As you may be aware, there was a fair bit of snowfall over the weekend. My sources indicate that the trails we usually ride on Tuesday's may be under a bit more snow than has been customary this winter season. Note, I didn't say unridable. Paul did several rides over the weekend, plus a couple long distance swims, as he too is tuning up for an Xterra this summer.
Anyway, I would like to throw out the option to bust out 'yer crosser tomorrow and embark on an recently discussed journey, as follows; Depart Mosquito lot at 6:00pm, ride to Coloma, then ride Cronin to Salmon Falls. Then ride into El Dorado Hills, where I will treat you to some of their local single track, and possibly a fuel stop, then roll some back road combo of dirt and road into Cameron Park (yeah, I got that too), fueling again in Shingle Springs, where we pick up the El Dorado Trail for the roll home. I would estimate this adventure will take approximately 4 hours and it obviously will include some road riding. I am floating this today to see if it has any traction. If not, well, feel free to put another call out up tomorrow with other options. I am just going to come right out with it now, even though it would give me the chance to be the taco golden boy again, I am not up for an FTSki, I prefer to ride. With that, I am opening this up for discussion in the hidden comment field below. Get 'yer discussion on. Oh, and who got the reference in the title line?
Cappy
Monday, March 19, 2012
Thursday, March 15, 2012
"Just Look How Cute He Is!"
The post title is in reference to Cappy, though this time unrelated to our simmering group bromance.
This is about Mother shamelessly playing favorites and manifesting it through her cooking. Whilst nocar and I kvetched and gnawed through seemingly rawhide shells, it was tasty dining per usual for the suspiciously tranquil Cannondale pilot.
I should have known something was up when this conciliatory offering plopped down on the table.
At one point while eating my tacos I thought I had accidentally chomped down on the tray.
I resolved to do the unthinkable and confront management. Fully aware this was an undertaking riskier than anything encountered on the trail that evening, nocar kindly provisioned me for the effort with some dramatically ironic brown courage. It was poured by Mother's own customarily loose wrist.
Upon settling the bill, I steeled myself and resolved to get to the bottom of the situation. Did nocar and I get the last shells from an old bag? Was there a sudden change in atmospheric pressure? Could it be the high humidity on the rainy night?
No, no and no, the explanation was much more simple. In a blatant display of partiality, tender care was taken by the chef to ensure that each of the Golden Boy's 6 shells were just-so. See the blog title for the reason behind that. You should have seen the unabashed glow on Cap's face when that bounced off his ear drums.
Shells for the underclass were mailed in. They were only to be removed from the crackling oil when that somewhat less than herculean task could be very conveniently performed within the ebb and flow of Knott commerce. It was a night busier than most lately, presumably due to the recent clock change. It wasn't all that busy though.
Daylight savings not only brings out more customers, it allows for naturally illuminated ride starts, as evidenced in the picture above showing the night's complete huddle of riders.
This one was taken during the ride. Conditions were actually nicer than this may imply as the rain was warm and only moderate overall. Traction was much less grippy than it has been. Stop your rims from spinning all you want, that doesn't mean your bike will. Both Cap and I just about ate the same tree right at the bottom of the initial Palin drop. Had Cutie Pie done so, perhaps he'd have some empathy for nocar's and my taco experience.
This is about Mother shamelessly playing favorites and manifesting it through her cooking. Whilst nocar and I kvetched and gnawed through seemingly rawhide shells, it was tasty dining per usual for the suspiciously tranquil Cannondale pilot.
I should have known something was up when this conciliatory offering plopped down on the table.
At one point while eating my tacos I thought I had accidentally chomped down on the tray.
I resolved to do the unthinkable and confront management. Fully aware this was an undertaking riskier than anything encountered on the trail that evening, nocar kindly provisioned me for the effort with some dramatically ironic brown courage. It was poured by Mother's own customarily loose wrist.
Upon settling the bill, I steeled myself and resolved to get to the bottom of the situation. Did nocar and I get the last shells from an old bag? Was there a sudden change in atmospheric pressure? Could it be the high humidity on the rainy night?
No, no and no, the explanation was much more simple. In a blatant display of partiality, tender care was taken by the chef to ensure that each of the Golden Boy's 6 shells were just-so. See the blog title for the reason behind that. You should have seen the unabashed glow on Cap's face when that bounced off his ear drums.
Shells for the underclass were mailed in. They were only to be removed from the crackling oil when that somewhat less than herculean task could be very conveniently performed within the ebb and flow of Knott commerce. It was a night busier than most lately, presumably due to the recent clock change. It wasn't all that busy though.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Super Tuesday
We were all quite pleased to see NoHandle flying the SSFT3 flag on his tailgate.
As we carefully chose which layers would best suit the evening's temps, a stealth figure rolled in on a white steed. Our Dear Ride Leader made a surprise appearance.
Part 1
A pithy six pack plus canine, we swooped to the lake, climbed the first half of Chiquita (Larz cleaned it in his little spinny ring) dropped horse trail to Lake back towards the dams and cut into Fleming. It is important for this narrative to note that we didn't go around the gate like some saturday afternoon leisure riders, but climbed a hair further and dropped the rutted shortcut. For some reason Cappy was momentarily help up at this point and fell back in line. We made a quick right and dropped lower Palin's back up the road to the horse trail switchbacks and paused at the top to regroup. Everyone looked around, "was cappy in front?" "no, I thought he was back with you?" I cracked a can of trail refreshment as we chuckled at the most unusual of phenomena -a dropped Cappy. Larz was planning on short riding, and had to continue towards home. The only way to ever find Cappy meant going back to where we saw him last, so we deployed a pincer formation, with Xteric and I riding the dirt (and thus long riding everyone else) and B and Nohandle taking the road. Sure enough, the dutiful "Company Man" had returned to the point of lost contact and waited.
Part 2
Now Cappy was veritably trembling, his desire to ride was so great. Before Nohandle could say "you can be ride leader now," he was already charging back to the Lake and the Horse Trail, then up the right lip, where we devoted a good deal of time attempting trail maintenance, only to be confronted with an enormous downed log some fifteen feet further. Along this climb, I was punished for claiming I wouldn't change gears since it was single speed night, and then proceeding to change gears with impunity. Sticks caught up in my wheel and drivetrain, torquing my derailleur out of line. The only rideable gear was a bit stiffer then I like. We flew down the left lip, turned back towards the dams and, at MET, Cappy turned towards Fleming. Well, this area had been something of a vortex for the evening's ride, and that strange force peeled another rider from our ranks. Nohandle declared he had ridden as much as his tapering schedule would allow and he pointed his bike towards tacos.
Part 3
Cappy, not knowing of the defection, led us to the top of Palin's. A quick top of Palin's loop and we were just a few lengths behind THTH back to the Knott Lott. As we rolled the road up from the Jenkinson boat launch, we debated if the part of the ride that Cappy missed or the part of the ride that THTH missed was the best.
Tacos
The best surprise of the evening was waiting at the bar. Not only did Mother Rye find a half bottle of Garlic Pain in the back corner of some cobwebbed closet, but she also found a fresh bottle of Jamaican. Tacos received thick pours of that sweet and spicy goodness. Our favorite taco bitty noted that she may become a blog follower, so say something flattering in the HCF and you may up your chances of getting an Ace cap. It was alleged that B may have been served a taco shell that touched the floor. This blog reporter is not able to confirm or deny the truthfulness of this allegation.
Finish
B and I packed with Cappy in his truck for the shuttle home. On the way he delivered a poignant study in the wasteful excesses of automobile operation, when he pointed out that the $10 of gas we put into the engine was insufficient to fuel the round trip. So we stopped at the Valero to properly cover costs, and provide me with an easy drop off.
As we carefully chose which layers would best suit the evening's temps, a stealth figure rolled in on a white steed. Our Dear Ride Leader made a surprise appearance.
Part 1
A pithy six pack plus canine, we swooped to the lake, climbed the first half of Chiquita (Larz cleaned it in his little spinny ring) dropped horse trail to Lake back towards the dams and cut into Fleming. It is important for this narrative to note that we didn't go around the gate like some saturday afternoon leisure riders, but climbed a hair further and dropped the rutted shortcut. For some reason Cappy was momentarily help up at this point and fell back in line. We made a quick right and dropped lower Palin's back up the road to the horse trail switchbacks and paused at the top to regroup. Everyone looked around, "was cappy in front?" "no, I thought he was back with you?" I cracked a can of trail refreshment as we chuckled at the most unusual of phenomena -a dropped Cappy. Larz was planning on short riding, and had to continue towards home. The only way to ever find Cappy meant going back to where we saw him last, so we deployed a pincer formation, with Xteric and I riding the dirt (and thus long riding everyone else) and B and Nohandle taking the road. Sure enough, the dutiful "Company Man" had returned to the point of lost contact and waited.
Part 2
Now Cappy was veritably trembling, his desire to ride was so great. Before Nohandle could say "you can be ride leader now," he was already charging back to the Lake and the Horse Trail, then up the right lip, where we devoted a good deal of time attempting trail maintenance, only to be confronted with an enormous downed log some fifteen feet further. Along this climb, I was punished for claiming I wouldn't change gears since it was single speed night, and then proceeding to change gears with impunity. Sticks caught up in my wheel and drivetrain, torquing my derailleur out of line. The only rideable gear was a bit stiffer then I like. We flew down the left lip, turned back towards the dams and, at MET, Cappy turned towards Fleming. Well, this area had been something of a vortex for the evening's ride, and that strange force peeled another rider from our ranks. Nohandle declared he had ridden as much as his tapering schedule would allow and he pointed his bike towards tacos.
Part 3
Cappy, not knowing of the defection, led us to the top of Palin's. A quick top of Palin's loop and we were just a few lengths behind THTH back to the Knott Lott. As we rolled the road up from the Jenkinson boat launch, we debated if the part of the ride that Cappy missed or the part of the ride that THTH missed was the best.
Tacos
The best surprise of the evening was waiting at the bar. Not only did Mother Rye find a half bottle of Garlic Pain in the back corner of some cobwebbed closet, but she also found a fresh bottle of Jamaican. Tacos received thick pours of that sweet and spicy goodness. Our favorite taco bitty noted that she may become a blog follower, so say something flattering in the HCF and you may up your chances of getting an Ace cap. It was alleged that B may have been served a taco shell that touched the floor. This blog reporter is not able to confirm or deny the truthfulness of this allegation.
Finish
B and I packed with Cappy in his truck for the shuttle home. On the way he delivered a poignant study in the wasteful excesses of automobile operation, when he pointed out that the $10 of gas we put into the engine was insufficient to fuel the round trip. So we stopped at the Valero to properly cover costs, and provide me with an easy drop off.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Is it SSFT3 in Italy Yet?
We are all anxiously awaiting the qued up post from afar, something about demons, sounds exciting. Alas, it may not be Tuesday in Italy yet, so I offer this lame ass post to get your Tuesday going.
Get out 'yer sweet rigs. Let's go ride. Better make it a single speed, and a handmade one if you got one. Perfect Spring weather awaits.
ONE, Handmade in USA
Get out 'yer sweet rigs. Let's go ride. Better make it a single speed, and a handmade one if you got one. Perfect Spring weather awaits.
ONE, Handmade in USA
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Keeping it Real Time
No cold feet on this winter Reception
New trails - Cold Feet, Tunnelberry, and ?.
Dead deer, probably at the paws of a big cat.
4,0,3.
One of the best rides evah. Really.
Sweeeeeet and last best trail conditions of the riding season.
Not riding tonight = bad call.
Handmade Tacos or Handmade Bikes?
Amazing developments in the North State. It seems that winter is going to make a 2 day appearance, the Maloof's seemed to have reached a deal for an Kings arena in Sacramento and the Handmade bike show is in the great Capital City this weekend.
Come prepared for any type of weather. Who will be in attendance to greet this wonderful weather.
One
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