Tuesday, July 13, 2004 | 8:04 a.m.
They said we avoided "The Hurl."
Consequently, I don't know whether the trail's name emerged from a slang term for a bodily function involving the violent contraction of abdominal muscles, or from the unintended airborne feat of the mountain biker who hits the front brakes a little too hard on a downhill that's a little too steep.
Don't want to know, either.
The little internal sirens should have sounded the moment two people whose livelihoods revolve around shooting photographs of crashes and mayhem invited me along for a Sunday morning mountain bike ride.
We met in front of a bike shop in Blue Diamond. They assured me they were "so out of shape" that they would "take it easy." The Co-Worker Who Shall Not Be Named also assured me her partner was highly careful since breaking his collarbone on a section of the trail we were about to ride.
Being one who hopes to avoid placing "broken" in the same sentence with any body part, the sirens sounded. But it was too late. Off we went.
Don't ask where. I have no idea. We pedaled against a postcard-perfect backdrop of red-and-tan sandstone cliffs under a bright clear blue sky.
I think.
I pretty much didn't see anything unless it was 6 inches ahead of my front wheel or I was plucking it from one of my extremities.
Then, there were all the guidelines to remember. Rear brake is better than front brake. One's bum goes over the back wheel when it's sandy or downhill. Pedal in the sand. Coast between rocks. Shift before you have to. Keep your arms flexed.
Some guidelines are never mentioned. For example, falling into sagebrush hurts. Falling onto big flat rocks hurts more. A bicycle does not stop simply because you are screaming like a little girl.
Swearing happens.
The area in which we were riding is a popular trail network west of Blue Diamond in Cottonwood Valley, north of State Route 160.
Sometime after I extracted desert vegetation from my heinie and before I lay prone on a very large rock, we stopped at a fork and talked with Jason, an information technologist at University of Nevada, Las Vegas.
"Is the trail up to the springs still closed?" one of my captors asked. He said it was. The trail to which they referred is called Little Daytona, and it evidently runs along a ridgeline.
I asked why it was closed. Jason said it was because some riders who couldn't resist the challenge of careening off the ridgeline anywhere they pleased had cut trails in areas where they weren't supposed to be.
All types of trail users know the frustration of dealing with a few selfish renegades within the ranks. A small minority can have huge effects on a responsible majority.
Volunteer trail patrols can help, but they take a huge number of people who are willing to organize, ride and work for free.
The nonprofit Basin and Range Trail Advocates (BARTA) or Southern Nevada Regional Trail Partnership are good places to start. Log onto www.barta-nv.com or www.snrtp.org. Or try www.bikeoutpost.com, for the Blue Diamond Bike Outpost. All post volunteer events and provide links to agencies that maintain our increasingly popular recreation environment.
Help protect your playground. Everyone deserves the chance to hurl.
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