Pedal, Coast, Turn

I love to mountain bike. I don’t go nearly enough. I do it recreationally. Sometimes I ride at Dorris Leeper. It’s close, easy to get to, but once you’re in, it feels a little removed from everything else.

The first thing I notice is the smell, the trees, the dirt, that mix of earth and pine that hits you as soon as you start moving. It’s different out there. The air feels clean.

The trail winds. Nothing straight for long. You lean into turns. Tires catch, then release. It’s quick, then controlled, then fast again. There’s a rhythm to it: pedal, coast, turn, repeat.

You don’t think much when you’re riding. You just react and stay present. It pulls you into the moment whether you want it to or not.

There’s a climb I always notice. It’s not long, but you feel it. My legs start to burn a little and my breathing picks up. Then you reach the top and it opens up. You can see out over Spruce Creek.

It’s quiet there. Still. The water doesn’t rush. It just sits and moves at its own pace. No noise. No pressure. Just steady movement.

I stop there sometimes. Not for long. Just enough to take it in.

One ride, I had Hayden and Alayna with me. They were learning, still figuring it out. You could see it in the way they rode, slightly unsure at first. Slower through the turns. Thinking more than feeling.

I stayed behind them most of the time. Watched them try. Watched them get better, even in small ways: a turn taken a little smoother, a bit more confidence on the pedals.

There’s something about sharing that kind of moment. No phones, no distractions. Just being out there together, moving through it. Same trail. Same air. Same quiet.

I’ve ridden that place a lot, but that ride felt different, slower in a good way. Like it wasn’t about the ride itself, just being there.