“So, can I, like, take mountain bike lessons?” my daughter asked en route to a weeklong vacation in the mountains. “Uh, yeah, of course, you can,” I replied trying to mask my abrupt surprise. My kid, who we call P, and I are about as emotionally divergent as two people can be. She is enriched by the energy of other humans and loves to attend weddings and other festive celebrations of life and joy. I, on the other hand, could sit with a stand of trees for weeks on end without notice. P is also thirteen and appropriately doesn’t like anything I’m into, including mountain biking. I didn’t want to be like my parents as a kid either, and I had planned to let her find a more social activity to embrace — until she asked about lessons.
P initially asked if my partner and I could teach her to ride. Having worked as a teacher in the past, I knew a fresh voice and neutral relationship would result in both faster better learning. After a few days of riding with an instructor at the La Thuile Mountain Bike School, P was painted with bruises, tired, and loving the thrill of the trails. She progressed from walking sections of the sole blue track on the mountain to riding the whole ribbon without pause. She then bumped up the risk meter to red trails, letting go more and riding a few additional drops every lap. She rolled across glacial streams and let the slick cross-country tread on her bike dance around as they pleased.
The kid has far more courage than I did at her age, and she’s learning faster for it. Red-rated trails in La Thuille would have been considered black when I learned to ride, and the mountain’s many black trails would likely have been illegal. Thanks to our dramatically more capable bikes that’s all changed for the better.
I’m genuinely stoked that my kid has a new way to challenge herself, to exercise, to make friends, to enjoy the forest, and we can do it together. Also, mountain biking has unquestionably made my life better in ways I do and don’t notice, and I’m happy to spread that goodness whenever possible.
On the final day in the mountains, with the car packed for home, we all hopped on the chairlift for one last ride on one of the former Superenduro stages together. P had ridden it with an instructor and wanted to demonstrate her newfound flow. She rolled all of the drops and took some of the race lines we pointed out to make things a little spicier and faster. She rode nearly everything that she had walked earlier in the day with the skills instructor. I didn’t mask how proud I was of her moxie and her ability to push through fear and learn. It was and is inspiring.
Before we got on the chair lift P said that she was kinda bummed that this would be our last run. I shared with her, foolishly, that some folks feel superstitious about saying “last run” because they think they’ll hex themselves and get injured. I then added some context, mentioning that people often get hurt toward the end of the day when they’re tired, which has little to do with self-cast folk spells.
Alas, at the base of that last run P was riding faster and with more confidence than ever before, when her front tire caught the edge of a rut and she spun an unplanned somersault. The crash would have been fine, as she was wearing a back protector, full face helmet, and kneepads, but when the bike landed on her the dropper-post remote lit just above her left eyebrow, opening a deep puncture that filled her eye with the warm red stuff.
While washing the laceration in an icy stream my partner asked P, “do you want a scar or stitches?” P looked up at us both, my face and appendages punctuated by trail tattoos, and replied enthusiastically. “Scar!”
Brian’s dad here,
From the get go he and his sister,Becky were always ready for fun, especially if it involved adequate danger. At two and four he road with his older sister for hours up and down our gravel driveway and around the barn. At eight and six I took Becky to the orthodontist in Sandpoint, ID. The Honda dealer was next door! Maureen (their mom) was not ready for this. We came home with two Hondas just to try out. That began Brian’s love of two wheels. Well Becky got into barrel racing and Brian started racing mountain bikes. I remember his first race, a downhill on Schweitzer Mountain. While I waited an extra forty five minutes at the bottom, Brian was getting patched up somewhere en route. Scars always have a story.
Sorry, I left out the go-cart. What were we thinkin? They rode that go-cart in a cloud of dust up and down our 100 yard driveway as fast as it would go. Screaming and laughing all the way.
Thanks for adding the context, Dad.
Thanks to y’all I definitely learned a lot about how to test the limits on two wheels as a kid. Time to pass it on.
I wish we were hanging out watching one of those rodeos right now.
This is awesome. Great article. My daughter and I have always adventured together while she grew up. She’s 24 now and half way through physical therapy school and we started mountain biking together this last spring. I’ve had a nice fatbike the last couple years and did mild riding and she bought a hardtail last April. We started riding Riverside State Park, Beacon Hill and one trip to Canfield. We live in Post Falls. Since you’re from Sandpoint I assume you know all these spots. Mid-December we’re at Mt. View Cyclery in Hayden and here is this great looking Norco Sight A3. We have been talking how nice it would be to have full squishes since our hardtails, although great, are a little rough on some trails. After riding Beacon the next day we went strait back to the shop and I bought the Norco. My daughter got to thinking and looked on Marketplace and found a 2018 Transition Patrol and bought it! Now we are part of the full squish gang but the weather hasn’t let us give them a thorough test!! To relate this to your article mountain biking has become one more thing we share and nerd out over. It’s been a great journey. I’m glad you got a head start on this one with your daughter. Enjoy it!!
Great story. ❤️
Scars are souvenirs you never loose!
Way to go P! Stay fearless, young Padawan! I am still holding out hope for my own pre-teen to like mountain biking this much.
Always choose scar.
Scars are like tattoos, but with a better story.
Love this story, great writing!
I also, have fallen prey to the “One More Run,” jinx. In 2019, at a downhill park in Connecticut, I said to another rider, “I’m taking one last run and going home.” Toward the end of the trail, I hit some mud. My fork turned to a 90 degree angle and I and the bike went down. My left foot slipped from the pedal and said foot became caught between the bike and the ground resulting a in a fractured fibula, surgery and 4 months out of the saddle. Being a superstitious person, I will never announce, ” One last run,” again!
Great read