San Felasco - dim skies - dark mood - wet shoes - poor signage. Wah wah wah. Oh well. And on-on.

Any day on the bike is a good day!  Even this one.  I guess.  Which started with promise, at least.

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.

So.  On to happier days. 

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?