There will be flats, the earth is not soft

Councilman and Rock God oversaw the careful packing of five men, five bikes and one dog into their vehicles (ensuring that every rotor was safe) and we headed for the Knott Lot. We met Lars, who bashfully admitted that he wouldn't mind choosing the route. After a short discussion about the current location of SPI logging activities, Our Dear Ride Leader declared that he felt like he had been gone for so long that he needed to requalify -so off we went.
Just past the gate to the boy scout camp, we rolled up on two spotters walking dogs. "It's the Tuesday night bicycle ride," they called us out. "We've been running into you guys for years."

A fast qualifier run left Rock God wondering if he was going to lose his membership. But, all those fish tacos and beers helped pull him downhill, for as soon as we turned down the chopping block he was fighting for the front.
We took the canal frontage road and the steady climb up to Park Creek Road. The steep and rocky descent of Park Creek Road supplied plenty of action. Councilman ricocheted from one side of the road to the other, his rear wheel almost getting ahead of his front.
When we turned down Barnes Back RG burped his tire and we stopped for an air up. Shortly thereafter, C-man had to stop and futz with his tire. After airing and spinning he finally said "let's just roll it," and that did the trick. Not to be outdone, moments later LOtB's tire went flat. He wrestled it off the rim, to reveal a pretty nasty puncture. He used a bar wrapper to boot it and gu for adhesive. Meanwhile the tube was patched. When the tube didn't hold air, B took the tire off the rim to inspect for secondary punctures. His fingers encountered the sticky mess at the boot site and he exclaimed, "You used gu for this? That's food!" We stood around for lord knows how long, swatting at mosquitoes and getting cold, before the flat was repaired. If only expert field mechanic NH could have been there to take charge of the repair. Alas, he was too busy embrocating his hiking boots.
Back on our bikes we rolled the lake CCW, dashing through the busy camp grounds. Tension was high as various tires weren't maintaining pressure. But, we made it back to the Knott Lot without further incident.

T2 joined us at the taco session. Some aces turned up, the tacos left only a slight sheen of grease on the wax paper and Rock offered some tropical sauces to the table.
B and Councilman are planning an all Friday dirt outing for anyone looking for an epic adventure. A repeat of Cap'n's commemorative ride is possible, or exploring around Barrett jeep trail. Who is in?

His base is bigger than my peak

Expecting no compensation other than the gratitude of his fellows, Cap'n invited three more bikes and their riders into his truck. This car pool was met at the bustling Knott Lott by a non-bike-wielding LOtB and a non-handle-wielding rider. Xteric also arrived in due time.
Thus assembled, the pithy six pack rolled out the back, with NoHandle taking the reins.
We took the back trail to the fire station and dropped B's chin trail, back up, and over to Fleming. The pace was nothing short of furious as we cranked our way around to 8B. I enjoyed plenty of quality time off the back. Throughout the night, the peloton was split repeatedly with multiple attacks, breakaways chased by groupettos and me in the back inhaling dust. In spite of the pithy pace, count-offs were largely ceremonial as the gaps were never great.


After out and backing 8B, we rounded the loop to Redneck Rising -the only trail that Councilman had specifically requested not riding. His opinions weren't strong enough to mount a mutiny against rideleader nohandle, though, and up we went. A delicious descent of the lip brought us to the lake.
I finally got close enough to the front to realize that it had been B throwing down the hammer all night. He took front wheel for the lake loop. Which was most fun when he deadended us into a campsite. A chorus of dogs erupted into yips and barks and the owners started yelling at the dogs. Our line unraveled with backtracking and fence hopping, then quickly reformed as we sprinted away to hoots and cheers from the perplexed campers.
Cap'n chose a new swim spot, and the cleansing waters were refreshing. Back at the Knott Lott, the teeming masses had left and we could change without having to worry about showing the spotters too much. Checking the clock, it was 9:45 with, reportedly, 22 miles on the bikes.

Xteric was the first in line for tacos and Mother Rye kindly offered to make his order noonion. It was obviously a ruse to teach him that noonion tacos are for children, because while everyone else was heaping on sauce and digging in (or hiccuping) Xteric sat silently, looking like a kicked dog. At pay time, we learned that Mother Rye was another year older. So, we treated her to a booming Happy Birthday complete with five part harmony.

Now its red hot Wednesday. And while we normally would be despondent, knowing the next tuesday is so far away, this week we have the Friday bonus XP ride to anticipate. B is determined to long ride it. And schemes to minimize shuttle driving are being hatched. Sure would hate to be the rider that misses that one.

Ode to FT3G2

I meant to post this a few months back, but it was a hectic period. Between naps in the dirt and dirty nappies, I just never found the time. Consider this a tribute/call-out of sorts. It's Tuesday, and ya'll know what that means...

Funny thing, time. For some of us, it's capital; carefully saved and spent in pursuit of one thing or another. It might be a hobby, or a home improvement project, or a well-deserved respite on some far away beach. For others, it's often a battle to carve out the time to spend with our little ones. Between us, we have over a dozen budding members of the next generation of FT3. They are involved in myriad activities, including swimming, soccer, softball and music lessons. One thing they share in common, besides frantic fathers with freewheel (or foot) fetishes, is a love for cycling. Whether it's Nocar's annual race, or a session at the local trail, these boys and girls can send it. More importantly, they share this passion with generations of youth, going back to the early 19th century. For over 150 years, children around the world have suffered/enjoyed the same right of passage as they learn to keep their 2 wheeled contraptions upright.

My eldest is no different, and upon the sage advice of at least one member of FT3, the push bike made all the difference. Evan finally broke free on Bambi's little orange fixie back in early May. As most can attest, it was indeed a proud moment. Primarily, because I saw in him a reflection of my own early discoveries; pedal power, freedom, speed. A close second is the fact I would no longer have to carry him in the bike trailer. Hallelujah!

As a would-be wordsmith, I am partial to anything written in this vein. My in-laws used to read nightly to my wife from a charmingly English collection of stories and poems. We've since inherited it, and this particular tome boasts one or the other for each day of the year. I have been dutifully reading to Evan, and just last week we discovered the following poem. It dates back to the mid part of last century, but is essentially timeless in what it means to folks like us. I dedicate this to the next generation of riders. While it forms a credo of sorts for current members, I pray Gen2 will take it to heart:


When the sun is shining
Or in the pouring rain,
I take my trusty bicycle
And pedal down the lane.

I like to skim round corners,
I like to ring my bell. I strain
And climb the steepest hills
Then freewheel down again.

That's how I like to travel;
It's better than a train,
Or bus or car or motor-boat
Or even aeroplane.


I must admit to a slight alteration or 2 from the original, but the essence is still there. I didn't make up the part about the train. Apologies to the rail folk.

I know there were mid-week mini ride reports, as well as some back-channel hike/recon reports. If there are others, please list. We can't leave it up to the spotters.

1. 5:45 at the 'squito lot.