I apologize for reporting the presence of a fabled “Sasquatch” on the trails in and around the Tallahassee area. All reports of sightings have ceased. Authorities now contend it was a hoax. click this link for details.
http://www.unmuseum.org/bigfoot.htm
We value the truth here at the BRC, and we apologize for leading our readers astray.
-Juancho
If you want to spot the Squatch, you’ve got to understand his wily, unpredictable, and explorative nature. Rumor has it he’s reveling in both his domestic and his urban side. Domestically, he can be spotted grunting his way through any number of long neglected chores around his shabby hut, and on the urban front he’s leaving a smaller, sleeker footprint on Indianhead and surrounding asphalt.
The stealthy natural scientist may even spot him riding with baby Squatch, teaching her his limited biking knowledge and making her call him Lancesquatch.
I can’t believe you’re going to pull the baby S’quatch card. If I ever see the elusive S’quatch in the woods again, I intend to make him an endangered species.
Lancesquatch, that’s funny.
Baby Squatch has some moves. Last night again she got up to 27 mph on a straightaway, pumping her body forward and back in that Kermit fashion just like Lancesquatch. We took a long night ride — soft summer breeze and a low, red moon hanging over every scene. She was feeling it-owning like it’s something she does.
Of course that gets me thinking about getting her a new rig. Only 11 and she’s already aware of biking as a culture where folks get dropped and make their move and pay attention to tire size. When I was her age I had a blue, single speed Schwinn that was always a little too big for me but hauled ass. All the neighbors with their Stingray specials and banana seats, though they were stylin and profilin and making the 70’s proud, loved to take a spin on my big blue machine just to remember how a real bike felt. I never once considered tire size or bike fit or gear ratios or crankset or bottom bracket or headset or any of that baggage. It was just a big, fast, epic Schwinn that always took at least 5 full minutes to complete a crash. You went down with such crazy, hopeless momentum that you’d slide along a while, sometimes with it on top and sometimes with you on top, catch on a pothole and bounce a couple of blocks, end up dangling off a seawall over an old oyster bed, and never once even think about the bike getting hurt. It was a bike! And later, when I was 13 and graduated to a gold three speed I was drunk with options. Low, Medium, and High made that baby the batmobile of bikes as far as I was concerned, and when it got stolen I was speechless for three days.
But Baby Squatch is already talking gear, and I admit I want her magic carpet to feature some noticeable zip and flow. I also find myself thinking things like, “Damn, that girl could have nine years of miles in those legs by the time she’s 20!” Crazy.
I think Baby Squatch would have appreciated coaster brakes. Remember how cool it was to lock up the rear tire in some gravel and come to a stop with that fishtail slide? A good one of those at the right time could make you feel like the supreme master of your own destiny.