In my ripped Jorts on a twelve-thousand-dollar bicycle, I am freezing in a “Sun Valley Mountain Guides” official yet super old-man-style biking shirt; picture a polyester version of your dad’s favorite flannel. I look ridiculous on my first day with the kids’ mountain bike camp as I meet the other guide for our day’s adventure. First impressions are important, but I did not miss the opportunity to implement our walk assignment into what is mostly walking my bike with kids. Intersubjectivity arose as I would not share any information about myself and left large pauses between the information, I do tell them so they can know that that information is false.

As the lupin line the fields and the streams dominate the audible tone. Smiling kids fight their heavy bikes up the perfect dark brown paths that crisscross snow-capped mountains that tower over the large fir trees, bringing the kids to an even smaller perspective. My experiment rolled with only one hiccup. Joey, the other guide, did not ask a single thing about me. We worked from eight in the morning till three in the afternoon with two one-hour drives where we took the kids to the best trails our valley offers.  This activity made me listen well during the whole period as twelve-year-old girls talked about Haloumi salads and the housing market as forty-year-old women would on their bike rides. They also argued over who could eat more French fries and who would lead the downhill sections. I helped them go fast, brush off from crashes, and kept them positive. I did not expect they would interact with me in the way the intersubjectivity plans I may have hoped for. But what surprised me most was that my partner in work out there told me all about his life and how his daughter sought to be a professional bike rider. He spoke of his family, his struggles, and even down to what he had for breakfast. I never jumped in with my feedback or information, nor did he pause and ask. I was agape as we tried to understand how his daughter could grow up to be a pro with the issues in our small town. I did not volunteer any information, but he knows I have gone through that exact journey. He only shared, aired out his feeling, and expressed himself, not needing any feedback.

I sat back as the kids ate ice cream in the green field as we waited for parents to arrive, questioning if I am unhealthy in feeling the need to give him my insight and pondering if it is more mature of him to express and need nothing back. The kids played Mafia in the grass during the ice cream finalé; they sought to tune into who might be bad and good for the game while a grown man voices to another man, his mind to find his standing in place.

An Image from the top.

This pdf. Is a color representation of Joey and I observing the kids playing a game with an absurd reduction to labels beyond color psychology. I saw this moment as we sat together higher than them on a hill as the kids played a game below us in a circle.