Here is a list of trails I was near to, but did not ride last week:
Everything in Macon
Everything near Athens, Ga
And the list goes on and on. No worries though, I squeezed in 9 holes of golf with a guy named Tommy Ray up at Chimney rock, NC so my priorities are clearly in order.
1,000 miles later I rolled back to town to find out that my blog was S’quatch-jacked and I was reported to be missing, dead, or otherwise incapacitated. So at least I have all of that going for me.
After celebrating my return with a few cold ones Friday night I peeled myself from the sack at 7:00 A:M in order to have my bike blessed by, in order: A Rabbi, an Agnostic Mystic of the basic New Age variation, and an Anglo-Native-American mystic of the Legend of Billy Jack persuasion. No Protestants available I guess. No Muslims either. Oh well, when you are looking for miracles and redemption that will hoist your heft back onto the bike, you take what you can get.
After much mumbling and not nearly enough carrying on, about 40 of us serenely pedaled down the St. Mark’s trail enjoying the twilight of morning. we rode about 3 miles and you bet your ass I logged it as “a ride”.
Knees are good, 12 rounds of golf over the last 2 weeks only improved my game by 2 strokes (104), the weather is perfect, and I pretty much even want to ride. Life is so much simpler when you struggle to accomodate work and a personal life in between gut-busting rides and lactic recovery.
If I don’t go all manic on the bike again I’m likely to do something stupid, like buy a house or get a girlfriend.
And we can’t have that now can we?
Juancho the White