P
Paladin
Guest
My 15yr old son's birthday party was this weekend, and so we were totally wrapped up in pizzas,
overnights, video-games, paint-ball wars, supervising 8 rowdy boys at the happy hacienda. Then,
between other responsibilities, church, wife, other kids, I had no time to myself. But I did spend
money and eat like a big fat slob.
So when I finally threw the gray lady into the truck late Sunday afternoon, I was paroled from
prison--*finally alone.*
Here's a partial shot of her behind Mr. Goodwrench working on the porch: (Better pictures coming):
http://gallery.consumerreview.com/webcrossing/images/Mr.GoodwrenchatWork.jpg
Cool, clear, with the sun slipping away fast. The park was full of cars, but mostly pic-nickers. Hit
the trail, I hear the crunch of rubber on granite, I unwind, like a beach-ball slowly deflating, all
the pressures of the weekend fade away, as SS and I find our rhythm, reacquainting in the timeless
dance of two moving in harmony.
Up Chickadee Ridge, and the traction is good, the horses under me strong and reserved for
later climbs.
Down the end of the ridge, cross 8th to Uncle Stan's, see a few runners, some other riders. Up
Stan's and I hit the pocket of warm air that always greets me on the lower steppes of the climb.
Standing most of the way, climb slow, let my legs and muscles stretch, breathe easy, heart thanks me
for the exercise and attention. Upper body joins in to ease the load and share the joy.
See some riders ahead. I close the gap, but they summit just ahead of me and stop to rest. The
group leader leers as the Gray Lady passes, and yells out, "Nice Bike" as we ride by. Yes, boys and
girls, she is.
On up the next climb, and we're in the groove, sun going down. Do we turn back? Or loop? I access
the mass quantities of stored energy (pizza, junk food and pop) as after-burners kick in. Look
back to see the group gaining on me, since I top out with 1 gear. Valley spread out below me in
glorious colors.
At the top, I head down the canyon, my favorite close-in trail. It's narrow, rocky and fun.
Light fades as I loose the brakes and let my baby feel her way down in the dark. She knows this
trail better-n me, so we're flying low on cruise control. Almost biff it on some fast, sandy
corners, but get lucky and stay vertical. I try a couple different lines through the technical parts
to spice up our date.
Back up Chickadee the way I came down, pushing hard, fading the corners, jumping the water bars,
snarling! laughing! reawakening my core passions. Pass a couple 2-legged foxes with canine
protectors on top. Down the back, around the hill to the park, legs shaking, left nothing on the
table. Load the lady and away we go.
That's why I ride.
Paladin
overnights, video-games, paint-ball wars, supervising 8 rowdy boys at the happy hacienda. Then,
between other responsibilities, church, wife, other kids, I had no time to myself. But I did spend
money and eat like a big fat slob.
So when I finally threw the gray lady into the truck late Sunday afternoon, I was paroled from
prison--*finally alone.*
Here's a partial shot of her behind Mr. Goodwrench working on the porch: (Better pictures coming):
http://gallery.consumerreview.com/webcrossing/images/Mr.GoodwrenchatWork.jpg
Cool, clear, with the sun slipping away fast. The park was full of cars, but mostly pic-nickers. Hit
the trail, I hear the crunch of rubber on granite, I unwind, like a beach-ball slowly deflating, all
the pressures of the weekend fade away, as SS and I find our rhythm, reacquainting in the timeless
dance of two moving in harmony.
Up Chickadee Ridge, and the traction is good, the horses under me strong and reserved for
later climbs.
Down the end of the ridge, cross 8th to Uncle Stan's, see a few runners, some other riders. Up
Stan's and I hit the pocket of warm air that always greets me on the lower steppes of the climb.
Standing most of the way, climb slow, let my legs and muscles stretch, breathe easy, heart thanks me
for the exercise and attention. Upper body joins in to ease the load and share the joy.
See some riders ahead. I close the gap, but they summit just ahead of me and stop to rest. The
group leader leers as the Gray Lady passes, and yells out, "Nice Bike" as we ride by. Yes, boys and
girls, she is.
On up the next climb, and we're in the groove, sun going down. Do we turn back? Or loop? I access
the mass quantities of stored energy (pizza, junk food and pop) as after-burners kick in. Look
back to see the group gaining on me, since I top out with 1 gear. Valley spread out below me in
glorious colors.
At the top, I head down the canyon, my favorite close-in trail. It's narrow, rocky and fun.
Light fades as I loose the brakes and let my baby feel her way down in the dark. She knows this
trail better-n me, so we're flying low on cruise control. Almost biff it on some fast, sandy
corners, but get lucky and stay vertical. I try a couple different lines through the technical parts
to spice up our date.
Back up Chickadee the way I came down, pushing hard, fading the corners, jumping the water bars,
snarling! laughing! reawakening my core passions. Pass a couple 2-legged foxes with canine
protectors on top. Down the back, around the hill to the park, legs shaking, left nothing on the
table. Load the lady and away we go.
That's why I ride.
Paladin
