That Time I Almost Mountain Biked Into A Bear . . . Again

My husband, Dan, and I recently got home from a two-week road trip in Washington. We spent the last few days of our vacation in Leavenworth where we, of course, did some mountain biking, and I, of course, turned around halfway through one of the trails due to my well-documented acrophobia.

This isn't a post about my fear of heights for once. It's about my second almost-run-in with a bear.

You might remember Dan and I almost got eaten by a bear during our mountain biking adventure in Montana last summer. It kind of happened again.

We were riding one of the upper trails at the ski hill in Leavenworth, and I made it to about here . . .

before I decided to turn around. Once you ride the trail past these trees, you are fairly unprotected from the edge, and you faithful readers know how well I do on those types of hills.

Dan went on to finish the trail without me, and I rode (or walked, depending on the heights situation) my bike back to the bottom of the trail.

While I was walking my bike, I came across a male runner who asked if everything was okay.

"Pssh! Oh yeah," I said with too much confidence. Then I giggled nervously, and he gave me a quizzical look before he continued on his way.

Next, I pulled off to the side as a group of female hikers approached.

"You can go ahead if you want," one of them called up to me.

"I'm waiting for husband," I told them.

"You're the champion!"

"Not really. I turned around. I'm scared of heights," I explained.

"In our books, you're still the champion," the hiker said.

"I'm fine in the trees but once it drops off the hill onto that singletrack . . . " I let my voice trail off so they understood how traumatized I was.

(Maybe this post is more about my acrophobia than I thought.)

"Me too. I can't ride this trail," the hiker said.

Ha! I thought, I'm not the only one who can't finish the trail!

With renewed energy after my chat with the like-minded hiker chicks, I rode down to the lower junction and waited for Dan.

I waited for a while until a panicked female runner caught up with me.

"I just scared a bear off up at the Freund Canyon junction!" she exclaimed. "He crossed right in front of me. I think he probably went the other direction into the canyon, but keep an eye out. I'm letting everyone know."

"My husband was riding up to that junction," I told her.

"What did he look like?" she asked.

I described my Kurt Cobain lookalike husband.

"He should have been on 'For the Boys' all the way up and down," I said.

"Nope, I didn't see him, and I just ran that entire trail."

He wasn't on the trail he was supposed to be on, and he had been gone a while. The remainder of the trail after we parted ways was only a little over two miles out and back.

I rode back to the car. The reception was surprisingly good on the mountain, so I texted Dan.

I also called him and left this totally awesome voicemail.



Another woman in the parking lot noticed that I was dialing the same number over and over and asked if everything was alright.

I told her about a) the bear, b) the fact that Dan had been gone for a while, and c) the fact that the runner hadn't seen him on the trail he was supposed to be riding.

"I wouldn’t worry about the bear. They're pretty gentle around here," she said. "I would worry more that he might have gotten lost on the trail."

"Maybe I should ride back up to the lower junction," I said, or call 911, I thought.

Just then, we spotted a biker on the hill above us.

"There's someone!" she said.

"Woo hoo! That’s him!"

He admitted he had, in fact, made a wrong turn. That's why the runner hadn't seen him, and that's why it took him a while to get back down.

"What? A bear?" Dan said when he checked my text and voicemail, which he found hilarious. "And I missed it?"

I responded with a roll of my eyes.

"You want to ride the lower loop again?" he asked.

"Sure."

So we did. And we still didn't see any bears.

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

RE-POST FROM 6/6/15: My Favorite Summer Activities (and Why I Should Maybe Not Do Them)

The last couple of weeks, I have been off indulging in my "favorite summer activities." I am home but haven't had a chance to update my blog due to post-vacation responsibilities. (I swear I need a vacation from my vacation!) So here is one more week (hopefully only one) of blog re-posting. Enjoy this entry from 2015!

I love the summer, and I love my favorite outdoorsy activities. But I'm not tough or gutsy. And I am getting less tough and gutsy the older I get. (I just turned thirty-eight yesterday.) In fact, celebrating another birthday, inching me closer to forty, got me thinking: Maybe I shouldn't do these things anymore.

My husband, Dan, and I see lots of people older than we are doing all sorts of crazy outdoorsy stuff. We live in Idaho after all, and people around here would wrestle grizzly bears if you'd let them. But we've already established that I'm not tough or gutsy like those people. I am, however, a five-foot-three bundle of entertainment during my ventures into mother nature.

1. Hiking
I love hiking, but . . .

I am deathly afraid of heights. If you have been reading my blog for a while, you have probably seen the infamous Becky-breaks-down-on-the-trail video. Unfortunately, this is not the only heights-induced breakdown I have had.

And I don't want to run into bears . . . ever. From what I've heard, it's inevitable. You keep hanging out in nature, you will encounter a bear eventually.

2. Mountain Biking
I love mountain biking, but . . .

Dan's doctor can't believe that, as an avid mountain biker, he hasn't broken any bones yet. It just goes with the territory. You keep mountain biking, you will break a bone. I don't want to break anything. And I'm sure as I approach forty that my bones are not what they used to be. I already know I don't heal as quickly as I used to.

And I still don't want to run into bears.

Oh, and the heights thing. I've had a few mountain biking meltdowns that (thankfully) have not been captured on video.

3. Trail Running 
I love trail running in Boise, but . . .

As I get older, I'm noticing weird aches and pains that don't go away quickly. And I have heard many I-used-to-run-but-my-knees stories from people about ten years my senior.

Cougars are scary too, and they love coming down from the foothills onto the trails in our city.

One time, this thing crossed my path, and I didn't freak out too bad.

I don't like snakes either, and they hang out on the trails all the time.

But . . .

Last summer, a runner passed me and warned me about a snake on the path, and I was like, "Is it a rattlesnake?" and the runner was like, "No," and I was like, "I got this."

And just a few weeks ago, I was running with my girls' group at school, and some of the girls started squealing about a snake on the trail. I stood beside the snake and directed the girls around it, kind of like, "Nothing to see here. Move along."

So . . . maybe I'm tougher than I think.

Or maybe I should just stick to my other favorite summer pastimes: Reading and blogging.

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

Being an Adult is Stupid (RE-POST FROM 7/30/16)

Here is a blog post from last summer that still rings true. Enjoy this reread from 7/30/16.

Being an adult is overrated, I decided after writing last week's blog post. Yes, I set the oven on fire, but my awesome adulting skills don't end there.

BEING AN ADULT AT THE GAS STATION
Gas stations, for instance, can be a pain in the ass. I tend to forget what side my gas tank is on even though I have driven my car for six years.

Once, I forgot what side the tank was on at a very small station with very tight pumps. I started to pull into one of these very tight spots. Then I thought, Wait! The gas tank's on the passenger side! As soon as I had managed to turn the car around, I remembered the tank was, in fact, on the driver side. I banged my head against the steering wheel a few times and attempted to turn the car around again when a guy on the other side of the pump tapped on my window.

"I'm done. You don't have to turn your car again. You can just pull around to the other side."

He was so nice, like he really felt sorry for me, that I didn't even have the heart to act huffy and embarrassed by my unintentional damsel-in-distress image.

"Thank you so much," with a sheepish grin is all I could muster.

Another time, I couldn't get my credit card to work at one of the pumps. I was about ready to either a) go inside the station or b) give up and go to another station to avoid going inside this station when one of my colleagues pulled up to the pump next to mine.

"Hi, Becky!"

"Hi," I grumbled. "I can't get this stupid pump to take my card. This isn't the first time. I think I'm going to leave."

"Here, let me try," she said and got it to work on the first try.

BEING AN ADULT AT THE GROCERY STORE
By the time I make it into the supermarket, my hands full with my grocery list, reusable bags, and produce sacks, I'm lucky I don't bite the heads off of the five billion clerks who ask me if I need help finding something just because I spend twenty minutes comparing labels.

The last time I went to the grocery store, I thought I was doing a good job avoiding helpful clerks. This one worker kept following me around, but I was able to move faster than her as I ducked in and out of the narrow aisles. It turned out she was following me because my reusable grocery bags had fallen off the bottom of my cart.

"I think these fell off your basket at the front of the store. Are they yours?" she asked breathlessly after chasing me down.

BEING AN ADULT AT THE COFFEE SHOP
Last week, I ordered a vanilla latte. I hadn't drunk a flavored latte in forever.

"Wow, this vanilla is really strong," I said. "I had forgotten how sweet flavored lattes are."

I lifted the lid to sop up the foam and discovered absolutely no espresso in my vanilla latte.

"No wonder I don't feel very alert."

Instead of taking it back and demanding a new one like an adult, I went about my business. Who has time for that anyway?

Sad, though. If you've been a faithful reader of my blog, you know how much I love my coffee.

BACK TO THE OVEN THING
After I set the oven on fire, I figured out this is why no one wants me to cook for them.

The night I set the oven on fire, a lady in a black SUV got angry with me as I drove to rehearsal. She was waving her arms at me by the time we exited I-84. I guess she was upset she couldn't get in front of me at some point on the interstate before the exit.

"Give me a break, lady. I just set my dinner on fire!" I said through our closed windows.

"What did you cook tonight? Did you burn anything down?" a friend of mine asked me the next day.

"I stayed away from the oven," I mumbled.

However, my track record is getting better. I used and didn't break our food processor or our espresso machine this week. I also roasted potatoes in the oven on Sunday.

And guess what? I didn't set anything on fire.

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

Fear of Heights Strikes Again (RE-POST FROM 7/25/15)

This blog post was originally published on July 25, 2015. Enjoy your rereading experience! 

I have an issue with heights. Most of you know this already. My husband, Dan, is aware of this as well, but he still tricks me into situations that involve heights from time to time. In fact, Dan lured me into one of these predicaments over July 4th weekend.

"There's this cool waterfall past Trail Creek Summit. It's only a mile hike, and it has wheelchair access. It would be a nice leisurely trail before we head back to Boise. We should go," Dan said from our hotel room in Sun Valley.

Little did I know that "past Trail Creek Summit" meant driving a winding gravel road, over one thousand feet in elevation, with no railings protecting the sides. On the way up, I started to dread our return. I knew I would be the one dangling over the edge of the cliff that I could see out the driver's window as we crept up the mountain.

I was right. Coming back down was horrifying. During the times I dared peek out from between my fingers, it looked as though there was not even a lip of road protecting me from falling into the green and golden depths below.

As we drove down the gravel road, my meltdown started with me covering my eyes.

"Look at how pretty it is though," Dan said.

Pretty soon, my face was buried in my hands.

Dan had a difficult time hiding his amusement.

A few moments later, I turned my body away from the window and started bawling.

By this time, he was a little more sympathetic, "Oh no, Becky, don't cry," but he couldn't completely hide his amused grin.

Cars drove by us in the opposite direction. Each time, Dan had to pull over closer to the edge in order to let them pass us on the narrow road.

Once, we stopped by a group of motorcyclists, who were enjoying the view at one of the scenic overlooks and who didn't look at all bothered by the fact that they could easily stumble into the valley below. They did take a moment to stare at me though, the crazy passenger crying in the 4Runner driving past them.

"Oh no, this is embarrassing!" I moaned through my fingers.

I can't prove how horrendous this experience was because I have no pictures from the actual drive. All of our pictures during that trip were taken on flat land at the waterfall.

Later, Dan told me with a sigh, "I wish we could have stopped and gotten a picture, but that would have really sent you over the edge."

Asking myself, "Is the waterfall worth it?"

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That Time I Was Wonder Woman

After I saw Wonder Woman, I basically became her. I don't know if it was the power of suggestion or what, but after I saw the movie for my fortieth birthday, I was kind of a superhero for the next few days.

First of all, I rescued a dog. Second of all, I rescued a woman who fell off her bike. See what I mean? Wonder Woman. Third of all, I rocked at mountain biking.

Princess the Dog
I was in the neighborhood park, finishing up a run, when I spotted the cutest dog wandering by herself, no owner in sight. She padded up to me and sniffed around long enough to check her collar. It read "Princess," and it listed an out-of-state phone number and a street address I didn't recognize.

She continued to skip around the pond, while I waited to see if someone would claim her. No one did, so I picked her up and took her home. She ran around in the backyard while I called the number on her collar. It was a Utah number.

"That's my dog," the owner said, "but we have friends in Boise who are watching her while we are on vacation."

I wrote down the address, walking distance from my house. I let Princess out of the backyard, and she proceeded to sit in the middle of our street.

"You can't do that, silly girl!" I said. "You'll get run over!"

I scooped Princess up again and walked her to the address the owner had given me.

Princess was quite content to be carried around the neighborhood. She turned her head and growled in a noncommittal way once as we walked by another dog with his owner. Other than that, she lay in my arms, her hind legs sprawled out comfortably.

As we approached the neighbors' house, I heard children's voices calling out, "PRINCESS!"

Princess didn't even start at the mention of her name.

"I think that's you," I told her.

She looked at me and almost seemed to shrug.

I found out from these neighbors that Princess had been getting out of the backyard all week.

"We've reinforced the fence," the woman, a harried mother holding an infant while two young kids circled about, said. "We can't even get out of our backyard, but Princess can!"

She also told me her friend, Princess's owner, was in Hawaii on vacation.

"She's been called four times," my neighbor said. "She knows to pick up any '208' number."

"How much longer are you watching Princess?"

"A week and a half," she looked at the dog. "We're going to have to lock you up in the garage or something."

Princess looked at us agreeably and wagged her tail. 

Bike Rescue
Later that week, I was finishing up yet another run in the same park, when a woman, probably in her early seventies, crashed her bike on the sidewalk.

"I'm okay!" she called out from underneath her bike.

I rushed over to her, along with her two riding buddies, also women in their early seventies.

"I just need to untangle myself."

I lifted the bike off of her (my Wonder Woman moment). She sat up, but she mentioned she may have rolled her ankle.

"It might be a bit more swollen than the other one," I said. I couldn't actually tell.

Her friend and I helped her up. She tried not put any weight on her foot but was able to get back on her bike.

"I think I can ride better than I can walk," she said.

I hope I can be that resilient in my seventies. I've been known to cry at much less when it comes to crashing my bike. (Not very Wonder Woman-like, I'll admit.)

Speaking of Biking . . .
Last weekend, after two days of Wonder Woman-esque mountain biking, I picked up our bike lock extension and started swinging it around.

"I think this should be my Lasso of Truth," I told my husband, Dan.

I was feeling confident about my Wonder Woman abilities after I had rocked some tricky (for me), technical trails.

"Your lasso hangs over there with bike lock when you're done with it," Dan said, gesturing toward the garage wall. 

Seriously. If I'm going to be Wonder Woman, I need one of those lasso thingies for my students this fall.

Digression
Has anyone ever noticed the similarity between the Wonder Woman and Weezer logos?

 

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