Lord knows I have tried to be patient with Cupcake.
Neck injured, baby on the way, general public to loathe, the man stays busy. He has been leaning pretty heavy on this “doctor’s orders” business about not riding.
I can’t take it any more. Who is Bird without Magic? George W without Cindy Sheehan? Bugs without Elmer? We need our rivals to keep us strong. The Apache would mourn the loss of worthy adversaries, dancing into the night to escort the souls of valiant rivals into the great Buffalo Hunting Grounds. They knew the loss of a strong enemy was an invitation for weakness to creep into their own lodge.
That’s why I dragged him down the St. Mark’s Trail today. His new upright position was not a problem. The Wrecking Ball has already shattered the myth, as he rides like he has a book on his head. The only problem Cupcake has is the one we all have, he needs to be riding his bike.
We schlepped to St. Mark’s and took a break- watching a nest of snakes writhe and coil down on the barnacled edges of the river. Cupcake threw oyster shells at them to tempt the mother snake to make an attack. No go. She could sense our weakness and afforded us no more concern than the Apache indulges a wandering drunk, worth killing only if convenient.
The 16 mile return trip passed with keen alacrity. Jugging along we peered into the pain cave, then stole past holding our breath. There was nothing new for me to see in there as Pain Cave Tommy himself hosted me on a personal tour of the stations of the cross yesterday. One nightmarish moment in yesterday’s ride I experienced the sensation of moving backwards the harder I pedaled, pulled backwards like a rip tide by the wake of sand I pushed ahead of me. Horrible. Hideous. Painful.
I wanted to pass that shit downhill.
I hope you suffered Cupcake, because we have to get you up to speed so I can beat you down proper.