Trail Bike Trauma

I heard, “Ahh!!, from behind me. Then she yelled, “Snake!” and proceeded to make noises and shiver like someone dropped a Popsicle down her back.

But let me rewind.

It was a weeknight and since I worked from home that day, the chore of making supper fell to me. My wife, Anita, trudged wearily home from her “wonder job” that is “I wonder if I’m going to be employed tomorrow,” and we ate early.

Since mid-August evenings are still pretty long, she said, “Let’s go trail bike riding.” I was lukewarm about the idea because most of our trail riding is more like pedaling in the park and I had more of a workout in mind. She insisted that she knew a trail close-by that was on local water company land that would be a challenge, having hiked it with her grandkids the week before.  

So we packed the bikes up and off we went.

Now there is a reason for not telling you to which water company land we traveled. Suffice it to say it’s not far from Montoursville and suffice it to say what happened next was rule breaking or at the very least a breach of biking etiquette. Even though it was totally unintentional I don’t want a water company SWAT team breaking down my door. I’m allergic to tear gas.

The evening was beautiful with a slight breeze but it was a little warm and humid, the type of weather that bugs love. The little guys were showing their appreciation of our presence by buzzing relentlessly around our heads and making kamikaze dives at ears, eyes and mouth but it was a minor problem solved with about half a can of bug spray.

She wasn’t kidding about the trail though. I looked up to find a path with a good little incline through the woods.

The sign said “Blue Bird Trail” and the only other thing I read was 2.7 miles. Good enough. Off we went.

We quickly found out why we qualify for AARP cards. The path through the woods was a little steep and overgrown with grass and weeds and it didn’t have the look of the typical bike trail. It was full of exposed roots and there were fallen limbs and even a plastic drain pipe that was lying across the path. I immediately renamed the trail “the Blue B_ lls Trail.”

No arguing, it was a challenge. So much so, that in short order I was feeling the “burn” in my legs and stopped. Anita was a few yards behind me and stopped also.

That’s when the snake raised its little black head above the grass, smack dab in the middle of the trail. Anita hit the snake alarm. All we needed was flashing red lights and sirens. It was a black snake and harmless but the damage was done. As it slithered away, I asked if she was OK and to her credit she wanted to go on but I knew she wasn’t “really OK.”  

For the next few miles she remained behind me and any part of the trail that had weeds or tall grass she would make these little panic noises and talk to herself all the while trying to lift her legs up and coast through the area. I tried to sooth her nerves by saying that snakes always bite the second person but that little bit of folk lore had surprisingly little effect on the situation. I told her, “Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to react if it’s a rattlesnake, they rattle. Oh, but if it’s a copperhead there isn’t any warning.”

I was highly amused but she began to talk non-stop out of nervousness, interrupting her sentences with little gasps, adjectives and screams. It was worth the trip just to hear her.  

When the Blue Bird Trail intersected another trail that was mowed, wider and less intimidating she began to relax and actually said, “I love it here; it’s so quiet.” I told her that I hadn’t had that experience yet. She gave me a single digit salute and pedaled on ahead.

Down on the flats, I heard, “Passing on the right!” as these spandex-wearing mega cyclists blew passed us like we were standing still. I yelled to Anita that I had to, “get me one of those helmets.” We both laughed after discussing what I’d look like in spandex. Something like a big, multicolored sausage, I’m sure.  

After eating their dust I thought, “Wimps!” “Just try the Blue Bird Trail, you won’t be passing anybody.”

So we made the grand loop and ended up back where we started, a bit tired but fine. It was then, after taking a second look at all the signs that one in particular stood out. It was right in front of the now infamous Blue Bird Trail. It read,Hiking Trail Only.

I quickly blamed Anita and heaped tons of guilt on her for possible sending us both off to jail or incurring crippling fines and penalties. “What would our children think of us if we were arrested?”  

All I saw was another salute.

My wife is such a good sport.