Darkness On The Edge Of Town

My whole family has been sniffling and coughing around the house for three weeks. I have been hitting the Zycam, and bleaching everything in my path, trying to hold back the advance of little wigglies that want me sick. Yesterday, I was with Lil W.B. home sick from school. I took some sinus meds and passed out watching William S. Burroughs dreams swim through my head, like snakes. I rallied around four, and started slamming iced teas. One call to Slade, and a ride was planned.

We lolly gagged out to Caddy, with a plan to knock off Alford Arm before we were legally in the dark, in hopes of not being harassed by the Jack Boot Law Crew, we met out there last week. Slade and I were talking and laughing it up. We were still conserving batteries, and running wide eyed, when we came around a corner to see a guy crouched in the dark waiting to kill us. Well... that was the image I had, when I screamed (not like a little girl, as Derwood would for a spider, or B.C./B.D. would for a snake) like the wuss that I am. Some poor guy had just fallen in the woods, and was dusting himself off, as we tried to run him over in the dark. He was probably thinking "at least no one saw me" as the scream of horror ruptured his ear drums. Heart rate: 195bpm, ssmf (shammy skid mark factor): 9.5. I told the guy he scared the shit out of me, because I wasn't sure if the blood curdling scream was clear enough proof.

Jeez....we continued on to Alford arm. I stopped to get a piece of tree out of my drive train when I hear Slade say (like a Ghost Hunter investigator):

"Shhh....Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Says I.

"Sounded like........" Slade leaves a dramatic pause, a little to long for certain short, impatient, cyclists.

"Like WHAT?" Demands I.

"Like a person." says Slade, to calmly for my tastes.

I clipped in, and so began the fastest traverse of the Bucket Loop in recorded history. I dare my loyal readers to provide documentation, to discredit this fact!

We get to Cadillac and since my pulse was already somewhere between meth addict and G.M. executive waiting for news of a bailout, I decided to drop the hammer for the remaining section of deep dark forest. Not a word was uttered from either of your intrepid MTB heroes. We tried to do the hard climb by the cars (not Cadillacs as their trail's name sake would imply). We nearly made it, but sadly, Slade planted the seed of doubt in my melon, and I dabbed on the last root. Obscenities ensued and we headed back to the relative safety of Tom Brown.

The runoff barriers for the new planned construction (destruction) by the Oak Tree Climb, put a foreboding shadow on our exit from the woods. Since we weren't sure we'd ever get another shot at the beloved climb, we headed back up the hill in homage.

After a slow stroll back to Fern, and the drop off point for Slade, I was back on the road alone, cold, hungry, and sore legged. All in all, with the sadness of the impending rape of Tom Brown aside, it was a great ride.

Weather it's a crouched killer, a disembodied voice, or a big yellow trail destroying machine, the monsters are out there friends. You just have to ride out in the dark and find them.

W.B.Z.N.