25 - Melissa

25

Melissa

I called the number before I could think better of it.

“Crested Butte Mountain Biking, how can I help you?” a cheerful man asked.

“Hi!” I said. “I’m interested in taking lessons, and saw your flier in town. What time are lessons today?”

“That’s great! All lessons are private, so it’s just you and the instructor. All three of our instructors are working today, let me check Kimberly’s schedule…”

“Actually,” I said, “I was wondering if Ash is available? He was recommended to me by a friend.”

“Ash is one of our best instructors. Let me see… he has one lesson right now, but his next free slot starts in an hour.”

“Perfect!” I said. “I’ll do that.”

I rushed home to change into more athletic clothes, then made my way along the road leading up the mountain to the resort. It was only three miles, but it was a very gradual climb that soon had my calves burning with effort. Not wanting to wear myself out before the lesson, I hopped off the bike and walked it the rest of the way uphill.

I checked-in at the office and paid the one-hour fee. “Ash will meet you right outside,” the man said. “He should be finishing up his current lesson soon.”

The back of the shop faced Mount Crested Butte. It was a jagged fingernail of a mountain, with three different ski lifts running up from the base like power lines. But instead of snow and ski runs, the mountain was criss-crossed with mountain biking trails. At least a hundred bikers were currently coming down the mountain or waiting in line at the lift.

I watched the riders for a bit. Some of the paths were steep and fast, but others were flatter and more casual. One path on the left was steeper than most, with a ramp and a jump at the bottom. It was less trafficked than the others, so I took notice when two riders emerged from the trees, flew down the incline, and went soaring up the ramp. Both of them seemed to hang in the air for an impossible amount of time before landing on the other side, then swerved their way down to where all the paths converged at the end.

One of them, the bigger rider covered with tattoos, was obviously Ash.

“Fucking nice ,” he said, removing his helmet and holding out a fist.

The smaller rider removed her helmet and bumped his fist. “Did you see? Did you see?” She looked young, barely in high school.

“Told you you could do it.”

“You were right!” she said with an excited laugh.

He clapped her on the back, and the two of them walked their bikes in my direction. When he saw me, he did a double-take.

Maybe this was a mistake , I thought as his dark eyes bore into mine.

“See you next week!” the girl said, then abruptly threw her arms around him in a big hug. She was about half his size, and Ash seemed surprised by the gesture. Or maybe embarrassed by it since I was watching.

“Tuesday,” Ash agreed, and the girl went running off with her bike. Then he looked at me again.

“Why are you here?” he asked bluntly.

I swallowed the bile crawling up the back of my throat and said, “I’m your next lesson. I want you to show me how to use this.” I held out my bike. His bike.

His expression didn’t change. For a few seconds, I wondered if he would say no. He seemed to be considering it like he had a decision to make. A difficult one.

Finally, he leaned his other bike against the wall and went inside without a word. So much for that idea. I guess I’d pushed too hard. And if asking him for bike lessons was too much, then asking about his prison history would definitely be out of bounds.

I turned my bike around, preparing to get a refund and go home, when Ash emerged from the bike shop. He shoved a helmet at my chest, then hefted another bundle.

“Put this on.”

It was a bunch of mountain biking gear: elbow pads, knee pads, fingerless gloves, and protective glasses. I suddenly felt silly that I hadn’t worn anything. Then again, I didn’t have anything, and it was my fault for telling the guy behind the desk that I had my own equipment. I’d assumed he just meant the bike.

“How do I look?” I asked when I was decked out in protective gear.

Ash almost smiled. Almost. “Good.”

We took the ski lift up, putting our bikes on one special lift car while sitting on another. This lift only went halfway up the mountain, but even that felt super high up. We were well above the resort where we’d started, and the town was even farther below in the valley.

“Your ankle?” Ash asked.

I glanced down at my foot. Noah had freshly wrapped the ankle last night.

“It’s fine,” I said. “Good enough to bike.”

I waited for him to doubt me, to lecture me about how I was supposed to stay off it, but he only nodded and pulled down the visor of his helmet, obscuring his face.

“Follow me. Try to keep pace. No faster, no slower.”

He led me over to the starting point of three different trails. Two of them tipped downward at a terrifyingly steep angle, while another trail peacefully cut across the mountain sideways. That’s the one he took. It was an easy pace, one I could follow without much effort. And the trail wasn’t very technical; the only difficult parts were when the trail abruptly made a switchback turn, and even then all I had to do was slow down a little bit. Ash glanced over his shoulder every so often, checking to make sure I was still with him.

Despite our gentle pace, biking down the mountain was exhilarating! All the biking I’d done around town had been mostly flat, and at a crawling speed. Compared to that, this was like riding on a bullet train.

I was able to follow a few yards behind Ash the whole time. When we reached the bottom, he raised his visor and looked at me. “Good?”

“So good!” I replied.

He nodded, then guided me back into the ski lift line. We rode the lift back up to the same spot, and then walked our bikes to the same trail as before.

“You first this time.”

Following was easy because I didn’t really need to think; I just had to imitate everything Ash did. Leading was harder. Even though I knew I was going about the same speed as the first run, it felt like I was speeding out of control. Like I would fly off the mountain if I lost focus for a split second.

At one of the switchbacks, I glanced behind me. Ash held out a hand to tell me to stop, so I hit the brakes.

Stopping next to me, Ash said, “Don’t ride with fear. You’re fine.”

“I know,” I replied, “but I keep thinking—”

“Stop thinking,” he snapped. “Use your gut. Not your head.”

I wanted to tell him that my gut didn’t have any experience on a mountain bike, but it was easier to just nod.

As we continued, I slowly did what Ash had instructed. I got out of my head and rode by feel. Allowing the steepness of the route to control my speed rather than constantly applying the brakes. Soon, I understood what Ash meant. The trail was designed to speed you up in parts, and slow you down in other parts. I didn’t need to be in as much control because the trail was in control.

Once I did that, the rest of the run was easy. I flew along the path, whirled around corners, and even went off a tiny little ramp. I probably only came an inch off the ground, but it felt like I hung in the air forever .

I was grinning when we reached the bottom. And when Ash caught up to me and raised his visor, he was smiling, too. It was the first time I had seen that expression on his face, I realized. It softened all of his other intimidating features.

“Good job,” he said.

“How about a tougher run this time?”

Ash considered me for three long seconds. “Don’t tell Noah.”

I broke out in a new grin. “Deal.”

As we got back on the ski lift, I felt so much more comfortable than I had this morning. Noah was right: Ash wasn’t as intimidating as his appearance seemed. Sure, he was quiet, but the longer I was around him the more natural his silence felt. It fit him.

“What’s RAGbrAI?” I felt courageous enough to ask.

He blinked. “Huh?”

“The bike you loaned me has a bunch of participation bands on it for something called RAGbrAI. It looks like a race you do every year?”

Ash looked uncomfortable with the question. “Not a race. A ride, in Iowa.”

“What’s the difference?”

“A ride’s for fun. Everyone drinking beer and having a good time.”

“It’s you and some of your friends?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know anyone else who does it. Everyone else is a stranger.”

“How many? Six? Seven?”

“Thirty-five thousand,” he replied.

I would have assumed he was joking, but Ash definitely wasn’t the kind of man to make jokes.

“Holy shit!”

“It’s a big ride,” he said. “Seven days long. A big party.”

“Nice,” I replied, suddenly feeling a lot more comfortable around Ash. I’d asked a somewhat personal question, and he’d answered it without throwing me off the ski lift.

It was that level of comfort that led me to make a mistake.

“Thanks for saving me on the via ferrata,” I said.

“The safety line saved you,” he replied.

“But you pulled me back up to the route. I want you to know I appreciate it.”

He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the compliment.

“I fell because you freaked me out,” I went on. “You told me you were in prison.”

Ash stared straight ahead as the ski lift steadily climbed.

“Was it true?” I asked. “You were in prison?”

He slowly turned his head to face me, dark eyes unreadable. He nodded once.

That should have been my warning, but I pushed ahead anyway. “That’s wild. I’ve never known anyone who went to prison. Do you… do you mind if I ask what you did?”

We were nearing the top of the lift, so Ash raised the safety bar and then climbed out when we reached the platform. We collected our bikes, then walked them out toward the trails where the other bikers were gathered.

“Lesson’s over,” he practically growled at me.

Then he slammed his visor down, threw a leg over his bike, and went shooting down one of the difficult trails alone.