Brad the Impaler

Plenty of spills and cheap thrills in the Pembina Hills yesterday afternoon. Johnny S, Jonny G, and me, accompanied by four virgin riders: Gavin, Paul B, Brad, and Kevin. We rode last year's new cut, and this year's too. Sweet, flowing singletrack. Lots of other riders out too, most notably three old school Mennonite kids, between 8 and 12 years old. Buttoned up collars, jeans, thick accents, and very friendly. I think we may have met the next Floyd Landis. Good times.






Johnny S still hates climbing.



And then, wihtout warning, hell broke loose as Brad the Impaler unleashed a torrent vitriolic furor the likes of which I have not witnessed in a long, long time.

First, he grabbed a log and beat to death this poor wounded bat--ostensibly in an attempt to put it out of its misery after we'd somehow injured it in a trailside tree clearing project, but it all seemed just a bit too cruel for such an excuse.



And then, just when we thought we'd gotten him settled down, he went turned his rage on himself. It appears he was trying to throw himself on a twisted heap of jagged branches and broken tree stumps. But he missed and ended up in a twisted heap of his own on the makeshift creek crossing. Let us find this guy one of the sweetest jerseys in the world, and soon. I'd definitely want him lining up on my side in a darkened alley.



OTT: Nadine, Streets