Angel’s Plunge

It’s August.  Almost August 19th.  In the month and days preceding this date, there are memories of 30 plus years ago racing thru my heart and head.  I think of all the things we did prior to August 19th, 30 years ago.  How many of you can remember what you were doing in July, 1991?  I remember every detail.  I can’t remember what I was going into the kitchen for a bit ago, but I will never forget that time.

The kids (Amy, Eric and Clifton) and I went to LaFortune park, fed the ducks, played in the yard, had a lemonade stand, went to grandmas house, you know, the good ole days when you could actually be outside in July and August and it wasn’t 100 plus degrees day after day after day.   It was a great summer until….August 19th.

It wasn’t supposed to become the worst day in the history of my life, but it did. My son died. That pain of losing my child never went away.  

There is pain throughout life that will knock you down a bit here and there, and I have had my share.  I’ve spent some time picking myself back up and brushing it off the best I could and moving forward, but nothing compares to the death of my child. Nothing!  

Getting knocked down from the death of a child is a lifetime of trying to pedal your way back to the top of the mountain for a glimpse of what is going on in the world outside of your broken self.  I’m still pedaling!

Recently, I went to Angel Fire, NM for a mountain bike ride.  There are some amazing mountain bike trails there.  Beautiful views, some trails easier than others, but all of them had their fun and challenges.  

It was a tough time for me as I was trying to navigate some heartbreak, memories and insecurities. This trip was just what I needed to clear my head and focus on the future.

My friend, Scott went with me.  He is not a cyclist and I’m not the greatest cyclist. I had a 2009 Gary Fisher mountain bike that I purchased at the bike shop when I worked there back in the day.  He had a….. hmmmmm… department store bike that had rarely seen daylight outside of his storage. Regardless, it still had two wheels and a rider willing to give it a try. 

We were the talk of the mountain.  Everyone recognized the old people on their bikes, which were equally as old. Of course, all the kids on the mountain had all the cool carbon fiber framed bikes, full head helmets with chin guard, torso armor, neck braces, knee pads, protective gear etc. 

We just showed up.  But we, probably had the most fun!

There was a trail named Angel’s Plunge. My heart was pulling me toward that run.  To get there was a ride up the ski lift and climbing a gravel fire road to get to the trailhead. It was rated a black diamond. Angel’s Plunge consisted of fun berms, small to intermediate size jumps, rocky trails, and is a single track downhill way too technical for either of us, and, of course it was named Angel’s Plunge. 

BUT, I HAD to do it.  It required  some convincing, I told my friend I would cry if we did it and cry if we didn’t do it so either way there would be tears.  He went with me. 

Why did I have to do it?  Since my son died, for some reason I have gravitated toward extreme activities. I can’t explain why, but I feel it has something to do with dying. I won’t do small downhill wooden plank bridges on my bike or go down the tallest waterslide at Safari Joe’s Water Park, but I will do The World’s Most Dangerous Hiking Trail in China, dive with sharks and traverse down a black diamond mountain called Angel’s Plunge on a bike not worthy of being there. Regardless of the activity, I always come out alive, my son didn’t.  

The ride down Angel’s Plunge was going to be significant for many reasons. 

It was a challenge and I like a good challenge. 

I collect Angels.

I had only 11 more miles to complete my summer goal of riding 1000 miles on my bike/s and what better place to do it than on top of a mountain called Angel’s Plunge with a good friend, who had no idea what he was getting himself into by saying he would go to Angel Fire with me.  

We made it down the mountain with our old bikes and our old selves and I will forever be grateful that he took the time and accepted the challenge to go with me. There were silent tears. 

I am also grateful for good friends who I’ve met through the years who always take the time to do the “little things.” I rode my bike to the cemetery with my friend, Paul a while back and I pulled weeds from my son’s headstone.  He bent down to help pull them, too.  That was such a meaningful gesture that brought tears to my eyes. It’s the little things. 

I’ve met some really great people while riding my bike, who have become such amazing friends to me.  I’ve met them randomly in a parking lot, on group rides, at the bike shop, and on the trails in and around Tulsa, even some cyclists who ride their bikes across the country on RT 66 have become forever friends. 

I am FOREVER GRATEFUL for them coming into my life. 

 Be the bright spot in someone’s day.  You may never know the depth of their pain and it’s the little things that make the difference.