Daddy Knows Best Cont...

“Okay Chels, take a left,” my dad instructed. After a few minutes of fiddling with the mountain-bike gears, we were off, down the paved trail that goes all the way around the lake, approximately 12 miles.

It was early and the wind hadn’t picked up yet. Through the Douglas fir trees sprinkled around the water’s edge, we could see the lake in its entirety. Diamond Lake has a 10-mph-speed limit, so all we could see were small, aluminum fishing boats that were strategically trolling across the water. I was really enjoying the ride so far. 'What an adventure,' I thought. It had been years since I went on a true mountain bike ride. Each of us went at our own pace, somewhat spaced apart.

The trail came to an intersection, two miles into the ride and there was a bridge overlooking a rushing creek. Amanda and I began slowing when we saw our dad stopped, waiting for us, Camelback tube in his mouth. “Come have some water,” he said as we jumped off our bikes for a rest. “We’re about to descend onto Silent Creek Trail. Go across the bridge and take a left.”

We resumed the ride, and all of a sudden, we weren’t on the paved trail anymore. Fun, I thought, a little adventure. Not only an adventure, but what a view! The vast meadow aligned to the right of this trail encompassed Mother Nature in all her glory. The trees radiated a special kind of vibrancy, locking in their sanctuary of peace. The fog lifted lightly from the tall yellow grass as birds flew in and out of the meadow, quietly cawing with contentment.

As I redirected my focus back to the ride, Amanda yelled out “Holy shit!” I was holding on tight to my handlebars as the bike trail narrowed. To our left, the trail, not more than two feet wide, dropped off about 20 feet directly downhill. I was thinking to myself, “This can’t be the right trail, but it’s not unlike dad to take us on a trail like this.”

Amanda and I slowed our pace to avoid riding directly into a tree or slipping and falling down the embankment. We were tired, scared, and a little pissed that we had been led down such a crazy detour from the “paved trail.” We always feel safe with our dad though, and he makes sure that we are well prepared before taking us to do anything to intense.

About a mile into the unpaved trail, following dad’s lead, we took a sharp right turn. As I turned the handlebars to the right, downshifted, and looked up, the words on a sign flashed at me: “Expert.” Oh shit. We were in for it now! The trail we had taken was set up for the race to be held later that day. We had just taken the route rated for expert riders. The trail narrowed even more than before requiring our utmost concentration. Every move you make on a trail like this is vital if you want to make it out with no broken bones or stitches. Up steep hills, sprinkled with big roots and tree branches brushing by us, we voyaged on.

“Dad you fucking tricked me!” Amanda huffed. “This shit is crazy!” My dad slowed down and decided he would ride behind the two of us to make sure we made it safely. With me in the front, I decided to test my skills a little. Picking up my speed on the expert trail was probably the craziest thing I could have done.

Sharp turns to the left and then suddenly to the right. My front tire slipped a couple times and I almost lost my balance, which would have sent me down the hill. My legs were burning; the lactic acid was building up fast.

“This is pretty intense. I kind of like it,” I said to myself out loud.

The blue sky above us began filling with thick clouds of gray as we made our way down the trail. Finally, we reached pavement again. “Good Job GIRLS!” my dad exclaimed. I don’t think he meant to take us on such a crazy ride.

“I almost died!” Amanda yelled, anger in her tone. It was break time, but the ride wasn’t over yet.

“We are about half way around the lake,” my dad mentioned. Half way. So that meant we had six more miles to go before we were back at camp. But, our little off-road detour had added three more miles to the already 12-mile-long course. Although we finally made it to the pavement, six miles is no easy feat. Huffing and puffing our way down the pavement, we passed more campsites, laughter in the air. Soon I began to see the docks and cabins that surrounded the lodge. We were definitely close. Two and a half hours after our departure we finally made it back to camp. Amanda lit a cigarette and I cracked a beer while our dad laughed and congratulated us on our bravery.

“I’m done riding bikes for the rest of the trip,” Amanda declared. I nodded my head in agreement. We had just survived a 15-mile mountain-bike ride with our dear old dad.

“You gotta love dad. He’ll never quit thrill-seeking, and I love and respect him for that,” I said quietly to Amanda. She nodded in agreement. All our lives, he’s been taking us on adventures, pushing the envelope just a little further, taking us out of our comfort zones. Sometimes, when I want to give up and I feel like I can't finish something, I remember the voice of my father telling me to keep going and to be strong.

Only the brave ever truly live - that's my dad and we love him.

Any thoughts or opinions email Chelsea HERE

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2008 Travel Journal

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