MORON
9-19-2006 - Mount Tam, Eldridge-International-Northside.
How do I love thee, Tuesday night ride? Let me count the ways…..
Yes Ron, you are #12. Tom Mullen (sp?) threatened to show up. In fact, he did show up. He saw the girl/boy ratio, mumbled something ‘bout a ‘light mount’ and scurried off. I think Bruno coming at him with outstretched arms and dollar signs flashing in his eyes may have spooked the poor lad just a tad.
Michael had no helmet, there was much confusion about the status of the Karen who for some unknown reason was in possession of said helmet. Under threat of fine, he pedaled lidless. Seeing him riding with no helmet reminded me of the deep-seated (I always wonder if that saying is “seated” or “seeded”—any help out there?) fear of showing up at school/work with no clothes on. This may have been a non-sequitor—I’m not sure.
Anyway, up Eldridge—I was caught whining and got the *SMACKdown* from the new(ish) guy Peter H. when I uttered “Oh My Gaaaawwd, Elderidge is fucking interminable”, he quickly and matter-of-factly replied “Well, you’re the ride leader, no”? Listen Prick, that kind of logic and orderly thinking has NO place here, okay>? Shheeesh.
We were told to abandon Alan and Big Dave at some point up Eldridge, which we did, though I did sit straight upright in my bed at 3:14 a.m. this morning and remember who it was that told me that. The icy tendrils of fear crept around my throat—Ron Bolds—how many times? How many times Maureen must you listen to this sociopath? Jesus Lord in Heaven, I’ll bet Alan and Dave are still sitting at Northside waiting for their Candy Juice shot, hoping it comes before the eager crows peck their eyes out. Great. A double homicide on my conscience. And I have SUCH a busy day tomorrow. I wonder if I can still wear that white linen outfit just one more time, even though it *is* clearly after Labor Day…..
So, meanwhile, back on Eldridge, Ron is herding traffic, Pete, Jon, and Craig are up ahead at the trailhead, me, Dana, Peter H and Sully are hangin’ waiting for Eric and Michael who appear, from their light patterns and pace, to be examining the lichen formations on the south-facing pebbles, stones and very small rocks on the fire road. Ron
gets all “Type-A” on their ass and gathers them up. Can’t remember if it’s before or after this that THE RANGER comes by on the road causing much excitement among the tiny humans. We smashed and contorted ourselves against trees and banks and such. I hear Pete is sooo skinny his chosen tree hid him completely. Nice work babe!
So we flub the trail entrance (Bolds, again….) and head up the road, losing Michael to the realities of International/Northside with no helmet, where we see ANOTHER vehicle coming and Ron goes one way, and Eric and I go another and I’m dead in the water so I just give up—nothing to be done. The completely unofficial passenger car goes by, probably wondering what in God’s name is wrong with these freaks. I wonder where the others are when I peer down the side of the bank and see three boys and their bikes in a non-tidy pile, limbs oozing out of swurly manzanita, foot upon chin, ass upon limb—utter ranger-induced pandemonium.
We got onto International by about 32 feet—having given up on Pete and Co. (Ron having muttered something about “um, so, yeaaaaah, Sully mighta been right back there…..hamana…?.....”), when Sully got a flat. Sooooo, with nothing but a few minutes to kill, the obvious choice was to Drink Up! Flasks were passed and enjoyed, the legacy of Tom-who-showed-but-did-not-ride lingered with his rather large bottle (quite full, I might add) of Tequila (hell yes I capitalize ‘Tequila’—if ‘God’ gets capital letters, so does Tequila). Pete and Jon and Craig showed up just in time for the goods, then we continued on International to Northside, it was swoopy and fun, ran into some guys coming the other way, but they weren’t B. Dave or Alan who at this time I hadn’t yet realized had already been marked for death. Hey, the Ron giveth and the Ron taketh away. Whatcha gonna do.
So, here comes the part I need something like Autocad to try to explain. These uptight, pedestrian w-o-r-d-s just aren’t gonna do the trick. But I haven’t got that. Sooo, I was riding behind Fuzzy (Eric) on Northside and we came up on a medium technical rock face. Now, you are not going to believe this, cause I didn’t and I was THERE, but he must have hit it too fast and he went ass over tea kettle on an UPHILL rock face, and his rear wheel just freakin hovered there. Well, there was a huge drop off to the left, and as he hung suspended at the apex of this para-fucking-normal crash, I had time to a) stop, b) get off the bike, and c), reach out and grab his rear wheel which was still floating in space in front of me at eye-level. Just a reaction—I didn’t want him to fall into the gaping maw to the left, so I plucked him from the precipice—and I held him there. I held him there long enough for us to have a Conversation about it. Imagine—your face is 22 inches from a wicked granite encounter, fully lit up by the mini-sun that is on your helmet, your hands or your handlebars, your ass approximately 3 feet over your head. You don’t usually get to THINK about this position—you know your teeth are gonna come out, then, they do. None of this studying of the rock, the situation, the precarious position—as Karen Kaner once said not too long ago, “well? Am I gonna Crash or WHAT”? I think that’s what Eric was thinking when he said (incredulously) “Um, are you holding me???”
I said “ Er….Yes”, to which he replied, still suspended, “Well, that’s interesting….”. At this point, the swirling fog of “what the fuck” in my head was pierced by a ray of cohesive thought and I gently laid the man down to the right.
Un believe able. I can do nothing but laugh my ass at this STILL. Maybe I’ll be in “The Matrix 6—Fuzzy Rock Pluck”. We then finished N. side and did Eldridge down cause it was late so we blew off Tucker. Went to the Drum, but the kitchen was closed. FKLKS?? Urrrrr? Huh? Crap. Went across the street to Red Boy pizza, this bare bones crowd of Ron, Mo, Pete, Peter, Dana and Eric-the-plucked-one. Over and out. Awesome. Surreal. Don’t crash in front of me in hopes of some otherwordly performance. The power comes and goes. Very finicky.
