MoRonIc 12-29-06 & 1-2-07

So, first, I was wildly remiss in not providing a ride report from Last Week’s ride which was dumb cause we were “SO-Bad-Ass!” by braving the wind, rain, sleet, snow, falling trees, mudslides, giant-attack-newts and all manner of other marauding malady, that it would have been good to write some kind of story about it. Hmm. Okay, here it is in a nutshell. Parking lot—Ron, Pete, Dana, and me. Russell was in the parking lot, but it was too cold and rainy and windy and mudslidey and newty for him so he didn’t go (WhatEVER!). We also ran into Dolores, who, unbeknownst to us, had Fuzzy hidden away at Iron Springs at that very moment—it was like the underground railroad—a refuge for scared MoRon riders—an intricate system of Laundromats, bars, and hidden vehicles designed to free people from the prison that is the winter TNR. So, briefly, we rode up to the road, did the Pine Point trail around Bon Tempe, went up to the Knob, and Dana was bitterly disappointed to find a large tree down over the stairs cause, you know, this was the night he was gonna do them stairs….

We went to the top and had a shot, against the wishes of the wind that was eager to suck it straight out of our cups. Ron lamented the lack of our resident meteorologist to tell us precisely how M.F.ing windy it was. We rode down, did P&M, then graced Iron Springs with our mud-filled butts.

Okay, last night’s report starts NOW:

A China Camp front side ride for the poor tired souls who rode and heaved all day on Monday—Jon, Karen, Dana, Craig, Fuzzy, Lorna, Dr. Mike, Ron, and Moi. Pete was stuck “workin’ fo’ the man”, which, in this case, was him. I got Jon to wrench on my bike, and he used this as an excuse for why he then failed to wrench on HIS, thus causing sadness at a later time….

We departed on time, climbed up happily enough until the tall one was seen stooped over his bike, crap flyin’ outta his Camelbak—it seemed so ………..familiar……..somehow… Then it occurred to me, what that ‘This-Just-Happened-Yesterday’ feeling was all about—this just happened yesterday was, in fact, what it was all about. He was gonna bail, then decided to handily keep pace behind those of us with chains by RUNNING up the trail. I know he wanted to pass me but I just couldn’t abide. So mean. We got to the bridge and the boys had parts for him, so they fixed him up while we had some liquid courage, Yuri from Soulcraft of the 1,243,445 miles in 24-Hours fame came by, said something about losing an Antonio somewhere, and went up to the Nike site. We were gonna go that way but Ron peed his pants when he saw those guys so we didn’t go there.

At the beginning of one of my favorite sections, Ron and the boys gave me like a 42 minute head start and let me lead and pretended like they weren’t riding the brakes the whole time behind me. I tried to keep my composure at the end “ yeah….that was fun ☺” all non-chalant. What y’all didn’t notice was me sneaking off into the bushes to cough up about six shiny blue Smurfs, one of which held onto my left lung as it exited. Jesus. Don’t mess with these guys. They’ll break your ever-lovin’ heart.

So, the rest of the ride was a poke-fest for me, having spent it all on that ½ mile, but fun and beautiful nonetheless. Great view of the Bay and lights from a new “picnic” spot—heard crazy coyotes, watched the boys fix Fuzzy’s broken chain (what up wit dis?), found Antonio, couldn’t get him to drink ( I’m speechless here. ), Rode the rest of the loop, then had ranger danger which turned out to be campground host paranoia, then we all got split up and I rode by the hosts house (trailer) and was soooo enjoying my pedal out on the pavement toward the road, enjoying the moon, looking left, looking right on San Pedro to make sure there were no cars, that I had safe passage, oh gee, I love riding at night, it is so peaceful and nice, and

• &OMYFUCKING#@$GODHOLY*+@!!#$SHIT a large metal gate was looming suddenly in front of me—“Park Hours” was about to be the last thing I ever saw in my meager 29 years on this planet. I tried them brakes and prayed a little prayer (there are no atheists in foxholes, as they say), saw some whitish light, thought about Pete, Maggie, and Beer (okay, Beer, Maggie, Pete…), and hoped for the best as they locked up, skidded, dropped some rubber. Stoppage was achieved. Life preserved. Holy Cow.

Off to the Drum. Yummy food, beer, good folks. Craig said something disturbing about women with good strong grips. I’m still processing that one. Thanks y’all!