The girl, the moose and the lost keys

Today’s post was supposed to be about how, near the end of our weekly Wednesday night ride last night, Aaron and I had to don our arm warmers for the final downhill.  And about how that was the first time I had done so since sometime in May, and how doing so signified the end of summer and the onset of autumn.  That’s what it was supposed to be about, but that was before we saw the girl pushing her bike downhill, and the moose, and the guy who lost his keys. 

The girl
Our ride had taken us up Millcreek Canyon, down the Ridge Connector trail to Park City’s Mid-Mountain trail, which we rode for a bit before turning around and returning the way we came.  Near the top of the Ridge Connector we came upon a girl pushing her bike—downhill.  And she looked exhausted.

Normally when we see somebody trailside working on their bike we stop to check if we can help.  We’ve fixed flats, adjusted brakes and tuned shifting for countless people on the trail.  One time Leif and I spent an hour reassembling some kid’s rear derailleur.  But last night when we saw the girl pushing her bike downhill toward Park City we figured she knew where she was going.  We wish we had stopped, she wishes we had too. 

The moose
One mile later we came around a bend and came upon a moose and a calf standing right on our trail.  We stopped and considered our options.  A third rider joined us and we decided we weren’t going to get the moose and her calf to move so we walked our bikes up and around them, keeping at least 30 yards away.  The cow watched us the entire way, and took a couple of steps toward us once or twice, but she let us get by. 

The lost keys
Another mile later we came upon another guy going uphill.  He asked us if we had seen his friend, the girl we saw pushing her bike. Aaron and I stopped and told him what we knew, that she was still heading toward Park City, that she looked pretty beat, and about the moose (what’s the correct plural of moose? Meese?).  He (Jared) told us that she (Amber) had missed a turn and in the meantime he had somehow lost his keys.

As we were considering what to do we heard Amber coming down the trail.  She was crying.  No, she was sobbing hysterically.  Jared went to comfort her and Aaron and I decided to skedaddle rather than witness the awkward exchange. 

It all comes together
Then on our way down we realized that Amber and Jared still weren’t out of the woods yet, so to speak. It was dark by then, and they had no lights.  It was getting cold (remember that this post was supposed to be about me putting my arm warmers on?) and they didn’t have keys to their truck.  So Aaron and I turned around and started back up the trail.

When we found Amber she was with three other bikers with lights, but they didn’t know where Jared was.  Amber showed us why she had been crying.  She had tried to walk around the moose like we had, but the cow had charged her and actually kicked her on the back of the leg.

Fortunately Amber was able to get her bike between her and the moose and get away.  I wonder why the moose charged Amber and not us.  Was Amber too close?  Or was it because she was alone and we had numbers?  Or had we exhausted the moose’s patience?

Jared showed up a minute later with a twisted chain that had kept him from riding his bike.  He would have to coast or push his bike all the way down.  The three bikers with lights continued their ride up the trail and the four of us started down with one little light among us.  It was mountain biking by Braille.

Eventually the three bikers with lights returned to light our way and we all made it down safely.  Amber said she still loves mountain biking.  You can read her version of the story here.