Almost 70degF this pm, so I had to ride.
First ride on the new chain since breaking it and almost breaking my
neck. Felt tight. Sure. Stood up and got some locomotion going. Got
my groove back, in the flow, tight.
Man, this good weather has brought everybody and their cousins out onto
the trail. Good riders, bad riders, inbetween riders.
I'm booking up Uncle Stan's, standing the whole way, hear som wheezing
behind me near the top, and I've just pulled three other riders to the
summit. Keep going without a break, lose the posers on geared boingers
pretty quickly on the next steep pitch.
Quick ride? Long ride? quick ride? long ride? Long Ride wins and I
turn off and up onto Sidewinder. Cool, clear, dry, sun starting to
set. How awesome.
A couple miles into the climb, I hear somebody behind me, "Whatcha
runnin? 32-18? 32-16?" Huh, O Yeah, <gasp> <wheeze> 32-20. He passes
me on a black SS of some kind, and just stands up and leaves me eating
dust. Young poser!
New climbing style for me. I'm standing straight up over the seat,
arms straight, and I'm reefing on the bars mainly with my traps and
lats, pulling hard to keep the tires going up.
Finally crest out on top of the world, and behold little fleas on bikes
on various trails beneath me.
On the way down a couple of doofi going up on high-end bikes recognize
me as I yield right of way. I don't recognize them, but they recognize
the gray lady bike from the Idaho mtbr forum. Ahah.
To make a long story a little longer, book it down pretty fast, the fat
Kendas digging in like a scared cat on my leg. Get to Crestline. Long
Ride? OK, to the end of Crestline, do the creek crossing. About a
foot of water still this time of year.
Clean the miserable approach to the slap-ya-silly pitch piece of Trail
4 to the MC lot. It's tough, but so am I heheh and keep going. when
death's looking mighty good, I come out near the top and see a guy in a
trance watching the sunset from 2,500' above the valley. "Beautiful
night, aint it?" I wheeze,and go to my own private Idaho vantage point.
Lower the seat and book it down to the top of Hulls, which by now has
filled with young posers. They're all congratulating themselves and
bragging about making it this far, when old doof comes *down* onto
their parade from the high country, and thread my bike between theirs
and lay it down, making sure they can see what it is. To patronize my
eager ego, they notice the gray lady, and we chat a bit.
By now it's getting cold and the sun's almost gone. time to put her
into cruising speed and altitude and I'm booking it outta there, the
sun in my face as I almost biff it with approaching riders.
Work my way all the way back down to the Sports Utility Beater, and
home to Mamma. Why you grinnin? says she. You woulda had to have
been there,babe, says I.
CDB