The ridgeline cut a toothy silhouette across the eastern sky. The stillness in the air, a serene contrast to the dramatic peaks piercing the horizon, was undercut only by the heartbeat pounding in my chest. The Buffalo Drop loomed. On the previous lap I’d taken the cheater line around the aptly named feature. The rock roll feels as though you’re jumping a mountain bike into a steep landing off the back of the largest bison imaginable. My ego couldn’t stomach skipping it again. It wasn’t that large. Not compared to the gargantuan Tetons I was gaping at, anyway.