Defecating on Trumps Great Folly
I found it, or at least a piece of it - the Trump Wall. Funny thing, it seemed to be separating Riverside from Moreno Valley. Kind of not where it is supposed to be, but then considering all the things he is not particularly competent with we should not be surprised that geographic competency is not his thing either.
Anyway, there I was riding Sycamore Canyon, beneath a fuzzy grey blanket of sky, still attempting to discover which, among the myriad of criss-crossing, trails would best form a kind of super loop - one that could be ridden without stopping at each intersecting trail to flip a coin (heads to the left, tails to the right). That is when I saw it, the ugly blight; a spur trail rode straight up to it with, presumably some remnant of the same trail stretching away on the other side.
That is when I saw him, Coyote (coyote), tail up, marking that wall, and doing so with some apparent gusto. He ran away at my approach, stopping every so often to turn and look back at me; there was a big grin across his face and I could not help but laugh along with him at the little joke.
I still have not found that perfect loop yet, but am getting closer. Stopping at some of the high points I spotting other riders (including one from the Two Wheel Tuesday group) racing time and the approaching storm; I noted the trail they followed, but mostly made my own choices of path. It was afternoon, growing colder, and a matter of minutes, not hours, before the drops began to fall.
Anyway, there I was riding Sycamore Canyon, beneath a fuzzy grey blanket of sky, still attempting to discover which, among the myriad of criss-crossing, trails would best form a kind of super loop - one that could be ridden without stopping at each intersecting trail to flip a coin (heads to the left, tails to the right). That is when I saw it, the ugly blight; a spur trail rode straight up to it with, presumably some remnant of the same trail stretching away on the other side.
That is when I saw him, Coyote (coyote), tail up, marking that wall, and doing so with some apparent gusto. He ran away at my approach, stopping every so often to turn and look back at me; there was a big grin across his face and I could not help but laugh along with him at the little joke.
I still have not found that perfect loop yet, but am getting closer. Stopping at some of the high points I spotting other riders (including one from the Two Wheel Tuesday group) racing time and the approaching storm; I noted the trail they followed, but mostly made my own choices of path. It was afternoon, growing colder, and a matter of minutes, not hours, before the drops began to fall.
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