Releasing the Brakes

Revised version was printed in Bike Magazine, fall 2006

Releasing the Brakes
By Kelly Ault

It was a ladies bike night like any other - same friends, same trail, same June mid-week night. Single file, we snaked around the rusty frying pan hanging from a jagged tree branch to enter the Campfire Trails. Struck silent with anticipation, we followed the path beckoning from between mammoth tree trunks. We rolled our bikes to the edge of a great pitch, enjoying a moment of suspension. Then, with a releasing of the brakes, we were gone. Euphoric hooting could be heard from below, inspired by the thrill of speed, precision of reflexes, and the smooth guiding of handlebars.

We stopped for water - grins still on our faces - when three mothers approached, pushing swaddled babies in joggers. There was a heavy pause, marking an unspoken exchange. The women in mud-speckled bike skirts could almost be heard thinking, “that will soon be us.” The mothers in comfortable sweats were also wistful, “I remember that feeling of freedom.” We said our hellos and continued along our temporarily different paths.

Two years later, the group again saddled mountain bikes on a warm summer night. But this time, it was a “moms make a comeback” ride. It had been six months since I gave birth to twin boys. The arrival of Austin and Carson sparked monumental change, reinventing everything from identity to lifestyle. Before I realized what had happened, my bike pump was collecting dust while my nursing pump was working overtime. Sleep-deprived eyes pored over catalogs of children’s gear rather than bike parts. I barely noticed that I hadn’t left the house in two months. But as winter gave way to spring, the tug of wildflowers in the woods was too strong to ignore. Although I had embraced the transition to mother, I needed to re-connect with the athlete I used to be. I called up the ladies, who were now mothers, too.

That summer, our urgent riding was driven by the need to return home before the end of naps. Grinding up hills, we commiserated over the endless chore of changing diapers and gushed with adoration about our kids. Hauling down mountainsides, I once again experienced the feeling of freedom. The ability to generate forward motion and go fast was a stark contrast to my sedentary home life. The vivid color and ripe smells of the woods were overpowering. Through the frivolity of aimless wandering, I briefly forgot my considerable responsibility for two other beings and remembered my desires. Although it was temporary, those moments of quiet woods, camaraderie and pumping adrenaline were my own.

Riding became a pure source of independence. The hours on the trail empowered my goal-oriented self, providing the perfect counterbalance to my unpredictable days at home. I could be patient with the slow progress of my boys’ developmental milestones - the first smile, word, or step – because riding gave me the structure and results I didn’t want to impose on parenting.

Over time, the ladies began to bypass the fluid Campfire Trails, instead opting for the narrow, wilder ones that wound around over-sized boulders and across dried-up riverbeds. One evening, an impulse to test skills brought us to Burning Spear, known for its trickiness. We took our time negotiating log bridges, rock spines and drops. We rode “do overs” to the point of perfection. As mothers, our patience and encouragement for each other felt as familiar as if we were observing our babies learning to crawl. Collectively, we felt pride. Individually, we felt a powerful alignment of our dual selves - both mother and athlete.

But most nights, it didn’t take much more than a handful of loops on undulating terrain to get my fill of freedom. Mere minutes of reverence in the tranquil piney woods brought balance. Overcoming a trail obstacle provided a long-standing sense of accomplishment. As I returned home after each ride renewed and ready to resume my parenting role, it was clear that satisfaction with riding strengthened my satisfaction with motherhood. And no one deserved that more than the double toothless grins greeting me at the door.