Thursday, April 9

May I mambo dogface to the banana patch?

Still here?

Me too.

I haven't really minded the alone time... and oddly, being alone only seems to last so long in my hood.

Out on a ride, get a text... trail work is going on nearby.

Since Tim was wearing his Redbull Rampage builder's hat, I tried to get an epic dirt toss in the photo.

I stole a shovel and the wheel barrow and then headed down to a place where I wanted to rebuild some old jumps...

and then here comes Donald and Moosa.

I haven't seen Donald since... well, the last time I ran into him while out in the woods... last week?  Who knows?

Pretty sure this happened on a weekend day:

Leaf Life rolled by as I was hacking away at a giant tree/bush with a bow saw.  He acquiesced my request to drop it with the chainsaw that I own but have yet to learn how to use... and he taught me how to use it.

Head out for a ride...
And there's the Conroys on their way back from a greenway adventure.  I always knew I wanted to live next to the Backyard Trails and the Little Sugar Creek Greenway, but I never considered the joyous social implications.

My heart fills with joy with every cyclist that passes by my porch whether I know them or not.

Oh, Tuesday was the Pie and mine own 25th anniversary, so we celebrated as a couple would on such a momentous occasion:

Take out from the bar around the corner, eaten al fresco on the porch whilst watching the abandoned bee house get destroyed in the name of gentrification.  I can't wait to watch a bazzlionty dollar monstrosity rise up from the dirt in our tiny little neighborhood.

Who knows?  Mebbe my new neighbor will be totally cool?

Hope he's not a dick.

A solo roll around on Wednesday(?) and I happened upon this unhappy happy face:

Big 'n Buttery was dealing with a slow leak... that turned into a blown apart CO2 inflator... that turned into a Tubolito with a hole in it... which turned into another wasted CO2... which turned into another Tubolito with a hole in it... which turned into me social distance tossing my tube in his general direction.  I honestly had nothing better to do than make conversation with him in the garbage woods, so it was my pleasure to be there... not so much his tho.

And of course, during all this shit show...

Jon Danger, who I thought was up in West Virginia but apparently isn't rolls up... without his beard... without his titanium single speed...

But that also explains why he was asking me earlier that day (in a text) where people are parking to ride the BYT now that Parks and Rec has closed all the gates to where cars can park.  I thought he was just concerned for the plight of all us city folk woods riders.

Thursday... an even more limited schedule being "essential." at work.  Which was a surprise.

But not really.  Nothing is really a "surprise" anymore.  I expect all the things and none of the things.

I'm happy when I wake up breathing and look around and see stuff.

So get off work, head home, pull the Vassago Meatplow V.8 back into the bike room to make an attempt at silencing a mystery creaking noise... mebbe finish up... hopefully?

Get a text from Leaf Life.  They're heading out to permanently close some old trail and cut-throughs that are still seeing use.  Trying to reduce the confusion in the woods is a thankless task.

Lopping off hearty sections of bushy bushes overhead meant that it was raining pollen directly into my gaping mouth. 

If Leaf needed an example to prove his point, a walker with his dog came along the trail and started heading down a "short cut."  The Backyard Trails never really had these particular problems when they truly were shit trails in garbage woods (it still was a spider web tho).  People in the surrounding neighborhoods rarely wandered in, but now that it's all connected to the greenway and an "official" trail system with signage?

People jumping from one section of trail to another just because they can see it just wears the trail in and makes for intersections that don't exist.  People riding the jump line who don't see the point in using the official return line aren't that much better.

Now they'll have to wade through a waist-high sea of bramble and brush and logs and mebbe some poison ivy.

Mebbe but prolly.

See you next week?

Mebbe but prolly.

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