Don't Let It Get Me

I didn't mean to sound all whiny yesterday but it's hard not to do so.  I have plenty of other things to do, but riding my bike is pretty damn important.  And the fact that I re-injured myself while not riding my bike is a major downer.  I know I'll eventually heal and be "good as new", but damn it...

I feel like I'm fighting a losing battle.

Well, not against that guy.  He can't shoot for shit.

Anyway, I'm feeling a little better (again.)  I can move around much better now, mostly due to the fact that I sat around a lot and took pain meds (and beer.)  I'm hoping to get out and ride on the upcoming long weekend, so I'm on a self-imposed bike hiatus until at least Saturday.  In the meantime, I'm trying to enjoy a few other hobbies I have.

I took my new toy to a local park to get in some flying time, and I actually had a shitload of fun.

Nice open fields meant that I could fly that little bastard pretty high.  Since I'm not riding as much, I'm actually getting really good at this quadcopter thingy.  It's fun, and it requires minimal movement.  Well, unless I crash it (I do.)  That requires a little bit of walking to retrieve it.  Who gives a shit.

I also took advantage of my downtime to get back to a hobby I haven't enjoyed since...

Shit, I don't know.  It's been a while.  But luckily, I had some ingredients around the house to brew another batch of beer.

I know, I know.  It looks like shit.  That's how it looks.  When it's done in a few weeks though, I'll have a tasty Pale Ale that I made all by myself.  And if I'm still hurting by then, I'll have a couple of gallons of fresh beer to ease my pain.

At least I'm doing something I guess.  Something instead of whining about being broken.  I'm still down about it.

But I'm trying, Ringo.

Flying toys and brewing my own beer.  This ain't even the same fucking sport.  Ain't no ballpark neither.

Break Time

So I promised an explanation as to why I skipped out on one of my favorite races of the year, the 6 Hours of Warrior Creek.  First though, I’ll be clear…

I really, really wanted to be there.

I just couldn’t though.  It started a few weeks ago with my high blood pressure issue, and I thought everything was all good after I raced the first event in the Southern Classic Series.  We went on vacation afterwards, and I was in good health and felt like normal (whatever the hell that is.)  Race two in the series was the Sunday after we got back, but about mid week I felt shitty again.  Still, I signed up for the race in Sanford, hoping that I would be fine by then. 

I wasn’t.  I woke up early that Sunday morning and couldn’t drag my ass out of bed.  I paid for a race where I normally do quite well (three for three with podiums including a win last year) but I didn’t even have the energy to get up and go.  So, I went back to bed and slept for several hours.  I was disappoint but I know I did the right thing (the little lady thought so too.)  It was at that moment that I made a plan.

With a few weeks to get ready for the next race in the series, I would take it a little easy and get myself back into a proper state.  That meant skipping out of a race (Warrior Creek, pay attention) that I look forward to every year, and that I’d already paid for.  For some reason I thought I would do it anyway, so I never bothered to sell my entry to some deserving racer on the waiting list.  That means I ended up making a donation to the trails up there with my unused entry.  It was all good though, because I was starting to feel much better.  With the next race coming up in a little over a week, I took off to Charleston to ride a little, but more importantly, relax and have fun.

It was fun (I told you yesterday.)  We rode a lot, and I was feeling no ill effects of my ailment.  I even talked to everyone down there about how I was ready to race the following weekend.  Then, my plan went to shit towards the end of our urban ride.

While we were riding in front of The Citadel, I was hopping up steps with my bike and jumping back off.  You know, the usual urban ride shit.  I haz skills and all that, but I made one little mistake.  Immediately after riding off of one curb I headed for another set of steps and misjudged my landing on the way up somehow (must have been the strong winds.)  My front wheel came down, immediately stopped, and I was thrown violently over the bars onto the hard concrete (with my bike landing on top of me.)  I landed on my shoulder, and the way my arm was tucked into my body it jammed it directly into the left side of my rib cage.

Ouch.

It knocked the wind out of me, and when everyone came over to see if I was okay I just said, “Yeah.”  It hurt really bad though, but I just tried to shake it off.  I’d somehow gotten my right hand caught under me too, and it immediately swelled up.  I started breathing normally but the pain was setting in.  We eventually started riding again and I was in a tremendous amount of pain.  I tried my best to shake it off so I wouldn’t hold up the rest of the group.  We made it back to where we parked, loaded up our shit, and headed back to home base.

I was nauseous.  The pain was worse.  I took a hot shower and felt a little better.  We went out to eat and I didn’t drink anything except sweet tea.  I ended up drinking a beer later, but I didn’t feel good enough to drink the proper amount to make the pain go away.  I slept like shit that night, of course.

The next day, we skipped the bikes and hung out near the beach.  I hurt more, but I was able to drink enough to dull it a little.

We eventually drove back home to Charlotte that evening, and when I got to bed I slept like shit again.  The swelling and bruising was worse on Monday, so I sought some medical attention.

A bunch of X-rays later and it was confirmed.  Badly sprained wrist and two broken ribs (and lots of cuts and bruises.)  It hurts when I laugh, cough, sneeze, move around, and sleep.  Pretty much everything I do.  I got some good pain meds, but since I still have to go to work I can’t use them during the day.  Awesome.  I was told that I’ll heal up in about six weeks or so, and that I can start riding again as soon as I feel like it.  However, riding on trails is a no go for a while.

Shit.

So what does this mean for my season?  It’s over, at least for a little while.  I had this grand plan of winning the Southern Classic Series again this year, and retiring from cross country racing to focus on other shit.  Looks like that plan has been changed, and my retirement might be a little early.  I took a break from racing to fix one medical issue, only to cause another.  So much win.

I’ll be back on the bike.  And I’ll race again I guess.  But winning (or even placing) in the Southern Classic Series will be damn near impossible because when I finally get back to it I’ll be too far behind to catch up.  I’ve accepted that, but I don’t know where to go from here.  I’ll take the time to heal up properly, and ride what I can in the meantime.

So yeah, it’s gonna suck for a while I guess.  Who gives a shit.  People have to deal with this kind of crap all the time in sports.  Why should I be any different?

I’m not.  

Last Ride For A Little While

Last night was the last Tuesday ride with the Dirt Divas for the rest of the year.  It was down at Colonel Francis Beatty Park in Matthews, NC, and that’s usually a little far for me to travel after work.  Luckily, I happened to be working nearby, so I got to go.  I arrived a little early, so I decided to get out and do a lap by myself.

Recently, a ton of work has been going on down there, and I must say I’m pleased with the results.  The trail is really fun now, and my first lap was pretty fast and fun (except for the hoards of walkers on the trail.)  When I got back to the parking lot, most everyone had arrived so it was time to hit the trail.  Since a whole bunch of dudes showed up for this one, they made us take off on our own.  Not a problem.

We flew around the trail at a good clip, with my pal Tom leading the way on his new bike.  About two thirds of the way in though, his bike started squeaking…a lot.  When we stopped to see what it was, I discovered that one of the bolts that held on his rear suspension had come loose, and it got pretty bent up in the process.  It was barely rideable after a trailside repair, so we decided to take a short cut to get back.  On the way, we stopped at one of the new sections out there that’s not yet open to the public.

There was some cool shit under construction.

It’s nice to see some new stuff out there, and I need to make sure I’m at the next workday so I can help finish that awesomeness.  We made our way back to the truck, and decided to call it a night.  Tom planned a visit to the shop where he bought his bike to get a new bolt, and I planned to head home a lot earlier than expected.  Well, until I did something pretty dumb.

I was playing around in the parking lot on the way back to my truck, and somehow my foot got caught in the pedal and I flipped over backwards.  I honestly don’t remember exactly what happened because it went by so fast, but I do remember slamming down in the parking lot on my left ass cheek and my elbow at the same time, and then hitting my head (and my helmet popped off.)  I laughed it off at first, but when I got up I felt really dizzy.  I do believe that I was mildly concussed. 

After taking a bit come to my senses (which seems to be still taking place as I type this), I noticed that my elbow was bloody, and had a strange looking knot on it.  It fucking hurt too.

I grabbed my first aid kit out of the truck and tried to clean it up, digging out pieces of the parking lot as I went along.  I also took that opportunity (while I was probably still in shock) to check for any bone fragments or cracks, and I was satisfied that it was just a flesh wound.  It’s a really deep gash, but I didn’t see the need to visit a local medical professional.  I’m plenty qualified for first aid, and I knew that I could get a valid second opinion when I got home to Little Miss Sunshine. 

My head was still spinning though, and it seemed to take forever to get thoughts from my head to my mouth.  I pretended that I was fine, but I think Tom knew better.  Since we live pretty close to each other, he followed me all the way home to make sure I was okay.  I made it, and I was pretty happy about that.

When I got in the house, the little lady checked me over.  She kept asking if I felt okay, and noticed that my eyes were crossing a little bit when I was talking to her.  I told her I was just tired (I was), and that I should be fine.  Still, she denied me my usual post-ride beer, which seems to be standard procedure with any kind of head injury.  We got my arm cleaned up again and properly dressed so I wouldn’t stick to the sheets at night, and I somehow managed to fall asleep.  When I woke up this morning, I still felt like shit.

Things are pretty fuzzy, and my elbow is throbbing (not to mention my head.)  Luckily, I work in a hospital, so if I take a turn for the worse I won’t have far to go.

I guess that means I’ll be off the bike for a little while.

Shit.

No Rest For The Wicked

My back is still pretty sore, but I can’t really afford any time off the bike to rest.  I’ve been doing my best to get myself right again, but it will probably be a slow process.  Even though I didn’t have the greatest race on Sunday, my effort was good enough to bump me up to 3^rd in the overall standings for the series.  I guess that’s okay, but it also means that I have a long road ahead.

I found two reasons that Sunday’s racing fiasco transpired.  For one, the Dirty Party Cycle grabbed one of my tires when I loaded the bikes up after the race, and noticed that I had way too much air in them.  That’s one of the things I forgot to check before I started, and it probably made the ride a lot rougher than it should’ve been.  I think I had a hair over 40 p.s.i. in there, which made the roots beat me unmercifully the whole time.  I guess I better check that shit from now on.

Also, I somehow managed to forget my music playing device.  As soon as I started slowing down due to the pain in my back, I realized that I was riding in silence.  I heard every root go right to my back, and that made it much more painful.  At least with music, I would’ve had something to take my mind off of it.  I got there Sunday morning with plenty of time to get ready, so there was no excuse.

I don’t know what the hell I was thinking trying to race anyway.

I forgot to mention one other thing, although it doesn’t relate to my race at all.  My pal D-Wayne didn’t show up, because he was busy racing his bike somewhere else.  He did have his better half pass along a gift though:

He made this sticker, since he is a fancy designer. 

Very nice, and much appreciated.

I did some other stuff over the weekend (besides racing), but I’ll get into that tomorrow.

Here’s a little hint for y’all:

I’m Afraid There’s Not Much To Tell

As much as I want to give you a great story about a great race at the Winter Short Track, it ain’t gonna happen today. I did pretty well last week, so I guess the pressure was on to keep it up. Quite a few new people jumped into my category in yesterday’s race, and coupled with a wet trail from a shitload of rain the pressure was turned up even more. None of that shit really affected me though. Something else happened that was much, much worse.


The race started, and I wanted to get my ass in the woods first. I took off from the line, and I felt my right knee pop. As I rounded the corner to head to the singletrack, I was in a lot of pain. It hurt like hell when I stood up on the pedals, so I had to sit and spin. At that point I wasn’t about to catch the three or four guys ahead of me, and I even let two more go by. As bad as I wanted to sprint my way to a big gap, it wasn’t happening.


I was okay as long as I didn’t stand up and mash, so I knew I would be okay on the downhill stuff. The trail was a little sloppy, but manageable. I had Mr. Ryde hot on my wheel though, and I had to lose him somehow.


All photos by Lunchbox.


It didn’t take long before he caught up and passed me. After climbing out in the smallest gear possible, I was falling way behind. I let him go, and hoped that my knee would feel better so I could get back in the race. I stuck to the plan, which was to go as fast as I could on the downhill, and try to spin up the climbs until I felt better. I started passing some people, but they weren’t in my class.



Every lap made things worse. I couldn’t seem to pick up any speed, and I nearly got passed by more people in my class. One thing for sure, I wasn’t gonna let Big Tater catch me.



Big Tater (with his 65 pound bike) was back there somewhere, and I was afraid he would creep up on me in my weakened condition. I rode as fast as I could, and hoped that I could last through the race. Mr. Ryde wasn’t that far ahead anyway.



I wanted to go faster, but it wasn’t happening. My knee wasn’t getting any better (why would it), so I just held on to whatever I had and continued to enjoy the downhills.



When the call came for one lap to go, I was on my way out of the trail. I pushed as hard as I could without standing up, and managed to make it out with out totally destroying my knee. I ended up in 8th place, which I guess wasn’t so bad.

Was it worth it?

I dunno.

I guess I’ll have to see how my knee feels. So far it’s shitty.

When I hobbled around after my race, I noticed that one of my teammates was getting ready for his race.



Would I get to go up against him in my second race?

You probably already know the answer to that. See you tomorrow.

Skate And Destroy

I told myself that after the majority of my mountain bike racing season was finished that I would try to spend a little more time on my skateboard. I was so afraid of getting hurt and jeopardizing my bike stuff that I kinda stayed away from it. The problem with that is that I get really rusty, and it takes way too long to get back in the groove. For someone that’s been skateboarding for over twenty five years, it’s a little frustrating. Things aren’t as easy as they used to be. You know, when I was much, much younger.




Anyway, Sunday I promised Lunchbox that we would go skate. The Dirty Party Cycle wanted to go to, and he promptly showed up at our house to pick us up. We headed over to our local skatepark, Soul Ride, for some fun on four (small) wheels. And yes, it was fun.


Much like the joy I get from mountain biking, skateboarding makes me feel all happy inside. It’s sort of like being a kid again, except that the DPC and I are the old farts out there these days. Lots of people my age still skate, including some of the pros I idolized back in my youth. It’s a good feeling to be out there on my board, and I need to make sure I do it a little more often.

I did take a few photos. Here’s the DPC getting his skate on:



And of course my son was there:



They even teamed up on the ramp:



No, there aren’t any pictures of me. Lunchbox offered to take some, but I was cool without any photographic evidence of my skate session. Well, there was one photo.



Ice on my arm. Yes, I got hurt. I was just skating along minding my own business, when this tiny splinter of wood locked up my front wheel and threw me to the ground. If you’ve ever spent any time on a skateboard, then this has probably happened to you too. I wasn’t doing any fancy tricks, just rolling. I slammed violently on the concrete with all of my 230 pounds, using my right arm as a cushion. It happened so fast that I didn’t even have time to react. My elbow, forearm, and wrist took the brunt of it.


Three days later, and it’s still swollen. It could be broken. It could be sprained. It could just be bruised. Hell, I could be imagining things. I didn’t seek medical attention because well, I’m just too damn stubborn. I can move around just fine, and the pain is actually getting a little more tolerable. In fact, I skated for another hour or so after I got hurt. I don’t know what this means for my bicycling time, but it sure as hell doesn’t mean I’ll give up the skateboarding. I’ve been hurt before, and that shit never stopped me. I refuse to sit around on my ass and do nothing. That aging gracefully shit is for suckers. I’m going out in a blaze of glory. A crippled blaze, but a blaze nonetheless.

Get Hurt Much?

If you spend time riding a bike you probably spend some time crashing too. I don’t care how good your skills might be, falling down is inevitable. Shit happens, and it happens to all of us. I just read an article yesterday regarding this very subject, and it got me thinking a little bit (I’ve been known to do that form time to time.) Here’s what I’m talking about:


Mountain Bike Injuries Decrease 45 Percent, Study Finds


I was actually shocked that ER visits had gone down, at least according to that study. Are we really getting hurt less or are we just sucking it up and dealing with it on our own? Maybe those less frequent visits are due to the fact that people have little or no insurance, no funds with which to pay the out of pocket costs, or maybe they just don’t want to miss any work/school time. Those people probably suck it up and deal with it on their own. It puzzles me a little bit. I kind of figured that since the sport of mountain biking is growing so fast that injuries would actually go up, but I really don’t know shit about statistics. This little tidbit from the article kind of goes along with what I was trying to say though:


Some caveats: Because the study only looked at data from ERs, it doesn’t include information from smaller health care facilities or injuries treated at home. Also, how the injury occurred was self-reported, which could be a problem if the person was trying to conceal what stunt put them in the ER.

I can see it now:

Doc: “So, how did you do this? Your choice of clothing suggests you were riding a bike.”

Patient: “Um, I was mowing the yard and I tripped on a dog turd. That sent me sailing across the yard and I busted up my shoulder. Yeah, that’s it.”

Doc: “You mow the yard in spandex?”

Patient: “Yeah, but only because my sponsors want me to wear this when I race, I mean I like the way those bicycle guys dress. I would never ride a bike though. It looks too dangerous.”



I can’t say for sure that people are doing that, but I would be willing to bet that they do. Maybe your wife would be pissed if she found out you wrecked on the trail, especially when you convinced her that the sport was “safe.” Injuries happen, but some people just don’t get it. Hell, my boss always tells me, “Don’t come back in here hurt after riding your bike.” Funny, because people can get hurt doing all kinds of shit, with or without a bicycle.


I’ve been pretty fortunate with injuries on the bike. Most recently, I broke a rib (but you already know that.) Two years ago, I dislocated my shoulder after going over the bars riding around a parking lot. A few years ago back in Florida; I went over the bars and knocked myself out, getting a nice concussion in the process (I wasn’t wearing a helmet though.) I get scrapes, cuts, and bruises quite a bit, but nothing too major. I would imagine that it’s about the same for most of you as well. That's no reason to stop riding of course.


However, you can get hurt just hanging around your house. What if you went out to check the mail, tripped over a rock, and bashed your head on the mailbox? Would you blame the mailman? Would you be afraid to go get the mail from then on? How about if you ran into the kitchen you get yourself a snack during a commercial break from your favorite show and slipped on the floor, knocking out your teeth on the counter? Would you stop going into the kitchen? Would you stop watching TV? Hell, you can get hit by a car just walking down the street. Yes my friends, you can get hurt anywhere.


What’s the point of this? Hell, I don’t know. Just be careful out there I guess. If you have fun riding your bike and you love doing it, then nothing will keep you off the bike. And yes, you will crash, but that’s a part of mountain biking. Those trees don’t just jump out in front of you on the trail, do they?

Party Over Here

On Saturday it was time to party. Our local mountain bike clubs, the Tarheel Trailblazers and the Dirt Divas held their year-end party at Anne Springs Close Greenway down in Fort Mill, South Carolina. The party is a way for all of us locals to get together every year for riding, socializing, good food, and beer, and this year was no exception.


The party started at 2:00 p.m., so we left the B-43 compound with plenty of time to spare (at least I thought so.) After a couple of stops along the way, we came screeching in the parking lot right at 2:00. We hopped out of my truck and started getting ready, since everyone was preparing to break off into groups and ride the trails. It took me a bit longer to get ready than I would have liked, since everyone I knew came over to say hello and inquire about my rib injury. As I finished getting ready, I saw that everyone else was preparing to leave:



In the photo above you might notice local celebrity Rich Dillen perched atop his brand spanking new squishy geared bike. I had no idea that we would have famous people at the event. Awesome.


Anyway, there were a couple of guided tour groups based on skill level, and some other folks broke off into their own speedy groups. As much as I wanted to join one of the fast groups to see how quick I could fall off the pack, I decided that I would join the slowest group. My rib is still hurt, and I didn’t need to bust my ass (and another rib) out there trying to keep up with the cool kids. Little Miss Sunshine, Lunchbox, and The Dirty Party Cycle rode along with this group as well.


We took off at a nice social pace, and my rib felt pretty good (I touched it several times to be sure.) We stopped every so often to let the group catch up, and I was enjoying this slow, easy ride. I didn’t want to risk further injury by taking photos while I rode, so I only busted out the camera when we stopped for a break. Here’s a “rest stop”:



The Dirty Party Cycle is telling Lunchbox about his new found love of big wheels.


We rode with the group for a while, and then we all stopped to cross a bridge. Since this was a beginner/slower group ride, we made sure everyone made it across. At this point Lunchbox, The Dirty Party Cycle, and I let the group go on, as we had to heed the call of nature. We let our bikes get a rest while we ventured off the beaten path:




We eventually caught back up to the group, but they were skipping one of the more advanced sections out there. Our little group within the group decided that we would permanently split from the main pack and go off on our own. We rode at a much faster pace now, since I was feeling pretty good. We had to stop at one point because Lunchbox was complaining of shifting issues though. After a short inspection, I saw that his front derailleur cable had snapped, causing his chain to remain in the granny gear. We tried to adjust the front derailleur to put the chain back on the middle ring, but it wasn’t working. We decided that we would slow down a bit and I would fix it when we got back home.


A little while later, I had an idea. At the top of a climb I decided that I would remove the quick link from Lunchbox’s chain, and place the chain on the middle chainring. This way the big ring and the front derailleur would keep it in place, allowing him a better gear ratio to continue the ride. Just when I thought I had solved the world’s problems,. I saw him coming up the hill and I noticed that something wasn’t right:



His bike was bouncing all over the place, and it wasn’t because of his suspension. His frame had cracked right at the pivot point on the rear triangle. Great, now Lunchbox was a frame killer too. I guess I’ll be ringing up the folks at Diamondback this afternoon to inquire about the warranty. They should take care of us, but I have a backup plan if they come up with some bullshit reason to keep us from getting a shiny new frame. Although he’s been wishing for a big-wheeled bike, this wasn’t the way he wanted to go about it. He finished the ride, but his spirit was broken.


We finally made it back from the ride, and Lunchbox was happy to get off the trail. He was heartbroken, but he will be riding again soon. As for me, I didn’t re injure myself, so I felt like I had to ride a little more. Rather than leave Lunchbox with his broken bike, I busted out my one-wheeled machine for a little play time.





This tuned out to be a very bad idea. I had forgotten the Muni’s tendency to violently throw me from it’s seat at any given time, and I took a small spill. My ribs didn’t sustain any further abuse, but I busted open an old wound:





I guess I’ve learned that I can ride the bike again (albeit carefully), but the Muni needs to stay in the garage for a while. I do the dumbest shit sometimes, but it’s usually for your entertainment. You’re welcome.


The party kicked off shortly thereafter. There was plenty of good beer, food, and even a raffle. I didn’t win shit, but Little Miss Sunshine made out like a bandit. We stayed until the sun went down, as you can clearly see in this photo:




I’ll be back tomorrow with more crap, and maybe even some news about Lunchbox’s bike.

Lazy Sunday

I love that video. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, I’m talking about last Sunday. Two days after The Accident, and I was already going crazy from being off the bike. With all of this beautiful weather, it was hard to hang around the house in an attempt to heal myself. I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I decided to take a chance and go for a ride.


Last week I had already planned to ride for three days straight (Friday, Saturday, and Sunday), but my McRib action put a screeching halt to that shit. I already told you that I bailed on the ride at the Kerr Scott Trail System, and I was pretty disappointed. Sunday was supposed to be a ride with The Chili Man, his youngin’, and Lunchbox at Sherman Branch, and I didn’t want to miss that one either.


You see, The Chili Man is trying to get hooked on this whole mountain biking thing, and I had offered to take him on an easy ride on the trail Sunday morning. He knew of my injury, and probably would have understood if I cancelled the ride. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to go out on the trail at a nice easy pace, and it might even keep me from going crazy. I decided to go, and we loaded up our bikes and headed out on that chilly morning.


We got to the trail, and I didn’t feel too bad. All I had to do was cruise along at an easy pace and keep myself upright. Usually that’s not a problem, but I didn’t want to take any chances. We headed out on the trail, and I hoped that I had made the right decision. I took it easy, and grabbed a few photos along the way:





You may notice that The Chili Man isn’t riding his custom spare parts bike that I built for him. After riding around on “better” bikes than his da udda day, I offered up my squishy bike, Goose. I would let my little-wheeled full suspension Diamondback Sortie 3 be his “Wingman in the woods.” He seemed to enjoy the comfort of the quality Fox suspension, and I was glad to let him take it for a spin. Anything to get someone hooked on this shit, you know?


We rode along, and I was pretty much pain free. Well, one little jump jarred my ribcage a bit, and I also banged my freshly scabbed over knee on my handlebars once. I made sure to play it safe after that. Well, as safe as I am capable of playing it anyway. When we came to my favorite feature out there (the giant log skinny), I gave our little riding group (and some curious onlookers) a demonstration. While I know it’s not wise to attempt such a thing with an injury like I have, I did it anyway. So much for playing it safe.


Speaking of playing it safe, The Chili Man was having none of that. He jumped the jumps, and hit all of the features on our little trail adventure. He even did this wooden roller coaster Loch Ness monster-looking thing without even stopping to eye it up first. I didn’t get any photos of it, since it caught me by surprise. I asked him to do it again, but he declined. Good call. The next stop at the log skinny was a little different.





Yeah, he really wanted to do it. For someone that’s supposed to be a beginner mountain biker, he sure had some balls. I waited with the camera (and my first aid knowledge) for him to try it, but it never happened. I know he really wanted to do it, but it was probably better that he didn’t. I know he’s kicking himself in the ass for not trying it, but he can always get back out there any time for another go. As for me, I decided that I wanted to temp fate and give it another shot:



Who needs time to heal? Not me, I guess.


We rode the trail to the end, and thoroughly enjoyed it. I jetted up ahead to snap a “group shot”:



Even though it probably didn’t seem like a great idea, I was glad to get out on my bike. The fact that The Chili Man came along was a bonus. We didn’t ride very fast, but it was still a whole lotta fun. I’ll take it easy from now on though, I promise. At the very least, I’ll take the rest of the week off from the bike, but I doubt I’ll stay off of it this weekend. It’s fall around here, which means good weather. As long as I don’t “fall” for a while, then I should be just fine.