Post Spaghetti Balancing Act

Not sure what happened, but after the spaghetti, my motivation waned quicker than a geriatric man without Viagra. It's just frustrating. My ankle has been giving me grief, so that's slowing me down a little, but that's not the whole story. Silk calls it looming event motivation. I need some of that. I suppose the Dirty Ron will have to suffice for my looming event.

I need to get to work on some recon of the route, but responsibility is thwarting my every attempt. My semi-annual continuing education is coming due, and as usual, I procrastinated like a champ. For now, it looks like the Dirty Ron will go down on the 2nd weekend in December. Pencil it in for now, and I'll keep bringing the updates here. Mingo has graciously offered the use of the family sheep farm, for pre and post ride festivities. Right now, I still plan to start and finish in downtown Monticello, but since the farm has showers, sheep and space, the crew will likely roll the 4 miles up the road, pop some tops and kick off the grill. Sheeps beware!

I also booked myself tight with labor and delivery. Not that kind of labor and delivery. I still enjoy turning wrenches, so I still do work for friends. Newest Steve came to me with 42 boxes of shiny new bike bits, and soon he'll take delivery of a built and tweeked Niner dually. Aside from the ridiculous stack of cardboard and plastic that needs to be recycled, it's nice to build with all new parts. Usually folks bring me 2 or 3 old throwback whips, and a new gizmo, and ask me to meld and mingle the mismatched souls until everything sings like the angels. The challenge fuels me, but these clean parts, built to coexist, could spoil a brotha'!

Night rides with actual lights, kicked off  last week. I had a blast, and as a bonus, managed to entertain the new guys with my over the bars antics. I knew the section was there, and was mentally gearing up to execute the string of motions that send you flowing seamlessly across the knotted root ball. I guess that since I hadn't ridden there since last year, the root ball had other ideas. It invited me to stop and visit, in fact, just lie down right here. Don't even worry about the usual rituals, like stopping and putting a foot down first. Just keep cruising, and we'll lay you out right where we want you. The last visual I had was looking beneath my armpit, through my feet, past my pedals, at Jason, who looked quite concerned that he was going to be expected to repeat this maneuver in order to clear this section. He seemed thankful that I came up laughing and limping, and no repeat was necessary.

The weather is beautiful, and with the time change, night rides are basically mandatory. Hopefully the Flying Wallenda show is not...unless of course, someone else wishes to perform.