By Brad Morrison
In Issue 96, Brad Morrison writes in praise of feeling the fear – and doing it anyway.
It’s noon on a Saturday and I’m cruising swiftly along the trails, a stone’s throw from a beer-brown river, inhaling air thick with the aroma of slow moving water. All morning the dense summer foliage has prevented the sun from acquiring a direct shot, but it’s finally found a perch directly above me. My brain is taking the day off, so instinct is making all the decisions – from my choice of coffee, to the route I take to the trails, to picking which lines to ride amid all the roots, ruts, and bumps. This park is a roller coaster of dirt, the zany topography keeping both me and the bike in a constant state of reaction. I drop into each turn with faith and commitment, lean down so far I could reach out and scrape a second line of track through the dirt with my finger.
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