Revenge of the Millipede

Making good on his declaration for improved punctuality, Cappy was at the Mosq Lot at 5:30, sending out texts to whip everyone out the door. NoHandle was kitted and waiting in the Knott Lott, and Xteric was right on our heels. Ever the pioneer of the next trend, Xteric rolled up in his new fuel sipping economy car. Soon all of El Dorado will be trading in their trucks.
We wasted no time preparing for the mild evening, and as soon as everyone was nearly ready THTH called Rideleader. He did acknowledge that if Our Dear Rideleader were to show up then he would defer. However, chances are better that Peter himself would want to be Rideleader, so it was a moot point.
Note the summery kits at roll out.
Out the backdoor to the first dam horse trail, then on to Fleming
NoHandle settled into his distinct Rideleader style: keeping tabs on the followers and announcing the next few turns ahead of time. This allowed Cappy to f'ing charge off the front. While everyone savored riding the conditions, Cappy was lapping it up like a dog with a can of bacon grease.
When we turned down 8A, a fat stick wrenched Xteric's derailleur out of line. Fortunately, derailleurs aren't finicky little bitties like chain tensioners, and he was quickly back on track. By the time we started the climb out, it was lights on.
And with the darkness a curious phenomenon. Millipedes began shuffling out of the duff in droves. Perhaps they are a sensitive indicator. On the first perfect spring night, when trail conditions are tacky enough to rip a tire from a rim, out come the millipedes, filled with their dark intentions.
Eager to bag all the classics, we climbed Redneck and headed for the Lip. Now Cappy was railing off the front on the climbs and descents. He sped down the lip and I pushed the envelope trying to keep up. As we whipped through the switchbacks I heard a guttural howl and saw his lights flip about and stop. Cappy had taken a corner hot and slipped on a millipede. We found him clutching his knee and rocking in pain. After a time, he managed to get back on his bike and we rolled back to the Knott Lott. The whole way back Cappy grimly noted the millipedes that dotted the road.
Given the early return we had enjoyed post-BRs. Inside, four of us dug into quality tacos complimented by Top Shelf sauce offerings from Cappy, while he made his way to the bathroom. His golden boy halo was tarnished, as Mother Rye didn't offer him carte blanche use of the first aid kit like she had for B. Instead she selected individual items for him, like the scissors.