Dark grey clouds loom over my head, casting eerie shadows on the hard-packed dirt in front of me. Normally, birds can be heard chirping joyfully in the dense tree cover. Today the only bird I hear is a raven, cawing solemnly in the distance. Rain begins to fall, pit pat, pit pat. I crane my neck and stare at the craggy peaks of Whistler mountain behind me, sharp and bold, looking down on me. I feel insignificant, small, alone, but I’m not. 

“Ready?” I ask, turning my head to look at Josh.

“Let’s do this.” His helmet muffles his voice, but I can see a devilish grin spread across his face.

I position my right foot on the pedal of my bike. Picking my left foot up off the dirt, I give my pedal a rough crank and my bike lurches forward. I position my left foot and give a few more cranks, breathing life into the cold, carbon machine beneath me. 

“Dropping!” I yell, giving other riders warning that I’m ripping down the trail.

Wood planks rattle below my tires as I speed over a platform, pulling myself into a jump at the last second. I feel like I’m in the air forever. My bike touches down on the trail below me, humming over the packed dirt. The shadow of the 10 foot drop hangs over me, a curtain of darkness, muting the greens and browns of the forest on either side of me. As quickly as they fade, the colors return, but more vivid now. I carve my rear tire into the first berm, spraying chunks of soft dirt and small pebbles into the air behind me. 

Looking ahead, I spot a set of small pink flags, signaling the first jump of the trail. As I rush over the dirt, my tires buzz and my suspension absorbs all of the obstacles the trail throws at me. Rocks, roots, ruts, all reduced to little more than a small bump. It feels almost as though I’m riding on a cloud. Gripping my handlebars, I fly over the first jump easily, whipping my bike to the side.

“Yes, bud!” some guys watching from the side of the trail yell as I fly past.

What an incredible feeling. So incredible, in fact, that I lose my focus mid-air. My stomach jolts when I hit the ground. 

“Woah,” I say, startled

All of my thoughts melt away as I become completely absorbed by the trail, taking in all of my surroundings. I soak up every turn, bump, drop, burning the features into my mind. Up until this point, the trail has been easy and exciting, but reality comes crashing back as I realize where I am. Two massive, sweeping berms in front of me, a straightaway, then… The Moon Booter. My mind becomes a swirling torrent of thoughts and fears as I frantically try to decide what I’m going to do. Do I go around, or hit the jump? What will my friends think if I don’t do it? Am I a wimp?

Too late. I’m out of time to make a decision now, seeing as the 15 foot takeoff is directly in front of me. I continue forward, gaining momentum as I speed down the trail. Wind rushes past my face, wetting my eyes and burning my cheeks.

I drive my tires into the ground and pump the takeoff, facing almost straight up. As I reach the lip, I lean into my handlebars and pull up. My front tire leaves the dirt, spinning freely in the air. My back tire follows and suddenly, I’m in the air. Up, up, up, as if I’m ascending to the heavens. At the apex of my jump, the ground is 20 feet below me. But I don’t look down; instead, I look forward, giving myself a split second to plan my landing. Without thinking too much about it, I let the air consume me. 

“Now or never,” I say to myself.

I let go of my handlebars, throwing my arms behind my back. It’s such a rush. An intense new feeling of freedom and happiness sweeps over me. Of course, I’ve never done anything this insane before. My fear is gone, I am content, proud; life is too short to not take risks and have an awesome time-- even if it doesn’t always end the way you think it will. Looking down, I watch my shadow fly 10 feet, 20, 30. The landing of the jump stares at me innocently, my final enemy. As I reach for my grips again, my bike leans forward unexpectedly, the pedals drop from beneath my feet. My heart begins to race, but I tell myself that it’s going to be okay. The distance to the ground seems to double as I fall like a corpse, limbs flailing, hardly breathing. 

Thud. My face tingles as my heels slam into the dirt, sending a wave of pain up my right leg, into my spine and skull. I reach back with my arm, hoping to slow the impact, to no avail. Rather than falling backwards and reducing the amount of damage to my body, I keel forward and tumble head over heels 30 feet down the landing. With one final roll, I take the impact with my wrists and push it through to my shoulder, following the rotation through until I end up, finally, on my knees at the side of the trail. 

I fall to my back, letting the weight of my injuries bear down on me. Is this what it feels like the star of a big action movie? Laying on my back, rain sprinkling down all around me, I wait helplessly for someone, anyone to help me. 

“You okay, Eli?!” I hear Josh’s footsteps as he runs up to me. “That was gnarly bro! It looked sick from behind!”

I chuckle through clenched teeth, reaching my arm up for him to help me. I look up as he takes my hand and see blood trickling down my arm. He pulls me up, first to my knees, then to my feet. Painfully, I hobble to a spot where I can sit down for Josh to examine me(he’s in medical school). Being examined like this makes me feel like a lab experiment, but Josh wont let me get back on my bike. I suppose that he’s probably right, I can barely walk, let alone ride a bike. Somehow, I’m only going to walk away from this trip with a tib fib fracture, a minor sprain to my right wrist, and a few stitches.

We make our way slowly down the rest of the mountain and to the clinic at the bottom. As we sit down to wait, I realize I can’t feel the pain anymore. The only thing keeping me going is the rush of adrenaline. Some people call it “being in shock,” I call it “the side effects of having fun.”