Ass Hammer

Newb and I barely survived a run of the Hobo on Saturday. The El Dorado corridor was sloppy, overgrown, and rutted. We stopped to marvel at puddle that must have been six feet deep, when the abutting land owner approached us with a shotgun. He said that a guy tried to ride through it on a motorcycle and ended up going to the hospital because some of the water got in his mouth and poisoned him. We proceeded to observe twenty seven different species that were shitting in the puddles. The alternative was riding the tracks, a situation we referred to as "turning on the ass hammer." Only Cappy could conceive a mountain bike ride that makes you beg for asphalt. Too bad we didn't have ass hammer body guards.

Should be a perfect night for riding.

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In!

Spring Break

The spring holidays hold so much more tradition than boozy beach fests.

And FT3 takes them very seriously.  On this Holy Tuesday, we gather at sunset, smear the Knot Hole's door posts with hot sauce, and feast on tacos made with unleavened tortillas.

Balmy conditions, maybe some lingering snow, a full moon if the clouds break, should be lovely.  Maybe PC will make it.

Glory Days

Our numbers swelled with familiar faces last week. And even though the Ride Leader ruthlessly declared only half the pack satisfactorily Qualified, we still coaxed them along, like kids trying to get a stray dog to follow them home.

Seems hard to believe that just a month ago Pollywood looked like this:

Conditions tonight should be somewhere between awesome and blissful. Just look out for those sticks.


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