I'M NOW "INTO" MOUNTAIN BIKING . . .
. . . sort of. I've been once. I have scrapes and bruises to prove it. Bart had been asking for an opportunity to check out some "really cool trails" in Tallahassee. So we did. The scene was a recreation center north of town near Lake Jackson. In the adjacent neighborhood, houses were framed by lawns, hedges and flower beds that appeared to be maintained regularly by someone other than the folks living there. At the rec center, ladies in stylish tennis outfits trimmed in pastel green, pink or yellow volleyed politely with one another. So after surveying the scene, we began to get ready for our ride.

We had arrived about 11 am and it was already 97 degrees. No problem. In addition to a helmet and special shorts, we each had a back pack filled with cold water. A plastic tube from the pack came up and attached to my shoulder with a velcro strap. There was a "button" on the end of the tube to keep water from running out. Bart said all you had to do to get a drink was hold the tube in your mouth and press the button with your tongue or teeth, offering the possibility of refreshment on demand — a pleasant thought.

I had a bike with three gears once. This one had 21 — and no automatic transmission. Flat is 0 degrees; a vertical wall is 90. That meant (assuming I could climb a vertical wall on this thing) I had a gear for every 4.3 degrees. Put another way, every time the ground rose an additional half inch per foot, I had different set of sprockets to handle it. These bikes were definitely all-terrain vehicles. The frame of Bart's was emblazoned with the words Rock Stomper SX. Will's (the one I was riding) had been christened a ROCK MACHINE. Where could we NOT ride — especially on a MOUNTAIN bike in Tallahassee, Florida!

Bart led the way down the trail which began to wind through a wooded area. It was nice, green, a few degrees cooler. But this wasn't the flat part of Tallahassee. There were hills. Some steep ones. And stumps. And logs. And places where the trees on the trail were only two feet apart. The handle bars on my bike were 23" wide. And they had "horns" on them. Not the kind you blow; the kind cows have. That's what they looked like to me. They came up and forward about 6" from each end of the bar. Bart said when you're going up a steep incline you're supposed to use them to pull yourself up and over the front of the bike to keep the slope from flipping you over backwards. I came down some of those trails at a speed somewhere between "let's-be-safe" and "gotta-catch-up" knowing that one of those horns was going to hang on a small tree, the bike would do an instant U-turn, and I wouldn't. We continued up and down and around, and I was out of breath and feeling dizzy.

Bart finally stopped on the edge of the woods. When I caught up I dismounted, fell on the grass, and asked for instructions again about how to get water out of that tube. I had tried, but when I pushed the button with my tongue the tube slipped out of my mouth, and I couldn't figure out what to hold the tube with in order to push the button with my teeth. Laying there on my back I could hold it with my hand and finally get some refreshment.

My heart was pounding. I could barely drink for trying to breathe and I "felt" pale. "Are — breath, breath, breath — these — breath, breath, breath — trails — breath, breath, breath — good?" I asked. "Oh man yes, a LOT better than at home." I told him to ride on — just not to get too far away — while I rested. When he wheeled off I looked at my watch. We had been on the bikes about 20 minutes.

During the next hour or so, I was stopped by tree roots, got my feet stuck in the straps on the peddles and fell over sideways, failed to find the right gear for certain slopes, and unsuccessfully attempted to jump logs in a single bound. (You're supposed to be able to do that on these cycles.) Once I peddled up a hill, but then got off the bike at the top and collapsed backwards against a tree. The helmet kept me from giving myself a concussion — the only real use it was to me all day.

I finally convinced Bart that we needed to check out another trail — one I had reason to believe was more tame. It led down to a lake. And in fact it was smoother, had no hazzards, and was mostly downhill. But now I had another problem. Sitting on the seat of a mountain bike is like sitting on top of a flagpole. And in spite of the padding in the special shorts, I was feeling the effect acutely.

Fortunately, we stopped by the lake for a rest and to enjoy the view. That's when Bart remembered that he had a couple of PowerBars tucked away in his pack. The foil wrapper said, "ATHLETIC ENERGY FOOD - Fuel for Optimum Performance." I was pretty sure I hadn't been performing optimally. A 2.3 ounce bar has 230 calories and 100% of the Recommended Daily Allowance of almost everything. Mine was Apple-Cinnamon flavored and tasted kind of like a granola bar, but it was soft and sticky. I wasn't sure whether they always had that texture, or it was a result of being carried in Bart's pack in 100 degree weather. But it was now around 1:30, and I ate it. We sat for a few more minutes, Bart backtracked so he could experience again an "awesome" slope we had flown down just before we got to the lake — and then we headed on.

That's when an amazing thing happened. Though it was mostly uphill on the way out (the price for going mostly downhill on the way in), I actually had the energy to chase Bart up the path — caught him and passed him a couple of times — and enjoyed pushing the peddles and gliding along! I felt like I was on a horse within sight of the barn. SOMETHING had happened! If there wasn't Power in that PowerBar, I was experiencing "second wind" in a way most marathoners would envy. On the way home, Bart told me he had felt it too. I guess it helped me more dramatically because I had been much further below "optimum performance" than he had. But it worked! It gave me the strength to go on when, just a little earlier, I was almost positive that I couldn't.

The poet of Psalm 73 was on a rough ride. We don't know the details, but it was clear he needed more than two aspirin and a sip from his water pack. According to him, his "soul was embittered" (vs. 21). He was intensely experiencing the effects of being in a world of hurt. Not knowing what to do about it was his second problem. He could easily recite the answers he had learned as a boy. In fact, he begins his poem with "Surely God is good to . . . those who are pure in heart." But in light of his circumstances he was asking, "Surely?" That's what he had been told. That's what he wanted to believe. But his theology didn't square with his experience. He had tried to follow God, but had taken some hard falls:

. . . as for me, my feet had almost slipped; I had nearly lost my foothold. For I envied the arrogant when I saw the prosperity of the wicked. They have no struggles; their bodies are healthy and strong. They are free from the burdens common to man; they are not plagued by human ills. . . . They say, "How can God know? Does the Most High have knowledge?" (vs. 2-5, 11)