I’m Still Riding
"Mountain Biking is an Inherently Dangerous Sport"
One month ago, I had a stunningly painful mountain bike crash. It happened on a downhill singletrack at Mission Trails Regional Park, a place I have ridden countless times before. A protruding branch caught me off guard, and in an instant I was on the ground, rattled and hurting.
It was not the worst crash of my life. I fell off a thousand-foot cliff, landing on an incomprehensibly placed flat rock that has since tumbled down that mountain. I have broken a collarbone and a wrist before, and those were pretty bad.
But this one was uniquely punishing. My left arm took the brunt of it, battered even through padding, and the pain made sleep nearly impossible that first week. My right arm, the one I had worked so hard to rehabilitate after running into a manzanita branch in 1999 that threw me backward off my bike, felt like it had been set back. I’ve suffered with that injury ever since. Cannabis tinctures and balms helped me get through those long nights when nothing else would.
In the chaos of the crash, my camera flew out of my backpack. I did not even realize it was gone until later that night. The next day, I wanted to go back and look for it, but the pain was too great to ride. Three days later, Mark and I returned to the trail, and after searching, he spotted it. My camera, scratched up but still in one piece, had been waiting there for me. That recovery felt like a small victory.
The following week, when I admitted to my physical therapist what had happened, I braced myself for disapproval. Instead, she surprised me. “I want to grow up to be like you,” she said with a smile. And she was not the only one. Every time I mentioned the crash to someone, they responded with admiration. To my astonishment, people were calling me a badass.
Two weeks later, I joined Mark and three of our mountain biking friends for five days in Flagstaff and a day in Sedona. I came prepared: a Motrin and a cannabis gummy before each ride, then repeating the routine in the afternoon. With that, I managed to stay in the saddle, exploring some of the most beautiful trails on earth. We even added a day in Sedona, and though my body reminded me of my injury, my spirit carried me through.
At the peak of the pain, I wondered if this might be my career-ending crash. Mountain biking is inherently risky, and at 70, maybe it was time to quit. But Flagstaff and Sedona gave me my answer. No broken bones, no quitting. Just bruises, grit, and the reminder that resilience is as essential as any gear you carry.
The truth is that the crashes and the podiums have always gone hand in hand. For every collarbone, wrist, or battered arm, there have also been moments when I stood on podiums as the first female winner in races, particularly in the downhill events that demand both courage and precision. The scars remind me of the risks, but the medals and memories remind me of the rewards. Both are part of the same story, and both are why I still clip into the pedals.
So why do I keep riding? Because mountain biking is freedom. It is the rush of wind on my face as I descend, the scent of fresh terpenes rising off the pines, sage and laurel, the burn in my legs on a climb, the rhythm of breath and heartbeat syncing with the trail.
It is wildlife sightings, rocky challenges, and the thrill of balancing on two wheels in wild, beautiful places. It is also the joy of riding with friends and with Mark, the shared laughter and the stories we collect along the way. I have been riding a bicycle since I was seven years old. And mountain biking has shaped my life for nearly four decades. No crash, however painful, will take that away from me.
I’m still riding.
Recently I read a Substack post by a nurse who had written down the final words of 300 patients, later distilling them into seven core regrets people have before they die. One regret was not that they were dying, but that they had never truly lived. Mountain biking, with all its risks and rewards, is how I know I am living. And I intend to keep on living, all the way to the end.
Mountain biking and sky diving... "live like you were dying!" Words to live by! Thanks for inspiring us all Patty! Love you my friend!