I usually just make cycling difficult for myself. However, sometimes there are those who need a little bit of a push into the world of HTFU and so we have to arrange for them to suffer. With this in mind, there was a plan laid that consisted of two phases. 1 get everyone together and get them drunk. 2 make sure said people ride their bikes the next day.
To start the mission, I sent out invitations to the Mooseknuckler Cycling Alliance Social Lounge (you really would have thought I could come up with a shorter name) that was for a get-together that was to happen after the Red Rock Rampage. The house was cleaned, invitations were made and booze was purchased. Certain of the guests were in for about 5 hours of kick ass fun followed by 18 hours of “holy shit, what have I done to myself?”
So once the party was on, this being a party completely occupied by bike-type folks, riding plans began to be laid out. Those who were unaware that they were about to be forced into an edition of Making Cycling Difficult gladly said they would ride the next day. Of course all these plans and obligations were being made under the influence of alcohol and lots of peer pressure.
We were to meet at 11am the next morning.
Every time Target #1 grabbed another beer I figured we were moving the time back an hour or so. He even accused me of having too much to drink, but I remember that instance and I don’t think he does.
As all well planned ideas do, things went smoothly. We even had the added bonus of Mitch showing up with a bottle of Pisco right at the time when certain people were primed for being persuaded to try a new drink. Pisco tastings abounded. And then seconds were served. This is where I stopped, knowing full well what was planned for the next day and having a real desire to ride my bike. Ten more minutes went by and I noticed the Pisco was basically gone.
All of this was occurring at about 10:30, which just happens to coincide with the exact time that Target #2 remembers at every party that Sir Gurr didn’t show up and that she has to call him. I have learned to hide my phone. Paul has not. Sir Gurr was called, multiple times until he actually answered and was berated by Target #2 for not showing up to our get-together.
Paul and Mitch left after their crucial roles had been completed.
Then I was blindsided. Gurr actually showed up. On his bike. This was at 11:15ish, I didn’t look at the clock. Gurr showing up at said time wasn’t planned but played well into the whole scenario. As things were slowing dying down, he brought the party back to full tilt with just one hello. And that, more than anything else, was the nail in the coffin of my targets.
People started to trickle home, trickle into rooms were they were to crash for the evening and those who were left kept on going strong. And going strong. And going strong.
“This is my favorite Tool song,” was heard every time the song changed.
There was a plan to meet for breakfast at St. Helen’s at 9am as a way to make sure people were up and ready to go.
I turned the lights out. People kept going strong.
I turned the music off. People kept going strong.
And then around 2, they all finally filed out of the house. After which, I am told, a lot of, “This is my favorite street,” was heard throughout the neighborhood.
Phase 1 of Making Cycling Difficult, for Other People was accomplished. The next step was to ensure that the targets were up and ready to ride by 11…
I am a slave to habits. So as is my habit, despite the fact that I didn’t retire until 2 am, I rolled out of bed at 6. Of course, everyone was still sleeping. I took a quick shower and headed to the shop for some PBS (personal bike shit). After which, I returned at about 8 to the house to find people up and enjoying the warm light coming through the living room windows.
At 8:30 I sent two text messages. One said, “at 11?” The other read, “R u guys going to join us for breakfast?”
Reply from target #1, “Where?”
Reply from target #2’s significant other, “Just waiting for target #2 to puke. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Both were awake.
Breakfast was consumed and I readied myself for the ride. 11 rolled around and the group began to congregate at the MCA Headquarters. We could have easily been a trailer for the next zombie thriller. Think Shawn of the Dead but with bike folk.
What better place to ride the day after the Rampage with a roaring hangover than the Goose. We headed out.
Target #1 took at least 34.27 minutes to actually get ready to ride once we were at the trailhead. Target #2 was having trouble standing, let alone pedaling a bike. Once we were done waiting for Target #1 to get ready and we started riding, the pace was slow. We were a rolling shit show at best and a walking one at worst.
The above picture was taken while we were waiting for the walking section of our group to catch up. It is riddled with symbolism. First, the blue bike is on its side not being ridden symbolizing those who had fallen due to the party from the previous night. Second, it is pointed at the water which is what we all were lacking at this point. Third, the view of Zion, or heaven if you will, is in the background. Pointing out that this is probably the closest we will ever be.
I didn’t count, but there was a lot of requests for headache curing medicine. There were a lot of dazed looks. The getting rad that usually occurs during a Goose session was tuned down by a factor of ten. We had a goal and it was to ride the Goose. So we rode the Goose and left the extracurricular stuff for another day.
Target #1 finished both the North and South Rims. Target #2 was forced to pull out about 1/2 way up the South Rim.
Mission accomplished.
Editor’s note: the names of Target #1 and Target #2 have been changed to Target #1 and Target #2 to hide their identities and protect the innocent children. This account of what took place may be slightly jaded and is most likely filled with errors and sarcastic overtones for your enjoyment.
P. L and R. Until next time…