Inspired after reading Elsewhere‘s frequent cycling posts, and Jennifer (ponderosa’s) memories of mountain biking, I went mountain biking for the second time in my life on Tuesday, the south of New Zealand. I’m mostly over the bruised shins, and aching muscles in most parts of my body, so I can say it was worth it.
We cycled around a small lake – about 15 kilometres or so, going maybe as high as 10 metres above lake level, on a walking trail that had clearly been built with bikes in mind also (the boardwalks all had ramps on them).
The alpine backdrop had snow on the peaks. The lake was still and clear, with little streams rushing into it every now and again. We didn’t see a car except ours all afternoon.
The ten of us had all been fit at least once in our lives, but most of us were reliving past glories as we drove to the starting point, and secretly wondering whether we were going to be the ones at the back of the pack that everyone else waited impatiently for.
I found myself watching the trail ahead, rather than taking in the glorious scenery most of the way around.
But the best part of the ride was the bananas at the end. It’s amazing how good a banana can taste when you’ve done some serious exercise.