The mud, apparently, was enjoyed by some more than others. But with cyclocross season just around the corner, it seemed a fitting way to punctuate the ride with some much needed training. The president even feigned a flat tyre so that he could run some hills with his hand-me-down Colnago slung over his shoulder. That guy knows what it means to be exactly who he is.
We encountered a few startled deer along the way. We also encounterd a young couple whose lusty passion we inadvertently interrupted on account of our need to pass through the darkened and narrow trail they were lying on. They were more startled than the deer. It seems they had not counted on the eventuality that a bunch of old dudes on insufficiently lit bikes might ride by in the middle of the night. Unlike the deer, their reaction was not so much to make a run for the trees as it was to freeze and pretend they weren't there. And yet they were very much there. So much so that they are lucky we didn't ride right over them. Had we stopped, the president could have explained to them how little fun it is to have someone ride their bike over one's chest. But we elected to pass up the opportunity to engage them in conversation and rode on into the muddy trails that lay ahead.
We were happy to see Colin walk into the klubhaus shortly after we arrived. And we were equally happy to have Lump join us for the ride. It has been a long time. And we explained how much we'd missed them both. They promised they would make more of an effort to attend regularly from here on out.
The conversation meandered all over the place. From Ingolf to Eagle Head, with rare book rooms, cyclocross rules, flyovers, canoes, banks, and faspa menus getting their fair share of attention as well.
And finally, the tunes were a bit different last night. Not bad. Just different. For example, the Dead Milkmen were playing when we walked in. We also heard the Violent Femmes, some old school Madonna, and the Stray Cats.
Good times.
No comments:
Post a Comment