Ramblings of an a accentric

Erinc913@yahoo.com — Wed, 15 Apr 2009 15:07:00 GMT

When do you just call it quits? When do you just pack up all your belongings, jump in the car with your loved one and just leave it all behind? Why keep working for someone elses' version of the American dream? I don't even want the American dream, I want my own dream. I want to watch the sun rise while I'm fishing in my kayak or enjoy the smell of a forest morning as I am screaming down some divine single track. I want to jump on my motorcycle and enjoy the sounds of the motor and the wind. I want to work on my book all day until my eyes are blurry. I want to watch the sunset on the water as practice yoga on my gazebo. I want to be called strange and eccentric when my neighbors spot me dancing in the rain.

I dream of traveling to Africa and trying to bring happiness and joy to someone who has not experienced much of it. I dream of crying over the injustices of world and knowing that most things will not be fixed. I dream about not worrying about my brothers and the choices they may or may not make. I dream about my parents having the retirement they deserve. I dream about saving the world, but will settle for saviing maggie the magpie, or a baby squirrel in a hurricane. But in all those dreams, I never dream of the American Dream.

I live by my own code of honor and my own standards. You may be holier than I am and you are welcome to it. I often don't pay attention to conversations, but am always there if someone needs me. I can't say that I won't judge, but I will always try to be understanding. I love fiercely and often try to protect the people that should be protecting me. I want to enjoy being young now, and don't want to waste these years working to put money in someone else's pocket. Why work your young years so you can enjoy your older ones.

So I am rejecting the American Dream and embracing my own. So as I sit here on my gazebo, enjoying the sounds of Florida and the breeze that every so often stirs my hair, I am going to dream of my dream. Because right now, I am just me. Not the person that some may want me to be. I am not a financial success nor am I someone's hero. I am one hundred percent me, and I will live my dream

Girls Day Out

Erinc913@yahoo.com — Sat, 28 Feb 2009 02:48:00 GMT

Have you ever craved something so badly that you literally eat, drink, and sleep it? You dream of it while you’re sleeping, you dream of it while you’re awake, and you live it every available second. Its Friday night while most twenty something women are primping and getting fancied up for a night out on the town, I am sitting home tuning my 2008 Ibis Mojo. If I were to decide the sex of my bike, I would definitely say female. Although the vicious blue paint is what catches most peoples’ eye, it is her carbon curves that seduce and the five and a half inches of travel that make the mouth water. The one hundred and thirty millimeter Manitou Minute MRD screams “I mean business”, while the extralite stem, handlebars, and cranks reflect the beauty of their Italian lineage, and not to be left out, the pink Mono Mini brakes made by Hope say “I am not afraid to be a woman in a male dominated sport”.

Seasons by the Collective continues to run in the DVD player for the hundredth time. I sit in front of my bike stand and watch Steve Peat speed down the mountain and Cam McCaul fly like a bird. This is what I live for. Every Friday night is the same for me. From the minute I leave my paying job till the time I lay my head on my pillow is spent preparing for a full weekend of mountain bike riding. I make a few last minute adjustments to my derailleur and decide to call it a night. As I close my eyes to sleep, images of single track dance in my head. I picture a tight switchback as it transitions into the short yet screaming downhill followed by a muscle burning uphill. Florida may be far from a Mecca of mountain biking, but every elevation change, tree, root, rock, twist and turn is used to test your skills and try your stamina.

Tomorrow I will be riding at Loyce Harpe Park A.K.A. Carter Park near Lakeland, Florida. These are some tough trails. Three time U.S. National Champion, Tinker Juarez once said, after he and his bike took a dunk in the murky brown water, that at Carter Park, “There was no room for mistakes… No matter how strong of rider you are, that course is a course that requires a lot of technical bike handling skills, technique, finesse, and concentration power.” You combine these gnarly trails with “Big Mama” the thirteen foot gator that likes to sunbathe and wait for unsuspecting mountain bikers to make that “Oh So Fatal mistake” and you end up with one hell of an adventure that makes this girl’s toes curl.

As dawn nears, I’m already awake waiting for my friends to arrive. The cooler is packed, my bike is on the rack and I am pacing with excited energy by the time they arrive. We do our typical girl greetings of hugs, compliments on a new jersey, etcetera. We consolidate our belongings into one vehicle and are off. As we drive we discuss races that we are considering riding, upgrades done to our bikes, and eBay auctions that we are participating in.

When we pull up to Loyce Harpe Park the parking lot is almost empty, but based on the cloudless sky it will soon be packed. We jump out of the car and start changing into our riding clothes. Delis is sporting her signature knee high socks and butterfly hair ties, Kelly is looking chic in her baby blue riding skirt, while the bright pink Hawaiian flower stickers slapped on my bike with a sticker of a girl grinning while flipping the bird speaks plenty about me. Men don’t always understand why we tend to personalize our bikes or outfits, but I will tell you why. Just because we ride mountain bikes and are rough and tough, we are still women. Our dazzling outfits and tricked out bikes are just a statement of who we are. Just because we participate in a men’s sport doesn’t mean we have to be men. It doesn’t make us less fast nor does it make us less skilled, it just allows women to tell a little bit about themselves and to have fun. We check out our bikes, throw on our helmets and we head out for a challenging, good time. We spend the day speeding through the trails and practicing our technical skills. We laugh at each other’s wrecks and celebrate each other’s successes.

We begin to head back to the car in the late afternoon. We laughingly compare bruises and scrapes. I take a drink from my camelback as a man on a bike rides up next to Delis. She politely smiles and says hello. As I am drinking my deliciously cold water I hear the man speak. He stares at Delis with adoring eyes and says, “Do you believe in love at first sight or do I need to ride by again.” Hearing this horrible pick up line I immediately spew out the water that I had been trying to swallow and start choking. Kelly looks back in time to see me crash into the bushes and lay there shaking with laughter. Kelly immediately joins me, leaving Delis to deal with Romeo alone. Now, before I am judged as a cold hearted woman, let me plead my case. I understand that the dating scene can be vicious, and it must be even more difficult to find a woman that shares a love of sports so I am not making fun of anyone’s efforts. I had heard that Delis was often hit on when out riding, but I never imagined people so blunt. Since both Kelly and I have boyfriends that we ride with we never experience this type of thing. I can’t comprehend that a man would try to make a move on a woman while she is half covered with dirt, completely sweaty, and sprinkled with bruises and mosquito bites, but I guess you need to take advantage of every moment to find the right person.

Kelly and I are still trying to disentangle my bike and I from the bushes when Delis returns. Kelly and I both turn to her in expectation; she just slowly shakes her head and tells us not to ask. Disappointed, I climb back onto my bike only to be speared with a sharp pain in my butt. I turn around to find a thorn stuck in my right cheek, priceless. I check my backside for more thorns, but thankfully find none. I hop back on my bike a take off after the girls.

By the time we arrive back at the car, Romeo is nowhere to be seen. The parking lot is filled with people packing up their gear after a day of riding. I think about poor Romeo with his less than desirable pick up line. I look around the parking lot again. About thirty people loiter around. Some are hanging out by the bike wash, a few eating, some just hanging out, and others packing up for the day. Out of all those people there is only one other woman besides Delis, Kelly, and myself. I had never really thought about how many women ride or rather how many women don’t ride mountain bikes. It saddens me the lack of women in the sport. We finish packing everything up for the day and zip out of there before Delis can accumulate any more admirers.

The drive home is a quiet one. We listen to music and enjoy the comfortable exhausted feeling we get from a full day of riding. John Butler Trio plays on the stereo and I dream of being in Whistler or Moab. Before long, I arrive at home. I say goodbye to my friends and smile about the memories we made today. I am greeted at the door by my excited dogs and handsome boyfriend. I share an animated recap of the more exciting moments of the day while I wash my bike. He chuckles as he points out new scrapes and bruises and kisses one to make it better. I couldn’t be any luckier.

Later that night as I am getting ready for bed my mind wanders to how little women I saw riding today. I ponder of ways to change the lack of female riders. The only way that I can think of to increase the number of women in the sport is to share my experiences. I hope that my stories combined with stories of other women in the sport will inspire others to take that leap join the league of women who live for the challenge and adventure that mountain biking offers. So if you are a woman or a man and see a group of people heading for the trails, join them. You will create new memories; experience adventures that will make your heart rush and the spirit fly, and make friendships that will last a lifetime.

Erin Deemer

Ramblings of an a accentric

Girls Day Out