The entire night I could not sleep, I was too excited. I was offered a trip to the Poto Trail in Chelsea, Michigan that I simply could not turn down. These people- my friends, were advanced level bike riders. Their equipment was several thousands of dollars, and made of the finest stuff in the seven seas. Me? I was loading up my five-hundred dollar, twenty-nine inch trail bike. Though I did not know it, I barely stood a chance. The drive up was full of food and laughs, as everybody was stuffing their face before the big ride. Songs buzzed in and out of speakers, as barrages of “play this!” and “play that!” did not give them the luxury of being listened to the fullest. Several catchy tunes and uncompleted songs later, we had arrived.

Eleven o’ clock. Fall. The air was chilly and humid. There was not a single cloud in the sky. The sun was rising just below its peak, warming my face and hands. The air smelled earthy, like grass and freshly packed dirt. In every step, I could hear the crunch of crisp autumn leaves. The woods were full of sounds: the chirping of the birds, humming of the bugs, swaying of the trees, and the most audible: the obnoxious buzzing of cicadas. Everybody began swapping clothes, filling camelbaks, and tuning their bicycles. I retreated to the bathroom, as I had no idea how to tune a bike, and did not want to look like for fool for doing so. The bathroom struck me as more of an outhouse. It was a tall, rectangular shape, made of dark wood with the classic crescent moon carved on the front. The roof was made of grey shingles, ripped and torn from weather and years of decay. Dark, green moss had began to grow on the roof. If a bear jumped out at me when I opened the door, I would not have been surprised at all.

Moments after I returned, the ride was underway. Straight from the get-go, I knew something was going to go wrong. For once in my life, I was feeling uneasy. Huge roots and upturned rocks turned my front wheel in every direction. The distinct *clang* of my chain could be heard every second. As this was going on, I was falling further and further behind from my friends. Under the perfect hair, white teeth, galactic eyes, long eyelashes, tan skin, toned abs, defined muscles, crisp smile, and raised eyebrow, lied a man who had no idea what he had gotten himself into. Was this really any different though? My whole life, my overconfidence has been putting me into situations that were really unfavorable to me. This, was no change. This trail was clearly labeled “Advanced Level.” Despite knowing that, my overconfidence had put me on my bike with my advanced level friends.

We finally hit a flowy patch, and I could feel the wind on my face as I sped down the trail. Rocks, roots, and everything associated with the earth jolted my every travelled inch. The air smelled earthy and had a musty feel to it. In every breath I could taste fall’s leaves. My daydreaming was ended by a sharp turn in the handlebars. Almost in slow motion, my body flew above the seat, and over my twisted bars. I hit the ground with a hard thump, and felt a sharp pain in my head. I stood, dizzy, and gazed upon the machine in front of me. The tire was folded like a taco, and the handlebars were completely beheaded. Our ride was well and truly, over.