P
Paladin
Guest
(This is a little long. So if you don't have the patience to read all the way through, just send
money instead...)
A Singlespeed buffet. All you can eat, and then some. (I'm still choking it down)
I meet the G-Man at the park, where it's hoppin. Happy Hour at the base of the mountain where grins
are going 2 for 1. He's built a lot like the Freak. 6'4" and all legs. He's the idiot who rode 4,000
feet up to the ridgeline last year on his SS. Hope he's not looking for any competition from me.
He's in a t-shirt and swim trunks. I've got my sleeveless disco shirt. We look the part, without
even trying as we head around the back of Camelsback.(Twin doofuses are called doofi, right?)
Spinning, grinning, around the irrigation pond to a short climb with 2 steep drops. G-Man catches
some big air on top of the 2nd drop. I'm not that stupid. The ride continues to cross 8th street and
through Hulls Grove.
We get to catch up on 2 years of not seeing much of each other. He's been the fiend on the SS at his
end of the valley. I've been Father Goose with lots of newbies with me.
Up Uncle Stan's and halfway up there's a sheepdog cooly appraising us. Are we a threat to his herd?
Hmm... Neither of us happen to be from Montana, so the sheep are probably safe. The dog agrees and
lets us pass. The herd are crossing the trail so we stop a minute for the traffic to clear.
It's sunny, clear and 70f. Huff it up the one steep section on Crestline, and the Maniac's in the
lead. He's standing up for nearly everything. I'm trying to sit more and transfer upper body to the
cranks. We pass a dude on a Booger3, and he says WTF? when he sees what we're riding. So I tell him,
"Ve're Hans and Frans, on singlesveeds, here to pump you up!"
Eventually we take a sharp, steep right onto Sidewinder, and up we go. It's narrow, and has been
recently visited by the do-gooding trail nazis. The nice packed ruts are gone, and in their place it
is soft and gooshy. Just what you need when you're pushing one gear up hill. O well, time to stop
whining and start pedalling.
At the first slap-ya-silly climb, I stop and the Single Cell Monster's embarassed by wanting to go
on. "Go on" says I. I'll just be here a minute. What can I say? It was tough.
So I lose sight of the Surly Fiend, watching him standing up cranking through the soft stuff that
used to be nearly rock hard. Resume the adventure, and make it up the next couple hills. One thing
about Sidewinder, the farther you go, the tougher the hills. So it never got pretty. The One-Eyed
Monster-boy comes back at one point to see if I'm OK, and I'm catching my breath before the last,
technical push. A narrow side hill with jumbled rocks and exposure down to the right. We shout and
scream, I access my inner child, my chi, my karma, you name it, I needed it all, but I make it and
we eventually come to rest at the top.
A dude on a Superlight running these huge 2.4" tires looks at us and backs away. He says: "my momma
told me to avoid 2 kinds of guys." That gets me thinking. So he says, "bmx riders and
singlespeeders. They'll squash you like a bug." I told him I'd volunteered already for the
squashing, so he was safe. But it was a fun visit, up where we saw 40 miles in 3 directions.
The big guy takes the lead down, and there's traffic coming up. Then this old coot on a Mrazek, and
he's looking for an excuse to stop. We shoot the bull, and then he turns down with me and we catch
up to the OneGearMachine, who's wondering what happened to me again. Find out the coot's 62 yrs old,
cusses like a sailor, and has been locked in a deadly competition with a doctor from Sun Valley who
manages to take the gold at our Wildrockies race series ahead of him every time.
To make a long story even longer, we hit Crestline again, and I decide we ought to try and cross the
creek at the top and go right, a steep, difficult approach onto a tough piece of trail 4. I usually
clean it 25% of the time.
I send G-String ahead, and he cleans the creek and the transition, already standing up passing
mortals on geared bikes. I go to cross the creek, and there's a group of 4 or 5 doofi on
expensive rigs trying to transition, and the doof right in front of me biffs, and I think it's
gotta be over for me. But singlespeeders are known for being stoopid, so I just yell and fight
and hop my bike to the left and go around him, clean the big switch around to the left, and look
up to almost **** my pants.
What did I get into? I hate this section any time of the year, on any bike, but the big grinning
G-Whiz is passing geared weenies like a cop late for happy hour at the donut shop. I love the look
on their faces-- no fancy bike, no fancy jersey or shorts, just a big lanky guy kicking their butts
on an old steel rigid Specialized. I pass a couple too, but around the one big turn, where I can see
the whole valley below me, I stop to remember how to breathe. What gives? I'm sucking wind like I'm
at 7,000 feet, and it's only 4k or so.
It's a narrow, dangerous trail, made of a granite base with slippery gravel on top and lots of sweet
rocks and gradations to suck the remaining life out of me, or pitch me over the side. Near the top,
where I stop again to breathe, the big One-Trick Pony is clearing the last turn about 100 feet above
me, not knowing this is supposed to hurt. I mean hurt! Did you hear me, you Single-Cell-Animal!
After making it to the summit, the Singulator rolls back down to see how I'm doing, and I mumble
something about how I must have ate too much, the sun's in my eyes, the dog ate my homework. He
doesn't buy it, so I saddle up and rip my guts out to the top, and we hit the big mesa on top where
it really is awesome. I send him back down, and we're cooking with gas. The only guy I've seen take
this section this fast was the Freak. But come to think of it, he's certifiable, too. So down Hulls
Gulch we go, and we're hoppin and poppin, movin in style with a smile. I hang pretty well, because I
ride this so much, but he's catching air, doing table tops and other stunts that make my recovering
collar bone ache.
Lots of traffic coming up yielding to the One-Man-Band and I, mostly because they need a break from
the climb.
At the bottom I yell for G-Spot to go LEFT, and he falls in behind me as I pop onto a bridge and hit
cruising speed and altitude. You know, I don't mind gravity, half the time.
Up Chickadee ridge, down the fast, twisty singletrack with 360 degree views, the sun trying to sneak
off. Down the face, and we're flying, pop onto the main trail, and book it back to the park. We're
really bookin now.
The One-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed digs a $20 out of his pack and says the sweetest thing I've heard all
day. "I'm buying beer." Bless that One-Der Boy.
Paladin One single thing I know
money instead...)
A Singlespeed buffet. All you can eat, and then some. (I'm still choking it down)
I meet the G-Man at the park, where it's hoppin. Happy Hour at the base of the mountain where grins
are going 2 for 1. He's built a lot like the Freak. 6'4" and all legs. He's the idiot who rode 4,000
feet up to the ridgeline last year on his SS. Hope he's not looking for any competition from me.
He's in a t-shirt and swim trunks. I've got my sleeveless disco shirt. We look the part, without
even trying as we head around the back of Camelsback.(Twin doofuses are called doofi, right?)
Spinning, grinning, around the irrigation pond to a short climb with 2 steep drops. G-Man catches
some big air on top of the 2nd drop. I'm not that stupid. The ride continues to cross 8th street and
through Hulls Grove.
We get to catch up on 2 years of not seeing much of each other. He's been the fiend on the SS at his
end of the valley. I've been Father Goose with lots of newbies with me.
Up Uncle Stan's and halfway up there's a sheepdog cooly appraising us. Are we a threat to his herd?
Hmm... Neither of us happen to be from Montana, so the sheep are probably safe. The dog agrees and
lets us pass. The herd are crossing the trail so we stop a minute for the traffic to clear.
It's sunny, clear and 70f. Huff it up the one steep section on Crestline, and the Maniac's in the
lead. He's standing up for nearly everything. I'm trying to sit more and transfer upper body to the
cranks. We pass a dude on a Booger3, and he says WTF? when he sees what we're riding. So I tell him,
"Ve're Hans and Frans, on singlesveeds, here to pump you up!"
Eventually we take a sharp, steep right onto Sidewinder, and up we go. It's narrow, and has been
recently visited by the do-gooding trail nazis. The nice packed ruts are gone, and in their place it
is soft and gooshy. Just what you need when you're pushing one gear up hill. O well, time to stop
whining and start pedalling.
At the first slap-ya-silly climb, I stop and the Single Cell Monster's embarassed by wanting to go
on. "Go on" says I. I'll just be here a minute. What can I say? It was tough.
So I lose sight of the Surly Fiend, watching him standing up cranking through the soft stuff that
used to be nearly rock hard. Resume the adventure, and make it up the next couple hills. One thing
about Sidewinder, the farther you go, the tougher the hills. So it never got pretty. The One-Eyed
Monster-boy comes back at one point to see if I'm OK, and I'm catching my breath before the last,
technical push. A narrow side hill with jumbled rocks and exposure down to the right. We shout and
scream, I access my inner child, my chi, my karma, you name it, I needed it all, but I make it and
we eventually come to rest at the top.
A dude on a Superlight running these huge 2.4" tires looks at us and backs away. He says: "my momma
told me to avoid 2 kinds of guys." That gets me thinking. So he says, "bmx riders and
singlespeeders. They'll squash you like a bug." I told him I'd volunteered already for the
squashing, so he was safe. But it was a fun visit, up where we saw 40 miles in 3 directions.
The big guy takes the lead down, and there's traffic coming up. Then this old coot on a Mrazek, and
he's looking for an excuse to stop. We shoot the bull, and then he turns down with me and we catch
up to the OneGearMachine, who's wondering what happened to me again. Find out the coot's 62 yrs old,
cusses like a sailor, and has been locked in a deadly competition with a doctor from Sun Valley who
manages to take the gold at our Wildrockies race series ahead of him every time.
To make a long story even longer, we hit Crestline again, and I decide we ought to try and cross the
creek at the top and go right, a steep, difficult approach onto a tough piece of trail 4. I usually
clean it 25% of the time.
I send G-String ahead, and he cleans the creek and the transition, already standing up passing
mortals on geared bikes. I go to cross the creek, and there's a group of 4 or 5 doofi on
expensive rigs trying to transition, and the doof right in front of me biffs, and I think it's
gotta be over for me. But singlespeeders are known for being stoopid, so I just yell and fight
and hop my bike to the left and go around him, clean the big switch around to the left, and look
up to almost **** my pants.
What did I get into? I hate this section any time of the year, on any bike, but the big grinning
G-Whiz is passing geared weenies like a cop late for happy hour at the donut shop. I love the look
on their faces-- no fancy bike, no fancy jersey or shorts, just a big lanky guy kicking their butts
on an old steel rigid Specialized. I pass a couple too, but around the one big turn, where I can see
the whole valley below me, I stop to remember how to breathe. What gives? I'm sucking wind like I'm
at 7,000 feet, and it's only 4k or so.
It's a narrow, dangerous trail, made of a granite base with slippery gravel on top and lots of sweet
rocks and gradations to suck the remaining life out of me, or pitch me over the side. Near the top,
where I stop again to breathe, the big One-Trick Pony is clearing the last turn about 100 feet above
me, not knowing this is supposed to hurt. I mean hurt! Did you hear me, you Single-Cell-Animal!
After making it to the summit, the Singulator rolls back down to see how I'm doing, and I mumble
something about how I must have ate too much, the sun's in my eyes, the dog ate my homework. He
doesn't buy it, so I saddle up and rip my guts out to the top, and we hit the big mesa on top where
it really is awesome. I send him back down, and we're cooking with gas. The only guy I've seen take
this section this fast was the Freak. But come to think of it, he's certifiable, too. So down Hulls
Gulch we go, and we're hoppin and poppin, movin in style with a smile. I hang pretty well, because I
ride this so much, but he's catching air, doing table tops and other stunts that make my recovering
collar bone ache.
Lots of traffic coming up yielding to the One-Man-Band and I, mostly because they need a break from
the climb.
At the bottom I yell for G-Spot to go LEFT, and he falls in behind me as I pop onto a bridge and hit
cruising speed and altitude. You know, I don't mind gravity, half the time.
Up Chickadee ridge, down the fast, twisty singletrack with 360 degree views, the sun trying to sneak
off. Down the face, and we're flying, pop onto the main trail, and book it back to the park. We're
really bookin now.
The One-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed digs a $20 out of his pack and says the sweetest thing I've heard all
day. "I'm buying beer." Bless that One-Der Boy.
Paladin One single thing I know
