MoRon 11-7-06

Mo's Report:

A dark night in a city that knows how to keep its secrets….okay, it wasn’t that dark, and Fairfax ain’t really a “city” per se, but anyway, the Java Hut held Fuzzy, Dana, Chris, Karen, Craig, Alan, and Big Dave. Because Karen was pre-paid on her late fee, her moral compass pointed to “fuck it” and while “fuck it” and Zen (and the art of nightlight maintenance) don’t really seem simpatico, there she was, “fucking it” in a very zen kind of way. Ya know, if she was a grizzled male instead of a tiny pocket of sweetness and light, wrapped in a small package of blonde and blue, then the men hovering around her would not have been eagerly assisting her, but rather dismembering her til all that was left was a tidy pile of feathers and some very small bones.

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You boys fixed her up, some of you looked at me and shook your heads. I took this non-verbal commentary to mean ‘mo, I think it is time to implement the sliding scale of late fees, you know, the one whereby when KAREN is late her fee compounds by the quarter minute thereby further incentivising (new word) her often glacial journey toward readiness’. Yeah, it’s pretty amazing what you can surmise from a head shake and a sideways look.

We headed up to Tamarancho and I said to myself “Self, Big Dave is kicking your ass up this hill”. Okay self, comment noted. It was warm and the men stripped. At the top of whatever-the-hell it is, Karen tried to redeem herself by feeding the people some evil combination of licorice and sodium chloride (that’s salt, right?). She did not endear herself with this tactic. Dana provided deer turds and that was nice. We lost Big Dave here and it made me sad. Alan tried to use this as an excuse to get away, but we wouldn’t have it. Up we went, saw an amazing moon reflection on the Bay without the moon itself showing its face, continued on to the oak tree with the view of Tam and had some long-anticipated elixirs. Saw SS Jim and his friend Matt riding Northside (we think) and drank a toast to them. Well, we would have if I had thought of it at the time.

Alan tried to show us the Wagon Wheel, but we found it anyway. Waiting in the redwood grove at B-17 (I think) and the trail that takes you up to Sherwood, Chris’ feisty side came out when he delivered Dana one heaping ration of shit for only having ridden Tamarancho a small handful of times. In this crew it wouldn’t be worth mentioning except for the fact that this is CHRIS we are talking about—yeah, Sully, the quiet sweet one. Funny. Was it the pot? Fatherhood? Lack of sleep? Hmmm. I like it….

Sherwood Forest/Porcupine (I gotta figure these trail names out…) was a scream, Karen’s back up light died at the bottom, Dana lent her his so we could do some more trail. I left these nice people at the bottom and I think they went to Iron Springs? I had a great time, as ever, and was so very happy to ride with you people. An evening of normalcy in a week of chaos and topsy-turvy. THANK YOU!