I know. Wah wah wah. So just get over it, right? This is mountain biking. It's not supposed to be comfortable!
Discomfort, ok fine. I am used to that. Being duped by poor signage. Not once but three times. Now that I resent.
Which resulted in getting miles off course. Then a couple knee deep water crossings and an uphill run at puke hill to get back on. Then being spat at (or maybe it was supposed to be a raspberry?) from guys I thought were friends. Really, is it a competition here? With the likes of me? Passing the old lady all by herself with only her wet feet - and the echo of your raspberry - for company. How cool are you?
Anyway, I admit to having a less than fun day, ya know? Which is unfortunate, because the Tour De Felasco comes but once a year.
There is one real benefit from bailing on the metric century and only doing fifty miles, though. Something I have never before accomplished.
I was back ahead of the fast guys and actually got in while there was still some pizza left. A first!!!
Popeye with some of the guys at the start.
Spitter not shown.
Felasco has it's own version of gloomy beauty.
Like our Sunday stop at Santos for a quick run at Nalys and Ern N Burn on the way home.
Sunnier day. Sunnier mood. Serious swooping.
And no spitters in sight.
Worth the trip right there.
Last but not least. Scoring a pink beer at WOB after with the last of the weekend's die hards...
Yup. All better now.
Bad day? What bad day?