by Bettina Freese

My first experience with naked bike riding was as a witness. There I was, suffering through a particularly nasty singletrack climb, becoming progressively grumpier with each foot of elevation change. My boyfriend was way ahead of me, as usual, which meant I was working even harder trying to keep up. I was losing coordination and kept convincing myself that the next corner would be the top. A loud rustling from the rhododendron took me by surprise as I braced for what sounded like a guffawing bear. What emerged instead was my boyfriend’s bare and perfect butt. He dropped onto the trail and shot ahead, his jersey and chamois dangling from his Camelbak, and snickered, “Come on, little girl…can’t you catch me?”

My grumpiness gave way to laughter, which depleted my reserve and caused a low-speed crash. I lied there gasping as he circled me once before dashing off again.

My friends all brag about the fun they’ve had on naked rides, and we talk about planning one, but it never happens. The thing about naked riding, and all other really memorable events, is that it has to be spontaneous. Planning and thinking cause problems and bow to “issues.”

My only other naked ride was out in Colorado with Heather “Dangerous” DeManigold. We were having the most splendid girl trip possible and had treated ourselves to a really gnarly and long ride. We started on a steep, double-track jeep trail strewn with boulders and babyheads. We had the trails to ourselves for a good while before learning what a popular park this was for motocross and four-wheeling. We rested beside the road as a dozen jeeps from a local club passed us and cursed the guy in the bike shop who recommended the ride. However, jeeps are slow on gnarly downhills, so we soon left them behind and found our singletrack. We collapsed in the sunny field at the trailhead for a quick snack, a good two hours into our ride, and assumed we were in the middle of nowhere.

“Well, about the only thing we can do right now, is ride naked,” I said. Dangerous’ ears perked up. “I like the way you think,” she said, immediately stripping her clothes off. I followed suit. We sat in the warm grass and applied the 30 SPF to strategic areas. “Ok, Danger,” I said. “What’s the plan if we run into anybody?”

And as I looked up for her answer, I watched the jeeps roll up along the road just 50 yards away. So I screamed. My scream successfully alerted the first two jeep passengers to look our way, which resulted in numerous camera flashes, squealing, finger-pointing and radio communicating to ensure the entire group would hurry up for the wildlife viewing. “Put on your clothes!” I screeched, trying to jam my cleats back into my shorts. “NO! GET ON YOUR BIKE AND RIDE!”

Dangerous screamed back over her shoulder, already on her bike, her very white butt glaring in the sun as she dropped into the Aspen grove. I crouched behind my bike, using my Cambelbak as a small shield and waved back at the drivers while frantically gathering my clothes. I was going to have to suck it up. I slung my pack over one shoulder, squeezed my clothes under my arm and prayed that I would not further my humiliation by falling from my bike.

We stopped about a mile in for a good laugh and then hiked up to a panoramic view for a bask in the sun. The best part is that nobody was offended... well maybe except for our saddles.

Bettina Freese wears clothes. She can be reached at lulafree@aol.com