My husband (Lee) has wanted me to go mountain biking with him for years. Two Christmases ago, we bought a bike for me and enjoyed biking together often last summer.
Lee likes mountain biking for the adrenaline rush; I like mountain biking for the fresh air and awe-inspiring views. He likes speed and pushing himself to his limits; I like a steady pace I can maintain for a long time with lots of stops to enjoy the sights and smells of God’s handiwork.
By God’s grace, we found plenty of trails and routes to enjoy together throughout the summer and made many happy memories. But Lee continually expressed his desire to take me up Shattered, a single-track, up-only bike trail that leads to the top of Moose Mountain, one of the most popular local mountain biking sites. Shattered climbs 1,374 feet by seemingly endless switchbacks covering 2.6 miles. At a fairly consistent 10% grade from bottom to top, it’s steep, and the highest point is at an altitude of 6,291 feet above sea level. To return to the base of the mountain, bikers must reach another trail that allows downhill riding from the top.
Despite the 26 rides I’ve successfully completed this year, I consider myself a rookie rider. I have yet to master many skills required to keep up with my husband, and despite consistent gym workouts for the past 10 months, my fitness level remains woefully below his. Shattered is legendary among local mountain biking enthusiasts as a significant challenge for riders of any experience level, so naturally, I was not eager to attempt this beast of a climb.
However, the weather was perfect for biking one late fall weekend, and I knew Lee would be thrilled to help me conquer this looming nemesis. I agreed to try it, and Lee assured me we’d take lots of breaks during our climb. He pointed out that we were not racing to the top, so we could go as slowly as I needed to.
Indeed, we took lots of breaks. And indeed, we moved slowly.
Even before we begin climbing Shattered, we must ride along a gravel service road from the parking lot to the base of the trail. This is a “gentle” climb that serves as a highly effective warm-up. I was glisteningly warm when we reached the Shattered trailhead.
After a brief hydration break and a motivating pep talk from my coach-husband, we began our ascent. I was surprised by the climb’s steepness and the switchbacks’ sharpness, but I could manage it. Lee promised the first part of the trail was the hardest.
About 25 minutes into our adventure, I was already tuckered out and thought we must be halfway to the top. Lee looked up our location on his trail app. When he informed me that we were just over a quarter of the way to the top, I was instantly discouraged.
Lee gave me a choice—turn back or continue and reevaluate at another rest stop further up the mountain. I didn’t want to quit so early in the day. I love biking with my husband, and I expected to enjoy some spectacular views at the top, if not at some points along the way. Since Lee graciously committed to sticking with me no matter how long I needed for this grand, impossible endeavor, I decided to keep going.
Not long after we resumed our journey, other groups of bikers passed us every few minutes, shouting greetings and motivational comments like:
“Why do we do this to ourselves?”
“I sure hope this is worth it in the end!”
“Are we crazy for putting ourselves through this?”
They grinned as they pedalled while I panted and plodded and prayed for endurance. At one point, I decided that no view could be worth this torture. My hope shifted from a magnificent vista to the comfort of home.
Eventually, I ran out of steam and dismounted. For the last half of the climb, I walked. I continued to climb solely because there was only one way back down the mountain—another trail that begins at the top.
Finally, after an hour and 37 minutes, we reached the top. My fatigue was so all-consuming I almost missed the spectacular view. After a few moments of recovery, we began our descent. We were back at the parking lot in half an hour.
Back home, I soaked my aching body in a hot shower, asked Lee to order takeout for dinner, and collapsed onto the couch for the rest of the day.
So, was it worth it? Was the view worth the climb? Was the adventure worth the physical toll? Honestly, I don’t know. My husband—bless his heart—praised my effort and suggested that I may feel weak, but I’m stronger because of the struggle. Maybe. Indeed, the eerie silence at the top of the mountain was precious to me after living for two years smack dab in the middle of a noisy construction zone in a big city. And surveying the valley and foothills, bedazzled with brilliant autumn leaves, from our lofty vantage point certainly stirred my heart to worship our Creator. But there are other ways to grow stronger, experience silence, and wonder at God’s masterful design.
There have been times in my life and ministry when I wondered if the struggle was worthwhile, when the pain and exhaustion were so deep and intense that I thought it would break me. Actually, I think it did break me sometimes.
A friend once asked me about a particularly traumatic experience I endured—”Why do you think God allowed you to go through that? What did you learn? What did you gain?” My truthful answer was, “I have no idea.” To this day, I still have unanswered questions about that season of my life, and I may not get answers on this side of heaven.
But this I know: God was with me, sustaining, comforting, and guiding me through it all. He is the promise and prize for perseverance. He is my hope—a hope that does not disappoint (Romans 5:5). He is worth everything.
When you face a metaphorical mountain you feel unable to climb, how might you shift your focus from the impossible peak to the presence of God?
“Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ… forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus (Philippians 3:8, 13b–14)
