Photo courtesy Jason Shuehl
Top: Jason Shueh holds up the crushed tire of his titanium mountain bike. Left: Bikers ride through the canyons of Moab on a 100-mile mountain bike trip, Oct. 22.

Mountain biking apocalypse, Biker conquers rage in Moab

Jason shueh SHU01005@BYUI.EDU fat-tire guru

Few things in life are truly sacred; one of those things is a man’s mountain bike. You can deprive a man of many things, but you must never touch his mountain bike. That’s why life as I knew it came to an abrupt end Oct. 22 in Moab, Utah, when my Tomac titanium mountain bike was rolled over by a two-and-a-half ton truck. For me, the millennium had come early.

While on a 100-mile biking trip, we had stopped to rest and to look at a red canyon, another empty incomprehensible abyss in a series of Moab’s empty incomprehensible abysses.

I had leaned my bike against the front grill of our support truck; I was going to take a picture. I remember walking away from the truck, hearing the sound of the ignition and turning back. I began to yell. “Stop! Stop!” Our driver could not hear me and all that I could hear was the sound of crunching metal. My bike was destroyed.

I stood over my crumpled bike and thought, “This was supposed to be an epic all-day 100-miler in Moab. This isn’t supposed to happen to God-fearing people. What the heck happened! ” And then, if I could have sworn, I would have, and my words would have been like sweet sultry poetry.

Yet, I was without words. There was silence. How does one describe the loss and rage of watching your favorite golden calf get flattened against slick rock? And this was even worse than that — I didn’t own just any ordinary “golden calf,” mine was made out of titanium, titanium mind you! It was like watching a $5,000 dollar wedding ring go through a grinder.

No one had spoken. I recall just standing, looking downward at my new acquisition of modern art. It was like someone had died. It felt as if the moon had turned to blood, the stars were falling from the heavens and the four horsemen of the apocalypse were doing a jig on top of my kidneys. During out-of-body moments like these, one is forced to choose between two options: turning yourself over to raw animal vengeance or taking the higher road and clenching the iron rod with your teeth. I’m pleased to say I chose the latter option. I “turned the other cheek.” And instead of giving in to emotion I decided to put faith in forgiveness and understanding.

Don’t misunderstand me, I’m not trying to say I’m perfect. I’m only trying to say that sometimes there are bigger things in life — like love, understanding and compassion, like being grateful for family and friends and most of all, for having the all-encompassing security of a comprehensive home owners insurance plan.

The final lesson of the day: all can be forgiven and even a titanium bike can be resurrected; or in the words of the Beatles, “Obla-di, Obla-da, life goes on.”