Good morning people.
I had a great ride yesterday morning with my brother and my bike mechanic. This is an unusual combination since my brother didn’t have a bike the last time I posted to the circus, and my mechanic has a new born child at home, so he doesn’t get out much.
My mechanic “Scarshins” showed up early yesterday morning, refreshed from 2.5 hours of sleep. I had a solid 6 hours, and felt about as rough as Sasquatch’s chamois.
My brother, with his fresh 1997 Jamis Durango he picked up over the weekend, drove the truck to the trailhead, while Scarshins and I rode out.
There are certain people who have logged so many miles on their legs, they don’t know how to not be fast, regardless of conditioning. This guy is one of those. He rode a good portion of the transit and the trail in a speed wheelie, coasting, shifting gears, making a ham sandwich, all on his back wheel. In the singletrack sections he hucked his 30 lb. Iron horse around gleefully, a man cut loose from the confines of gravity for a couple hours.
Considering how much more I ride than him, it was shaping up to be yet another humbling outing for the author, an all too familiar act here at the BRC.
Then he puked, or as he called it “Power-booted”. He didn’t stop pedaling. He just leaned over and let fly. This made him, and definitely me, feel a whole lot better.