(n) The olympics of flailing, as in, flailing so epically it should be considered an art form, and judged thusly.
I propose that we begin the flailympics. Mainly because I would win. See, when I ride my bike on trails that are hard, I have one of two mindsets:
1. Just roll over it
2. Are you sure? Yeah, ok.
Which leaves no room for “oh shit, you’re not gonna make it”. So when that inevitably happens… I flail. Thanks to my super sweet new super light carbon fork
this flailing almost always includes lifting up the front end and dancing around a bit, before realizing I cannot, in fact, unclip my feet. Thus, flailing turns to falling, hopefully not on a big rock or tree stump (although sometimes that happens too).
I would contend, however, that flailing is useful. To me, at least it means I’m trying things that are just a bit outside my comfort zone. Better to have tried and f(l)ailed that to have not tried at all, right? Plus, eventually the flailing turns to flying over logs and branches I never would have even considered riding. So, really, it’s progress. It’s just rarely pretty.