Monday, December 9

Same shit, different (but still same same) day

Being fifty means I'm very aware of the fact that every day is one more step in my shuffle off this mortal coil.  Knowing this, I'm more tempted than ever to load my weekends fuller than a shit wagon.

Somehow, once again, I agreed to getting up at 5:00 AM on Saturday to head to the hills.  A fast group.  One old friend, one newer friend, two strangers.

I'd say it was the fastest group I've ridden with in a very long time.  The least amount of bullshitting around in the woods I can remember.

 Well, you always stop at Lake Julia if you're there... because... Lake Julia.

I ended up getting my dick solidly beaten off.  I was (obvs) the oldest guy in the group.  I'm getting used to that.  Niko is only 28 years old.  My son will be 28 in two months.  I've been mountain biking for 30+ years.  I have items of clothing that are older than Niko.

Continuing with the mostly business theme, after a dick-beating ride, we pounded the drive home with no stops for burritos and novelty-sized beers.  I got home, ate everything I could find that was edible in the fridge, and spent the rest of the evening in my squeezy bags with a beverage.

Somehow, I found myself still awake at 11:30 PM, despite my "big" plans for Sunday.

Up some time after 7:00 AM.  Coffee.  Get to "the stores" before other humans start showing up and standing in the aisles with their mouths agape, staring at all the pasta options whilst their toddler-laden cart blocks my path.

Get home, dump the goods, change clothes, head to the Winter Short Track course for some trail work.

Not a published group work day, but a small bunch of guys with some heavy lifting to do before a call out to the masses can be made to spread Crush 'n Run and tidy things up.

 I was pretty pumped about that.  A choke down on the "fast line" that goes around a small drop.  Anything that rewards riders with a "particular set of skills" on the course is good with me.

A rough cut of a new section was benched in with the giant machine.  A few of us were tasked with the less than glamorous task of destroying an old bridge and building two new ones. 

After a break for pizza (and mebbe beer), Evan, his buddy and his big machine left.  So much got done with the robot.  Scott needed to get out of there as well.  Santana, his broke off thumb, and his leaf blower also vacated the scene.

It came down to Big 'n Buttery, Good Guy Greg and me, and two yet to be built bridges.  One had to be completed as it was part of the main (still open) trail.  The other was on the new and yet to be opened section of short track.

Grab wood, tote it down the hill, repeat.  Drill, drill, drill.  The sun is getting closer to the horizon...

One bridge done.  Someone asks the obvious.

"We gonna do the other bridge?"

I was gonna clean my gutters.  Rake my yard.  Go see my mom. 

Still need to feed the dogs...

"I'm not leaving if you guys aren't."

So we all stayed.

New twelve foot bridges up there above one built a few years ago.

Bridgework complete, we went ahead and opened up the new section of trail and mebbe while Big 'n Buttery was walking around checking over the work, Good Guy Greg and I built a tiny booter... because I only show up to Winter Short Track work days to build shitty jumps.

Celebratory parking lot beer, home, feed the dogs... rake my backyard in the dark.  I can smell the occasional dog turd hidden by the darkness and spent foliage. 

What you can't see can't hurt you.

Something like that.

Although I woke up sore all over today.  Can't blame that on the dog shit tho.

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