You know the rules about following people:
Ben and mountains; Fred and gravel roads; Garth and “rain shelters”--all to be avoided.
Let us now, though, add an additional admonition:
Do not follow K-Sep up the steps!
A person comes to acquire a few guiding principles in the course of a long life, such as:
• If you can’t unlock your bike, you’re not allowed to ride your bike, or
• If you ride to the bar, have a drink at the bar, or
• Always carry an spare brake cable on a bike camping trip
And, of course:
• You don’t carry your bike, your bike carries you
All that said, the velo-portage up the back stairs to Pigeon Point was, afterwards, reasonably well worth it, not the least because it afforded the opportunity to bitch about it for minutes, lay a punch square on the sweater logo of the aforementioned ride leader, and best of all, gain access to a variety of trails on Joeball Ridge—although it should be noted that without the eponymous guide to said trails, one is apt to encounter a good deal more backtracking and route-aborting than with him.
At the traditional pee-pot-beer stop beneath the bridge, Joby mentioned that, given the meteorological expectations of the endlessly damp last few months, the evening was a gift, and even had the weather not cooperated so well with a warm dry twilight featuring striated bands of color on the setting sun horizon and a waxing gibbous moon that glowed behind contrails as night fell, it would still have been a benediction.
After all, when you have bestowed upon you a sufficient number of loops through the woods that even your cannabis-infused brain begins to recognize familiar climbs, and you’re bequeathed as a destination your very own pagoda in which to share libations with friends, and you’re also given the opportunity to plummet through the woods before heading home, that’s a fine bequest; put a bow on it!
Ben and mountains; Fred and gravel roads; Garth and “rain shelters”--all to be avoided.
Let us now, though, add an additional admonition:
Do not follow K-Sep up the steps!
A person comes to acquire a few guiding principles in the course of a long life, such as:
• If you can’t unlock your bike, you’re not allowed to ride your bike, or
• If you ride to the bar, have a drink at the bar, or
• Always carry an spare brake cable on a bike camping trip
And, of course:
• You don’t carry your bike, your bike carries you
All that said, the velo-portage up the back stairs to Pigeon Point was, afterwards, reasonably well worth it, not the least because it afforded the opportunity to bitch about it for minutes, lay a punch square on the sweater logo of the aforementioned ride leader, and best of all, gain access to a variety of trails on Joeball Ridge—although it should be noted that without the eponymous guide to said trails, one is apt to encounter a good deal more backtracking and route-aborting than with him.
At the traditional pee-pot-beer stop beneath the bridge, Joby mentioned that, given the meteorological expectations of the endlessly damp last few months, the evening was a gift, and even had the weather not cooperated so well with a warm dry twilight featuring striated bands of color on the setting sun horizon and a waxing gibbous moon that glowed behind contrails as night fell, it would still have been a benediction.
After all, when you have bestowed upon you a sufficient number of loops through the woods that even your cannabis-infused brain begins to recognize familiar climbs, and you’re bequeathed as a destination your very own pagoda in which to share libations with friends, and you’re also given the opportunity to plummet through the woods before heading home, that’s a fine bequest; put a bow on it!
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