Power to the Working Peeps:
As I sat, sitting on my bike seat, I was at one with the universe and at two with my
grossly sandpapered ass cheeks; for after 3 long hours occupying the saddle, I felt like sequestration was just around the next blindcorner. So yes, the Tuesday Pirate ride, albeit minimally attended, went off with a bang and ended with a blister…or ten. But this night would, unbeknownst to the 3 participants, go down in history as the ONE, the holy grail, the Rosetta Stone of illicit bike rides –only Keanu Reeves could have been a better guide into the Matrix that was the Kaw River backwoods. The Pirate had a “plan” as usual, but due to the deluge earlier in the day, the course was to entail more than a few miles of asphalt and gravel – and maybe a sand pit or two for flavor and sustenance. Handleballs his bad self was in rare form -or at least had a morphine drip hidden in his pack- and did as many wheelies as are allowed by law on the way north to the island of ‘cotton and baby skunks’ as my son used to call it (also known as the rollerblade meat grinder by my wife). After bush-whacking around the island we headed west along the river and found the largest pile of sand outside of the Sahara; which was in reality a massive dredging operation run by floating, lighted drones that eyed us with suspicion as we pissed in their general direction.
Back on the pavement we got free tickets to a redneck mudfest in which the sole participant filled his open windows with toxic run-off from the nearby field. We were concerned that we might hear banjo music so we left the show after his first run, his clown horn echoing through the valley behind us. Lucky for us, Captain Sparrow was able to use his internal GPS – he claimed he had previewed something called Google Earth – to guide us towards K7 hwy and toward the fabled netherworlds. I still think he was using the stars as his guide like his completely sober Irish kin did as they sailed to the West Indies in 1462.
And so over the 7K we went, trusting in our guide to take us to the secret riverboat wrecks along the Kaw that were rumored to still have working brothels and moonshine on tap. The consolation prize was a burned out house filled with shotgun slugs and a faux metal (plastic), sand-filled canteen…. I am still filled with disappointment due to my wallet having $500 in ones just waiting for a g-string. But, little did we know that the Pirate, now known as Neo, had stumbled on some of the best-hidden, most awesomerist trail to be found along the mighty muddy – and a sandy paradise for my Pugsley, which I probably could have ridden all the way across the river it was so wide and shallow. I’ll be back with the 4 inchers as soon as the moon is full and my sores are healed –that’s what she said.
Since I have been threatened with water boarding if I reveal any more details about the location of the aforementioned trail system, I will now attempt to confuse and obfuscate the remainder the details surrounding the denouement of the ride. In no particular order we: 1. Were charged by a rabid opossum; B. Did a 30 foot mud drop into a zombie shooting range replete with color-coded spray painted targets and a table used for dissecting cousin-brothers; 6. Plowed a field 29er style; F. Followed an ultra-steep, rocky jeep road up to 13,000 feet where we found a quarry frequented by rampant sex cults; 33. Found a meth lab and blew it up with Co2 cartridges; G. Put down all the gold pieces of eight that the Pirate found along the river onto the railroad tracks and watched in glee as it derailed; 47. Climbed until my thumbs resembled swollen, rancid raccoons and my arms were cramped to the point of two by fours.
But in the end, as we watched Handleballs, the Energizer Bunny of single speed mountain bikers swerving along Shawnee Mission Parkway at 10:30 p.m., a warm fuzzy feeling radiated up from the pavement – which for all practical purposes was probably my burning ass hair; thanks Fizik, light weight really is more important than bleeding pustules.
Many thanks to the Pirate and his anger management seminar that is the Tuesday night ride, and to those who had their junk tucked up and were not in attendance I have a few simple words of advice: the upcoming summer night race will blow your mind like RuPaul with a bag of balloons. You have been warned.