Riding of one type and another. I hadn't been on my street bike for months? yes, it's true. I forgot to mention here (on account of I mentioned it at my other unpaid innernet bicycle stuff writing gig) the full moon ride down to Esalen. It was aboard the street bike, and it was almost all for which you could you ask- my shitty phone camera couldn't capture the incredible imagery of the shadow arches cast by Bixby Bridge, etc. and also sadly, C____ opted out of Old Coast as 23s were deemed unappealing on dirt. Me? I'm running some 37mm Panaracer Paselas (with the gumwall, naturally) on account of that tyre is unaccountably kick-ass on a variety of surfaces.
So you ride one bike for a period, forsaking all others, and you forget the wonderful differences that are to be savored. Ride another bike and it all comes rushing back. And then you want to fiddle with saddle height, and ruminate over stem length ad nauseum. Thus, the resumption of street biking. Why, just the other day I rode some road and some dirt to get to roads leading to sand. _other_ucking HERO SAND. Fort Ord is set up so nice right now! Tacky, with just enough moisture content to cradle the tyre in the could-be-crumbly off camber berm. I especially love that.
You know, but on the way there are little pockets of RADness everywhere. I try and hit them all. So much niceness, all this sneaky cut-thru and the trail behind the houses and the back ways and.
That there is a little corner of Heaven, custom made just for you. It used to be a corner of suck, but I stopped my raging torrent of personal record setting and fixed the trail. It keeps the nice nice.
This section remains, but it now remains a work-in-progress. We are chipping away at it, under cover of darkness.
And, but, so riding. Eventually,after much huffing and and rallying, I warshed up at Lookout Ridge. Sorry about your hematoma. It's a nice spot for a beer from the stash under the oaks and a view.
From there, it's the rippingest quickness. 2 wheel drift into the tacky (!) berms and push that edge, homie. Push it real good. Down, and down, and down to the swoopy ups. Across, upy downy, through to the New Stairs.
It should come as no surprise that I consider the spot to be MINE. (I made it, after all.) But, as was recently pointed out to me by my Nighttime Ride Adviser, you put something out in the public domain...and it becomes everybody's. It's a bitter pill.
Because then there is shit like this here:
Let that soak in for a moment. It is the note from the last time the spot was trashed. It lay upon several unopened canned beers, an empty/capped jar (for snacks, to keep the wood rats out), and a couple crushed empties, all tucked in the bole of the tree and covered by a 9"x9" piece of wood. Some member of the public has found "my" spot and this note, and has added to it a demand for weed.
Speechless at the presumption. Please discuss.
So you ride one bike for a period, forsaking all others, and you forget the wonderful differences that are to be savored. Ride another bike and it all comes rushing back. And then you want to fiddle with saddle height, and ruminate over stem length ad nauseum. Thus, the resumption of street biking. Why, just the other day I rode some road and some dirt to get to roads leading to sand. _other_ucking HERO SAND. Fort Ord is set up so nice right now! Tacky, with just enough moisture content to cradle the tyre in the could-be-crumbly off camber berm. I especially love that.
You know, but on the way there are little pockets of RADness everywhere. I try and hit them all. So much niceness, all this sneaky cut-thru and the trail behind the houses and the back ways and.
That there is a little corner of Heaven, custom made just for you. It used to be a corner of suck, but I stopped my raging torrent of personal record setting and fixed the trail. It keeps the nice nice.
This section remains, but it now remains a work-in-progress. We are chipping away at it, under cover of darkness.
And, but, so riding. Eventually,after much huffing and and rallying, I warshed up at Lookout Ridge. Sorry about your hematoma. It's a nice spot for a beer from the stash under the oaks and a view.
From there, it's the rippingest quickness. 2 wheel drift into the tacky (!) berms and push that edge, homie. Push it real good. Down, and down, and down to the swoopy ups. Across, upy downy, through to the New Stairs.
It should come as no surprise that I consider the spot to be MINE. (I made it, after all.) But, as was recently pointed out to me by my Nighttime Ride Adviser, you put something out in the public domain...and it becomes everybody's. It's a bitter pill.
Because then there is shit like this here:
Let that soak in for a moment. It is the note from the last time the spot was trashed. It lay upon several unopened canned beers, an empty/capped jar (for snacks, to keep the wood rats out), and a couple crushed empties, all tucked in the bole of the tree and covered by a 9"x9" piece of wood. Some member of the public has found "my" spot and this note, and has added to it a demand for weed.
Speechless at the presumption. Please discuss.
4 comments:
The public, man. Call someplace paradise and kiss it goodbye. But, your guy is correct. Once it leaves your hands it isn't yours anymore, it's the public's.
Don't get too attached.
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Great...thanks for sharing an informative post.
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