If you've been off the bike for a few months, what the heck?
Might as well make the first ride back worthwhile.
50 miles of easy going Croom singletrack. Just make sure to top it off with a little gloom, a lot of cold, and a touch of rain.
(It's never the terrain at Croom, is it? It always come down to the weather.)
On trail at Croom 50, better known most years, as the Gloom 50.
Blown Gasket, Popeye, and Gary on his "new" Fuel.
Gobbler is around somewhere, probably doing shots or something.
OK, so it was a good ride to have behind you. Nothing a couple plates of good hot ziti, cookies, and a few cold ones in the food tent afterwards couldn't put right.
Thank you, Gobbler!
Leftover hash beer never tasted so good.
And went well with the cookies.
Popeye, being Popeye, suffered not at all. Even for his first time back on a mountain bike in months. Even though he had sold his Fuel to Gary and was riding my old Superfly. Even after the abrupt altercation with a tree stump.
Good old Popeye. He sailed straight through the 50 miles as easily as ever. Not even sore the next day. Something I wish I could say. And that's without a single stump jumping out to grab me.
So much for the last few months and my easy new habit of Saturday rides, exploring for interesting local routes. Not for weekends. Not anymore.
Weekend number two with Popeye back on the bike, upped the total miles. Just by a few. A few easy. A few tough. Well, tough for me, anyway.
Staying in the mountain bike groove on Saturday - a 40 mile up and back, along the river, in a wicked north wind. Just Popeye and me. Sailor's rules. Upwind first.
Grinding upwind for a cold, clear, blustery 20 miles. Turn around at the firehouse. Then hurry up and blow home before the wind decides to change. Whew, that worked out.
Averaging 14.8 for 40 miles on mtn bikes is nothing for Popeye, of course. I admit to taking to the couch to thaw out with a book for a couple hours after we got home.
Sunday was more relaxed. A lazy loop of the lovely Econ, with Dallas, Tom, and Amy - friends we haven't seen in forever. Quite the reminder how much I have missed them. And how much I have missed the good old Econ.
Amy, aka Northstar.
She always knows precisely where she is,
no matter how convoluted the trail.
Ok, not a bad start for getting back an old habit.
But if it really takes 66 days of repetition to make a true habit, clearly one must keep up the pattern for a lot longer than two weeks before it is set.
Next weekend, Blown Gasket said something about being invited to a ride in Ocala - something called the Paisley St. Francis 60 Mile Death Loop.
Death Loop, you say?
Darned if I'm not seeing a pattern already.
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