The looooong winter's finally breaking around here,
hallelujah, so I met Alex at the park at 430pm. Cool, clear,
and perfect. Adam's taking off, and we regret not riding out
together. Some folks in long-sleeves, others in short-
sleeves counting on exertion to warm the ole bones. Like me.
We spin behind the big hill that's now closed to bikes.
Guess the murderously steep hills were too much fun, and
bleeding out too many fools. Then fought our way up
Chickadee Ridge, along the spine, back down and fall in with
a group of about 6 other riders.
Hit the big, long climb of Uncle Stan's and we know this is
the post-winter litmus test. I know we'll make it, but at
what cost of pain? Alex is one of those naturally fit guys
that can just do anything without really paying for it.
Metabolism, or something, but he beats me to the top, I
finally crest out, wheezing, hurting, seeing double, and lay
the bike down.
Take about 5 minutes to reduce my chance of heart attack,
and we head back up, finally crossing the creek (running high-
yeehah!) at the top, and rest for a minute. Visit with some
cute females, then lower the seats and point the bars down
Hulls Gulch, just too much fun on two wheels.
We're cooking with gas, boys and girls, catching air, fading
turns, slamming through the rock gardens, letting the Bomber
worry about obstacles. None of us felt like riding our 1-
trick ponies, so geared up we was.
Finish up 0-dark-30, and we're sweating, shivering and
grinning. Butt hurts, legs fried, nose running lie a faucet.
Don't ever get much better-n that, friends.
paladin