Say what you will about daylight savings time, but it creates a singularly dramatic FT3 each spring. A mighty six pack presented at the Knott Lot to seize the Tuesday.
Mother Rye, concerned about the legality of PreBRs, requested that the distance from store to consumption point be measured. NoHandle conducted the measurement and confirmed that the distance was 20% greater than that required by law.
An easy consensus formed behind Spawn's RideLeadership and we were out the back to the horse camp drop and back up to MET. We crossed the dam to see a big moon tinted the same sunset color as the snowy peaks. After a teaser start of the lake we made the sudden turn up to the parking lot and climbed the downhiller trail. And did FT3 crush that trail? Yes, FT3 did crush that trail. As we felt the rush of gravity the darkness grew too thick and each flicked on their lights.
The soil gripped tighter than a long lost lover, and the descents were furiously fast. I demurred to the Safety position. We bombed the skid trails, rounded to climb right lip, and just as the throttle got dropped to climb the steep bit, we instead turned off on the sweet new trail??? Back at the lake, we continued CCW until RideLeader turned uphill cross country. My recollection is fuzzy, but I think we ended up on the Qualifier and then turned down Nap time towards tacos.
We arrived at the Knott a little too early. We weren't short ridden, or maybe we were just short rode a little bit, but at slightly past 9 the front parking area was crowded with cars. In the Knott Hole the bar was near full. An attempt at the taco record was being conducted. Pollock Pinesians were strewn all over the dining area. As taco service started, a near panic broke out amongst FT3. Taking control of the situation, Mother Rye marched into the dining room and repeatedly commanded "Stand Up!" to two dudes who weighed almost as much as the FT3 contingency combined.
The giants lumbered off and we claimed a taco table. Others still shared the dining room and became animated when we received our private sauce box. I offered them slightly stoopid and vicious viper with fair warning. Out of the corner of my eye I watched them sweat uncomfortably.
The record attempt was close, but unsuccessful. Much talk centered around how the record should reflect the complex interaction between the proper ordering constituents: tacos, PBR bottles, and shots of rye.
It's almost Tuesday again. I can't wait.