A merry seven assembled at the Knott Lott. Jr. dutifully assumed the RideLeader mantle and led us on the classic Pacific House route. Soil moisture provided grip and spring in such perfect measure a hard man could weep.
The hallowed trail builder has started sketching out some new curves on Chopping Block. We rolled the industrial features of the EID ditch and made a quick line for the riotously reckless descent to the old Brockliss Bridge site. All party intact, we finished the whiskey and beer and didn't share any of it with the cattle.
Nap Time is running angry these days. Hostile angry. The landings of the log drops have been excavated. The first casualty resulted from cautiously approaching a log drop, sticking the front wheel in a hole. A few bold riders attempted the lower half. XT nearly drowned in the creek crossing.
We were Motherless at the Taco Table and the Bitties were upbeat. Prepper became Golden Boy. His single rye order was poured to the brim.