Big Bikes

Lost

The 4th of July; a time to drink all day, get a lawn dart lodged in your neck, eat products containing raw eggs which have been sitting unrefrigerated for hours, pass out in the sun and get a third degree sun burn on your arm pits, then wake up just in time to blow your thumb off with a malfunctioning bottle rocket OR a time to prepare for an event where you'll wake up at 3AM, the next morning having not eaten any barbecue or imbibed any alcohol, don a neoprene halter top (only if you're a man), have someone scrawl numbers on your body with a sharpie, go for a swim with hundreds of other people, get kicked in the head several times, jump out of the water with a wedgie from Hell, get on an oddly fitting bicycle which may already have your shoes strapped to it, try to pedal it up a hill in your 53 X 11, then get back off the bike and run, I can't say anything more about running to make it seem more horrible and insane than, well...running.


So that's where I was on the 4th and 5th of July, supporting the Patriot Half Ironman. After the race wrapped up on saturday I drove the anonymous, white, Timothy McVeigh Special, box truck across town (Freetown that is) to Freetown State Forest. EFTA used to do a race there years ago, in fact I broke my hand doing that race. I wanted to go out and kick the forest's ass. I tried to retrace the course, got lost almost immediately, came to a sign that said "ORV Trail Parking Lot 5 Miles". That's about all I wanted to ride that day, five miles, so I went down the trail. You might think I'm being a slightly hyperbolic here when I say I did not sit down for a collective minute during those five miles, but I'm really not. It was five solid miles of rocks and rocks and rocks...and some roots to fill in the gaps. I stood for five miles, getting the hardware on the rods in my back rattled out. I came out at the parking lot - it wasn't the right one. I asked some very Road Warrior looking Motocross dudes how top get back to the Ranger Station; "F- me! How long did it take you to get here? We don't even ride that trail, it's too rough!". I guess the gayness of my pink helmet, pink cages, and pink SSWC07 arm band was eclipsed by my hardcoreness. They didn't kill me dead, I was glad.

Miriam hammering on the SS

From there I headed over to The Cape to hang with my family. I can't relax without having first thoroughly flagellating myself so Miriam and I went over to Barnstable to check out Trail of Tears. First impression was that it wasn't really all that scary despite the name. Lots of buff as all hell fast, rolling, undulating singletrack, with sweeping bermed out corners. Very nice. After about an hour Miriam and I parted ways with the plan of meeting up in about half an hour at the car. I went out and started absolutely hammering the remainder of the red loop. When it was about time to begin heading back things took a turn for the worse. This area is finite, yet I found myself hopelessly lost. A short while later I was out of water, dehydrated, feeling the hunger knock, and ultimately bonking out big time. Ridiculous to end up in this state considering the stuff I get away with out there week after week.

In the end it would take me over an hour and a half past the meeting time to make my way back to the car in a horribly diminished capacity.
I'm just kind of going to trail off here, because I have to get up and head out to Windham in the AM, check back soon.

Cleaning one of the "Incredibly technical" sections of Trail of Tears.