Wednesday, April 08, 2009

Slump Day

Last Thursday I went out for another Solo Epic. Yes Epic. I said it, I'll say it again EPIC. We just don't use that word enough anymore. We also don't chest bump as a greeting enough anymore. "Hi Gramma" - Bump! "Oh God, someone call the paramedics". Maybe four and a half hours on The Superfly. Thursdays were my long road ride day, but since I got the Superfly set up and the trails have cleared, I haven't been able to help myself. Every chance I get, I'm out on that bike, riding all over the place just to ride. Training-wise I'm not sure if it makes sense. I don't really care. Enough road already, I want to play bikes.

This ride was another of those over the river and through the woods to god freakin' knows where rides. I had to get to the shop to attend to some very serious business. That leg of the ride was primarily road, although I did throw in some urban trials. There will possibly be a video to accompany this post sometime in the (probably distant) future showcasing how awesomely I suck at trials. I spent far too long messing around at the shop, leaving with about two hours of daylight remaining.

I talk a lot about all the music I listen to to keep me sane on long road rides but I on the mountain bike I almost can't tolerate music at all. I knew I'd be out for a long time and a good amount of that time would be spent spinning my brains out (Shut up, it's all relative, some of us just have less brains to spin out. Don't make fun of me just because I have a placard on my bike that allows me to park closer to the coffee shop than you) on the road. I was in a hurry so I even loaded up my ipod with my all time favorite, 150 song, nearly five hour comp, No Thanks! the '70s punk Rebellion. And even that couldn't keep me happy. For whatever reason, I prefer silence on the knobby bike.

From there I explored some trails along The Charles River around Hemlock Gorge and down Quinobequin Road. Nothing to write home about, but something to write on the blog about how they aren't something to write home about. Yes, that sentence doesn't quite work, does it?

I picked up some Fisherman's trails along The Charles in Waltham. These trails don't really go anywhere and no discerning mountain bike rider would ever consider them a destination, but string 'em together with some other stuff and you're a stoked puppy.

And Here's the funny thing. Half way through the latter part of this ride I bonked terribly. I had the camera on so whenever I had the thing running and some tasty single-track was thrown in front of me I started riding like a freakin' idiot. No one wants to watch a helmet cam video of someone poking along the trail. Except maybe my Mom...because it wouldn't make her quite so nervous. This practice quickly sapped my stores. The amount of food I'd normally ingest on a steady road endurance ride was nowhere near adequate.

I still had a Metric Butt-Load of trail to cover before I could hang my helmet so I veered about a mile off course in either direction to scare up some supplies. A little Liquor store on Trapelo road was the best I could do. So I drank a Forty of Old E and ate some Beef Jerky and Hot Fries and I was on my way.

No. I'm not quite that fucked in the head, nor I am I that dietarily punk rock. That set up makes the fact that my emergency meal consisted of Coke and Cream Filled Chocolate Easter Eggs seem pretty reasonable. Hey, they did the trick, I went from being useless, to being able to pedal my bike with some feeling, to kind of rockin' it again. So much so that given the choice between turning for home as the sun set or taking on more trail, I opted for the latter.

That went well...for a minute. Then I took a left when I should have taken a right and found myself over a half an hour from home, half an hour after sunset, with no lights. Dur. Here I chose to ride down the powerlines toward Horn Pond in Woburn, figuring it was safer than riding the road in the pitch dark. As I rolled down the powerlines I caught something out of the corner of my eye, I thought it was a Red-Tailed Hawk. Which would have been cool. Common...but cool. It was, in fact, a Great Horned Owl. It came to a perch on a leafless tree, staring right at me, it did that head thing, the pivoting in circles thing, it didn't make a sound, I did, I let out a hoot, not like and Owl, like an imbecile who was really, really stoked to see and Owl. Then it flew away.

After that I picked my way blindly through the Forest, spun home down the Mystic Lakes, and came home to find Mountains of Indian Food awaiting me. Such a perfect day.

Trek Rep Bill dropped these by the shop today. I quietly slunk back outside and removed the Banana I had just put in his tailpipe.


zencycle said...

"Metric Butt-Load"...dude, you come up with the best lines, HAH!

I'm the opposite with music. I won't wear anything on the road but I dig tunes on the dirt. As a fan of music with an edge, I checked out the punk compilation you mentioned. More than half of that compilation doesn't seem punk to me. Iggy pop and nick lowe? not punk. Joy division and the cure? seriously, danceteria roots of goth maybe. Blondie, the pretenders, elvis costello, and joe jackson? _really_ not punk.

Don't get me wrong, I _like_ all of that stuff, quite a bit in fact, but it bugs me when they start lumping anything that isn't in the led zepplin and aerosmith genre as 'punk'.

But hey, one mans punk is another mans new wave. I got into an internet forum discussion a few years ago about music and mentioned the punk roots of Green Day and The Offspring. Wow, you would have thought I offered the dudes mother up for a gang bang. To some people if it doesn't sound exactly like black flag it isn't punk.

But, it's all good, whatever rings yer cowbell is ok with me. Even I have my secrets (I'm a closet madonna fan, ssshhhhhh!)

jasonwg said...

Great shot of the owl. Your Go-Go Hero Pro helmet cam takes great pictures. You must have been like 3 feet from the owl.... I wish I wasn't the only one who thought you took that picture.

solobreak said...

Try a little Curtis Mayfield out in the woods on an illegal trail.