I have never been a thrill seeker. At the state fair, as a child, I would ride The Scrambler. That was all the adrenaline rush I ever needed. I was content to stick to simpler experiences such as the merry-go-round. I appreciated the predictable. I rode a roller coaster for the first time when I was in high school. I was on a church group trip and we stopped at Six Flags over Georgia. We were divided into buddy groups. The rule was, if you got caught alone anywhere, you had to spend the rest of the day with the youth pastor. I didn’t know until it was too late that my buddy group was loaded with adrenaline junkies. I learned that day that I could survive crazy rides. I actually grew to love roller coasters until I was in my late 20’s when they started messing with my equilibrium. Since then, I will ride crazy things on occasion. I just know afterwards I will look like I’ve been drinking heavily.
Even though I was no adrenaline junkie, sometime in childhood I developed a curiosity about risk. It likely coincided with me taking gymnastics. I discovered that there was such thing as controlled movement that could also bring quite a rush. That type of thrill called to me. One day my brothers invited me to come along to a place in our neighborhood they had been going to with their friends. I had heard them talk about it but until then had never been myself. It was called “The Pit”. Someone had begun the process to build a house and then abandoned it. It was a giant hole in the ground about 6-8 feet deep. About 2/3 of the floor of it held water, but the rightmost third was hard packed red dirt. Right away I was told the most fun thing to do there was drop in on your bike, pedal hard on the flat part, and ramp out of the pit at the far end. That day I just watched. There was a well used path but it wasn’t a straight shot. The ramp at the far end was about 45° to the right from where you dropped in. A bit of steering was required to successfully accomplish the feat without wiping out. I saw several wipe outs while I watched. I learned you had to finesse the ramp a bit. If your front tire hit the base of the incline at the wrong angle… you ate dirt. I also noticed that only boys were attempting it. The wet side of the pit was a bit of a wonderland. Every stage of frogdom could be viewed from tadpole all the way up to the warty thing itself. There were wood scraps placed willy-nilly all around so there were dry wooden paths all through the water that could be used to view all the cool nature-y things happening. The girls pretty much hung out on that side.
The second time I went to “The Pit” I rode up to the edge of the drop in point. I sat there on my pink Huffy Sweet Thunder bicycle and asked myself some very important questions like “Do I want to die today?”. The stakes definitely felt that high. The drop in point from floor to rim was taller than me. It looked like loads of fun. The whole time I had watched before, no one had died. Everyone made it home. Some were dirty and bloody, but everyone left happy. It was the first time in life I remember considering a risk/reward ratio. I didn’t know that was what it was called, but that is what I sat there considering. Also, it was just me and my brothers that day. If I ate dirt, they would be proud that I tried and I would still save face with the neighborhood kids. My brothers weren’t perfect, but they were kind in that regard. They wouldn’t tell a soul. And, one brother raced BMX and gave me lots of pointers. I decided to go for it. It took a while but I finally picked up my feet, dropped in, pedaled hard and successfully navigated myself out the other side on my first try. I don’t know that I have ever been prouder of me than I was in that moment.
“The Pit” became my go-to destination every chance I got. I was addicted to the feeling I got. I dropped in 100’s of times. I even talked a couple more girls into it. We would ride some and count tadpoles some. Those were truly sweet moments of childhood. It was during those days I learned to appreciate X-Games types of events. People on wheels doing stupid stuff makes some sense to me. I get it. The thrill I got on my pink Huffy in a mud hole was enough to convince me they are all having unquantifiable amounts of fun. Eventually, all us kids were run out of there. After about 2 years, they returned and built the house on that spot. I, for one, will never forget the fun we had.
I was thinking about a particular hard thing I need to do when the memory of “The Pit” came to mind. I had not thought of that place in years. I have been considering this particular hard thing for literally years. I finally feel like I’ve been brave enough to ride up to the edge of the drop in point. Maybe you can relate. I find myself asking some very important questions. This time the questions have less to do with my mortality but feel just as important. I am considering the risk/reward ratio of the task. It will be a costly venture in terms of time and energy (my two most protected soft currencies). And, just like at “The Pit”, the reward may only ever be appreciated by me. The decision is mine… drop in or not.
When is the last time you rode up to the edge of one of your life’s drop in points? I am certain we all have them. Some are taller and scarier than others, but they are part and parcel to life. We need a good twist, turn, or change in altitude every once in a while to hold our attention. How we handle our drop in points will ultimately determine our efficacy. We may wipe out, and that is okay. Sometimes, though, we will drop in, pedal hard, and ramp ourselves out of there like a boss. We learn from both. No amount of success is ever gained from avoiding all risk. Sure, some drop in points are worthy of riding away and not looking back. I’m not advocating for blindly jumping into absolutely everything that presents itself as an opportunity. What I am saying is too often we (or maybe it’s just me) miss out because we spend too much time at the edge talking ourselves out of every opportunity.
