As clockwork streams of bikers tic-tocked past us with mechanical precision, we coasted silently, occasionally kickstanding for a view. My heart paused for a beat, and I inhaled the beauty around me. Haze drifted onto distant mountains and sunlight streamed into the blue of ocean. It was almost more than I could handle, and yet my adventure had only just begun.

When my husband and I began plans for a milestone fifth-anniversary vacation, our hearts settled on Maui. I longed for the peaceful beaches and festive luaus while Josh’s adrenaline surged at the thought of cycling down a volcano. Anniversary love overcame me, and I looked him in the eye, suppressing my fears and vowing once again to stand by his side ’til death do us part.

Death. Volcano. Biking. It was our engagement all over again: the fears, the energy, the love that makes us step way beyond our comfort zones. “It’s downhill…” I swallowed uncertainly. “It’s not a big deal. I can do this.”

Brain overtaking emotions, I launched Internet Explorer and entered research mode, soon weighing the differences between tour group companies. Some offered transportation to and from our hotel, some offered meals, and some proclaimed the wonders of sunrise tours.

One website, however, boasted many features not found on others: “We are the only family-run and operated tour… the only ride-at-your-own-pace fully supported bike tour… the only ones to finish at the winery.” Aloha Bike Tours also scheduled a stop at a flower farm, fed their customers breakfast and lunch, allowed for optional scenic routes, and offered non-bikers a ride in the support van.

Wanting the ability to stop for photographs, extra value for my money, personal service (and an option to back out and jump into the van), I booked with Aloha.

On a chilly December morning, we met our tour guide Marc Friezner at Rice Park near the foot of Mt. Haleakala. After breakfasting together, he, a family of four and Josh and I loaded into the tour van to make our way up the mountain. Along the switchback-filled road, I heard Marc’s voice rise and fall between my inner vows of love and dedication to my husband. He spoke of volcanoes, native plants, and life on the island while also giving us tips on safe cycling.

When we reached our starting point, Marc fitted each of us with helmets, gloves and windbreakers – the10,023-foot mountain being much colder than the warm sandy beach far below. He then unloaded six 24-speed bikes and adjusted the seats to each rider.

Soon, Mr. Adrenaline and I were off, braking our way down the volcano. The chill mountain wind whipped by, tearing off my fears and christening me Mrs. Adrenaline. The vows were already paying off.

We stopped to photograph heart-stopping panoramas and soon joined Marc and tourists at a scenic point where he snapped shots of us against a backdrop of mountain mist. Then we were off again, sharing the curves with other tour groups. It was then that I realized how perfect our choice really was.

They really did blur past us: tour guide, pack of madly racing bikers, support van. Moving and stopping in high-speed synchronization, the other tour groups were dedicated to reaching the bottom. And yet we were pausing for photos, savoring the aroma of the low-oxygen air and truly enjoying the journey.

Halfway down the mountain, we coasted into Sunrise Market and Protea Flower Farm, reuniting with Marc and the family of four. As we dined on trail mix and fresh pineapple, we wandered among the plants, admiring the odd yet exotic flowers. Then on we went, continuing to the bottom of the mountain, the stopping point of many tours. Instead we turned south on the Kula Highway and kept on biking - toward views of which I had only dreamed.

In Keokea, the local China Town, we met Marc’s wife Karen, who directed us east down an optional route of gravelly country roads, a route that meant traveling uphill some of the time. Since I don’t bike, I was about to decline her kind offer – until she added that views akin to Scotland and Ireland along with Silver Cloud, a bed and breakfast recently purchased by Oprah, rested beyond the hills.

Immediately, the islands and Oprah began chanting my name, and I - a sucker for scenery - soon followed my husband uphill on Thompson Road.

As I huffed and puffed up a few small hills, I cursed Karen for her optimistic sell. Then it happened. I was there. All around me, Scotland and Ireland had laid out a brilliant extravaganza filled with rolling hills, misty mountains, and limestone walls. Karen was right – it was worth it.

Curses withdrawn and images captured on film, I followed Josh back to the highway then pedaled along a winding road through a mystical land of towering trees, prickly pear cactus, and ocean views. Several photographs later, we arrived at Tedeschi Vineyards near Ulupalakua, where Karen had laid out a delicious deli lunch. The family of four had already arrived, after only having traveled halfway to Oprah Land. Together we bonded over talk of peanut allergies, Maui onion mustard, and managing a bike tour company.

Our stomachs soon satisfied, we visited the guest shop and museum but declined the opportunity to taste Maui’s wine. As we settled into the van and started back toward our rental cars in Rice Park, I felt a touch of sadness. The past six-and-a-half hours and forty miles had surprised, amazed and changed me.

Marc and Karen had promised, “We do our best to make our bike tour become one of the highlights of your vacation here on Maui.” For my husband and me, it wasn’t one of the highlights of our Maui vacation – it was the highlight.

And I don’t bike. At least I didn’t used to.

By Tammy Wood - Copyright Tammy Wood © 2004.