We all knew it was coming. It never softens the blow when the reality hits. The beloved climb at Tom Brown is gone. How many times did we all ride that hill? How many races did we win or lose on that climb? Every root every rut, every line you could nail in your sleep, is just a pile of organic waste waiting for the torch or a trip to a designated land fill.
We all knew it was coming, like an ailing relative waiting for the curtain. Prior knowledge never makes the funeral any easier. We made a deal and we received money to build new trail. We did the best we could do, because they would have built there with or without our approval. The wound is fresh and we will all become accustomed to the new picture. Just like we got used to the Atlanta Bread Company, Weems Plantation, Piney Z, and on and on, back to the foggy days before I noticed such things. Before my eyes were opened. Back to before I rode a bike. Back to before I realized all the cool trails hiding in the woods. Back before riding and living on those trails was such a huge part of my history.
I will turn away, and look at the tracks as I roll by the wide swath of clay, that once was the big climb to the tree, and the fast bomb to the bottom. I will think of it as I would an old friend.