This was posted to our group site, too:
OK fellow friends and BOMBers, we had some fun tonight, and missed you. Is
it too hot? Are you all doing other things? Do you want me to start using
deodorant again??
Well, anyway, the Parker Brother and I met at the appointed spot, loaded the
bikes into the Sports Utility Beater, and trundled up 8th St., to the start
of Scott's Trail. At that point we both realized there was no way the Parker
Rice Burner could negotiate the major tank traps and road ruts up to Scotts,
so I dropped the mountaindewd off there on his manly Horse, the downhill
race bike. Here we are on top of the world, about to cut the big boy loose,
and he starts getting calls on his cell phone. "Well, I'd uh,love to talk,
but I'm, uh, just about in the treeline, and ready to start this huge,
downhill ride, how 'bout I call when I get down, huh?" Too funny.
He rode down Scott's trail, a narrow twisty buttery trail ideally suited to
cruising at altitude. Then Corrals, and was spozed to sit tight at the top
of Bob's.
I drove back to the 8th St. parking lot, broke out my red bike,
affectionately named Helen Back, and was on my way to the top of Bob's when
the Parkerissimo meets me on the Iron Stallion. The guy's got energy to
burn!
So we book down Bob's, our only technical trail to speak of in the whole
foothills trail system, and I'm figuring I'll do what I can, just watching
the 8" travel wunderpig bounce over the boulders would be worth the price of
admission. So I'm following the Crag, and he hits the big rock, you know,
the crux move in the trail, and he just flies right over everything. It's
ugly, it's off-camber, it's unforgiving, but dang it if it might not be
doable by even an old coot like me. We'll see. The dh meister bounces
through that boulder fest like it really wasn't there. He stops at the
bottom and yells at me to try it. Yeah right, on my short-travel hard tail,
with memories of my yr 2000 major biffster still imprinted on my
risk-avoidance genes.
But here's what we do, gentle folk. We set the big galoot up at the danger
spot of the move, to spot me. So I rock on down like there's a tomorrow,
and have to try it about 4 times before it all comes together with momentum,
weighting and unweighting, pedalling, weight back, etc. I just let the
bike run and bounce through it. They usually know what to do if you let
them, ya-know. But believe me when I say there's no way on God's earth I
would have tried this without a big spotter. Thanks to the Parker Brother.
So, we move on to the next lousy spot, toward the end, (cleaning everything
in between, happy to report) which is the 3' drop following the sharp rt
turn after a creek crossing. Took me another 3 or 4 tries to clean that
hombre too. Just too psyched out. Helps to have dad there to talk me
through. I felt like I was 5 again learning to ride a bike without training
wheels. Whatever it takes, I guess.
While we were playing at this spot, a flock of peacocks roll past going the
other way, all on mega-expensive bikes. I saw 2 Tituses, 3 Ventanas, a
Maverick, an Ellsworth, and a Turner. Expensive bike club, eh? A couple
were truly snobs, but one or two returned our friendly greeting. Heh! They
were bragging that some of their members could clean the big rock, they were
so good. Oooooh, really?!
Wait a minute! NaNaNaNaNa! We I just rode that sucker on my old hardtail,
and Parker nailed it like it was rolling off a curb! I did it just to prove
once again, it's the rider, not the bike. ;~)
Anyway, the trail was one rockin taco, with only those 2 sections giving me
any pause, and ole Parkermingo, rhymes with Dingo, flew through it all with
nary a care on the Man Horse.
Good stuff, compadres, and hope more of you will join us next time.
You know, we might be slow, but give us enough time, we're also pretty
mediocre!
CDB