“You can’t just ride a bear,” she said. “It’s not built for transportation.”
I looked at her cowardly face. “That’s loser talk,” I said.
She was a bit offended but I didn’t care. I was going to ride that grizzly bear and I was going to do it today.
“Give me the lasso out of the bag,” I ordered.
“No… please, don’t do this.”
“That’s loser talk,” I said as I ripped the backpack out of her hands.
The rope was thick and the lasso was heavy, but I had spent every waking hour of my life preparing for this day. A heavy rope wasn’t going to stop me.
“What if it bites you?” she protested.
But I wouldn’t listen. This was my destiny; this was my fate. I slowly approached the grizzly, rope in hand, my fingers ready to strike.
I knew it could sense I was coming. It turned, sniffed the air, and rose up on its hind legs. He was towering, about a foot taller than me, and had thick brown fur shielding him from the cold. I only had my $240 North Face jacket.
“Let’s go. You and me. It’s game time, you dumb bear,” I taunted.
He slowly turned to face me. Our eyes met, and he had a twinkle in his eye that looked like a diamond. It was kind of cute for a bear.
I readied my lasso. The time was right. The wind was settled and the air was clear. It was now or never.
But I couldn’t do it. It was something about the way he tilted his head and stared at me—a sort of innocence and fragility that I had scarcely seen before. I just couldn’t bring myself to tame such a wild beast.
“I can’t do it…. I can’t fight you, bear,” I shouted in tears.
“That’s loser talk,” said the bear.
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