Monthly Archives: June 2005

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so a thousand words you will get. I finally got my ride in, and Santos delivered—in a pouring rain. The thunderheads were sitting on the ground, the sky as black and blue as my hip right now. Those limestone roads are slick as ice when wet.
I left work and rolled to the trailhead, lazily, as it was raining like the last time it would ever. My mind relaxed. Lyrics Born, Calling Out, is plugged in the stereo and broken off. It’s just that good.

I passed the turn for the trail and headed for the Santos Bike Shop hoping for a little trail beta and some gear ogling. They carry some heavy artillery in that joint. Two young guys and a couple Dads were mulling the options as well. 3 of the 4 drove up from Orlando and were loathe to give up the ride, weather be damned.
At issue was the logistics of transporting all of the bikes to the trailhead or riding in the rain. They lacked cargo space and didn’t want the kids riding along 441 in a driving rain at 5:00 P:M. Next thing I knew I was offering my truck and loading bikes into it. The only non-riding father jumped in with me. His son was visiting from Puerto Rico, and his dad was doing whatever he could to show him a good time. We pulled up at a side entrance of the trail, and while I was changing, they basically ditched me. I callously locked the truck and silently wished them a pleasant slog back up the highway. I can have my own damn ride anyway. As I cruised through the jungle wonder of the trail, I came across a rider. The sudden appearance of him caused me to lock the brakes and slap to the ground, in the big ring, of course. It was a blonde-headed kid from the shop. He broke off from the group to find me. I was sincerely touched and chastened for my spiteful thoughts at the truck.
This rider turned out to be a messenger for me, sent with knowledge and wisdom. I’ll just call him “Local”. Local is in the grip of a 13 year old in love. He is in love with his bike, with riding, with the notion of what it means to go hammer and tongs in any conditions, against any man, woman, or child. What I learned today is that a good ride, and a good partner is an ageless thing. Once under way, it became clear that he saw me as an opportunity, and quickly I saw him the same way. Under the care of other dads, he was essentially solo, and local, and not so inclined to ride under the structured cadence of the others. I pulled in close and gave it to him just like I would any friend or foe on the trail. “I want everything you got, if you feel the call.” He didn’t say a word. He just stood up and started building a brick shithouse of momentum. I felt it. He felt it. It was time to ride. Off we went.
After a sloppy stretch of mud, deep water, down branches, and sideways rain, we came to a stopping place to wait for the others. I raised a dirty, bleeding fist and we pounded knuckles of respect. He commented on my Presta valves, my clipless pedals. The youth clearly had the early symptoms of upgrade sickness, a lovely disease.
Flat pedals, no clips of any kind, and Schrader valves be damned, Local could go. I redirected his attention to his disc brakes, his Easton bar, his aggressive Specialized Hard Rock frame and told him, “Shit boy, your ride is nice, and you’re only friggin thirteen, you have to have something to look forward too…. Oops I mean shoot.” He rolled his eyes at my paternal efforts, “Whatever, I’m used to it. I don’t care.” After a quick regroup and a sputtering chastisement from the HFAC (head fucking adult in charge) we were off on Twister, a rolling trail of sweeps, berms, and mild drop-offs made treacherous by the rain.

I won’t lie. Chasing a boy on a bike through a pouring rain over slick rock and roots made me feel like a boy myself. We were separated by nothing but a few thousand cold beers, some heartache, and a few hard knocks, but nothing more. Fuck it man, we were bros.

Another regroup and the HFAC called it done. Local rolled his eyes at me and me at him. Oh well, no use in fighting it, we got what we came for after all.

250 words to come (more or less)…check back for “Racers, Placers, and Chasers” a synopsis of Juancho’s run with the big boys of Santos.

mb

The Tour de France starts Saturday, by the way, and OLN will again be providing saturation coverage. Magnus Backstedt, the “Collosal Apostle” will be out to crush smaller, weaker men.
I will probably miss the start, which is a shame. Feel free to weigh in concerning all things TOUR related. Until July 24, Roadies will be respected here at the BRC.

No promises after that.

bad ass breeding ground

Lord knows I did not want to get out there yesterday. The nap was good, the sun was hot, and my legs are tired. Taco didn’t want to hear any of that though, to his credit. A young man on a Specialized hard tail rolled up just as we were clipping in at TBP. He was sporting a SANTOS Bike Shop jersey and he didn’t look like he bought it retail. Unfamiliar with the local trails, he was hoping for some beta on the area. Happy to oblige, we rolled out. After learning he was a veteran of the Razorback 12 hour(4th overall solo), Tsali 12 hour( 5th overall solo), and a national collegiate downhill slalom competitor, I decided to keep King and Kong on a short leash. We connected with a couple other fellas and had a pretty quick out and back to the lakes. Dude is moving to Tallahassee for school this fall. Most excellent news. I’m sure he will be assimilated into the Higher Ground borg and rightfully so. Those guys are fast, and they deal Specialized, and they are the racer types around here. All the same, I hope to catch him for a few long visionary rides with my crew.

I’m out of here tomorrow for G-ville/ Red dick/ Ocala and I’ll be down that way until after the 4th. I’m trying to recruit my neighbor “Riverboat” as a guest host. Content would swerve dramatically away from bikes towards gambling, sports, porn, and liquor, but whatever, you would probably enjoy that, wouldn’t you?

If that doesn’t sound like your thing, feel free to contact me if you think you can run the circus for a week. Pretty funny, asking my imaginary audience to do something. Yo bitches! Make me a sandwich. See, no sandwich.

S’quatch is deep into it at this point. Hopefully full vacation mindset has been achieved. I have to admit, I miss his influence around here. The rides are all little. With S’quatch around you are destined to end up on a lonely road, or trail, riding beneath the blazing sun with boredom the only balm for your pain, and pain the only balm for your boredom. Despite all of that, S’quatch is in it for the adventure, prepared to make bad decision after bad decision, as long as all roads lead far away. All the same, the blue chip recruits are doing an excellent job of keeping me on the bike and pedaling.

Blah, blah, blah,

Juancho se fuera

Ansel Adams

I woke up thinking about the Tetons this morning. They were the first place I lived outside of Florida. Talk about setting a high water mark. While not everything went smoothly that summer–10 hour days, six days a week, love quadrangle in the kitchen– I remember snow falling on the 4th of July, bears sneaking around the ranch, a sandstone cave high on a bluff overlooking the Gros Ventre range. In that semi-lucid state just before waking, I squinted my eyes against the glare of the sun on the Snake river. I felt the thrill of being up high and far away. Fields of lupine, indian paintbrush, and sagebrush. Pints of Guiness at Dornan’s.

I hope Sasquatch shows up with a post from there today, and hits on a few things I might have forgotten about. Maybe I need to get back to the big sky country myself, just to have a look around. It makes me kind of sad to think of all the places I’ve been that I may not make it back to for a visit. On the other hand, maybe I’ll spend another 12 years seeing them all over again, with some new stuff in between. Hell, there’s plenty of time for everything right?

Right?

tally sunset

9 hours after leaving Myrtle Beach, or “Dyrtle Beach” as I like to call it, I pulled into Tom Brown park to wait for the boys. I arrived a little early so I dropped the seat back, grabbed my pillow and snoozed. It was awesome. Just to be back on home soil was great. It might as well have been 10th ave. Powder and Taco showed up and away we went. All was right in the world.

Powder is in Jackson Hole this week. S’quatch and Co. are safely underway. I get another shot at Razorback this weekend, and a pretty girl said there might be a “blueberry pie” in my future.

Sounds like code to me.