncontrolled bout of flying, sliding, and skidding that would likely fuel a week's worth of reprimanding from my over-protective parents. Yet despite swerving in thick relentless sand and being flung from my bike over rocky crevasses, I managed by divine grace to evade real injury. Final note, Sharja - the bike needs more evil eye amulets. And just when I felt the real adventure was beginning, we had already reached the opening in the brush where we would rest for the night.
Stars sparkled like tiny mirrors in a Kashmiri tapestry overhead, as we settled snugly into our sleeping bags. Matt related to us engaging episodes from his trip to Mexico with Steven, stirring up a whirlwind of nostalgia for my own adventures (and romanticized "rescue" missions) south of the border with him in the Slug. Even the simple act of listening to his tale under that celestial blanket revived nostalgia of another era for me, one of storytelling amongst friends on soothing Saharan nights. Such a demonstration also gave me solace in knowing that it is still possible to find companions in our day who feel more comfortable sharing spoken word in such a setting, away from the soul-depleting emptiness of computer screens and television sets. Gazing at the sky, I took note of the constellations before being lulled to sleep by the melodic chirps of crickets and the light pitter-patter of wild rabbits. I suddenly awoke to the flashing lights of an approaching car about to crush me. In an effort to save my life, I violently rolled myself in my goose feather cocoon right out of the way, and essentially right back into reality. None of it had happened, yet I was still shaking from the near-death experience. Looking at the sky, I noticed the constellations had migrated. A heavy sleep overcame me again until I awoke to the sound of Matt tinkering around. Morning had arrived so soon, and the Vanagon, in need of repairs, somehow found itself in place of the picnic table. I grabbed a wrench and rolled myself in the sleeping bag underneath the bus alongside Matt to help out. The illusion quickly vanished as I actually awoke to the sound of Paul tinkering around, packing up his gear in what had unexpectedly turned into a shivering night. I was quite sad to see Paul leave us, all alone and at such an untimely hour, but the chilled air was too much for him to bear given his apparel. Unsure as to the reality of anything at this point, I took one last look at the sky, greeted by a whole new set of constellations. I felt so moved by this display of cosmic impermanence, a subtle reminder to appreciate every cherished moment with friends and family in this ever-changing passing of existence. A lone meteor happened to blaze across the sky, leaving a trail of illumination across the blackness, a final testament to the sheer beauty of that evening. With that, I faded back into oblivion.
I awoke this morning under warm rays to the sound of Matt tinkering, for real this time. My blurred vision gradually focused on a light smile gazing back at me from heavy eyelids. He always looks tired to me, but knowing how animated and impulsive his lifestyle is, I've actually come to laud his natural spring of stamina. After packing our equipment, we set off on the grand challenge of riding back up the rocky hill in the searing heat. Heart pounding, losing breath, and blinded by the sweat of my brow, I battled to keep up with him. Foolishly, overexertion only came second on my mind behind my initial fear of disappointing Matt. Surely, I figured, he would refuse to invite me again on such exciting excursions should I prove to be a complete hindrance. Nevertheless, the body has an assured way of knowing its own limits, and I was forced to take rest. Reality ultimately knocked some sense into me - literally - when I finished our ride by plowing maniacally into a boulder after missing my turn. Overcoming the shock, I couldn't help but laugh hysterically at myself. It was my first time crashing head-on into a rock, and I'm sure I looked fabulous doing it.
With the threat of impotent security behind us, we took to the dirt, Matt and Paul on beat-up cruisers and I on my thirty-dollar, back-alley bargain. As avid cyclists with years and plenty of miles of riding experience, Matt and Paul certainly threw me into a sea of both astonishment and personal embarrassment as they effortlessly glided up the rocky terrain on their single-speed bikes. In spite of having all the gears in the world, I still paled in comparison to their strength and finesse, at times appearing to struggle even more. But as I have learned from the half marathon and journey to Mt. Whitney with them, it is amazing to witness what one can accomplish in the presence of such inspirational company. My fears have been tried and tested on so many occasions with Matt. Haunted by a murky past, I virtually vowed to never ride a bicycle again. I could have never foreseen that 10 years later, I would be facing my unease and re-learning everything again under Matt's invaluable tutelage, a gift I will never forget. And to think that I have grown to a level where I was now riding off-road and in near darkness? Mashallah.
Through a combination of riding and walking, we ascended through Bommer Canyon towards Ridge Park, passing under the unsightly 73 freeway that shreds an otherwise intact and exquisite shrubland. Gasping behind as I walked my bicycle up the slippery slope, it amazed me to see Paul, light as a feather but with soles of stone, continue to peddle his way up the incline so delicately. Take note, Sharja - work on your balance. Emulating Matt, I tried standing while peddling, fighting to get my crankset to even budge. Another note, Sharja - somehow grow calves. Arriving at the top and just barely evading a sinister patrol car, the relief of downhill riding finally lay before us. Or was it a relief? My gingerly peddling suddenly mutated into a frantic and uncontrolled bout of flying, sliding, and skidding that would likely fuel a week's worth of reprimanding from my over-protective parents. Yet despite swerving in thick relentless sand and being flung from my bike over rocky crevasses, I managed by divine grace to evade real injury. Final note, Sharja - the bike needs more evil eye amulets. And just when I felt the real adventure was beginning, we had already reached the opening in the brush where we would rest for the night.
Stars sparkled like tiny mirrors in a Kashmiri tapestry overhead, as we settled snugly into our sleeping bags. Matt related to us engaging episodes from his trip to Mexico with Steven, stirring up a whirlwind of nostalgia for my own adventures (and romanticized "rescue" missions) south of the border with him in the Slug. Even the simple act of listening to his tale under that celestial blanket revived nostalgia of another era for me, one of storytelling amongst friends on soothing Saharan nights. Such a demonstration also gave me solace in knowing that it is still possible to find companions in our day who feel more comfortable sharing spoken word in such a setting, away from the soul-depleting emptiness of computer screens and television sets. Gazing at the sky, I took note of the constellations before being lulled to sleep by the melodic chirps of crickets and the light pitter-patter of wild rabbits. I suddenly awoke to the flashing lights of an approaching car about to crush me. In an effort to save my life, I violently rolled myself in my goose feather cocoon right out of the way, and essentially right back into reality. None of it had happened, yet I was still shaking from the near-death experience. Looking at the sky, I noticed the constellations had migrated. A heavy sleep overcame me again until I awoke to the sound of Matt tinkering around. Morning had arrived so soon, and the Vanagon, in need of repairs, somehow found itself in place of the picnic table. I grabbed a wrench and rolled myself in the sleeping bag underneath the bus alongside Matt to help out. The illusion quickly vanished as I actually awoke to the sound of Paul tinkering around, packing up his gear in what had unexpectedly turned into a shivering night. I was quite sad to see Paul leave us, all alone and at such an untimely hour, but the chilled air was too much for him to bear given his apparel. Unsure as to the reality of anything at this point, I took one last look at the sky, greeted by a whole new set of constellations. I felt so moved by this display of cosmic impermanence, a subtle reminder to appreciate every cherished moment with friends and family in this ever-changing passing of existence. A lone meteor happened to blaze across the sky, leaving a trail of illumination across the blackness, a final testament to the sheer beauty of that evening. With that, I faded back into oblivion.
I awoke this morning under warm rays to the sound of Matt tinkering, for real this time. My blurred vision gradually focused on a light smile gazing back at me from heavy eyelids. He always looks tired to me, but knowing how animated and impulsive his lifestyle is, I've actually come to laud his natural spring of stamina. After packing our equipment, we set off on the grand challenge of riding back up the rocky hill in the searing heat. Heart pounding, losing breath, and blinded by the sweat of my brow, I battled to keep up with him. Foolishly, overexertion only came second on my mind behind my initial fear of disappointing Matt. Surely, I figured, he would refuse to invite me again on such exciting excursions should I prove to be a complete hindrance. Nevertheless, the body has an assured way of knowing its own limits, and I was forced to take rest. Reality ultimately knocked some sense into me - literally - when I finished our ride by plowing maniacally into a boulder after missing my turn. Overcoming the shock, I couldn't help but laugh hysterically at myself. It was my first time crashing head-on into a rock, and I'm sure I looked fabulous doing it.
Hanging out with Matt and Paul
will find one's self getting shaken up considerably. However, in
retrospect, I've come to realize that I wouldn't trade in my time with
them for anything else. Already stupefied by their gracious inclusion of
me in their hobby, particularly considering the drastic gap in our
skill levels, I was even more touched by their constant attention to my
well-being throughout the ride. The entire evening was rewarding. And
while certainly short, likely even mundane for the likes of such talented individuals as them,
something about last night has left me paradoxically satiated all the
while still desperately craving for more.
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| I love my Adventure buddies! |