The Journey Of Santa Barbara

“I- i think i'm fine , it’s not that big of a deal “ i reply trying to sound as normal as possible .

Picture this: You're out biking with your friends, at no frills picking up some pop and chips. You finish your food and then you start biking around. You and your friends decide you want to go to your house but to get to your house you have to go up a really steep hill. So you guys decide to go up. So you start pedaling up the really steep and long hill. As you're about halfway up the hill you look behind you and there's a "sketchy" guy right behind you and you and your friends don't want to take any chances. so you pedal faster and faster and faster. once you get up the hill 5 minutes later you are REALLY sweaty and your feet are so numb you can't step off your bike without falling right head first into the hard solid cement. so a couple minutes

"I am sorry," she said heavily. "Sometimes I can overact. Having help would make things easier." She shuffled her feet a bit as she finished her

Days later, she and Doris begin their ride to Santa Barbara. The bike route is beautiful, but bicycling on unfamiliar terrain is scary and grueling on her body and psyche. She vows never to do anything like this

‘Thanks for rescuing my clothes,’ I say, and tug at my wrinkled skirt, trying to cover my thighs.

Francisco’s journey started out in the town of Compostela, with 300 Spaniards and around 1,000 indians and servants at his command. The journey was supposed to be easy, minimal casualties, and food was easily accessible, but that was far from the case. The fellow explorers had no idea of what was to come, the idea of huge profits was their, and Francisco’s, drive. Mounted on horses with small herds of cattle and pig they left the town and proceeded into uncharted territory, determined to find what they set out for.

“Get your phone,” He looked at her feet that were now bleeding from the bramble. “And put on shoes.”

Ahead crowds of cyclists pack the streets. Bobby’s twin throws his cap high in the air and catches it in jubilation. The Dolphin Statue is near, even if I can’t see it. I bike faster to join them, though the heat and exhaustion have taken its toll. I slow down and pause to lean my head on the handlebars. My body caves.

Lindara slid off the table and adjusted her dress. “That’s fine. Thank you for helping me. I knew it wasn’t a major injury, but I thought it best to have you look at it.”

For expert cyclists it should take less than thirty minutes to zigzag through the streets to reach there. No way will that happen for us unless we pedal too fast, and with reckless abandon. I follow Doris’ lead and keep pace with a steady velocity and with caution.

I was anxious, frightened, and excited all at once. If I don’t do this now I will never convince myself to ever do it. As I stood at the top hill with my bike and a million thoughts running through my head. Pleased with myself that I was finally going to do it. This is it, at a slow, gradual pace I started to pedal at an agonizing slowness. Beads of sweat poured down my forehead. Realizing how frightened I actually was, I no longer want to go. Never the less, It was too late. Quickly picking up speed, as I zipped down the driveway. Suddenly, all control was gone, the gavel was too loose. Trying to stop, I squeezed the brakes as tight as I possibly could. Nothing seemed to matter though, no longer did I have control of my bicycle. Drifting from side to side, I’d never felt so much panic and fear in my life. All of the sudden my tire struck a large rock that was sticking up and sending me barreling over the handlebars, onto the jagged gravel, the bike still clutched tight in my grip. As I was falling, the though to let go of the handlebars never occurred to me until it was too late and the bike landed on top of my ribcage. Pain shot through my body. What I feared most was no longer a fear, but a

Footsteps echo around the corner and down the passage. They’re coming. I distinctly feel every throbbing pulse as my heart beats feverishly, utter dread beginning to settle in my bones. My bare skin meets coolly with the white wall behind me as I press my back hard into it, wishing I could melt and disappear, evaporate from this endangered existence. The echoing steps grow louder with each passing second; I’m running out of time, out of options. I grip tightly around the syringe in my hand.

For mountain bikers, it’s a doozy of a ride. For hikers, it’s a long, long walk. For

My hands trembled slightly as we approached the rugged mountain we were about to conquer by bike. We were about to head off on Frisby Ridge and I was terrified. When I first read the bike guide, I learned that Frisbee Ridge is a 25 km trail at the top of the mountain and that I would be climbing up hill all the way there for 12.5 km. I was scared! What if I didn’t make it? What if I was too slow and held up the group? What if I fell off and had to walk down the trail? I wondered, “am I strong enough for this challenge?”

"Okay, okay! Just breathe in and out okay. In and out, in and out." Yang said trying to calm down Blake who was moaning from the pain in her wound.