We hesitate to use the word 'last', since we are quite sure this is not the last we have seen of David, nor was this likely his last TNR. David, like the TNR, is not something that just goes away never to return. Rather, much like the scars one might get from violently and repeatedly crashing one's bicycle, they become a part of us, never to be scrubbed away by time, distance, or copious amounts of Polysporin.
In spite of conditions that the Finnish might describe as 'Cold as Russian Hell', a sizeable contingency left their warm domiciles to partake in the farewell festivities. Organized by The Hipster, the night would include riding some trails, followed by an evening of revelry at The Good Will for (presumably) Good Times, Good Company, and Good Pizza.
It was, as they say, a Swiss watch of a plan.
We assembled at the Junkshon, where it was determined the weather was not nearly as despicable as originally anticipated. Here, The Inhaler gives the conditions the thumbs up, or perhaps flips me the bird. Such is the eternal mystery of the lobster.
Daniel arrived sporting a very large rack. Six pounds of rack, to be exact. While it impressed the crowd with both its size and weight, Daniel admitted the handling and manoeuvrability are not ideal.
The trails were in excellent condition, which made for pleasant and fast riding. The ice skating trails through the Forks are now finished, a fact we discovered by crashing spectacularly as our bikes mysteriously disappeared from beneath us. That gravity, she is a bitch.
When we'd had our fill of falling, we made our merry way to The Good Will to thaw out and rehydrate. We had reserved the massive wooden harvest table, no doubt laboriously fabricated by an army of hipsters and their dads' power tools.
Pizza Cat got the pizza ball rolling, as is her way, and before long, each of us had easily consumed our own body weight in delicious, thin crusted pizzas. It was decided that Liquid Smoke should be the official condiment sponsor of the FGBC and shall henceforth be put on everything.
It was also decided that after several unfortunate years of being passed over, Brad Pitt will be the subject of this winter's 24 hour race. It is anticipated that during the showing of Fight Club things might get a little weird.
Overall, the venue suited us just fine, and the vintage punk was a perfect soundtrack to the evening.
Brother David, Calamity Dave, Hot Legs, Cyclocross Jesus... no matter what we call you, know you will be missed. Like your namesake, we hope you come back soon.
Which is an appropriate segue to the interesting story of the image at the beginning of this post. The story is interesting only in that we are not entirely sure how or why it happened, but that it happened at all is a testament (ahem) to the good company and good times we had. Amen.
