Our day began at the dark hour of 2:15 am. We booked our biking adventure with Mountain Riders, and they picked us up from our hotel along with 10 other early-risers. I knew from the moment we stepped onto the van that we were in for a long day: the other passengers all looked like avid bike-riders. Don't ask me how I knew; they just had the "bike-riding" look. I was clearly the one who was going to hold up everyone else!
We arrived at the Mountain Riders headquarters and watched a quick video about the proper way to ride a bicycle down a 45-degree volcano slope at 20 mph. We were required to stay in single-file formation, with our guide leading the way and our van at the end protecting our bottoms from the crazy Hawaiian drivers passing by. Of course, we had to fill out emergency contact information, as well as documents releasing Mountain Riders from any legal liability if we were to unfortunately bike off a cliff and plummet to a grisly death or get mangled by a car and lose the use of our limbs. Three cheers for legal documents.
Next up was a one hour drive to Haleakala National Park and up 10,000 feet to the visitor center, where we would see a beautiful sunrise and begin our bike-riding descent. It was quite cold, but fortunately, we were provided with blue, Columbia "spacesuits" to keep us warm. It was a little foggy that morning and we were only able to see glimpses of the sunrise, but it was still a pretty sight to behold. It was then that the first interesting event of the day occurred. One of the friendly park rangers wouldn't let us ride down the mountain! Apparently, our driver was new and did not have PUC certification, whatever that meant. All drivers must pass some sort of physical, thereby preventing catastrophic events such as the driver suffering a heart attack and driving the van and its passengers into the side of the mountain, creating a bloody mess and ruining everyone's vacation. Our driver was 18 and highly unlikely to have something like that happen, but hey, you can't argue with Ranger Rick.
To compensate, our guide took us to a restricted military base which he claimed was part of the "Star Wars" project of the Reagan-era. Behold, interesting event number two. We each took turns taking a picture with a neat, radiation-producing, sperm- and egg-destroying satellite dish (I would post the picture, but then I'd have to kill you). All of us were a little concerned about trespassing on government property, but our guide laughed it off and said not to worry since he did it all the time. This guy and Captain Bobbie must be old drinking buddies.
We drove a little further down the mountain, and it was here that we started our bike adventure, a few miles from the original start point but safely out of view from the treacherous, rule-abiding ranger. We each were fitted with what appeared to be a motorcycle helmet, obviously designed to obstruct peripheral vision and constructed of a material so dense, it kept your chin permanently glued to your chest. As we took a couple of laps around a small parking lot to help us get used to the bikes and the brakes, horrid flashbacks of elementary school kids teasing me kept streaming through my mind. Kids can be so cruel.
And then we were off, biking down Mt. Haleakala and manuveuring through hairpin turns, snaking curves, and reaching speeds of 20+ miles per hour. Or at least we were supposed to. According to Lana, who had the unfortunate task of riding behind me, it appeared that I didn't reach speeds greater than 15 miles per hour. Or as Lana put it, I rode "like a little schoolgirl". This may not sound like a big deal to you, but I would equate it to driving on the freeway behind an old grandma who's doing 45 mph during rush hour traffic. I did everything I could possibly do to gain speed: I crouched down, I bent my head, I even tried summoning the mighty power of Lance Armstrong, but nothing could prevent Lana from having to brake all the way down the mountain so she wouldn't crash into me. Nothing could sadden a man more than having to hear his wife's squeaky bike brakes behind him all the way down a dormant volcano.
We stopped for breakfast at 8 am in a small town, and then continued all the way down until we reached our final destination at the beach. We enjoyed the view of a clear, blue ocean with beautiful skies, and I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that I had survived and had not killed either myself or the people around me. To make up for the inconvenience, the big boss gave us each either $20 cash or $30 store credit. Lana took the cash and I used the credit towards 2 t-shirts to help us never forget the day that I realized my potential as a female cyclist. By the time we were done, we had covered a 10,000 foot descent in almost 40 miles, both of Lana's hands were sore from squeezing the brakes so much, and I had both scared myself silly and soiled my pants. I highly recommend biking down Mt. Haleakala!

After grabbing a few winks, we headed over to the Wailea Marriott for a luau. The food was great: roasted pig, teriyaki steak, volcano chicken, mahi mahi, salmon, sides, desserts and drinks. There was also live entertainment, including hula dancers and an amazing fireknife performance. This guy was doing crazy tricks with firesticks that I wouldn't even do with a paper towel roll! All in all, it was a relaxing dinner with a spectacular performance, but after a long day of cheating death, we decided to hit the sack early. Besides, we could only handle so many interesting events in one day.