Spinning Circles: Escaping the Heat

I'm melting. The sun is merciless, searing my skin like a raw steak on a hot grill. Even in the shade the air is thick and stifling, providing little reprieve from the oppressive heat. I slow to a crawl, pedaling just hard enough to maintain forward motion, but sweat still pours down my body, salty rivulets stinging my eyes and irritating the cuts from the blackberry and nettle infested trail I just descended.

There's only one thing on my mind – finding a body of water larger enough to submerge myself in and remaining there until I no longer feel like I'm being boiled alive. I grind up a dirt road, the normally dark brown dirt bleached white by the lack of any recent moisture. As an added bonus, a fresh layer of loose, baseball sized rocks have been put down by a local logging company, causing me to mutter curses as I drop my head and keep working my way to the top.

When it's this warm out, rides turn into missions, expeditions in search of bodies of cool water. My thoughts wander, floating back to my earliest mountain biking memories, the ones involving lazy summer days spent riding through the rocky New England woods in search of places to escape the heat.The day I came across a swing fashioned from an old fire hose, situated in a secluded corner of a local reservoir, remains one of the highlights of those initial mountain bike adventures, and is more than likely part of the reason I'm still addicted to exploring the woods to this day.


When I moved to the Colorado Rockies in my late teens, I quickly discovered the heart-stopping chill (and thrill) of plunging into high mountain lakes - a quick dip was enough to numb you from head to toe. I eventually left the rarefied mountain air behind, moving further westward to live up in the Pacific Northwest, where there's a variety pack of swimming hole options on tap. There are rides that end with glacier fed creeks colder than an ice bath, while others have small, relatively warm lakes perfectly placed near the midpoint or ending of a ride.

My mind drifts back to reality as I near the crest of the hill, and just when it seems like I'm about to succumb to heat stroke, it hits me – a rush of cool air, as if someone had opened a refrigerator door. The thick brush bordering the road resists my prying eyes, until I spot a faint trail beaten through the brambles. I hop off my bike and push the prickers and ferns aside, heading deeper into forest.

I hear the trickling water first, and seconds later spot the liquid treasure that I'd been searching for. A kind soul has dammed up a small stream, creating a secluded, chest deep pool, hidden from any direct sunlight. My sweat soaked apparel is tossed by the wayside and I jump in, instantly refreshed by the cool water. The dust and grime drift away as I float on my back, staring up at the branches of the cedar trees towering overhead. Away from the harsh glare of the sun, I can't help but think about how the combination of mountain biking and a swim is one of those magical pairings, like peanut butter and jelly, or bacon and anything - it's about as close to perfection as you can get.