Ron, day 1 and 2 – Seriously? Good times

Ron rolled into town yesterday and met the fellas at one of the local feed bags favored by Big Worm and Big Jim. I hate the place and their yum yum sauce. I showed up late because of work. By the time I walked in, the crew was done with lunch but still chewin the fat. J, Worm, Jim, Zak, Terry, Mark and Lil’ were there. Out of smack-talk practice and late to the party, I took a verbal beating. I’d like to say I did so with grace but not really. Had a hard time coming down off of work – kinda like when you get home and just need 30 minutes to yourself to get right. By the time I was warmed up it was time to for everybody else to go. Ron and I had planned go ride but I needed to drop London’s car off and run a few errands. He was pissed in a funny way and kept saying “seriously?” (because he had to chauffeur). I was close to shaking the work funk when we finally got to my house. A quick introduction to my disgusting dogs and some ride prep and we were off – headed to Silk and Cliff’s singletrack. A stop at Mark’s house, no ride cause you’re daddy empathy and we headed down the power-lines. Got the new singletrack, east and west loops. Other than slinging beef and vurping garlic chicken, it was “as advertised”. Talking and cranking jokes all along the way we made it back to my house 17 miles later. It was an awesome ride and by all accounts and all life segments I felt great.

Day 2 – Woke up and did some honey-dos. Had errands and a life-strategy session with cuz. Forgot my phone and felt too unplugged. Got back and found out we were rolling from Blairstone at 2. From yesterday we lost Mark, Lil, J and Terry, but we picked up Spanish Mackerel (aka Steve). Legs felt good considering I rode the day before. Odd because I haven’t ridden two days in-a-row since Birmingham two years ago. This is where things started going horribly long. With a false sense of security I made my way to meet the boys. Mostly everybody was sporting the black and orange. I hang a u-ee and latch onto the back. As usual we are skipping along pretty quick on an allegedly “conversational ride.” Everything is great. The weather is perfect, riding with the crew, on a dualie and I’m not working – in other words a hard situation to beat. Then the family truckster starts having problems. The wheels are wobbly, dents all up and down it and the tranny is making a noise – basically I’m starting to come apart. I can’t get the salt out of my eyes, I’m breathing hard and having a hard time keeping pace – which I’m sure is not very fast. I keep trying to ride through it but not having much luck. After the ravine I try to sport a downhill and end up speed turning a corner – right off of the trail and crashing into the woods. Sucks. Shake that off and limp up to the group. Gathered by the bike wash, I fill my bottle and shove off to go check out the root hole. Everyone has stalled at some point of this technical downhill section. I’m following Steve as we pass the fellas and he’s cleaning every little mini-section. Near the end just when I started celebrating in my mind – wham, bang, boom. Steve cleans the whole thing and I’m ass over head crashed. What followed during the next hour and a half was a long string of pedal suffering and more verbal abuse. I was defenseless in my weakened state.

I loved every minute of it.

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