WHAT I LEARNED WHEN LOST IT ON A MOUNTAIN BIKE

A lifelong roadie tries singletrack for the first time. It did not go as planned.

- JACQUELINE MARINO

AT UTAH'S DEAD HORSE POINT STATE PARK, WHERE THE COLORADO RIVER CUTS THROUGH canyons 2,000 feet below, I stood at the Intrepid trailhead, trying to look like a mountain biker. My husband and I were on our first vacation without kids in nearly two decades, and we figured I could make it through the Raven Roll trail. Its "least difficult" ranking was marked by a little green dot on the map. I knew our ride would get more challenging on the Big Chief and Great Pyramid trails, with their "more difficult" blue squares, but I figured the beauty of the mesa and the freedom from teenagers could inspire me through anything out there.

Our guide, Brooks Carter, gave us a quick lesson on how to ride the shiny Santa Cruz Hightowers on loan from his bike shop. I couldn't believe how comfortable the Hightower felt compared to my road bike back home. I admired its wide, deep-tread tires and had fun playing with its dropper seatpost. The ultrasensitive hydraulic disc brakes did require some getting used to, so we all practiced braking in the parking lot. After about 15 minutes, I felt ready for the trail.

Another newbie and I were to follow directly behind Brooks. In his 18th season as a guide, he was tanned, lithe, and perpetually smiling. At 76, his knowledge of the area-and mountain biking-was vast. He had helped design and construct trails nearby and modeled the relaxed confidence he advised us to adopt on the bike.

Within the first mile, I went from trying to relax to trying to stay vertical. We started pedaling over sand and quickly graduated to zooming over rocks, some of which felt like jagged boulders under my tires. I constantly fought the urge to brake. I couldn't get used to riding off the saddle like I was guarding someone on a basketball court. And I kept forgetting to keep my pedals level on descents to avoid hitting rocks.