The Link

"Today is your day."These were the words I heard from the congenial old man as he road away from me on his mountain bike. He'd caught up to me as I paced myself up the moderate trail in Boulder Canyon. I was trying to conserve energy, knowing that in a mile I would be on the steep pitches of the Canyon Link, a hellish piece of single track that connects the Canyon to Betasso Preserve. The Link, as locals call it, is both legendary and ridiculous. I've never ridden it without having to get off my bike to walk up some of its steep and rocky pitches. Often my lame, midlife attempts at these sections ended in slow-motion falls, accompanied by non-pastoral language and the loss of substantial elbow skin.But before he rode away from me, I was chatting with congenial-old-man-mountainbiker, and told him I was heading to Betasso via The Link, and he asked me if I'd ever ridden it clean. Meaning, have I ever not fallen, not had to walk. Who was this guy? Old enough to be my dad, cheery, chiseled legs. No I've never ridden it clean! I muttered something like I didn't think I ever would. And that's when he said it, while simultaneously flashing me a smile and casually riding away from me:"Today is your day."Huh.It actually wasn't, though. My day, that is. I fell on the second pitch. And it hasn't been my day since, in the few times I've ridden The Link following that day. It's been mostly the same, to tell you the truth: heaving lungs, burning quads, bleeding elbows.But there is one thing that is different. I actually believe that one day I will ride it clean. Well, part of me believes that; a big part of me still has significant doubts. But each time I attempt The Link now, I have a sliver of hope that today is my day, that I won't fall, won't have to unclip from my pedals, that my legs will burn but will keep spinning, that I will finish The Link, freaking clean it, with mouth agape, smiling, elated, thankful.And when that day comes I'll raise my IPA (probably this one) to toast congenial-old-man-mountainbiker. Because I want to be like him, encouraging others when they're riding without hope. Because even if I never ride The Link clean it's a whole lot more fun to ride with the hope that I will. Because, not to put too fine a point on it, life is often enough like The Link. Daunting, searing, frustrating; exhilarating for the young, ostensibly futile for the old. Because courage is fear that's said its prayers, as Anne Lamott says. Because hope is so much better than optimism. Because today is my day. This day. Now.Cheers to you, congenial-old-man-mountainbiker.

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.– Hebrews 11.1