Jim Mitchell

I wish I had pictures of the Middlesex Fells, but at the time it was just a nearby place to go biking.

I'd been mountain biking there a few times, riding from our apartment in Medford, when I finally convinced Suzette to go biking with me.

It took about ten minutes of riding through neighborhood streets to get to the preserve. Suzette had a water bottle, but no keys since she didn't have any pockets. I had the keys in my backpack, along with a spare tube and a small pump. Once at the preserve, the streets turned into a narrow dirt trail between the trees. The bright sunshine turned into dappled patterns coming through the branches.

It was a nice easy ride until Suzette pulled up for a drink of water. I yelled that I was just riding along a little further to look around the corner. After about fifty yards, I turned my bike around and rode back to where I'd left Suzette. She wasn't there. I'd worked hard to convince her to go mountain biking with me and I'd lost her.

I rode frantically down three or four side trails off the main loop, hurrying in case Suzette passed me on the main trail while I was searching a dead end. Finally, having backtracked along the main loop and checked the side trails I raced on around the loop, hoping to catch up to her. Hoping didn't do any good, because even pushing the pedals until my legs were aching didn't give a glimpse of Suzette, who I was sure must be still ahead of me. I was dreading her anger when she made it home without me and couldn't get back in the apartment because I had the keys.

I finished the five mile loop in the Middlesex Fells and made it all the way to the apartment without seeing Suzette. She finally showed up at home about forty-five minutes later, a little upset that I'd seen fit to just "take off."