That Split Second

No matter how hard you are about to slam into the ground, or how much pain awaits you on impact, there always seems to be a split second where we are granted a moment to ourselves. A moment to reflect. It’s as if time freezes. Nothing else exists. Nothing else matters.

Of course there are times when the only thing in our mind is fear, regret, and maybe scattered images of our childhood as we lose all hope of avoiding a bone shattering disaster. But in those times when we truly embrace the ride, no matter how it flows, we find something much different. It’s in accepting the moment, the split second of the moment, that we experience the clarity, the peace, and the true rush of life.

As time slows almost to a stop, it’s as if a book is opened up that holds all the secrets of life. We see things as they are. The busy, crowded world we live in suddenly seems quiet, simple, and beautiful as we, for a moment, are able to look past the flaws and imperfections that cause us so much stress and frustration. Having accepted the chaos of the moment and the possible injury that may follow, a door is opened and we are able to see past the hate, and the anger, and the tears that we hold deep inside.

Then the moment ends. Time violently returns to its proper speed as pain jolts through your body until you slide, roll, or tumble to a stop. The dirt clouds up around you and slowly drifts back down. You breath, and realize you haven’t for a while. You hear, and realize how silent it seemed just moments before. You smile, and realize you loved every second of it, especially that split second.

From the Mind of Sean

Caught by the addictive grasp of mountainboarding, Sean has been riding with me for about a year now. He has proven his love for the sport with his sweat, blood, and perhaps most importantly, his willingness to step back into the bindings time and time again.

Sean recently sent me the following article, and gave me permission to post it here. He titled it, “It’s not about mountainboarding.”

Dirt. Rocks. Trail. A giant hill below me. “What in the world am I doing?” As I stood there, my feet adjusting in the bindings that would keep me safe, I looked down at my mountainboard and sensed two very familiar feelings: cowardice and disgust.

The cowardice arises from a simple glance at what lays before me – a long, steep, rocky hill with nothing but God’s good grace to keep me unharmed. Naturally, the instinct of self-preservation kicks in. Cowardice flashes images in my brain – pictures of my wife and kid, all the things I haven’t done yet, the email I forgot to send, the bowl of cereal I didn’t finish but really wanted to, the parking ticket I forgot to pay!

Then enters Disgust. “You little whoosy boy! You’re nothing but a pathetic, yella-bellied, chicken! You make me sick!”

So I stand there and wrestle with these two emotions. The breeze coming up from the valley below gently caresses my skin. A crows caws in the distance. I shift my weight and hear the familiar squeak of my board. “I should really get those trucks lubricated”, I think to myself. “Now you’re just procrastinating!” screams Disgust into my ear. “Just do it!”

Without a second more to think, I kick out my board and start racing down the hill. The scenery speeds up and starts flashing past. Faster and faster! Every little move is calculated. I’m flying down the mountain!

Do I reach the bottom? It doesn’t matter. What matters here is the valuable life lesson to be learned: It’s not as much about mountainboarding as much as it is about overcoming yourself. Whether you’re motivated out of disgust with living as a cowardly person, by the need for adrenaline, or just plain wanting to have a kick-in-the-pants good time, mountainboarding can change your life.

-Sean Marshall

Saturday’s Wreck of the Day

Forced Commitment to Ride

Why are we willing to accept the bumps and the bruises, the broken ribs and the internal bleeding, the concussions and the dirt eating? How is it they we manage to get up each time and step back onto our board? What is it that we truly crave?

There are many answers to these questions. Every rider has his or her reasons for their commitment to what may appear as insanity, but I believe there is one that sums them all up. One way or another we are all in it for the ride.

So now we ask ourselves what defines the ride? Again, there are many definitions, each one very personal to the individual rider. But today as I climbed the winding dirt road of the canyon, I had a specific element of the ride in mind. It’s what I call “forced commitment to ride.”

My usual MBS F3 Ratchet Bindings and Baseplates were not to accompany me today. I dug an old pair of Universal snowboard bindings out of a box and attached them to my board. The added strap and the highback support would keep me secure to my board no matter what. No matter how hard the wreck or how intense the carve, these bindings would prevent any accidental or intentional detaching from the board. Today I was to experience the the forced commitment to ride.

The straps knocked against my board as I continued up the trail, and soon I was pulling on my dusty pads and strapping on my wrist guards and helmet. A twitch of nervousness sent a quick rush of adrenaline through my body as the thought of being trapped to my board came into my mind. I took a big breath. Then I let it out slow, calming myself the best I could. I tried to remind myself of the purpose of the experiment. By forcing myself to be one with the board, I would be able to accomplish what hesitation and fear might otherwise rob.

Finally I traded in my anticipation for excitement as I was strapped in tight and ready to go. My first hill was gentle with a nice run off leading to the next drop. I planned use it to get the feel of the new bindings.

Soon that familiar rumble of the dirt and rocks was vibrating up my legs as I gained speed. I noticed the added stability I had against the vibration that normally would have threatened my footing under a single strap. Carving felt almost effortless and I soon was able to shake my fears and embrace the ride.

Except for a slight discomfort that came from wearing snowboard bindings with shoes, the ride was everything I had hoped for. Many of the sharp curves of the canyon I was able to take at a greater speed that I had previously been able to. Hopping over the occasional rut in the path was no problem as the board simply followed me as I follow it. Twice I came close to catching an edge and going down but somehow managed to keep the flow. It’s amazing what the human body can do when you gently threaten it’s existence.

As I reached the end of my ride I couldn’t help but smile. I detached myself from my board and made the final walk to my car. I don’t know if I’ll make these bindings a permanent addition to my board or not. That doesn’t really matter to me I guess. The important thing is that I was able to enjoy the ride and learn a little more about why I ride. I believe that those lessons are the key to improving ourselves as mountainboarders.