In the interest of being a good riding partner and friend, I showed up at the S’quatch family compound at 8:30 A:M yesterday, my ears still ringing from a white wine spritzer hangover. As if that didn’t threaten my self-image enough, I was unloading a bike with skinny tires from the back of my red, Barbie dream truck. Well, I thought to myself, I guess I’m a teen-aged girl now. Who knows, maybe this life will be better than the last one.
Impressively, I see Sasquatch lurking outside his den, suited up and ready. he is growling and
assuming a variety of aggressive postures, substantial brow furrowed.
At this point I’m pretty much counting on a mechanical to save me. I am riding a frankenbike which I assembled the day before, while downing gallons of white wine spritzers. There’s no way this thing will make it 50 miles, No WAY!
Here’s a breakdown of what I roll with…
1989 Jamis Dakar 17″ frame. (The red one)
Kona Project 2 straight fork.
Circa 89 Shimano XT/ Suntour XC combo drive train/
XT thumb shifters
Shimano 600 freewheel
Front hub-American Classic
Back hub- Ancient LX
Ritchey Logic brakeset
Race Face bar/straight/ some kind of bar ends?
The front deraileur cable was locked into place by about 2 steel threads, so I was kind of counting on it to be the first to go.
We rolled off into a dewey morning, grumpy, irritable, and scowling. Sasquatch didn’t get enough sleep and wasn’t impressed with the limited, VERY limited, social exchanges available at the BIG RING CIRCUS headquarters the previous night. Since I actually live here, I didn’t want to hear it. Oh well, soon my bike would break and we could call it a day.
Instead, somewhere under the canopy of Oaks, the chardo-pinot-blancignon began to seep from my pores, (hmmm, a subtle hint of rancid, with a fragile bouquet of fecal veneer, lovely!)
You can read Sq’atch’s synopsis in the comments section, and yes, we had a good ride. 50 miles on slick tires is about as hard as 18 miles on the dirt, or something like that. Here is the equation I use to figure that out
127 + x2 = 50 miles of road or 18 miles of dirt singletrack.
Don’t believe me? Check the math for yourself.
The frankenbike responded to the helm. Not only did it not break down, it ran fast. Squatch’s wife, Squawtch, called it homely, and I swear it lunged at her.
And now he wants to ride to Ichetucknee Springs, in the summer, and back the next day.
Dude, get a grip.