Should Hannah be allowed to make equipment choices, or is the outcome inevitable?
Words Hannah
I have been here before. That time it resulted in a flight through the air long enough to contemplate my poor equipment choices (bikini, sandals and baseball cap) before landing in babyhead rocks, and was followed by six weeks of being unable to bend my knee. I am not going to make that mistake again – or maybe I already have, though this time I have at least got shorts and vest over the top of the bikini.
I’m not supposed to be mountain biking. I’m supposed to be having a post-breakfast pootle around a small hill to see a beach while the tent dries. It’s supposed to be the kind of bike ride that doesn’t need equipment. So as I stare down at the descent below me that looks like that slate quarry Gee Atherton flew down, my knees tremble a little. I decide to make good choices. I decide to walk down. Kevin is more used to riding wild stuff than me – he’s ridden Green River, the freeride destination in Utah, many times before – so the loose, gravelly near-vertical descent that opens up before us isn’t quite so intimidating for him. He decides it will be easier to ride than walk, and heads off down the hill in a controlled skid. The steepness of the gradient is underlined as part-way down he disappears from view. It’s only a short descent, yet the angle means he’s gone for long enough that I start to worry. Finally he pops out at the bottom, a small speck in the distance. Now I need to get down.
I step forward nervously and the loose cat-litter-like gravel shifts under my sandals. I squeeze both brakes as the weight of the bike pulls me downwards. I try to take baby steps and head for the last vestiges of vegetation, looking for a little additional grip. I contour across and down, trying to take some of the vertical out with each step without slipping on my arse and plummeting downwards in the uncontrolled slide of skin removal that I feel sure awaits me. It’s just a question of how much descent I’ve managed to take out of my fall before it happens.
It’s not long before I run out of vegetation and find myself stuck in the middle of the gravel field, unable to move downwards. Even if I could move up, it would leave the consequent challenges of being separated from Kevin in an unfamiliar location without phone signal. I stand paralysed, bottom lip quivering a little in anticipation of the fall that surely must come and the skin that must surely be lost. I sight more vegetation ahead and below and start to creep forward towards it, but after what must be at least a minute I’ve managed a whole metre of vertical descent and Kevin remains a speck in the distance below. At this rate I’m going to have other problems, like dehydration and sunstroke. Plus late check-out fees at the campsite.
Somewhere in this moment the thought creeps in that there should be a law for this, or a ratio. Like Sod’s law, but more specific. Dobson’s Dilemma: ‘When riding into the unknown, the gnarliness of the terrain that you encounter will be inversely proportional to the equipment choices you make.’ If you choose to leave all safety equipment at home because you’re ‘not going mountain biking, it’s just a little scenic tour’, you can be sure that you will encounter something akin to a World Cup Downhill track. Likewise, if you choose the big bike, full face helmet and all the pads, you will likely encounter little more than endless doubletrack. Take a gravel bike and you’ll find drop-offs; take an enduro bike and you’ll spend the entire time climbing before descending on a road. Aim for safe middle of everything – take a pedal-everywhere downcountry bike, wear some not too baggy shorts and a fitting jersey, and you’ll never leave the tarmac. Prove me wrong. Or, am I the only person who just heads out on a bike, following my nose, route unplanned? Maybe it’s not my equipment choices that are the problem, but my lack of planning?
Back on the hill, Kevin leaves his bike and walks back up the hill to rescue me. He is my hero and I am pathetically grateful. Without the bike to drag me I shuffle gingerly down, and finally we reach the bottom and the way to the beach. I am so relieved to have made it with my skin intact that I resolve – once more – not to make to make this mistake again. As we approach the beach there is a sign: Clothing Optional. I’m not sure I am to be trusted with such choices.
