The Dirty Chain Gang Rides: Bring It, You Devil!

You know there are times when the Dirty Chain Gang gets called out to ride for simple pleasure. Pleasure, yeeeaaaah pleasure, lets call it that.  It's a good word to use to describe the searing climbs, the sand that swerves you this way then that way, the gravel, jolting rocks, ruts that suddenly appear in your path. It is a much better word than torture, though when my mind returns to normal, I might think that other one might be the more apt description. You know how when during Planes, Trains and Automobiles, Steve and John find themselves threading a needle between two tractor-trailers, with sparks flying, death looking them in the eyes, there is screaming, and Steve looks over at John, but it is not John, instead it is the Devil in the drivers' seat, and he laughs that "you're going to hell, boy" laugh?

Well, there was this one point during this morning's DCG ramble when we had topped out on yet another climb and Pete said we could add a little more distance, check out some stream crossing or some such fun feature (which I never saw, now that I think about it); well, I heard Pete say those words, but when I looked over it wasn't he that said the words, instead it was that devil. You know, the smooth-talking one, the one who can convince you that fool-hardy equates to good fun. He laughed and, though it seemed a little disturbing, (and no one else seemed to notice) it was all the convincing I needed. Anyway, and at that point Gary and Mark, who apparently did not see, or hear, what I saw and heard turned off for that loooong descent back to civilization. Hmm, then again, maybe they did see and hear but realized folly when they saw it, joining the three sensible people who had already turned off at various points along the way.

So now it was just the three of us, the Pete, Barry, and Mike show. And the devil, of course, because I didn't believe Pete was really the red, pointy-headed fellow, he simple appeared, as a visage, through Pete. He led us ever Eastward, right up to the gates of Hell, though the sign said North Etiwanda Preserve, and more rocks, and more sand, more teeth cracking gullies, more up and more down, and then more up and more down again just for good measure. Eventually someone decided that, with the rocky road to Fontana stretching ever forward, we were on a fools mission, and should save that Devil's Road for another day. Back down in the relative flat of the Valley, Pete asked if I was doing okay. It wasn't the devil this time, just Pete. Responding that my lack of long mileage rides was beginning to show, I added that "it's good to be pushed sometimes." 

I don't know if that was the right thing to say, and can only now imagine what the next ride will hold in store. Oh, boy. Bring it!