It is up to you to create your own adventures today!
- My fortune cookie saying with tonight's meal
- My fortune cookie saying with tonight's meal
And one time, at Single Speed Worlds...
I'll take a break from reflecting on the shear awesomeness of SSWC08 for a moment to talk BRIEFLY about the weekend's rides.
First I want to say that Route 140 in Mansfield Massachusetts is not a place one should ever ride a bike, unless they want to save money on bullets, drain cleaner, sleeping pills, razor blades, or a plain ticket to San Francisco to jump off a big red bridge. Yesterday was just about a total bust. The plan was for me to ride my fixed gear bicycle down to Easton and meet Miriam to ride Borderland (she had my Rig in the car). The plan unraveled as quickly as the rickety plot of an M. Night Shayamalan movie. As I got rolling I realized I'd forgotten my 15mm wrench to fix a rear flat with my bolt on axles. Then I realized that I didn't have my map or directions...I had no idea where I was going.
During a quick stop at IBC I looked at a map online and refreshed my memory. Things went well after that for a while. How was I to know that there were two totally different Washington Streets within about a mile of each other. But man, I was cooking, spinning out that 44 X 17...in the completely wrong direction. Sweet. By the time I stopped hurtling down the road like a V-2 missile, no directional system whatsoever, I was way off course. A call to Miriam got me headed back in the right direction...for a minute, then it was back into the void. I was riding on roads that no one in their sober-right mind would ride on. I don't know maybe some folks like to roll down roads with rumble strips and on ramps to major highways, that's cool for them. I was petrified.
The crap icing on the shit cake was getting a flat, I rode back down the breakdown lane, yes breakdown lane, another sign that you are on the road to nothing but hurt. I found a ghost mall off on a side road and called Miriam for an Evac. Three "really happy" looking women gave me directions to a Honey Dew Donuts where I waited, in just a swell mood, for my pick up.
Damn, this thing keeps getting harder to ride every year.
But in the morning I woke up at the cabin in Wrentham, the view is portrayed in the photo at the beginning of this post. Not a bad away to wake up. I was so psyched to ride my bike, like a little kid on Xmas, that I woke up at 6:30AM, ready to go. The ride I was leading didn't go off until 10, so I hit it on my own for a couple hours, checking out the loop we were planning on doing. The photos tell the rest.
I'll take a break from reflecting on the shear awesomeness of SSWC08 for a moment to talk BRIEFLY about the weekend's rides.
First I want to say that Route 140 in Mansfield Massachusetts is not a place one should ever ride a bike, unless they want to save money on bullets, drain cleaner, sleeping pills, razor blades, or a plain ticket to San Francisco to jump off a big red bridge. Yesterday was just about a total bust. The plan was for me to ride my fixed gear bicycle down to Easton and meet Miriam to ride Borderland (she had my Rig in the car). The plan unraveled as quickly as the rickety plot of an M. Night Shayamalan movie. As I got rolling I realized I'd forgotten my 15mm wrench to fix a rear flat with my bolt on axles. Then I realized that I didn't have my map or directions...I had no idea where I was going.
During a quick stop at IBC I looked at a map online and refreshed my memory. Things went well after that for a while. How was I to know that there were two totally different Washington Streets within about a mile of each other. But man, I was cooking, spinning out that 44 X 17...in the completely wrong direction. Sweet. By the time I stopped hurtling down the road like a V-2 missile, no directional system whatsoever, I was way off course. A call to Miriam got me headed back in the right direction...for a minute, then it was back into the void. I was riding on roads that no one in their sober-right mind would ride on. I don't know maybe some folks like to roll down roads with rumble strips and on ramps to major highways, that's cool for them. I was petrified.
The crap icing on the shit cake was getting a flat, I rode back down the breakdown lane, yes breakdown lane, another sign that you are on the road to nothing but hurt. I found a ghost mall off on a side road and called Miriam for an Evac. Three "really happy" looking women gave me directions to a Honey Dew Donuts where I waited, in just a swell mood, for my pick up.
Damn, this thing keeps getting harder to ride every year.
The only game in town on Labor Day AM. Not that I'm complaining.
Jane and a techy stream crossing.
Miriam rides by the scene of the crime. Last time she met the rock behind her, it body slammed her to the ground.
My mom just turned sixty. Her idea of a party was taking a bunch of girlfriends up to The North East Kingdom of Vermont for a Mountain bike weekend.
Montello, sweating out a whole lot of toxins.
Cousin Christy is a farmer, she works harder than just about anyone I know.
My Grandmother, Mary Alice. She hasn't aged during my lifetime.
Any ride of mine involves a bit of this.
Entertaining Noah and Lyla is a hell of a lot more important than being nice to my bike.
1 comment:
hehehe, glad to see you bust that move back out.
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