“Are you okay!?” My dad said worriedly.

“I think so…” I stammered through the pain. I hadn’t noticed the rocks, and now I regretted it. 

It was in the woods, in a stifling heat, on a single-tracked dirt mountain bike trail. Both my dad and I were covered in sweat, and already incredibly thirsty. I was lying on the ground in a heap with my Skittle-Green, Gary Fisher, mountain bike on top of me. 

I was attempting to complete a twenty-two mile bike ride on the Egypt Valley mountain biking trail for my cycling merit badge. I had completed several lengths of rides on several trails of varying difficulty, and never once crashed my bike as bad as I had on this day. My dad and I had gotten to the trail in high spirits, hoping to complete our ride in time to get home for dinner at six. We took our bikes off of the rack we had put on about a half hour earlier and set them gingerly on the dusty ground. The parking lot was surrounded by trees, offering plenty of shade, but it was still incredibly hot. We got on our bikes, crossed the road, and entered the trail. 

The smell of the trees in the hot air was refreshing, and the small creek that we crossed right at the beginning of the trail was calmly trickling down the forest floor, creating a sense of calmness. We weaved through the numerous technical corners of the trail at fairly high speed, paying close attention to the trail and our surroundings, but also just enjoying the day. 

At mile two, there was a steep slope covered in jagged stones. I was in front of my dad, and going very fast. I wasn’t paying attention to the trail in front of me, and I soon found that I was flying through the air. I hit the ground with an audible “oof!” I heard the skidding tires of my dad’s bike trying to stop right behind me. I just layed on the ground feeling defeated. “Are you okay?” My dad asked. 

“I think so…” I mumbled. I wished I’d seen those rocks. My dad came over to me and helped me to get the green Gary Fisher off of me. I immediately looked at the front wheel, expecting to see a bent rim or a flat tire, but no. I saw the mangled brake that had dislodged from it’s seating when I went over the rocks. I almost started to cry. “I-I broke it…” I said to my dad. 

“You haven’t broken it,” he said, “This is easily fixable.” I had no idea how that could be true, considering that the front tire was completely locked up and the brakes looked beat up beyond recognition. However, my dad took hold of the bike, squatted down to look closer at the front wheel, adjusted the brakes, tightened them back into place, and asked if I was ready to ride on. I got back onto my bike, let my dad pass me, and continued on for the next twenty-two miles of trail ahead of me.