we're going down girl...

Mountain Bikers are like golfers. Only a handful are any good, while the rest chase the dream of competence, week in and week out, going over the trails as frequently as duffers three-putt. Golfers regularly seek help from pros. Riders, by and large, wing it. Riding with those more skilled than you can offer the promise to catapult the ambitious but underskilled to proficiency. I am certainly willing to learn, but am I uncoachable?

Last night I rocked out with my friends, Todd El Presidente, Buddy the leg breaker, Biddle (tye domi of cross), and slick rick. The trails at the middle run were nice, teh shadows weren't as frightening in the light of my helmet lamp. The trails had a tackiness to them that gave the false confidence of traction, but too much heat into to a corner could quickly leave you laying on the ground. Todd el Presidente had the Atomic Boy song "we're going down girl" trapped in his head. Once he announced that Buddy and I were obligated to sing it to him in our best singing voices, which really isn't saying too much. I bailed out a little after an hour in or so. Although the boys took it easy on me tonight, I was pretty beat when I was done. I had hoped to do a mellow ride, the HRM told me that I worked harder than I should have this early on. Okay, the ride was good, my climbing not so much just yet. Damn it was good to be outside. It's good to be a gangster.

respect
fm