The past two weeks have been a blur. I can't think of five minutes that I was able to just sit back and relax. Commuting has been going pretty good, but not anywhere close to 100% of the time. I get lazy, have to run errands or come up with lame excuses to drive. It's hard out here for a pimp.
Last weeks night ride was a dash of ignorance, or a giant example of being dumb and setting yourself up for either failure or stardom. Moments before HandleBalls, Silent Killer and I rolled out we double checked the radar. Sure as shit there was a huge ass storm just minutes away from taking us all to see the mighty and powerful Oz.. We stripped ourselves naked, not really naked but of all electronic devices (yes, including our lights) and we rode off for what we assumed would be a half hour ride into a deluge. As luck had it, we were spared the torrent and found ourselves miles from anywhere, deep in the woods with only our keen sense of 'stay upright and keep moving' to guide us. It was pitch black and we were on some semi-gnar trail. What the heck right? It's cool to do night rides sans lights just like its cool to pee your pants- as long as everyone is doing it...
Time-warp one week ahead to last night. Perfect weather and perfect trail led us out on a three hour dirt loving adventure. The usual suspects - The Manimal, HandleBalls, Silent Killer, MaxiCrash and The Pirate all headed into the tick infested woods. Though I sat out the bug spray consisting of no less than 99.9% anthrax, I still forgot to apply it to my tasty thighs. This momentary lapse of reason was the cause for what later turned out to be a tick-picking-marathon. I plucked at least *345 of those little bastards of my flesh.
After trying out a new route in and up to yet another beer climb dubbed The Silent Killer, we were off and into the valleys of the Red trail, where not only did we catch major air on the rock jump, but we also about shat our panties during a brief Predator de-cloaking exodus, which turned out to be nothing more than roosting turkeys bailing out of the trees above our heads. After climbing out of the deep valleys of Red, we sat around for a brief moment to take in the setting sun.
En-route to the Autobahn we enjoyed the brutal and horsed-out dam hill, which was exactly that. Moving onto the Autobahn, where speed limits do not exist, we met a few obstacles that overpowered even the stench of Handleballs himself. Yes, the Silent Killer and Maxicrash both succumbed to the ever challenging dip-n-weave maneuver and failed to avoid canine poo, which yielded the following turdtastic results.
Just as things were going great, they got better as we found the holy grail of pirate ride booty; a toddler sun hat embossed with an array of skull and cross bones- which Maxicrash decided to use for his upcoming Taddihogg world domination campaign.
Once again and sooner than later, all good things come to and end, or to a sudden stop in the case of MaxiCrash. Ego boasting and mouth spewing words like 'Watch out Mother Fuckers', was immediately interrupted by crashing into a pyramid shaped rock straight to his hip with a solid thud. His old man bones were rattled as he moaned in pain, which sounded vaguely similar to Bjork. Said hill will now and forever-after to be referred to as Hipster Hill. I'm sure his ass is looking good today.
Not to be made into an excuse to head to the bar early, MaxiCrash did in fact save face by doing the Lollypop with zero dabs - quite a feat to behold (your prize awaits).
Having a few hours under our belts we decide to head back to the SMP MTB trails for a final push back towards the Lair. Getting from point A to B had a few variations, and the one that we chose led to a brief encounter with the enemy. From what i was told (because I don't hang around when crazy bitches are yelling at me), said enemy's appearance was something to behold - or to not add to the spank-bank.
Needless to say the moral litmus test showed true as The Pirate and MaxiCrash poofed into the wilderness never to be seen again, or at least not to be seen anywhere other than at Pirate headquarters swilling moonshine in the moonlit night whilst telling stories of vigilante justice as fig newtons flowed like beer on St. Patrick's day.
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