I found two wonderful sources of adrenaline this weekend, one old and one brand new to me. On Saturday, Ryan and I headed out towards the New Mexico border for some snowboarding at Sunrise. We actually got a lot closer to New Mexico and had more of an adventure than we intended. We were enjoying the snow covered scenery and talking and completely missed our turn in Show Low, ending up 40 miles on the wrong side of the White Mountains. The fact that I hadn't driven on snow/ice in two years and the roads were covered with the stuff made it all the more interesting, but despite our detour, we still had an amazing day on the slopes. Ryan had never been skiing or snowboarding before, so I got to teach him (and several other guys who we met on the bunny slopes) all about toe edge and heel edge and how not to leaf all the way down the mountain. The first part of the day was spent surfing slowly along the easy trails, lazily slaloming down sections of the mountain watching Ryan figure out how the board responded to his movements and picking him up when he fell. I had some great students, though, and by mid-afternoon, we were all having an incredible time. There were about 8 inches of fresh powder that had fallen the night before and the slopes weren't too crowded even in the perfect conditions. The views of the mountains surrounding us were breathtaking, and the sun warmed our backs even through the cold wind at the top of the peaks. After Ryan got the hang of it, we zipped down the frozen waves of snow with relish. A few, fast carving runs were enough to whet my palette for speed, but I could have easily spent a whole week on the perfect powder and still not gotten enough. Nonetheless, by the end of the day, I was one happy kid. 
On Sunday, Ryan and I switched roles and it was my turn to try out a new sport. Ryan's family has been dirtbiking up in the foothills of the north Valley since he was a kid and even though he now he lives in Tempe, he spends many of his weekends back home. I now completely understand why: dirt and speed are addictive. After donning knee pads, elbow pads, a chest plate, riding boots, a helmet, gloves, and a full layer of dirt bike racing clothes, Ryan set me up on his brother's four-stroke Honda 400XR. It took me a little bit to figure things out. Having a mountain bike and four wheeling background is great for dirt biking, but brake levers, throttles, and clutches are all turned around in the wrong positions, and it took some time for me to get it through my thick skull that the front brake was on the right side of the handlebars (I actually switched the brakes on Ryan's bike when he moved in, and now I get why he wanted me to do that... it's confusing). He was as good of a teacher as he was a student though, and in no time, I was taking a lap around the parking lot. It didn't seem too hard... After my practice run, we headed out on a trail that his family calls "The Burger Run," a 10 mile trail that ends at the Wild West Bar out in the middle of nowhere. I did really well for the first five minutes, easing the bike along at little more than a crawl, feeling how the bike responded to shifting gears and braking and turning. Then I started to feel good and decided to go up a gear, giving the bike a little more gas just as we were rounding a bend in the trail. I watched with helplessness as Ryan disappeared over a massive rocky berm and I followed behind him because I wasn't sure where else to go. Slowing down at that point didn't seem like a good idea, so I hit the rock in third gear and going much faster than I had planned. I caught several feet of air and surprisingly landed the bike perfectly. On impact, though, I accidentally pulled back on the throttle and shot myself off the trail through the rocky desert, running over boulders and bushes and a whole host of other obstacles that would have stopped me in my tracks on my Gary Fisher. I held on to my bucking bronco with a mix of white knuckled fear and admiration for the bike's shocks until I was able to calm down, draw in the clutch and brake, and find my way back to the trail, where Ryan was watching with feelings that mirrored mine. I gracefully slowed to a stop next to him while he congratulated me for handling the bike through the rough technical section. I tried to put my feet down on the ground... and fell over neatly on top of Ry and his bike. After all that I had been through up to that point, it was pretty funny to watch us trying to extract the heavy machines from each other and finally get them running again. For the next few miles after my trip through the brush, I took things a bit easier, calculating whoops and turns with a little more caution. About halfway through the trail, I really started to get the hang of it, and only set the bike down a few more times (each of those times being when we stopped... I was really a bit short for the bike). Coming down from the last hill before the bar, we navigated through two sandy washes without mishap and finally flew onto a long straightaway for the last two miles or so. Confident in my new found skills and comfortable on the hard packed dirt, I switched into 5th gear and kept up with Ryan as we kicked up rocks behind us. It was addictive. Before I knew it, the trail ended in the parking lot of a saloon straight out of the days of cowboys and Indians, if cowboys and Indians had dozens of dirt bikes and quads instead of horses, that is. There were few actual cars parked there, but the off road vehicles were corralled all along the dusty lot. Inside were the most amazing burgers and a true wild west atmosphere where everyone was wearing Fox and O'Neill and talking about the gnarly rides that they had been having out in the desert. After lunch, we headed back on the straightaway and zoomed along with the wind whipping past us. The speed was more than addictive, and by the time that we crossed back over the washes, I was ready for the curving track. I bounced along the whoops and turns with delight, catching air on several of them and letting the shocks do their thing. I was on top of the world, and truly understand why downhill mountain bikers use dirt bikes to train. The speed was both exhilarating and scary, but always exciting. The ten miles back were over before I knew it, leaving me loving my life and wanting more. Although the ride did not diminish my love of mountain biking, it did give me a taste of what it feels like to go really, really fast. It is very addictive, and I fell in love with the extreme sport in just 20 miles. All in all, it was a very fun, very fast weekend, and now I've got all the adrenal fuel that I need to get me through the week.
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