The cat resists the dog. The pedals resist my pushing. The sand resists the wheel.
Dogboy and I at large in the forest, let’s call it 30 miles. 4 on marked trail, 12 on surface roads, the rest in off-road no man’s land. I would consider it a long ride except I hear Bike Church went 87 miles on Sunday, bartered or begged for a ferry across the St. Mark’s river, chased bobcats, made the bonfire party at Ouzt’s Oyster Bar, and still got home before dark. I will just call our ride a ride.
We talked and slogged, coming again and again to the same conclusion, “Yes, a healthy tension is a good thing.” Someone must push for new trails, and someone must push for no trails. The tree stands stronger when the roots pull against the earth.
The next day
Running a lap around Munson by myself last night, contemplating the unhealthy tension of work and pounding, nay, crushing the pedals. I am the fastest man to ever wear a pair of Dockers. I am the King of the Pogues! I see the chilly October sunset off of my starboard bow and a radiant ascending moon at port-side stern. A rider appears in my path ahead and I tack to unleash the spinnaker and go booming around him. Wait though! It’s not a rider, but God, speaking through an old friend who once reminded me that my body was mine alone, and I had free will to do with it what I wished, including smoke cigarettes or revolve my triangle.
We stop. We sit. The moon rises, the sun sets, and there is that healthy tension again. He escorts me back to the trail-head, and as dictated by custom we sprint for the gate. I go way early, he comes around grinning. I lob another assault on his redoubt, and come up short-ricocheting off of the Canadian headwind. I find a pocket of strength in my right quad, the exact dimensions of a hotdog bun, and spend it on a final attempt. He coasts by me just at the line, knocking off my pogue king crown.
I hear its tin tinkle and skitter down the pavement and without looking back I relinquish that throne- I am just another proud pauper of the woods again, in that kingdom no one reigns.
Actual mileage for BC was more like 81. The rest is true.
“I am just another proud pauper of the woods again, in that kingdom no one reigns.”
Ah! the Jauncho we all love.
Man, you make me want to ride my bike!
Whew! All this high waisted writing makes me wanna come over here and kick sand…but…something…is holding…me back.
“the exact dimensions of a hot dog bun”? Damn.
More like the exact dimensions of a continent!
RD, We should hook up, I come up and ride with my bro at Ord once in a while..or you could come down(110miles) and I’d tour you on some rolling nirvana….OR..we could meet Jauncho in Grand Junction in May..??
Skunks and beer ..me specialty…
Buzz, you are on. On all of those.
Jauncho, can you get to Junction in May?
Yes. Where is Grand Junction? Is it north or south of Sopchoppy?
……about 1497.67 miles Maestro-Ponente/WNW, as the crow flys from that sweet little berg on the Ochlockonee
…be there be square
Will the snow be gone by May?
maybe..maybe not..global warming might be real..maybe..maybe not
man up and roll it
I lived in Montana. I had chains for my commuter bike. I think the slush will be the equalizer for me against you high-altitude locals. I’ll start the planning, and I am serious.
I’m getting old and disinterested..I need goals.
Big Wheel Mike has kindly showed us the way.
I love the desert… what can I say??
You and Rev come to agreement and I will try to make it happen.
Grand Junction (where I have in-laws and can provide lodging) is basically Fruita, which is practically Moab.
I am serious too.
Came for prose, left with poetry.