There are days that remind you why you keep punching the clock, hitting the alarm, crawling out of bed and or generally doing whatever the hell it is that we all do, all the time. These are days that you never want to end, so you keep pushing, keep on going until the end when you collapse into bed completely exhausted and with a huge smile on your face and all you can do is say, Amen!
This past Sunday was one of those days.
In the much bigger scheme that is the Church of the Holy Alliance of Mooseknucklers, this past Sabbath that was a Sunday could be considered the perfect worship.
Seeing that our Cathedral is generally anywhere that there is single track, the Alliance was out in force helping to clean up that Cathedral. Joining forces with the DMBTA, nine of us spent the morning rehabbing trail.
As we have been made to know through the revelations laid down within the Mooseknuckler Bible, the Lord does not like double track and there is no greater sin than turning single track into that which is double. We also know that it is due to our lack of keeping the single track single that the Almighty dropped biblical proportions of rain all over Southern Utah creating ruts and leaving loose rocks strewn everywhere. That, and of course, the Gays.
As an effort to appease the deity that ran rampant through our Cathedral leaving the place in a general state of disrepair, we postponed our normally scheduled worship and sacrificed the cool weather of the morning to sweat, grunt and heave as we moved countless loose rocks, broke down ruts and did what we could to pay our penance.
If you’ve ever spent a morning doing trail maintenance, you know that it is a great way to blow yourself up and at the same time inspire you to ride some killer trail worship. When the bell rang releasing from the study of sacrifice, we adjourned to our places of residence to obtain sustenance. After which, we were to make our way to another portion of our Cathedral and perform our weekly worship.
With our bellies full of manna, we ascended to the throne of rock known as Guacamole. We were plagued with a dusty road on our journey that left our bikes completely coated in moon dust. Luckily, we were prepared and after some wiping, dripping, more wiping, our steeds were ready to ravage the trail, shred if you will.
Kenny started the sermon and we quickly all recognized that we were fatigued from the morning’s lesson. Undeterred, for we were inspired by having left our own blood and sweat (mostly sweat) in the keeping of single track single, we pedaled on. Soon the muscles relaxed as her Majesty smiled upon us and the sun began to sink into the autumnal afternoon sky. As these things go, the mic was passed around the group as each of us took the time to preach what we know best, what it that keeps us coming back and yelling, Hallelujah!
There were two prospective converts to the Church of the Holy Alliance of Mooseknucklers in attendance. So we put on our best Sunday clothes and waxed long in the ways of the Holy Alliance. Teaching by example, each of showed how it was done and then took them by the hand and more or less stood around while they sessioned that which was in the way. And the Holy Spirit testified that these things were true leaving both of our investigators declaring that they had seen and done things that they had previously thought impossible.
Ah, God works in mysterious ways.
As we made our way around the mesa, the sun began to set on the Sabbath. The temperatures began to sink and the sun cast beautiful hues of orange over the cliffs that are Zion. And there was a mysterious wafting of the smell of bottled hops and carbonation. We recognized this as a sign from the Creator, our loving Mooseknuckler in the sky, that our worship was acceptable in his sight. We slowed our pace letting our four-legged friend, Moco, rest her wearied body on the warm sandstone and giving us time to wax wordy.
That special aroma that any Mooseknuckler can smell from hundreds of feet away got stronger and we knew that the end was nigh. The pace increased as we headed toward our sacrament. Our fatigued legs burned with each pedal stroke, but our goal was pure and we trusted that we would make it back to the cars in time to witness the agonizing of the day is it sinks into the darkness of night.
And then Darin ended up on his head.
We have all had those moments, the instant we think everything is going perfectly and we fall into a trance, into a state of meditation that removes all distractions and we are in the moment and feeling like everything in the world is perfect. And then, without warning, the great lobster in the sky decides to move the rock back exactly enough that your front wheel falls right in front of instead of on the obstacle. It is this point that you learn humility. And end up on your head.
The doc checked him out and once he was given the go ahead, we made our way to the trail head. The beers were cold and sweaty and were opened with a sigh. To close our worship, we raised those bottles and with a clink, we collectively said Amen!
And everything was right with the world.
P. L. and R.
