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The Course

"…and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us" (Heb. 12:1b)

When someone asks me why I like to mountain bike in North Texas, I always give the obvious answer: "There are no mountains." For a guy at my stage in life, being able to go "off road" and enjoy the non-concreted outdoors without the threat of having to make a steep ascent is a real comfort.

But that all changed one day when "Chris" came to my house to repair my telephone. It seems that Chris, too, is a mountain biker. Except that he rides real mountain bike courses, not just an occasional foray through an open field like yours truly. So while Chris repaired my phone, he told me about "the course" down at the Rowlett Creek Preserve in Garland. Thus challenged by Chris I found myself a few days later at the course about to take my first "real" mountain bike ride.

The course starts simply enough. A regular looking parking lot with a pavilion and some picnic tables, and this little slit in the woods that is the first inkling of a bike trail. With helmet and gloves in place and my pulse monitor turned on to ensure that I got an aerobic ride, I entered the single-track loop. Suddenly I was met with a sensation right out of a Stars Wars movie. Trees, incredibly close, whizzing by me at what seem almost light speed. But I dared not look to the left or right because directly in front of me were a myriad of tree roots---bump, bump, bump-and then a big log that had to be jumped---pow & clank-as the headshock on my bike complained about absorbing such a big change in elevation.

As I glanced down at my pulse monitor I realized there would be no problem achieving aerobic range on this ride-it was already off-scale: not from the exercise but from the sheer terror of attempting to dodge the trees, roots and logs that came at me from every angle. Then I entered a set of twisty turns with saplings on either side that seemed to get closer and closer together. Wham! Sure enough, I came to a dead stop as I ran smack into a pair whose spacing was less than my handlebar width. Fortunately, I was able to hang on and avoid being thrown from the bike. Then I realized that the course designers had placed the saplings like pylons on a slalom ski course. You had to twist your handlebars first to the left and then to the right to get through them.

Just as I was getting the hang of this technique I was suddenly faced with a bigger challenge. Looming up at me was a fallen tree like a giant wish bone turned on its side. I would have to jump the branch that lay on the path while ducking my head to avoid the other branch directly above. It was too late to stop and walk through this obstacle, so I kicked harder on the pedals to gain extra speed for the jump while simultaneously bending towards the handlebars to make myself as small a target as possible for the overhanging branch. Bump! Swish! I made it! Perhaps I was a mountain biker after all. Just as I was celebrating my triumph-crash, bang-another low hanging branch that I hadn't seen hit my helmet and knocked me silly off my bike. Dazed, and realizing that you couldn't take your eye off the course for one moment, I resumed my ride.

As I looked ahead on the trail I spotted an obstacle that Chris had warned me about. The trail fell away rapidly in a steep grade to a bridge which was followed by an equally steep grade going up to the original elevation. Everything in my brain told me, "put on the brakes, walk down that slope." But Chris told me, "just have faith in your momentum. Don't apply any brakes, and your momentum will take you all the way up to the top." Cringing I forced myself to lay off the brakes as I suddenly plunged with a stomach wrenching downward movement. But sure enough, before I had time to react, the bike hit the bridge and was immediately propelled up the slope almost to the top, which I attained by a few modest pedal strokes. Against all my intuition following Chris had been the right thing to do.

Next I was presented with a fork in the road. Left or right? Chris said, "beginners to the left" didn't he; or did he? Left it is. Thereupon I embarked on a gradual incline that seemed to go on forever: past a creek on the right, and the backyards of houses on the left. Up and up I went, noting all along that the creek to the right had become a rather treacherous gulch with a steep embankment straight down to the water which now seemed like a trickle because it was so far below me. At last I came to a city street, where the trail crossed the creek and then headed down the same incline but on the opposite side. Down and down I went, finding that the obstacles were becoming more and more difficult. Had Chris said "experts to the left" instead? Suddenly, I came to a point that was like a peninsula in space. On three sides the ground plunged straight down about 60 feet to the bottom; only the way I came from had a normal grade. I could see that the trail in fact was marked by tracks going down this incredible drop on my left. Did someone actually ride their bike down that drop-off I thought? How did they survive? Maybe their body is lying down at the bottom, yet undiscovered.

"If only I had a rope," I thought. And there it was, a rope, but unlike the other one I had encountered in a similar but less forbidding circumstance. It was a small rope dangling from a tree, only a few feet long. But in this instance it would do for starters. I grabbed it in one hand while lugging my bike in the other and started to slip-slide my way down the slope, using various trees and vines to break my fall as I pirouetted from one position to the next. At last I made it to the bottom, convinced that I must have wandered onto the expert's course by mistake.

At least that trial is over with I thought, when just then I encountered a muddy portion of the trail where big grading machines nearby had disrupted the drainage and caused a water backup. I grimly increased my force on the pedals to get through the muck, but it slowed me considerably. Just then I spotted a big log across the trail that I would have to jump, but slowed by the mud my speed was not sufficient to get over the thing. Wump! I hit, but instead of my front wheel going over, it dug into the log and my back wheel came up and over me, dumping me upside down on top of the log and mud.

I lay still for a moment, favoring my left wrist which bore most of my weight as I tried to break my fall. But except for a small sprain, I was otherwise intact. I slowly got up and resumed my ride. And in a few moments I saw the daylight of a clearing ahead and realized I had survived the expert trail with only minor injuries to my body and my pride. Just ahead was a large level concrete area that served as a viaduct for the creek, which gently flowed over it in a stream only an inch thick. Rejoicing in my successful ride, I crossed it in triumph….until I felt this sliding motion as my tires totally lost their traction against the algae that had formed at the bottom of the water flow. In less than a second, I slammed unprotected onto the concrete and into the water. I rose unsteadily, drenched from head to toe, and with an ugly scrape down my left side. "Be careful how you stand, lest you fall" echoed from neurons embedded deep within my cranial cavity.

Just then I heard voices coming from the trail in the direction I had been heading. It was a rider with a blue helmet and matching blue shorts and shirt riding an official looking blue bicycle. Then a second rider appeared, then a third, each dressed in similar uniforms. The stream of riders continued, and I counted twenty in all, both men and women. The insignia on their shirts showed they were members of the Garland police force, out patrolling the trails I supposed. One by one they sped by, some greeting me, others just attempting to navigate the trail. Finally, the last one slowed as he passed and asked, "are you OK?" "Fine," I replied to which he responded, "Have a nice day." I wanted to shout at him "aren't you headed in the wrong direction?" but all too quickly he vanished in the trees.

I learned a number a number of lessons that day on the course, and in subsequent rides on it since them. I realized that this course was at a entirely different level than ones I had previously journeyed. A few other riders passed me with great skill during my ride that day, and I learned to appreciate their capabilities much more as a result of seeing just how challenging this course was. At the same time, other "official" riders seemed to be headed in just the opposite direction as I wanted to go. I had to reexamine whether I was going in the direction Chris told me was correct. As for my own journey, I came to realize later after many more rides that those falls and limb knocks and yes, even the fear of failure, had made me stronger for the next ride. Key to surviving them was wearing a solid helmet while using a secure pair of gloves to grip the handlebars. Thus equipped, I slowly improved my riding technique and was able to succeed even on portions of the expert course. And I learned that trusting Chris, a much more advanced rider than I, paid off. By having faith in his advice-which he gathered from his own journeys-I was able to better cope with mine.

At TNPC I have observed a number of "course riders." Some are just starting out, only beginning to understand some of the obstacles that come with the journey of faith. I want to cry out to them "put on that helmet of salvation" so they won't get thrown off the course when those inevitable head-bangers arrive. Others are incredibly advanced. They have encountered such severe challenges in their ride that I personally can't even fathom them. Yet, by following Christ so closely they have become the "Chris-es" of the course, and thus teach the rest of us the lessons of faith that we sometimes are resistant to learn. Finally, other riders have finished their courses entirely. They now stand with the Pioneer Rider, who perfected His faith and theirs through the ultimate sacrificial journey He made for them and us.

I want to be a better rider on this course of faith that the Lord has given you and I to ride together here at Town North. Some of the riding improvement will come from my personal effort: spending time in the Word and in prayer in my private quiet times, recovering from my inevitable falls as a sinner saved by grace. But a big component of improvement will come from you as we ride alongside one another, share our lessons of faith, pray together for each other and genuinely show love for one another through all those practical times of "giving the cup of cold water in Christ's name." Those will be (and are even now) the times when the obstacles on the course become so imposing that I can't manage them by myself. I will need your help as my brothers and sisters to support me and my loved ones as we go down those steep drop-offs that the Course Designer has laid out for us as He seeks to perfect our perseverance. As we do so:

Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. (Heb 12:2)

Other Pop Writings:
Caddo! (5/2002)
Raising Cane (4/2002)
Ask Anything? (3/2002)
The Race (3/2002)
The Hill (3/2002)
A Remembrance (3/2002)
Christmas, 1941 (12/2001)
Endo II (3/2001)
Endo I (10/2000)
The Course (5/2000)
The Rope (1/2000)

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