JUST ANOTHER DAY MOUNTAINBOARDING
by Ryan Saunders

“Watch out for that cactus,” Sean reminds me as I click into my bindings.

 
“Thanks,” I laugh as I remember the small cactus at the edge of the drop that would began my descent. The thought of getting snagged in the leg right as I drop onto the firebreak road below wouldn‘t make for a very good start, “I’ll do my best.”

 
I finish with my bindings and stand up straight facing the thin dirt trail ahead of me. The trail, after only a few feet turned slightly to the left and then shot straight for the edge of a small cliff about four to five feet high. Below the drop was the dusty firebreak road that carved itself into the hillside and wound downward for a good mile and a half.


 
“Hold up!” shouts Sean from below. Then, in a more quiet tone, “We got a biker coming.” As much as I would love to see the look on the oncoming biker’s face as I drop over the edge right in front of him, I felt it best to approach the situation more responsibly. I dusted off the little patience I could find inside of me, mixed it with a hit of common courtesy and waited for the biker to pass. With the sport of mountainboarding being almost completely unknown in my little corner of Southern California, I do my best to prevent any negative collateral damage of the beautifully chaotic sport I’ve come to love.

 
“How’s it going?” I hear Sean say to the man as he slowly peddles up the hill.

 
“Good.” he replies as he starts to come into my view, “You plan on going down with that thing,” he says to Sean motioning to his board.

 
“That’s the plan,” Sean answers, politely stating the obvious.

 
“Huh.” The man says looking as if he couldn’t decided if he should be concerned or intrigued.

He noticed me soon after for the first time. Glancing at the board strapped to my feet, my helmet and pads strapped tight and then to the small cliff below. From his mouth he said nothing, but from his face he seemed to simply say, “Why.” There are some that just can’t grasp the concept of mountainboarding, they just can’t figure out what drives us, what inspires us, what could possibly make us decide that a good day is a day that starts with a cliff drop and a possible mouth full of dust.
 

As he passes clear of my landing a smile stretches across my face. I soak in my surroundings to calm my nerves and channel my excitement. The ocean stretches across the horizon reflecting the afternoon sun against its waters. The heat of the day ripples the air in the distance. A light smell of dirt from the dry dusty road below drifts slowly into my senses. It’s a good smell. Perhaps not on a normal day, but on a mountainboarding day it’s a thing of beauty.




It’s time. I hop my board ninety degrees so it faces forward down the trail. Gravity greets me with it’s invisible smile as I barrel down the path and over the thin roots of the surrounding bushes. I lean slightly to take the turn and now the drop is just ahead. The world slows down around me and seems to grow quiet. I stomp my back end into the dirt below and lean hard and quick to align myself with the cliffs edge. The firebreak road comes into focus below, I hop off the edge just short of the cactus. The drop is smooth, my balance feels right, the ground is coming fast. Sean appears to doubt my landing because he’s running to get out of the way. I land with a slight tweak but I recover somehow and the ride begins.

 
I blow out a breath of air that I was unintentionally holding and the adrenaline rush lessens slightly. Behind me I hear Sean yelling something in excitement but I can’t quite make out what he says. The sound of my wheels tearing across the dirt below and sliding over the occasional spots of gravel and rock are all I hear as I slash my way down the path.

 
Reaching a straight section I glace back to watch the huge dust trail raging behind me. From it explodes Sean as he hops over a deep rut in the road. His red bandana covering his face to keep him from eating more dust then he needs to. I face forward again and slash up the side of the dirt wall to my left, then back down onto the path (a little surf influence from the California Coasts). My cut back allows time for Sean to catch up some.

 
The road levels out some and allows for some slower more chill riding. I carve wide to allow Sean to take the lead. This is his favorite type of riding. He’s not so much into the high speed, dirt tossing carves, and adrenaline pumping recklessness. He’s more into the flow of the ride; relaxed, gentle carves that let you really feel the ride under your feet.

 
Sean begins a series of picture perfect carves. Left, right, left, right. He breaks free of the carving for a moment, just long enough to run his hand through the tall grass that lines the right side of the road. The slower riding allows time for the senses to pull in more details of the moment. The wind against my face feels more like a breeze now instead of the loud, violent thrashing it carried just moments before. The ocean, the sky, a hawk soaring overhead. The day seems peaceful and quiet.

 
As we round the corner I see the path ahead seem to drop. A steep section lies ahead of us ready to disrupt our almost dream-like state. Sean uses a few sharp carves to kill his speed a little as we near the edge. I can’t help but smile a little as the wind whistling through my helmet begins to get louder. The chill, while enjoyable, left me with slight energy build up and I was anxious to release it.

 
Tearing past Sean I gain speed with each rotation of my dirt hungry tires. Narrow carves keep my speed where I want it. My eyes dart from place to place as I try my best to take in any upcoming obstacles that might be waiting for me. Ahead, the road veers to the left against a nice embankment of dirt. I envision myself slashing it as I take the corner. It seems like a great idea and soon I‘m there.



 
Bad angle! Soft dirt! My front wheels plunge into the ground and stop suddenly. I fly up onto the embankment and roll for several feet before coming to a stop. My heart still pounding I find myself in a ball of dust that is slowly falling back to the ground. I sit up and do a quick check. My protective gear seems to have done its job and soon I’m back on my feet.

 
Sean slides to a stop next to the crash site. “Nice one,” he says, watching as I wipe the dirt from my eyes.

 
“Thanks,” I laugh.

 
Pulling a water bottle from my backpack, I attempt to rinse some of the dirt from my mouth. From the embankment I can see out over the ocean not far from us. A light breeze drifts by and in the distance I notice a sailboat on the water. “A nice day for to go sailing,” I think to myself as I watch the sun reflect off the wind filled sails. My thoughts wander for a moment.

 
Turning to Sean I notice he’s still on his board. His gaze fixed not on the beautiful scenery, but on the dirt path ahead. He’s ready to go, ready to mountainboard. My thoughts of sailing over the smooth surface of the water dissolve as I grab my board and strap back in. I feel a trickle of excitement flow through me as I hear the last click of my bindings. It’s then I realize that while the sailor on the water might be having the best time of his life, for me, I’m right where I want to be. Dirt in my mouth, a board under my feet, and a seemingly endless road twisting downward, couldn’t ask for a better day of mountainboarding.