A cardinal rule of biking must be that thou shalt always
encounter hikers on the most tasty part of the ride. I'm
cruisin' along in middle ring/middle cog, the suspension is
smoothly cycling beneath me. Up and round the banked corner
I go left. Staying to the outside I miss the rootiest
section. Now I'm off onto a bit of downhill and into a tight
inside right turn, lest I slip out on the roots angling
across the trail. The knobbies are "pinging" and "panging"
as I ride over some of the smaller roots. "Twang!" as a
stick fires off a spoke. "Clunk" as a low branch grazes my
helmet. It's a veritable symphony of singletrack.
Now, having forgotten to put on my shades, and with the sun
being at an angle that produces a strobe like effect
amongst the trees I zip around the corner and.... "Hello
there!" A very nice lady out walking her rather portly
Basset Hound. I'm hard on the brakes and have slowed down
well before I'm on top of them (I don't go *that* fast).
The dog gave me the most nonchalant look I've ever seen. It
was almost like he was scoping out my bike and completely
ignoring me... Bike snob!
My tempo, such that it was, is now completely gone. I drop a
couple of gears, grab a bit of speed, head down the last
little section of roots. Up a bit, staying outside of the
gnarled roots I'm down the hill, round the corner, and out
onto pavement. Linda is somewhere behind me, enjoying a
similar experience.
After that it's back to the trailhead and a picnic supper. I
hang around and watch the racing. Linda goes off on the
paved loop to track down some yellow lady slippers that have
just bloomed. All in all a good ride.
--
- Rog
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