Cycle Therapy

When I pull up beside Damo, he lays it on me like you would a thick slab of beef on a sizzling grill. "If you want to try it again, I don't mind waiting," he says.

"Yeah, sure dude, easy for you to say," I retort to a riding buddy who's: a) a killer rider; and b) already cleaned the stunt we now stand below.

"C'mon man," continues Damo, "It's not that hard. You can do it."

I look back up at a narrow log ride to a six-foot huck with a minimal transition and scant room for error. We're on a trail called "The Gimp," and this move is looking fairly Gimpish to me. Of course, Damo nailed it with flow and panache, as he does most stunts. I, however, wobbled off the side of the log ride, missing the huck but content to continue down the trail with neither bruised nor battered ego. I didn't pass the prerequisite to toss carcass, thus I feel no shame in passing it by. Unfortunately, the same can't be said for Damo.

"Dude, I think you should go hit that," he says, unsatisfied with my weak excuse for a bail. "You've got it...don't be a pussy."

Now, if Damo weren't my physical therapist I'd probably tell him to go get a size 2.5 knobular enema--in fact, I could give him one myself if he'd like. But he's the guy who heals me when I'm hurt, and he's gearing me like he did when my back was worked-with authority, like a dictator almost. Really, it seems I have no other choice. Any other riding buddy and I'd go ahead and say, "Sorry bud, not feeling it today, worry about your own freakin' riding." But with Damo, somehow it's different.

So the next thing you know I'm back at the top of the log ride, trying to visualize myself sticking an off camber landing on rocks and lose dirt with sturdy conifers lining the landing zone like Roman sentries on the walk into the gladiator pit. Talk about bowing to peer pressure. And there's Damo down below the jump, barking back tips about what I should and shouldn't do...bastard.

"Preload your suspension slightly right before take off, so you get a nice clean lift for the landing," he yelps.

And there I am, all into it, like I'm back at the clinic, listening intently to Damo as he's got me doing another one of those ridiculous balance exercises. So, like the eager-to-please, overly obedient patient would, I drop in on the log ride. I'm so focused on the upcoming huck that the narrow, winding bridgework of the Gimp doesn't faze me, and the next thing I know my suspension is twanking and my biceps are bouncing as I hoot and holler my way down my supposed "healer."

"Nice work, man," says Damo with a slight, smirky smile, not nearly excited as I. "You should be hitting that stuff all the time," he says, almost mad at me for making such a big deal out of something that obviously didn't deserve it. And while I'm fairly pumped that I hit the jump, I'm also becoming aware of the game Damo might be playing.

"You low on clients?" I inquire at the next stunt he seems equally intent on getting me to ride. "I know I haven't been in to see you in awhile, but jeez man, don't you think this is a little desperate?"

"Yeah, times are tough," Damo replies with a rolling chuckle. "I'm gonna get you on one of these rides."

But as the summer progresses and Damo and I continue to ride together; for some reason my confidence and riding ability increase. At every stunt and air we pass on Nelson's more technical offerings--trails like Bed Frame and Burl Ives and the infamous Gimp--he'd stop and turn back to make sure I was doing my "exercises," i.e. riding and tossing my meaty matter in the name of "rehab."

And to this day I don't know what it was. Maybe he was looking for business. Maybe it was out of the goodness of his heart. I'm not sure. All I know is my riding got better and I haven't had to book an appointment...yet. It's funny how your buddies can push you to greater heights, how the collective can encourage. And when it's your physical therapist there are added bonuses. I mean, if I did stack it on his encouragement how could he not give me a deal? Maybe throw a few treatments in for free, treat other patients because I was now all-important. I mean, really, that would be the fair thing to do. Don't you think?