Chasing Tacos

 Everybody loves Tuesdays, but no one loves them more than the guy on a new bike. Meet the Big Top.

After a fashionably late rollout, we bombed straight to the lake. Rolling a little giddy from the first descent, past a threesome of walkers, I experienced the awkward moment of being recognized as an individual amongst the brightly costumed pack.
Climbed the Qualifier (all present re-Qualified) to Park Creek to Hazel, to Highway 50, to the SF American River. We stood for awhile and contemplated the full XP ride, complete with river crossing.  

 Stopped at the Pacific House for steaks and beer.

 Rode through the tunnel under 50 and followed the single track into Fresh Pond and asphalt back to Park Creek.

Headed to the summit-top of Power Line, we strayed into the heart of darkness. A fork in the road turned into a maze of quad tracks; past the fallen log where the deerbrush closed in on us; up the trail towards a house, noisy with dogs. Doubling back we finally followed the unknown, improved road that brought us back from the wrong side of a couple gates. We descended, away from Park Creek Road. Reached asphalt, Highway 50, again. After the reality of our location became clear, a clamor of route discussion roiled. Cappy and B left to snoop around for the flume. As if the starting pistol had been fired, Rock God was off and running, back to tacos via asphalt. Xteric and I agreed on the wisdom of turning back the way we came, but then cursed our fates for not being ride leader. Some poor soul, driving out of this area, became engaged in a long conversation about our location and FT3-style route choices.  To free himself, he led us across highway 50, and pointed out some pinner roads that dropped to Pony Express. We busted back to asphalt. Under 50 on Sly park Rd, some kids hollered at us from their car, mistakenly thinking that we were faggots. Strange, that's happened before. As the climb continued, a truck rolled past slowly and pulled in to a pullout. I recognized the PBR flag flying on the rack -Green Fro. On his way to tacos after a road ride, he gave a weary NoSauce a lift. (NoSauce went on to honor his handle by Notacoing and taking three ice creams to go). From Park Creek Rd, we dropped Power Line, straight through the first intersection and turned right at the second, heading back to Sly Park Rd. Xteric and I stopped and called everyone back. But, Sly Park was the goal, so we all climbed the forest road to the saddle on Sly park, climbed a bit more, then raced the fast corners, direct to the Knott Hole, ordering before dekitting.

Drama at the Knott Hole

Right away something was amiss. The bouffant had been restyled, less devil-may-care Pollock Pines, more keeping-up-with-the-Jonses El Dorado Hills. B was the first to receive the news. There he was, feeling all plucky with two handles of whiskey to offer the taco bitties as insurance for late night tacos on July 3rd. But, in a breech of contract, bouffant declined the whiskey since she might not be working next week. She took another job. GASP! Furthermore, Mother Rye announced that being short staffed through her busiest month would be too much for her to bear and she may SHUTTER THE KNOTT HOLE. B, consoled himself with an 0-0-10 order. Disbelief, was followed by panic as the news settled in. What is FT3 without the Knott Hole? We may soon know.

Still shaken, we headed for the cars. Mother Rye helped Cappy, Booker and I extract B from the bar, and we drove towards Wednesday.