Desperate times call for desperate measures, A billion protesters around the world will attest to the validity of that old saying. Today, my desperation had nothing to do with alt facts, alt nazis, small hands, proving that bans are not bans unless they are bans, insulting Australians, or even people who know nothing about the jobs for which they have been selected. No, today I was simply desperate to ride. If I read things correctly I am not the only one for whom January was particularly unkind - what did I ride, like five days, maybe six?!
When I peeked out the work window at about 10:30 this morning and saw that the ground was wet, I was all "son of bit**." At the same time I knew it would not matter how grey, gloomy, drippy, drizzly it was going to be ninety minutes later, I was riding no matter what. Desperate times calling for desperate measures. Turns out I need not have worried; while there was a lot of water it was all the kind that had already hit the ground, collecting in puddles, running in rivulets and streams, coagulating in some rather disgusting colors, but none falling out of the sky. It was such a nice early afternoon ride that I almost felt guilty, there was no one, not a single additional rider around so that I had every single wheel turn to myself. It was so quiet I must have heard a hundred different bird calls. The mud was so slippery that I must have dabbed fifty times trying to get through some of the road-width wallows. In a way the ride was particularly enigmatic - at one moment mind-calming, and at the next heart pounding. Hmm, now that I think about it, that seems to be a short description of a perfect ride.
I give up. Never an easy climb at the best of times, all the topsoil has been washed away along this stretch leaving a rocky jumble up which I have not hope of ascending.
so much green - and those odd switchbacks
this mass of cactus pads came crashing down
a new sign showing a perimeter trail, but...
that is most definitely not where you are
proof that I was there, not just my bike
one of many downed trees, though the only one blocking a trail
Herbert, a muddy mess