Pedaling Through Our Youth by Jay Goodrich

Pedaling Through the Days of Our Youth

The First Pedal Strokes

Do you remember your first time? It was probably a crisp spring morning. Your training wheels were gone and your dad or mom was holding the back of your seat. You began pedaling. Wobbly. Leaning left and right. Quickly realizing that every time you turned the handlebars your bike leaned even harder in that direction. You pedaled as fast as those little legs of yours could go. Completely out of control. Your parent grabbing and holding you up from ominous explosion. You wanted those stupid, piece of shit, bent and abused training wheels back. You cried. Tears flowed down your face catching the glimmering early morning light. You pedaled faster and faster, trembling with fear as the speed began to freak out your brain’s receptors. You could hear you dad breathing harder and harder as he ran along your side.

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20 Minutes

20 minutes ago I was purchasing a coffee and a blueberry scone at Caffe Vita. The TSA agent told me to have a great day. I walked through security without shedding my shoes, without taking off my belt, without removing the laser-cut titanium rectangle that outlines Grand Teton which has hung around my neck for close to a decade. I didn’t pull my laptop out of my bag. I put my truck key and iPhone into my bag. I had my boarding pass scanned and it beeped with a green light. I checked my one bag, was upgraded to first class, and I parked my truck right next to the terminal in the oversized parking. Almost ran into the tiny Jeep who couldn’t make up his mind how to park at the ticket gate.

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Clod Hopping for Twenty Two Years

As our planet gets more technologically advanced, we seem to throw away more and more on a yearly basis. Computers, phones, tablets, cars, bikes, cameras and crazy words like clod hopping. All disposable. Better, stronger, faster, lighter, year-in and year-out. My parents held onto everything until it was completely and utterly falling apart. My dad had these freakin’ plaid pants that were right out of the 50s’ but it was 1990. My friends and I nicknamed him “Plaid”. He even took to it and lived it, until one day when were all old enough and strong enough to sit and drink with him. It took four of us to hold him down and cut those pantaloons off of him, but we did it. One of my friends even made a head band out of those polyester fugly pants and wore it at the Friday night parties for months as we dropped keg stand after keg stand and funnel after funnel.

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Vomit Incorporated – The Return of an Old Friend

Reset the clock to fifteen years ago. I was upwardly mobile in the architecture and construction industry. I had money. I had toys, many toys. And I was in the process of purchasing a racing machine. The goal was one of the simplest ideas and yet one of the most difficult to complete. Create the lightest mountain bike possible with the least amount of money expended and make damn sure it had class, style, and a bit of flair that would have other riders asking themselves, “What the fuck was that?”

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Getting Lost in Bisti

I have navigated through Denali National Park for 10 days and maintained my whereabouts. I have flown multiple aircraft across most of the United States and arrived at my destination without fail. This past weekend was a different for some reason, maybe some weird star was misaligned in the universe. I managed to visit a place that has been on my list for over a decade. A place I have researched and read about since then. I listened to all of the warnings and all of the advice. I brought plenty of water, the map I found online, the directions I found online, and my Brother-in-Law’s GPS, which happens to be the same GPS that I own. And what happened, that’s right, I GOT LOST!

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Optimism is Contagious

My wife Heather sent me a text message a little earlier today stating that she was sad. To which I replied asking, “why?”. I then received a laundry list of items that were on her mind. This list contained the typical things that bother almost any person on this planet regardless of career, lifestyle, or monetary worth – money, job status, family members, etc. This of course led to me immediately calling her.

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The Heart of a Pilot

When a bunch of pilots decide to fly in a plane together the ensuing argument on who is going to be pilot-in-command can get somewhat aggressive. This evening’s decision was simple though, we were at a meeting in Grand Junction, Colorado in which there were multiple beverages of alcoholic creation. I decided that partaking in the consumption of said beverages would be a good idea to finish my long week, thus making me ineligible of taking the controls to any flying machine.

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