Six ft3'ers assembled in the Knot lot last evening. And then there were five. Spawn, as it turned out, was only making an appearance to show off his baby girl. Speaking of Taco Spawn . . .
****************GOSSIP REPORT*******************
A rumor went around the Knot lot that Spawn had recently admitted that he "didn't really mind" missing an ft3 here and there (I'm paraphrasing). Well, apparently this statement made the gossip circuit, ultimately causing consternation among one or more other riders, whose unwavering commitment to the sanctity of the Tuesday night may now seem fanatical, even obsessive, in comparison to this soft sentiment, possibly compromising the strength and unity of ft3 in its constant struggle against the forces of domesticity.
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Then he went inside the Knot and ate tacos with his family. He was missed by all.
Anyhow, it got later and later, and no additional riders appeared to join the crew. B, making the transition from 'slide' to 'ride', sorted various gear on the tailgate while performing multiple safety checks for good measure. Meanwhile, we all stared at his sweet new 'cross bike. Being not broken, it would have to serve for the evening's trail ride.
Newb finally got his bike down from his rooftop rack at about 7:30, and was promptly elected ride leader. Nocar suggested that it may have been one of the latest roll-outs on ft3 record. PC, ever the gentleman, took the sweep position exiting the lot and was immediately separated from the group due to rush-hour traffic. Being in the 'wrong gear', he attempted to shift while standing still, and, finding to his dismay that this does not work, he stood there doing the one-leg pedal trying to get the chain on the big gear for god's sake. Crossing the road, he found the other four riders gone without trace. Figuring a 50/50 chance of either a straight drop down or a qualifier start, he opted for the latter. He was wrong. At the base of Scout Hill, he stayed calm stayed put, and called for help.
Thanks to the miracle of modern communication, the group reconvened shortly thereafter, the waiting riders having taken the opportunity to once again review safety protocol and assess the soundness of their supplies and equipment. After determining that a headset adjustment was necessary, the riders performed the required maintenance.
*********NOTICE*************
Off-road cycling is an inherently dangerous sport. Be sure to check all equipment frequently and perform regular maintenance. Also, it's lonely out there; ride with your friends.
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One rider later suggested that it may have been one of the safest rides on record.
Essentially, the five riders rode around in the woods for awhile before emerging onto the relative civilization of the MET. Ride leader announced, "To the Cache!" and all obeyed. Noob set the pace on the pavement. Upon arrival (obeying Cappy's in-absentia request), Nocar unpacked the sacred 12th PreBR, cracked it, and unceremoniously decanted it onto the dirt to slake the thirst of the recently fallen ft3 founding father: Sore Legs.
Descending, a low branch gave all a good whacking, sending at least one rider to the ground (your author). Disoriented from his own ordeal with said foliage, UL took a 'wrong' turn and explored an alternative section of trail. Nearly dark now, the other four halted at the bottom of the rad drop and waited. Having hiked halfway back up the trail in search of their misplaced comrade, the riders received a call containing the lost rider's coordinates, and all hastened back down the trail for a repeat of the radness.
Once again complete at the end of Bonnetti, the group shredded more trail down to the lake and navigated clockwise back to the lot, returning at a not-early-hour of 10:00. The tacos tasted good.
All in all, it was just another unforgettable, totally awesome, indescribable, quite average FT3. Maybe you will make it next week for more memory making . . .
