After Dinner Report

Dirty Spaghetti is in the bag, and there's nothing left except the greasy stains where the sauce seeped through.

Saturday morning was text book Tallahassee fall weather. 40's in the morning, followed by a mid-70's finish. After a quick debate regarding the political correctness of signing out, or just rolling out, we rolled. This greatly chafed against Big Jim Slade's incessant desire to follow all things rule-like, lest we descend into anarchy and chaos. Mingo quietly asked BJS if he intended to bitch if he got lost. If so, he better go sign in. Otherwise, get quiet and get in line.

There was much shivering and chattering of teeth, as we coasted the paved downhills that open this ride. Our first stop came quickly, as BJS lost his map sheet from his pocket. The rest of us gathered in the sun, as he retrieved his cargo. This delay could not have been any more opportune. The sun was just cresting the treeline, and its rays brought much needed warmth, and the chance to score the shot above.

After we'd ridden awhile, and seen absolutely nobody on the roads, we realized that we had jumped the gun, and rolled out about 10 minutes early. We finally rolled up on some folks who had jumped the gun even more than us. They tagged along, and as our groups' paces ebbed and flowed, so did our togetherness. For the most part, it was like any other crew ride. Just us and the route.

We hit Boston, GA for the lunch stop, right on schedule. The 85 Mile Worlds competitors showed within minutes of our arrival. I downed a turkey sandwich and mixed 2 more bottles of go-go juice, and started looking for our gang to roll out again. Lunch was getting crowded, and I didn't want to stand around too long. Silk was on the same page, so we hit the road. All the 85 mile folks were keying off of him, so we soon had about 30 people rolling out the small town roads, headed for the return leg of our journeys. It was nice to sit in the big group and chatter with some other folks, but when we hit the dirt again, and Silk decided to "see if anybody was paying attention", the pace ramped beyond what I wanted. Soon, it was back to just our gang, again.

Early in the ride, in fact at the very first opportunity, I kicked off the yellow sign game in Wrecking Ball's honor. He may not be there in person, but we carried his spirit. Derwood took to this damn game with an enthusiasm that I was sure he'd pay for dearly, later in the ride. No such luck! He contested every sprint imaginable. Best I can tell, he got both county lines, and about 52 yellow signs, yellow reflectors, and he may have even sprinted for a kid wearing a yellow hat. Most of us got at least 1 or 2, so we didn't get shut out. I even managed to get the Boston city limit sign, just before lunch.

Our band of 6 held tight until the last 10 miles. And honestly, probably would have held tight longer if I hadn't decided it was time to take Derwood to task for all of those yellow sign sprints. I turned up the juice, and soon it was just Derwood, BJS, and myself. At this point, those 2 took turns kicking me in the taint, taking my lunch money, and laughing out loud as I limped and whimpered along behind them. In the rides leading up to this, Derwood had lost a little of his usual expertness. Apparently he found it.

When we finished, it was nothing but crickets around the community center. Apparently, aside from Ms. Kristine Freier, we were about the only other folks to have finished the longer dirt routes. We returned to the trucks to change from our monkey suits, eat cookies and drink beer, before descending on the Spaghetti free for all, that is the ride's namesake. The 85 milers showed up a little later, albeit whittled down to smaller groups. We swapped stories, filled our gullets, and talked of the upcoming, Dirty Ron. This day was truly a good time, and it's even cooler to know that there is another one, of our own making, on the horizon.

Stay tuned around here if you want in on the Dirty Ron. The current rough draft is about 69 miles, starting and ending in Monticello. There will likely be some fine tuning, but regardless, it should be a good time. At the very least, it will be fodder for story telling in the future.

Dirty Spaghetti

Silk's been singing their praises for years, but I just kept changing the channel. I'm a dumbass! This is the first year I've taken Silk up on his tours of old plantation roads. Been riding in this town for 20 years, had this in my lap the whole time, and blew it. Oh well, time to make up for lost miles.

Spaghetti 100 is a long time century put on by the local road club. Some of the dirt folks within the ranks began tinkering with a dirt version, a few years ago. Participation grew each time it was offered. This year, they actually have 3 versions. A 42 mile out and back to Thomasville, GA. We rode that a month or so ago, when Lil' Ronnie was in town. Pretty roads, and worth the trip. The big dog is the version you see above. 85 miles and primarily dirt roads. Silk wants to leave nothing on the table, in his run at the 85. That has been translated into, he's racing the 85. He'll be the first to tell you, 85 miles of clay roads will reach up and bite you on the ass, if you don't pay attention. The incessant buzz in the saddle and bar are hardly noticeable when you're fresh, camouflaged by the newness of the scenery, and the idea that you're running skinny tires on dirt. But as the miles and hours pile on, so does fatigue. It's all on roads, but clay road is not like that seamless black ribbon, that glides the miles away. These miles take their toll, whether you realize it or not. To hear Silk say it's no joke, I'm paying attention.

I opted for the middle version. This version is 60-65 miles, and shares roads with the 85. I think I could finish the big one, but would be miserable. This is to be a social event for me. No big mind games or death struggles, just a beautiful day, enjoying what I've ignored for all of these years. Beautiful southeastern canopy clay roads, and a big group of fiends.

Rain!

Dirty Spaghetti is looming near, and finally the weather has blessed us. We bitched and moaned for months, about the hated steam bath that is a Tallahassee summertime. But then the sky cleared, and the dirt turned to silt. The clay roads of North Florida and South Georgia have been soft and dusty, leaving drive-trains dry and crusty.

It's nice to look out the window and see life giving moisture streaming down the windows, this cloudy afternoon. The local trails need it bad. It's gonna put one more nail in the coffin for the Joe's Rides for this year, but that's alright. Tonight is an easy evening of rest. Tomorrow, stretch the legs on a lunchtime spin, and then Dirty Spaghetti on Saturday.

I'm excited; little kid at Christmas excited! We have a big crew rolling together, and hopefully I'll see some of those folks who only pop up on my radar at special events; icing on the cake.

Twilight

"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

Those of you who know me, know that I rage at the end of every summer. I protest, barter, and just plain deny, the need for lights. Even when the fight's over, I'll still be the last to ignite my torch. Maybe there's Riddick in my blood. Maybe I have more in common with my favorite of all birds, the owls. Either way, I see better in twilight, without man made lumens.

Despite all of that, I broke out my light systems, and began my ritual recharge and burn down tests, to be sure my lights would not let me down in the inky blackness of the trails. Despite my love for natural light, I found myself excited about the coming season. By the end, I'll be so sick of keeping lights charged. My neck will be sore from the extra weight on my helmet. But right now, like the first bite of an apple, I'm excited about the first forays into the darkness. The eerie, foggy loops of Munson and Twilight, the spotlight technicality of trails of questionable legality, the subway tunnels of speed runs along Upper Caddilac, all wait to be played out, hopefully to the degree that my memories preserve new snapshots to recharge my own night riding batteries, for the seasons to follow.

The Rules

I've been quoting a few of The Rules lately, to those in violation of a few of my favorites. Like any good enforcer, I pick and choose my enforcement. After all, I'm in violation of about 10, myself, most notably, #7! For Marcus and Big Mark, I'd like to refer you to #42. To Big Jim Slade, due to his fear of people violating #59, I offer #64 and #5. B.J.S., you may also want to make Ms. B.J.S. aware of #33.

Check them out, and cite violators as needed or wanted.

Gentlemen?

Good Food, Good Times

Damn it! This is all Silk's fault. Knowing full well that I have a sweet tooth bigger than my head, he shows me a pic of that tasty grub above. Not that one specifically, that was my breakfast this morning, but a pic of the prototype. I think the original text that came with the prototype was, "750 calories of nom nom nom!" That's tech speak for "damn good"!

Following the food trend, I'm sooo glad that Lil' Ronnie has returned home to his native North Cuba. While in town, he and I set out on a mission to eat all of the cows in Knotts Dairy Farm. After a rousing success, there will now be a shortage of milk and cheese in your local grocery stores, and for that, I apologize. I ate more cheeseburgers and various other beef products in the past weekend, than I did all last month....and every last bite was absolutely delicious! I actually gained about 6 pounds over the weekend, thanks to his beer drinking, beef eating bad influence.

The weather was amazing for Ron's visit, and remains so, even now. I managed to get in on 3 good rides with the crew over the weekend. Fern/Tom Brown/Caddy, Overstreet, Rootbug, and the clay roads of North Florida/South Georgia, all fell beneath our wheels. I had more fun riding this past weekend, than I have in quite awhile. Fall does this to me. I'm bouncing around on my bike like Joe's old dog, Hannah, now that weather is turning more crisp. While the cotton and peanut farmers are hating this dry weather, I'm selfishly enjoying not being rained on every ride, and not having to constantly clean mud wracked drivetrains. The trails are a little dusty, and the dry leaves that are starting to fall keep traction to a minimum. I constantly wonder if my tire and suspension pressures are somehow out of whack, as I slip slide through the turns. But so far, it's just been Mother Nature's way of keeping me on my toes, or on my head when judgment is miscalculated.

Spring and Fall are Tallahassee's crown jewels, so get out and enjoy the time while it's here. If you see a wandering cow, keep it to yourself. I'm shifting gears to chicken and turkey, until milk supplies return to normal.