Saturday night, under the oaks and the stars, listening to a jazz trio play a little out in front of themselves, I made a wise decision. I bailed on the Dogboy. Hours prior, I committed to a ride so laughably punishing that releasing myself from the commitment made me giddy. Rain was in the forecast, and a tour to Georgia by clay roads sounded not possible or fun. I took a text-message based tongue-lashing, which is a breeze compared to a phone call, and returned for a cold Sweetwater 420 Ale and holding my sweet wife’s hand.
In order to take the sting from my shame I scrambled to put together a ride with Taco and another buddy. We can call him Scarab- the prototype water bug, or we can call him “Nipples” since he detoured on the ride to address a raw nipple situation.
When someone is riding so much that they need nipple protection, you might wish you were halfway to Georgia with a drive train packed in mud. We turned it on, we crushed through mud and greasy roots, and I collected ticks like beanie babies. Taco worked for a half-wheel edge just enough to keep us grinding for 3 steady hours.
Okay, it was only 2.5 hours, and sometimes we rode friendly, but the part about the ticks is true.
It was the first ride on the new ride, but I need more time to tell you that story, which is equal parts sad and joyous.