My roommate and I checked out Doris Leeper Spruce Creek Preserve for the first time today on our mountain bikes, which both fit in the backseat of my car somehow. I have to find a bike rack…The deserted park beckoned us down this one-way trail, sandy and covered with leaves in some spots, that was surprisingly rhythmic. Somehow, after all these years, we found a fast line bouncing off the roots and around tight corners, hoping to come across nothing more than spider webs. My friend, who rode helmetless so shall remain nameless, stayed behind me through the sketchy stuff and shrieked, “I can’t believe I can still ride,” as we climbed a rooted uphill diagonally. I thought, well, an elephant never forgets but I said, “Yeah, well, you wakeboard. You’re hardcore.”

We cruised at a comfortable speed on the flats, the only sound from our gears clicking or her shouts of excitement. “Woo!” She shrieked and I echoed her, flowing on my bike and letting the front end dance around under my grip. I wanted to ride fast so I pulled away while she cranked her flat pedals and tried not to crash. Once, we flew around a corner across a rooted downhill and into a tight powdery corner. I leaned forward enough to stay clipped in and not wash out the front tire. A few corners later, I heard my friend clanking and she shouted, “Down!”

Immediately, I dismounted and propped my bike on a tree before turning around and seeing my friend straddling hers, with a cross look on her face. “I almost decrotchified myself!” She cried.

I laughed before yelling,”Thank God for padded spandex!”

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