Kenny Smith has been rolling the dice all day. He doesn’t know these trails, yet he refuses to be careful. He wants to ride, and fast. He is a blur of flashy yellow Fox jersey ahead of us, blasting between Trembling Aspen trees that vibrate in the wind and bestow an audible rustle to our passage. He is our leader and when he jumps, we jump. When his rear wheel slashes aggressively at a bank, we emulate. He rides as if he wants to kill the trail a little. Just hurt it a bit, bend the trail to his will and reign supreme. His riding seems to say, “Crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and hear the lamentations of their women.”