Church... of Sorts

Another early morning, brisk air saturates my skin as I walk out the front door. Fill watering can, provide plants a drink, repeat. But today is different, I'm in no hurry as the sun separates from the horizon. It's Sunday.

I grew up in a fairly Christian home, but going to church every week proved mundane for me. Something about sitting on a hard wood pew surrounded by judgmental elderly women was far from appealing. But nowdays, I loosely consider myself an adult; free of most family expectations.

As I push my bike out onto the porch, I grab a sweatshirt this time. "Isn't it supposed to be hot today?", I ask the mechanical wonder in my hands. I enjoy the whispering breeze, chatty birds, and gentle clanking of tools making adjustments that are little more than meaningless.

What will the trails hold in store for me today? A smooth descent, a clean climb, or a rock to the spokes? Either way, whenever Adam shows up I'll be ready to roll.

This always happens. Adam is here and I'm still floundering. I can find no fewer than 3 gloves, but all the left hand. Water, check. Helmet, check. Camera, check. Emery and June are enjoying a play date, so we're off.

Adam turns up the tunes and pilots the Forester through traffic. We talk about how we should really be riding up the road to trail, but we both know we would rather not. Park, load up, head out. Tucson Mountain Park has the usual weekend visitors; hikers, bikers, and golfers that can't shoot straight.

I clean the first climb, a new experience for this pedal pusher. Adam trades me bikes at the top, and I reaffirm my faith in the Slayer after the descent. His red and shiny Yakuza felt too sluggish, yet supple.


We hike-a-bike through newly found trail. Potential, but rough as is. Next up is Hooligan's Hollow. Nothing like the smell of brakes in the morning! One can navigate the downs on this trail quickly if they have little regard for bodily injury. I prefer to ride the fence rather than my face down this one. Brake. Charge. Brake. Turn. Brake. Charge. Climb. Charge. Jump. Brake. Brake. Brake! Then you ride out the wash to jackhammer trail past overly perfumed hikers. Road back to car.



Adam descends Hooligan's
















Repeat this ritual as needed for mental clarity, sense of belonging in the world, or amazement. I don't foresee any indoor church experiences in my future, particularly when a cross is involved.