Friday was the birfday ride of the lovely and talented M______. It was a boob fest. So, being a bit of a boob meself, I fitted in. So to speak.
There was a lot of talk like that flying around. It's surprising how ribald the ladies are. All that innuendo about the pink slotted Terry Saddle and such. It started with one gal opining that it should have a fake beard glued to the edges, and then went too far when I speculated about installing pink satin in the cut-out for more realism.
Use your mind and your 'magination.
Anyways, in fits and starts (starting with $10 bottomless Mimosas) and with a revolving assortment of accompanying drones the queen bees climbed their way up roads and trails above Santa Cruz. There was a fine ratio of partying to riding. Trails, pave, bikes.
At a certain point in these SC Birfday Rides it always devolves into a to do at Monty's Log Cabin. This time, Monty's was hosting a Christmas clothing swap. The women's clothing was strewn across the pool table, while the men's was (appropriately) in damp boxes in the alley. There were no fine choices there so Christopher St John and I were resigned to looking drab when the gals showed us the finery they had chosen for us.
Matronly.
Festive.
Revealing.
Then we drank more shots of bottom shelf booze than I cared to, and rode down the hill in our finery. Good Times, ladies. Thanks for all the fun.
J wanted to get out and ride. Rolly singletrack family style.
There's a lot going on here.
It is important to retain a firm grip on one's sucker. My instincts tell me that is so.
Conditions are pretty good right now. Fort Ord holds up well in the winter; the sand drains and tacks right up. Looking forward to more.
