Blizzard Biking- What Legends Are Made Of- Chapter 2 of A Righteous Endeavor

  Chapter 2 Blizzard Biking

 

  When I returned home, I really began to appreciate things in a different light. The luxuries I had been denied on the mountain, like a soft bed and warm shower, seemed so much more satisfying now. I realized how much I took for granite, and began to look at all of my belongings with a little bit more awareness. I was truly blessed!

   I took some time to reflect on my journey, and compared notes with the greats. I remembered how people like Steve Jobs and Napoleon Hill urged their audience to find out what they were passionate about, then to pursue it. They placed an importance on cultivating a strong desire to follow our hearts, and to aspire to accomplish many great tasks. Most importantly, they begged us to discover what gifts and talents we have, so that we can share them with the world.

 Leo Buscaglia once stated that, “Your talent is God's gift to you. What you do with it is your gift back to God."

  I took that to heart, for I considered myself to be immensely blessed, and my soul yearned to give back.

 “Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied, is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do.” –Steve Jobs

  I didn’t really see climbing mountains as ‘work’, for ‘it’s only work if you’d rather be doing something else’-George Halas. Still I realized I had a passion for adventure. I was good at gallivanting, and I was constantly dreaming of the next quest. All I wanted to do was experience life in its fullest form, and this desire was strong.

  I climbed up a tree in my back yard and began to dream again. My body remained tethered to the branches, but my imagination evaporated up into the sky. Then, as my thoughts began to condense, an idea rained down, and I began to collect some supplies.

  It took a while for the stars to align and for me to get everything in order, but once I picked a date, I was committed. I packed up my belongings, then- I was off…

  -Even when I received a phone call from my friend Jon. He was one of the select few people who I told my plans to, and right as I was leaving the Garden of the Gods, heading up Rampart Range Road, he called to warn me. “There’s a Winter Weather Advisory Alert right now Scott. Are you sure you really want to do this today?”

   I was far too ambitious to fear a couple of snowflakes, so I told him I was going to follow through with my plans, despite the adversity. I would call him tomorrow and let him know how everything went. There was nothing that would stop me today. I made a decision to act.

  As  I proceeded up the mountain, I noticed a light snow fall down from the sky.  I could tell I was in for a ride. Within minutes, I was completely engulfed in a cloud; I was a young voyager in a white cosmos of snowflakes, mimicking stars. As I proceeded to journey deeper into the woods, the snow became deeper. I knew that the more time I spent on the road, the more tricky this situation would get, so I took breaks sparingly. I could afford to take a break about once every ten miles. I would grab a quick bite, slug some water, take in the scenery, and then push forward.

  The first twenty miles were easy enough. I was so at peace with where I was that I didn’t mind the weather. All the exercise kept me warm, and only when night blurred my vision, did I began to get nervous.

  I knew I was close to my first destination- God’s Graffiti. But in the midst of the storm, I found it hard to navigate. It had been a long and lonely road, but now as the light was getting dim, I noticed more cars driving up from behind me. Their taillights traced through my vision, and I noticed I couldn’t see straight anymore. I was exhausted, and everything looked so delirious.

   I could have tossed myself to the side of the road, and fallen asleep quite easily if I wanted to, but I knew that such weakness would kill me. Instead, I looked within for reinforcements- and by this I mean, I reached into my backpack for a candy bar.

 The sweet milk chocolate of a Snickers Bar dissolved sugar into my veins, then the crunchy peanuts nourished me with a sustainable strength. It gave me what I needed most- energy. And within minutes, I could feel my thoughts become a little more vibrant. I felt as if I had gained a little more control of the situation. And I felt that, that Snickers Bar, very well saved my life.

   Yet I digress. I progressed into the night, and soon found the trail marker I was looking for. I had reached my homeland. I had finally made it to God’s Graffiti. My friends and I had originally found this boulder field in a blizzard. We were scouting out boulders to climb, and from our current vantage point, we spotted a couple of boulders in the distance. And while they hopped in their car to get there, I ran to it, taking endless shortcuts. In between where I was, and where I planned to be, I stumbled upon greatness.

   I told my friends of this boulder field I found, and as soon as weather permitted, we came back to check it out. We fell in love with this place instantly, and after getting familiar with the area, we named it God’s Graffiti. We called it this in honor of all the rusty orange, neon green and pastel moss painted on the rocks. It was beautiful! The campsite at the top was an ideal place for getting a little weird in the woods, and everyday presented us with a mission. Our playful goal was to find the coolest spot to catch sunset, breathe in the freshest of air, let go of our cares- then return home. It was our paradise, our sacred grounds.

  And I was finally there! After over two dozen miles of uphill pedaling, I made it. So I locked my bike up to a tree, and proceeded to climb down into the rocks. I was feeling some cave camping was in order. So I found myself a little spot deep in the rocks, and gathered some wood. I sparked a match, and I was cozy in no time. I ended up falling asleep with a sandwich in my hands. It must have been around two or three in the morning when I woke up, but instead of adding more wood to the fire, and continuing off into my dream, I awoke to live it. I drew out some quick plans for what was next. I kicked some fresh snow into the fire, and left the cave.   

  From the bottom of this most esteemed boulder field, I looked up to a sight of brilliance. As pure as God’s Love, fresh powder blanketed God’s Graffiti. The full moon revealed the mystic and magnificent aura of the landscape, and I fell in completely enraptured with what I saw. It was unblemished and raw; powerful yet gentle; bold and delicate; surreal; awe inspiring. I couldn’t even see the trail I created getting here. It was just God’s Graffiti and I, here in this moment, witnessing magic.

  I had no camera- just a desire to become an artist. I wanted to recreate this scene, for this sight very well changed my life.

  I was taken back in amazement. Yet ambition and desire pushed me forward. My body tingled as if I just kissed my soul mate for the first time. I couldn’t help but think, ‘how lucky am I?’

  At the top of the hill, I found myself with a little less luck. I couldn’t find my bike anywhere. And the place where I thought I locked it up … was littered in woodchips. Not too far off I saw a campfire. And in the middle of the night, I approached a party of six drunkards, sling’n back cool one’s in the woods.  I asked them if they had seen a bike around here. They looked bewildered and guilty (like Momma found them with their hand in the cookie jar). It was obvious that they had taken it. But they of course they didn’t want to admit that.

  “Have any of you seen a bike around here? I just rode it up here from Colorado Springs, and I kinda need it to get back home.”

 Eventually, a man with a curled mustache spoke up,” Yea, I think I did saw a bike earlier. I think it’s further up the trail.”

  At first, I was somewhat relieved- until I found the main road, without a glimpse of my bike anywhere. I returned to them, and spoke up again, “Are you sure you haven’t seen my bike anywhere? I mean I just rode it up a mountain, and I really do need it.”

 Guilt made him lie again, “Oh, actually, it’s that way! You passed it already. It’s way back there.” I knew they were lying, but I trusted my intuition telling me to befriend the men who stole my bike.

  Flying fists wouldn’t end well, especially considering, size, age, and their numbers. So I returned to them, and asked one final time, “Are you sure you guys don’t know where my bike is? Because I defiantly it’s defiantly not there, and I defiantly need it to get off of this mountain.   “I think I saw some tires in the woods over there,” one replied.

   I smacked my forehead and thought, “Dammit, they messed with my bike. Uggg. Oh well, I have a screwdriver- I’ll make this work.”

  I found my bike twenty feet away. It was in one piece, minus the bike lock. And as I inspected it, they called out, “Did you really ride all the way here, from the Springs?”

  “Yea” I replied.  “What are you on?” They asked.

  “Ah, nothing- Just some of that good smoke.”  They looked at each other in slight amazement. “Do you wanna smoke?” they asked.

  I reached deep into my pocket and pulled out my stash- I only had one bowl left. And I quietly asked myself, “Do I really want to smoke my last bowl with the people who stole my bike?” …Ah, Why not?

  They were certainly a curious looking crew. The man with the curly mustache was must have been the leader. He called himself Bo-Jangles. Then there was Snowman, and Yeti, two girls who desired to remained nameless, and last but not least, was a most peculiar individual. This man introduced himself by saying, “I’m Strapped Sasquatch” and as he pulled a black ski mask over his face, he continued with,” …And I miss what I did in Iraq.”

  Now this was in the middle of the nowhere, in the middle of the night, in the middle of winter, and I doubt I had any sort of weapon on me. I was an 18 year old kid, and this was crazy! But I also noticed the look on their two lady friends’ face, and knew there wasn’t any serious threat.  They offered me some whiskey, and I turned them down. I had more important things to do.

  I dismissed myself from the party and left for town. I was less than ten miles from Woodland Park, and if all went as planned, I’d be there in no time. I started to really cruise down the other side of the mountain range now. Snow lifted up from the ground, and blew in my face, so I pulled over to put on goggles. I strapped a miniature flashlight to my wrist, and was just about to continue when my newly acquire friends pulled up. They apologized for stealing my bike and said it was to “impress the girls”. I shook my head at the fools, but replied with a relentlessly positive, “It’s all good! It made a good story! No harm, no foul.”    

  They asked if I needed a ride anywhere. They clearly couldn’t tell how much fun I was having, but I clarified and denied their ride; I was set. So they drove off, and I never saw them again. I proceeded to pick up momentum once, and I began to cut through the night like a hot knife. Minutes later catastrophe struck. My chain broke, and I didn’t have the tools, knowledge, or experience to fix it. But I did want to go on a moonlit hike.

  So I walked, and pushed, and scooted along the long snowy road, until I found a familiar short cut. This path involved me getting off the main road, and creating my own trail. I knew there was an actual path around here somewhere, under all this snow, but that was irrelevant in this moment.

   I found a peaceful place to pray before I went on. I lowered my seat so I could use my feet to stabilize me. My destination was at the bottom of this hill, and all I had to do was get down there in one piece. So I slid, and carved, and I did what I could, with what I had, and embraced where I was. It wasn’t long before I made it to the bottom.

   Once there, I introduced my bike to a very friendly tree, and pulled out some supplies from my back pack. I had paint, brushes, spray paint cans, polyurethane, and a whole lot of gusto.

   I snuck around my old high school, to the very front where our mascot stood. I smiled at the black panther, then proceeded to paint Rasta strips on his side. I gave him a purple belly and on his rear I wrote in gold, “BE SOMEBODY”. On the other side, I wrote, “LOVE EVERYONE”. Then on the side I wrote ‘be somebody’ I covered my glove in red paint, and smacked the panthers ass. I wrote, “I am Woods” underneath it. I covered the masterpiece in polyurethane to preserve it. Then I left three cans of black spray paint, as a “no harm, no foul” kind of measure.

  I must admit, ducking and dodging headlights filled me with adrenaline, and even though I knew I was a good kid, I really wanted to be a bad ass. With paint splattered on my shoes and jacket, I left the scene. I made my way back to my bike, and then proceeded to push it through town, in the wee hours of the morning.

    I arrived at my mom’s house, and at first I tried to sneak in through my bedroom window. Within moments she heard my bustling, and investigated the commotion. She was both relieved that it was me, and highly confused as to why I was there, especially at such a strange hour. Instead of being mad, I found that she was much more concerned about my health. My hands were bitterly cold, and my right index finger looked a little blue.

   It turns out the red paint on my glove froze to my finger during my little expedition, and sure enough, I had gotten frost bite. After Momma Bear helped me nurse my frozen wound, I fell back into my bed and smiled. 

What an adventure!