My first mountain bike ride was preceded by the visitation of three kings of cycling.
On Friday night the spiritual leader of Bike Church came unto my house and spoke to me of yogic energies and warrior breathing. “It is your body Juancho” he said to me and I accepted this horrible news as the gift of truth.
On Saturday night I was visited by the spectre of Huck Shin, lord of machines. His white and glowing skin and probing eyeball filled the peephole at midnight and he brought the gift of foresight, briefly allowing me to see into a future with me whole again, a complete cyclist. He also brought some beer.
On Sunday morning a great king arrived, King Leon. “I am here to introduce you to mountain biking as I have done two times before.” This king spoke the truth as my very first mountain bike came from him. His words filled me with dread and I slammed the door in his face. I tore parts from my bike. I implored him with bacon and pancakes to leave me be. I crashed about the house in a panic to escape.
I have a bump on my head where I bounced it off the curb as he dragged me away by my ankles to ride.