We have a weekly ride of sorts over here. It's loosely organized at best. We try for one or both weekend nights, and folks show up as they can. It's a small pool from which to draw, the shallow, murky pool of people who enjoy both the party and the ride. I may have mentioned this before. The Monterey peninsula has been called (rightly, in my opinion) the home of the newly weds and nearly deads. Which is to say there is not a lot going on- particularly bike-culture wise. So, a pool which would be small anywhere is very small indeed on the central coast.
Still, the surest way to have fun is to make some yourself.
I myself am very motivated in this one area. So after the back and forth texts of excuses and "reasons" (you know my views on the texting- it just allows any plans to remain open-ended until go time and beyond for some people. Maximum flake out potential. Gah!) I showed up at the shop to meet the one other potential attendee. Tales of personal woe and claims of tiredness and such ensued. I looked my bro right in the eye and said, "You are fucking up." What else is there to say? He knew it and I knew it, so I left. Rolled out the door to stop at the corner store for some tall boys- because I do like drinking and riding (and owning up to it on blog posts) so all a you pussy boys with your high tone set an example bullshit can get a load of that. pffffthp.
While loading large cans of cheap beer into my frame pack, I reflected on the choices we make. I know that brother is not riding any of the other days -much less nights- of the week. He is a working father with school in the bargain. I realize his situation. I also realize it is easy to turn down hard things, and riding up these particular trails, while not technically difficult, is strenuous and in the dark to boot. Which, I know, I know, is a selling point for some.
So I rolled back on over to the shop and knocked at the door and then knocked at his flimsy denials until he did the right thing. Then we rolled up the hill and into the dark for the one night a week we currently have of Good Times.
If you need it plainly, here's the crux- this is what you like to do. What else is there?
*photo from the inexhaustible il dolore
Still, the surest way to have fun is to make some yourself.
I myself am very motivated in this one area. So after the back and forth texts of excuses and "reasons" (you know my views on the texting- it just allows any plans to remain open-ended until go time and beyond for some people. Maximum flake out potential. Gah!) I showed up at the shop to meet the one other potential attendee. Tales of personal woe and claims of tiredness and such ensued. I looked my bro right in the eye and said, "You are fucking up." What else is there to say? He knew it and I knew it, so I left. Rolled out the door to stop at the corner store for some tall boys- because I do like drinking and riding (and owning up to it on blog posts) so all a you pussy boys with your high tone set an example bullshit can get a load of that. pffffthp.
While loading large cans of cheap beer into my frame pack, I reflected on the choices we make. I know that brother is not riding any of the other days -much less nights- of the week. He is a working father with school in the bargain. I realize his situation. I also realize it is easy to turn down hard things, and riding up these particular trails, while not technically difficult, is strenuous and in the dark to boot. Which, I know, I know, is a selling point for some.
So I rolled back on over to the shop and knocked at the door and then knocked at his flimsy denials until he did the right thing. Then we rolled up the hill and into the dark for the one night a week we currently have of Good Times.
If you need it plainly, here's the crux- this is what you like to do. What else is there?
*photo from the inexhaustible il dolore
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