At some point, I stepped in a large pile of shit.
But let’s back up a bit to put that in context. The above photo is the picture of the 12 pack of Sessions I bought Saturday on my way home from work. I also purchased a bottle of High West Double Rye for Jamon’s befday that happened like 6 months ago and a bottle of Buffalo Trace because that’s what I like. The sessions were for the people who can’t handle to drink good liquor.
Those of you who frequent my corner of the web which happens to be where you are right now, knew that I was going to throw a little bit of a fit in party form Saturday evening. After all we needed some sort of celebration of TrueGrit and my befday. Outside of that small mention I had made here, I didn’t get the word out effectively. I mean I basically invited everyone the same day that the party was to take place. I wasn’t expecting a big turn out.
To be honest, the thing I was most excited about for that night was listening to Jamon’s stories about his race. I don’t normally get my panties in a knot over race reports, but this was a little different. Jamon rode the 50 mile course on a “townie,” essentially an old mountain bike frame with fenders, basket and rear rack.
And those stories did not disappoint. My night was made before the party was even supposed to start. Jamon handed my a bottle of Bulleit Rye for my befday (bringing the bottles of whiskey to 3) and then proceeded with the stories. Four flats, throw the chain countless times, plastic gear box broken in half and the list goes on. I still don’t think we got the full report even after listening to varied stories for well into Sunday.
But back to the party.
The usual suspects started rolling in. And by usual suspects I mean mostly new people. The Cranes came over with their dog. Ben, the new guy at the shop, stopped by with his as well and pretty soon the back yard was full of whiskey, beer, dogs and people. Two fire pits were lit and we all had a nice little evening in the new and “approved” lounge.
Of course, with that much whiskey sitting around things may have gotten a little out of control. The Lounge officially closed at 10 but last call didn’t happen till way after 11.
The reason the Lounge was to close early, was the fact that I was supposed to be doing trail work the next morning at 10 AM on Gooseberry mesa. The work got done, but the Mooseknuckler-mobile didn’t roll in until we were so officially late that everyone was about to leave without us. On behalf of the entire Alliance, I apologize for our tardiness.
Seeing that Sunday School was held on the Goose and the lesson was on persevering through tribulation (I had a serious head ache well into Monday), it seemed only right to get a legitimate ride in on Monday. The texts went out and the came back. It was on Scarf and I on the Creek which is Little.
It was about as perfect of a ride as I could have asked for. We did both the big loops in a chilly wind. There were a few cars in the parking lot, but we didn’t see anyone on the trail. It was just us, our bikes and the wind. Well, and the dogs…
It made me think that maybe the Creek which is Little needs to stay the way it is, hard to find and with a bit of mystique around it. There needs to be a place that locals can go without running into thousands of people. Don’t take that as a complaint or commentary on the state of our trails. There are very few people riding here compared to other places, but it’s nice to hit something that scenic without seeing anyone else.
Of course, we always have the curse to fall back on.
I woke up on Sunday at exactly the time that I had wanted to. This was done because somehow I had the presence of mind at 11:30ish to set my alarm. As I climbed out of bed and realized that feat, I felt pretty good about myself. Then I wandered out into the cold to get the bikes ready and figure out how I was going to get myself to the next part of my weekend.
The above photo accurately depicts what my brain felt like.
I headed out the back door and noticed the track of poo spots on the sidewalk. I was able to follow them all the way back to the Lounge. I didn’t think much of it, and went about my business. Then I followed the tracks around the other side of the house. I then found my flip flops at the front door. I don’t know how, but I knew enough in my state to take the sandals off before entering.
And with that pile of shit, I will leave you with the following video.
It was ten years ago today that I had a barbecue that signaled the end of my consumption of meat. I guess this is for life.
P. L. and R.
