Holy smokes! There’s mountains in ‘dem hills.
I’ve heard of ski slopes in the desert. It would be a strange experience for those who live in Dubai and wherever else they have them to go skiing in a place they grew up with no extreme sports. But I’m sure there is a cheesiness to skiing in artificial slopes. There is probably a theme park feel to it–extravagant and artificial. Imagine going to a state park in Florida and taking your bike on the trails boasted in the brochure and getting your ass kicked by some serious mountain biking.
Alafia park is about 40 minutes from me. A long time ago they did phosphate mining and made the most locally-extreme terrain you will ever see in a globally-flat location. Now nature has reclaimed everything but the shape of the ground and the trails the park maintains. Trees and bits of lakes and rivers stream past as your soul shrinks away, eclipsed by the singular experience of engaging headlong a 15 foot drop, too steep to climb back up on foot (unless you go off the trail and use trees).
After falling twice, I jumped back on my bicycle without hesitation. Coming to a descent that was not any steeper than the others but had a much more difficult turn to negotiate, I couldn’t talk myself out of it.
Split, jagged, and earthbound, the initial rush consumes me again. But I’m losing the trail. I unwrench one of my cramped claws and squeeze the brake. Too late, I’m on my own glutinous path, too steep for hope. Squeeze both brakes and get it over with. Over the handlebars you go. Meet the ground politely with a somersault. Watch out for your bike! See it fly over your head and crash into some saplings. The adrenaline brings me to my feet looking for flat ground to test my legs. The blood tricks down in a few new places and I feel a little bruised, but nothing broken. As far as losing the trail and eating shit into the bushes goes, I do it gracefully.