Coach would not like this.

Once again, Todd sniped me while relaxing on my couch Friday night.  I was planning a ho hum weekend for myself.  Relaxed.  Moderately productive.  Sunday session at the Backyard Trails at the most.

His text.  Rich T, Todd, and me.  Gravel... something... mountains... something... names of a some roads and such... mileage... something.

Fine.

And so I found myself starting a ride that should take mebbe five hours and have 5,000 feet of climbing with two bottles of water, a Honey Stinger waffle, and a gel.  I probably won't die.

A house divided...

I really had no idea what I was in for... until I sorta did... but I didn't really.

The turn onto the infamous Maple Sally.  I did not get to experience it at the Bootlegger 100 (and 7) last year because I quit before I got that far.  Hypothermia isn't my bag.  Now I would get it all.

We get to the far end (twenty miles in?), and I'm already done with all my food.  Todd starts talking about different possible routes and then throws all that out.  Stick to the plan... that I still don't understand.

And for a second time in my life, Betsy's Store saves my life.

I guess never mind the "Native American as decoration" theme and just be happy that I was able to buy everyone a round of hot dogs.

Away from there and then somehow we're on the two track up to Yancey Ridge... that is anything but gravel... unless you consider a road "gravel" when a bunch of capable four wheel drive vehicles are halfway up it using a winch to get unstuck.  Gravel the size of loaves of bread, holes you can fit a canoe in, and mud the consistency of peanut butter. 

"Gravel."

Three miles with almost a thousand feet of climbing on this quality "gravel."

At the top, eat my crackers, and then ride still further away from the car.  I know this because I look at my phone from time to time trying to orient myself.  Jeebus. 

At least on the way back, we hit Upper and Middle Wilson Ridge TRAILS, so there was a purpose to all of us being on "mountain" bikes, albeit just a slight purpose.

Back at the car, not ded but famished and shaky.

Obvs a much bigger day than anticipated, but upon further review of the texts Todd had sent me Friday night, pretty much what he told me we were doing.

All but whooped Saturday night, my stomach a gaping pit.  I eat everything when I get home.

Didn't stop me and Dr Mike from getting what I wanted on Sunday anyhoo.

Mebbe not the smartest thing to do on tired legs, but suns out and all that.  Can't let a day like this past Sunday (in February) go wasted no matter how big of a turd you feel like.