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I’ve spent a lot of time wrapped in spandex cranking off the miles on my road bike. What might be monotony for some became a form of therapy for a guy that seemed to have finally found the right use of his long, light frame and decent motor.

Over the last couple decades my mileage has probably reached 5-figures, but the pace at which I’ve increased that total has slowed quite a bit since moving to Utah. A little bit of knee pain on long rides combined with narrow shoulders (and Utahns who drive massive trucks) finally led me to buy a mountain bike a few years back.

And while my suffering abilities come in handy on the flats and uphills, I was woefully unprepared for how uncertain I’d feel once I let gravity take over.

Around this same time resorts in Utah started upping their game when it comes to lift-served bike parks and the list of resorts offering this experience quickly grew. Powder Mountain went from a few cross country trails to a growing collection of big berms and jumps. Solitude started building a set of beautiful new downhill trails and Brighton followed shortly after.

Despite this full spread of options, I balked for one simple reason.

I was super intimidated.

Virtually all of the bike park marketing I had encountered featured amazing drone shots of riders ripping through the trees, glossy photos of someone laying it way over on a massive berm, or groups of bikers lapping jump lines with each one doing their own little whip or trick off each one. These visuals were amazing to look at but they were also scaring the 41 year old wimp that I am.

It’s not that I never see the occasional beginner-focused campaign or signage for first timers, I simply didn’t see that sort of thing enough trust there really was a place for people like me that in the world.

The vibes were very similar to what I felt when I tried to become a beginner skier:

• That feeling of being in the way of everyone else
• That worry of doing it wrong and looking dumb
• That anxiety of low confidence when everyone else is so comfortable

That all changed last week.

We’d ended a little weekend getaway with a morning at Solitude so out kids could fuel their bungee-trampoline habits. I was getting over a cold and didn’t have much in the tank so my day was largely spent lounging in the sunshine watching bikers finish their runs and load the lift. At first, most of the riders I saw were just like what I’d seen in the campaigns: super talented, fast, and decked out in all the right gear. But as the day went on, the average skill level continued to drop. More and more…well…normal people started showing up on bikes that looked like mine, wearing clothes that looked like mine, and going speeds that look like mine.

After watching these groups finish lap after lap, this realization finally penetrated the brain fog from my head cold:

Hey, if they can do it…I can do it.

Just like that, I went from being terrified of entering this world to being really excited to give it a try. If I hadn’t felt like a puddle of snot-nosed mush I probably would have rented a bike right then and there.

I’ve spent enough of my life around mountains and this industry that it’s rare for me to feel out of place like I have with biking. Yet, here I was feeling exactly that. Something tells me I’m not alone, not by a long shot. These people are intrigued but intimidated. Interested but overwhelmed. Fascinated by afraid. Wanting to fit in but self aware enough to know they’ll stand out.

All it took for me to overcome this was seeing people like me on the mountain enough times for it to finally click.

About Gregg & SlopeFillers
I've had more first-time visitors lately, so adding a quick "about" section. I started SlopeFillers in 2010 with the simple goal of sharing great resort marketing strategies. Today I run marketing for resort ecommerce and CRM provider Inntopia, my home mountain is the lovely Nordic Valley, and my favorite marketing campaign remains the Ski Utah TV show that sold me on skiing as a kid in the 90s.