Anders struggles to match aspiration to reality.
Words & Illustrations Anders Engberg
This is not fun. The thought has dug in, made itself comfortable and is not going anywhere.
My local trail is treating me with a warm, dappled light that finds its way through the pines and lights up a thousand tiny drops of dew all around me. It truly is a beautiful evening. The smell of forest and loam is heavy in the air as I retreat up the trail, pushing my bike beside me. The snapping twigs and pine cones under my feet make a pleasant sound around my exhausted breath. Sweaty from hauling my bike up and down the trail I forget that autumn is actually upon us. The leaves in the canopy are unfortunately telling a different tale. While the brilliant orange and yellow fireworks of the scattered birch and aspen are a marvel, they also make no mistake about the oncoming winter.
On my way up I pass a makeshift tripod made of branches and a pair of gloves, crowned by my phone. The whole contraption is aimed at a little gap jump which has wrestled me into submission. I’ve been here for the last hour trying to learn how to do proper tabletops. Even though the evening is stellar, I’m not getting anywhere and frustration is successfully marrying my feeling of abandoned stoke. The high-resolution video I just shot of myself is telling no lies. It’s ruthlessly honest, showing me for what I am and not what I feel like. I press play again, hoping that something might have changed. On the screen the same 35-year-old appears, looking very much like a frog trying to hug a bike with arms and legs simultaneously.
Profanities echo through the woods. My bike is giving me that ‘Dude, it’s time to call it a day’ look. I reply with more profanities. ‘What am I doing wrong? Why can’t I get it?’
Silence.
My bike looks back at me with no response.
Fine, keep your secrets…
I sit down by the trailside to catch my breath and try to analyse what I’m doing wrong. Beyond how I need to alter my motor skills, my mind wanders to why this seems to matter so much to me. I feel ashamed of how I’m not enjoying pushing a $4,000 bike up a hill where I can play as an adult in this extremely entitled moment.
My obsession with this manoeuvre started years ago with me looking at old BMX films and seeing pros do tabletops on jumps and street features. The trick itself instantly enchanted me with its simplicity and versatility. It’s in the arsenal of every style cat. I quickly realised that this is one of those skills that will turn a bike and a rider into a moving piece of art. Since then, my relationship with this move has transpired over two decades and every wheel size out there from 20 all the way to 29.
As my wheels have grown bigger, the way we look at media has changed too. The old BMX films have now been swapped for a constant social media feed giving me imagery and video on a daily basis. I’m generally not one to overuse social media, posting pretty rarely. But as a member of contemporary society, I spend some time every day going through the feeds. And this is where my session at the jump today actually started, or at least the mental side of it. I can’t help but mirror myself in the content that is presented to me through the channels I follow. Usually this doesn’t concern me that much, but there are times I see something on social media that will instantly penetrate my armour and head directly for my core. It can make me question myself and the way I live my life in an alarmingly short time.
I flip a perfectly yellow aspen leaf between my fingers and I notice how it is actually cold enough to turn my breath into smoke. This is such a great time of the year; every inhalation feels like a sip of cool water.
I go up and give it several more tries. Nothing changes and the real poison starts seeping in. The fact that I can’t make this look the way I want it to doesn’t actually make me dislike my interest in riding bikes. It makes me look at myself with disdain and my inner monologue is calling me bad names. This might seem quite adolescent, but looking at how we validate ourselves these days this reaction is not uncommon. Because, honestly, I want to be able to fire off a sick move, shoot it and post it on a social platform. Even at 35, I actually do want to look like those heroes I follow with their inverted tabletops on massive jumps.
My heart beats fiercely against my chest and I realise too late that I need a rest.
I smile at my own ignorance as this is something I always do when frustration sets in – I try harder and think less, getting me nowhere fast. I turn the phone off and sit down on a rock covered in a mosaic of lichens and moss. When looking closely this vegetation grows in wonderfully intricate patterns. Nowhere in those patterns lies the secret to the perfect tabletop, but it makes me pause long enough for my mind to reach for the brake. Back in the present I find some of the sense I left somewhere between my phone and my failed attempts. Putting a little healthy distance between my own expectations and the real world is quite sobering and it makes the importance of a perfect tabletop posted on some media seem pretty silly.
From my vantage point on that rock I can see the giants and miniatures who dwell in the forest. I try to look beyond the tool that mirrors, enlarges or deflates and just appreciate the moment for what it is. Nature doesn’t care if your ego is flattered or not.
It’s just always there, listening. Maybe that’s why it’s such a good friend.
