That’s right

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This past weekend was one of gluttony. 

I tossed to the call of the whippoorwill on Friday night.  A nauseating headache from the last minute emergency bike repair would not let me be.  4:30 a.m. wake-up, it’s already 1:00.  I thought about hitting the weeds to let go of dinner but was to lazy to get out of my bag.  Better hold it down.  Go to your breath, relax,  sleep. . . it hasn’t even started.  I might have to bail on these local maniacs.

The route was etched on a laminated map with a red sharpy,  75 miles of appalachian ridgelines. 

The riding exists in another reality.  Worldly concerns remain at the trailhead, as does any sense of moderation.  You like that downhill?  Let’s do ten more and see how you feel.  Hysterical.  good.  Know eat this.  Lay down.  Tomorrow we do it again. 

It’s wednesday and I’m almost better, but my mind is still blown.  Does VA really have better riding than NC? 

High, high, windy, mountain.  Peddle on up, a rode worn down, than covered up, with falling leaves and sprawling moss.  high, high, wretched mountain.  Oh, what you must have at your core.  The story of the ages.  worn and battered, refined by time, cleaned with rain.  you’re still hanging out.  After all these millions of years you’ve still got something left to give these bikes.  These multi-thousand dollar mountain bikes.  Yeah, you can dance on down,  take the screaming line down.  taking chances on piles of leaves and piles of rocks.  Give me a line, take it with speed. 

Unlike everything else under the sun, it just doesn’t get old.