Mountain biking is my new thing. I'm trying to get out a lot before winter comes. I just learned how to 'bunny hop', which is pretty cool for getting over rocks and roots. So I've been on two legitimate single track trails around Salt Lake and Sandy. I first went up Millcreek Canyon to ride the 'Big Water Trail' that ends at Dog Lake. Next, I rode the 'Little Cottonwood Creek' trail which ends at the ruins of a stone building. Check out my bike above....
Both rides are similar in that you climb and climb and then you get to the lake or building and then you rest. I like to think I know something about meditation, so I spend extra time for that. I found it more difficult than usual to focus my thoughts. I kept thinking about being attacked by a mountain lion and how I would fight back...and win. I would put my keys in my left hand to have stab-punching power and a stick or rock in my right hand...or I would have to choke it...or break its neck. I was getting a bit worked up. I felt an adrenaline rush an started anticipating or even willing it to happen.
I really wanted to put "fought a mountain lion in hand-to-paw combat to the death" on my resume. Who wouldn't want a guy like that to work for them? If I were the interviewer, I'd hire that guy on the spot no more questions needed.
I'd only hire you if you managed to choke it to death. I'd like to see you choke one. I'll take you to the field of deer soon so you can practice on something smaller first...
ReplyDeleteBunny hopping is the best. Once I was running up the mountain when I was in high school. I saw a mountain lion in the road. I was wearing a white shirt and it was dark. I took off my shirt and kept on my dark shorts and ran through the field, instead of crossing the road. I felt like he was following me the whole way. I was too scared to look behind me. And I had scratches all over my belly from the tall grass. When I get to heaven I want to know if that really was a mountain lion, and if he really just laughed at me for taking off my shirt like an idiot.
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