Long live the short ride!

"Leave it to FT3 to complain when the winter weather turns mild". Such were the words uttered as we left the Skeeter lot, en route to another installation of our weekly program. Temps were balmy, most were overdressed, and Ol' Man Winter was toying with us. Cappy had agonized over his kit selection the night before He had packed and repacked his bag, and then decided to join despite Peter's last-minute scrabble invite. A wintry mix was brewing, but it would, as it has on many a Tuesday, hold off until well after the lights went out in Pollyhood. 

Despite threats of weather, short-riding, and short-tacoing, the night unfolded splendidly, with premium route choices, and even better conditions. The soil was compacted and tacky, with only a modicum of surface moisture. NewB regailed us with stories of doggy daycare at his house over the weekend. He hosted Booker and Charlie, and with Jackson running interference, it was a full on WWOOF Smackdown ©. NewB had also put out the early request for a loaner light, and it would prove a critical part of his ride experience. One light never worked, another only had an hour on it, and B and Cappy loaned further LED lamps, bringing NewB's total light count to 7 (or something like that). He looked like a Lorrie speeding through the Outback. 

Upon deciding (unilaterally) to have democratic ride-leadership, and securing guarantees of an efficient ride and timely departure, Cappy took us in the direction of Qualifier. From PC, we toured the slash pile, and then up to the power station. Here we were met with downed trees and veered right. Apparently, and only Xteric knew this, we were heading for 50. In his own special tone, he announced this as we descended the rough doubletrack; "Um, guys, you know, we're going to Hwy 50.." Upon this revelation, we reversed our route and returned to PC. From there it was a poweriline drop, then a Qualifier redux to a rarely visited and newly named Trail of Tears (or Nor'easter). Cappy remembered (and B instantly located) a twisty and fun drop to the back of the camp ground (Hazel Creek), and said it was the jumping off point for those who don't qualify. Well, this little gem qualified as a solid addition to an already superb mix of trails. A Ceagle's cry was heard in the distance, and all lamented the declining population in the People's Republic of Pollystan. From there, a CCW lake loop to Fleming and then a descent of Palin's. NewB led us on a quick drop and some final dam play, before returning to the Knott. 

Tacos were exquisite, with little shell decomposition, and to our astonishment, FRESH MEAT. That's right. Unlike our typical late night dining, scraping the bottom of the crockpot, we were treated to a fresh assemblage of ground, garlicky goodness. Fixins were plentiful, and Mother went deep into the walk-in to provide only the choicest sauces. Honey Bear even came out of her den to spread her sweet love. 

Turns out, our not-so-short ride ended with an efficient but timely taco session. Mother was pleased to see us, and promptly told of her impending birthday. When we offered to celebrate with her, she said, "have fun, I won't be here!!". Apparently she'll be somewhere warm and dry. Which is just what we felt after devouring our faire in front of the faux fire, and then gang-texting Nocar, letting him know how much we missed his presence. In keeping with the short and efficient theme of the evening, we quickly settled up. Someone paid with our new FT3 Black Card, and signed it accordingly (see below). In the end, and in the words of our auto-less amigo, "all were home and safely tucked in bed before 11".