Greetings campers and random drug test positives
Almost succumbed to the eternal internal struggle between mind and body, arguing ever more aggressively over what we're going to be able to do together at any point in time. Friday the body won the argument around noon, and nothing more was accomplished the rest of the day, with little likelihood of overcoming that inertia. Computer cops took over my office around 2pm, allegedly to install "new and improved, departmentally approved" software. I lose that battle every time and don't need to watch to know I'll spend weeks trying to resurrect the files they inevitably vaporize. Took that as my cue to bug out early and at least try to finish assembling the Condor project I've been picking away at. Wellllll, ya know that didn't happen for the Cirque, and surprise surprise, it didn't happen for this weekend either. Threw my least embarrassing vintage bike that's still in a rideable, presentable state into the car, just in case, (see quotation below. Sorry Kurt. Avoiding maintenance is not one of my normal character flaws, but ya gotta try them all at least once, just to see which ones are really "you".) and crawled off to bed.
4:30 AM Saturday the mind re-established at least temporary localized control, and woke us all up long before the alarm went off. Visons of flatlands to ride, quality time with the pals & pal-ettes, AND a mini-swap danced in my head. Sleep became impossible. Another argument I always lose. The body yielded to higher authority, dragged us out to the car and drove off into the sunrise, away from all possible opportunities to recline.
Perhaps not the smartest thing I've done recently, but got 3 hours into the drive, long past the point of no return before the battle resumed and I started to seriously regret the decision to travel. Sometimes you just have to know how to outsmart yourself if you're going to have any fun at all. On the disabled list since last August, so even eastern Maryland "hills" are off limits. All riding is officially forbidden for the foreseeable future, but I've always had problems dealing with questionable authority, and this terrain was as flat as I was going to find, so I was at least going to try. Always picking at those proverbial scabs, just to see what happens. Yep, that's gonna hurt. Always does. Duh. Blatently exceeded the maximum daily dosage clearly spelled out on the prescription bottle, again, (hey, this ain't the T de F. Don't come near ME with that plastic cup.) and brought extra ice for after the ride. And the really great thing about pain killers is that even if they don't numb the pain, they at least numb the brain, occasionally allowing the "I gotta ride" side of my brain to win the endless arguments with the pesky rational side of my brain. Watched the official ride assemble and depart, chatted with the other sidelined cult member in attendance, comparing self delusion strategies and comments from baffled spousal units, all while trying to remember how to get myself organized to attempt an exploration of the rail trail conveniently located in the Artley's backyard. An excellent Plan B. Managed to limp along for a couple hours at much less than the official average speed of the road group, constantly tempted by the adjacent beautiful asphalt and inviting climbs. Fortunately deterred from those dubious delights by a parade of emergency vehicles that screamed up the hill that called to me the loudest. (Next time.). Either somebody spousal called ahead and conspired with them ("You'll find him on the nastiest hill in the neighborhood") and they would be waiting in ambush at the top with a tranquilizer gun to make me stop (Don't taze me bro.), or there really was one heck of a fire up there. Still rational enough to not want to get tangled up with that kind of traffic. An amusingly strong sense of self preservation, even while doing something essentially self destructive. Not going to pretend to understand what goes on inside this head. Nice trail. I recommend it to any who are deterred from attending this gathering by the talk of all the "hills" on the official route. Typical rail trail. Mind numbingly level and straight, and not the smoothest surface I've ever ridden, but less abusive than much of what passes for "pavement" in my neighborhood. Some intermittent shade, and a few other goofs risking heat stroke with whom to share that questionable "well at least I'm not the only flaming idiot out here" level of momentary camaraderie. Certainly doable even for our beloved skinny tired steeds. The old Pseudo-Traut has endured much greater insults with dignity and grace, and never a whimper or attempt on my life.
Disappointing to miss whatever physical & mechanical mayhem occurred on the official ride (a major component of the entertainment value of any vintage ride), but plenty of laughs around the house afterwards, and bikes to pet. An opportunity to corrupt Dan with delivery of my favorite make & model production touring frame from the great touring bike scare of the early 80s, with the unexpected bonus of maybe accidentally corrupting Gabriel at the same time. Collateral damage is so unpredictable. (Gabriel, we need to talk. One standard touring bike rant delivered with full religious fervor and missionary zeal is ready for launch. The gospel according to Osborn. Doing my best impression of an apprentice televangelista. Too many easy jokes about "wide stance" so we'll just stick to "long wheelbase". Ba DUM bump). So many heathens to enlighten. So little time. Hate to let one of the steeds get away, but I was also taught to share my toys. If it's going to collect dust, it should at least be trail dust. Looking forward to the road test report from yet another convert to this particular subversive sub-cult.
Worth the drive just to hear Barb ask / accuse "who brought that frame for Dan?!. I cannot tell a lie, so I kept my mouth shut. And pointed innocently towards whoever had made the mistake of standing near me when shots were about to be fired. Apoligies to Gabriel and Rita. Next time you'll pay more attention to what's happening around you. Your urban reflexes seem to have slowed just a bit. Barb kept looking straight at me. I don't know why. Whatever happened to "innocent until proven guilty"? In Barb-world apparently we skip that step and go directly to "Round up the usual suspect". Eventually I cracked under the pressure and confessed. But what could be more fun than annoying somebody else's spouse for a change, live and in-person? It just doesn't get any better than that. All the fun, with none of the domestic repercussions, except that maybe someday I won't be invited back. (Like that would be a first.). Or worse. A chance I'll have to take. Maybe someday she'll try to get even, and throw something ferrous (not furry) into MY car. Maybe something like Dan's Carlton International frame. Ohhhhh, the horrors! The pain. The agony. Hope he's had it repainted by then.
Hate to miss other favorite events such as Larz, but out of my range this year. Still had a very satisfying and enjoyable day with the bike kooks. Proving once again that while stumbling in the dark along the comeback trail, not all the therapy is physical.
And where were YOU?! Don't tell me you were standing in line for Batman or an I-phone. You can do that any day. They'll still be there tomorrow. What were you thinking?!
Many thanks to our generous hosts. Larry "3 bottle cages" Osborn Bruceton Mills, West Virginia - USA
"Another flaw in the human character is that everybody wants to build, and nobody wants to do maintenance." Kurt Vonnegut