You know what's never faded? Camping and bike riding. It is always ill. A plan (quick and dirty. Isn't it ever?) was hatched. Based on insider knowledge claimed by the FNG of the month, we thought we'd head down South and bang out a semi-moonlit Old Coast Road. This knowledge was pure speculation, and like all pipe dreams did not pan out. We did have a sweet overnight adventure anyhow, because how are you not gonna?
Plan called for meeting at the shop at a time and driving down to Bixby. That one dude invited himself along, even though I have told him to his face that I did not want to ride with him on account of (he asked, so I told him) he makes bad decisions. This is the guy who, after I told him this, related to the other guy that he had no idea what I meant by that. Yeah. So he attempted to barge this trip. Showed up with all his camping gear and a rental bike? So I told him again and specific to this ride (though it applies to all of them) he ain't coming. Some people will not learn. I am amazed. Maybe this will stick with him and he'll change his ways and grow as a person. Either way, I will not be bothered to babysit him. Crazy.
So, the 3 of us left the drama behind, and hit the liquor store for the top shelf shortcut. Booker's bourbon. After that it's nothing but get down, get up, and get started. Riding away from the truck in the 1/2 full and waxing moon is such a promise. Poor choices were made. Hills were climbed and descended and climbed and descended and climbed. We ended up in the dirt. I woke up alone in the dark by the campfire and shuffled off to my sleeping arrangement.
In the morning, before the sun had cleared the ridge, I looked to my left and there was the FNG, in his sleeping arrangement: a fleece blanket. That's it! No pad, no bag, no groundcloth, no problem. Well, shit. 21 and new to the game, there he is winning. It is a strategy for him, though. This princess needs his comforts. Then I look over to my further left and there is my loser friend, Mr P, literally shivering in his bivy sack sans bag. I LOLed. If I notice what clowns these guys I'm living in the woods with are, it means I am the only one who's not a clown, right? Isn't that the deal? If you look around and there are no clowns then you are the clown? So the reverse must be true.
It feels true.
I fired up the Kelly Kettle (wisht I'd gotten the larger size) and found a proper poo spot with a lovely view. Coffee drunk, we proceeded to ride over and down. No breakfast, no lollygagging. Mr P had to get to work by 10AM.
Achey heads make for wincing on the pedals. In spite of this, we were well on track to make it to the church on time when Mr P cracked. Got off the bike, red in the face, and attempted to recover. Shedding layers, water, and fancy packaged candy bar did not bring him back like he'd hoped. Nothing for it but to start walking.
Then the FNG got a flat on his rental hybrid with the borrowed panniers, borrowed rack, and borrowed tyres.
Timeline was all the way blown, but no one was upset.
That is a picture of failure.
And that is failure's bike. I dig the 80's everybike bleu, but do not love the white socks.
The FNG had never done any riding of this sort before. I believe his horizon is widened now. Or deepened. At least pushed around some.
Mr P made it to work about 20 minutes late- not bad! The other 2 went to Red's (since 1957!) for coffee and donuts and creepy clown portraits.
I don't brag. I mostly boast.
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