"Which he didn't," she added. "And, so, yeah, that's what happened."
So, yeah, after the funeral, the next day, Christian's dad Derrill and I, and about 8 of his regular riding buddies, headed out onto the Hawes trails in the far-east Valley together for a ride. It was an ideal morning and the trails were perfect.
"How many times do you think we did the same kind of thing when we were eighteen?" he and I both wondered aloud as we were preparing our gear and getting ready to start.
"And got away with it. Survived."
"Dozens."
"Easily." Dozens of near-misses. Dozens of dumb-moves. And somehow, we survived. For some reason Christian didn't.
Can't explain that.

No one really knew what to say. We were just a bunch of speechless, sweaty guys astride their bikes at the top of a climb. So what was done at that moment was precisely what has been done a billion times before, at the top of a billion similarly challenging climbs cleaned for the first time: fist bumps, high fives, pats on the back.
But I know what we all meant was, "We're so sorry, man. This sucks. Your strength's not just in your legs today. Well done, my friend. Well done."
1 comments :
Thanks John, for telling this story. I didn't know Christian, but i am inspired through him. To take care of my self, of my community, and to always cherish my friends right now.
I'm not there at the top of the climb, but I say to you John, I'm sorry, this does suck, but the strength you have in your heart is radiating out through your writing.
Love you all.
Eug
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