They Put The "Fun" In "Fungus"

I didn't get mad when I got stuck in traffic drive to Wakefield. That's just the nature of this area's beltway. Congestion is a constant in this area and doesn't seem to be getting any better. In fact we've been rated as having the second worst traffic in the nation with the average driver spending 62 hours in traffic annually. Lovely, no? The traffic is just one of those things we cyclists inevitably have to put up with to further pursue our sport, be it to a group ride, race, or mountain biking trip. I tend to use it as a pre-ride warm-up since my a/c is broken and screaming at other drivers is great at elevating my heart rate.

I didn't even get mad when I was stung by a bee mid-ride. I chalked that one up to being outdoors and trespassing on a bee's natural turf. It still swelled up like a mother fucker and while getting stung is not going to happen every time you ride, it's not an unexpected or even surprising event by any means. Furthermore, I'm used to being various insects' pin cushion since every damn mosquito this year has been magnetically attracted to me. I've nearly become numb to these insects' attacks by now. I think all that hobo fighting with hypodermic needles has helped me build a tolerance for things that like to poke/stab me.

No, I don't usually get mad on mountain bike rides. I'm actually a pretty happy (and slightly drunk) mountain biker. But this evening's ride had me all in a rage.

I went early to avoid the crowds and was pleasantly surprised at how few people there were. I got about three full laps in before I started noticing more and more riders on the trail. So I headed out, starting from underneath the power lines, riding down the berms towards the trail that would lead me to the parking lot. To my surprise, half way down the hill some guy was trying to climb his way up the very same berms that I, and everyone else that rides at the park, use as the equivalent of a fireman's pole to get to the bottom of the hill. I shouted for him to move as I grabbed the brakes to slowly, safely, and respectfully ride around him. No problem. He was probably a n00b and didn't know any better. That comes with trail time. Two berms later, I nearly run into the rest of his group. Another guy was charging up the berms with two females in tow, all riding 1990's 26" junkers. I did the whole shout and slow down bit again and passed them with no incidents, but couldn't help but mutter a few (hopefully inaudible) expletives under my breath as I passed the last girl. She was the one lagging behind because she was riding without a helmet, wearing full-length workout tights in 90-degree sweltering heat, and riding a 700x32c hybrid with slick tires up the rocky section of my descent. "Fucking shit! Do you people have a death wish?"

I guess I shouldn't let my anger get the best of me. Maybe I was just deflecting my beltway road rage. Or maybe a bee didn't actually sting me, instead a vengeful hobo stabbed me with a syringe full of PCP. But in my defense, dodging those riders was like dodging a car driving in the wrong lane. On the bike path. Shooting at you with a paintball gun. And there's just something so horribly offensive about a misguided, newbie "mountain biker" leading a herd of clueless, ill-prepared lemmings up a steeply banked trail feature. The blind leading the blind, indeed. If you could do a time-lapse series of mold growing on an Italian Store sub and compact it into the 5-second time frame it took me to pass these people, you'd understand what I'm talking about. My eyes were witness to a tragedy today. A beautiful combination of dirt, bike, and rider ruined by the spore-like reproduction of horrible cyclists.

Lobster Special #12

Can someone turn up the a/c out there? Or at least ride in front of me with a dehumidifier and occasionally peg with snowballs and waterballoons? It's friggin' hot out there. Yesterday's rain and my aversion to cleaning my road bike (again) had me dusting off the 'cross bike, which actually had me doing more cleaning and tuning than I really wanted to do.

For starters, I need new brake pads. A season's worth of riding in the rain, snow, and mud have worn the pads too close to their shoes for comfort. Plus, they were probably a little bit dry rotted too and I couldn't get them to stop chattering and squealing (until I got the bike in to some mud). The tubeless setup didn't last beyond the season. The sealant dried up and wouldn't hold air. I guess it's a good thing that I can always throw tubes in them. Finally ready to go, I headed out towards the equestrian park that I've been neglecting all these warmer months.

When I got there the grass was long, dirt was muddy, and everything was steaming in the summer post-rain heat. I was more than the proverbial dumpling at a dim sum brunch. I was the friggin' Steamed Lobster Special #12. That super red, super salty, wine-infused main entree that always seems like a good idea until it arrives at your table and eventually makes you sick to your stomach. After an hour, I'd had all the "fun" I could stand and rode home with a few things running through my brain:

1) I have a lazy personal mechanic. He never wants to do any work for me. All he wants to do is get drunk, build bikes for other people, and daydream about bikes that he might or might never own. What an asshole.

2) I haven't been riding the 'cross bike much. The long grass is evidence to this and I need to spend more time "cutting" a trail into the park to make my rides there marginally faster (read: less painful).

3) I'm tired of the summer. No Page Valley or 540 Series for me. If I learned anything at Lost RIver, it's that I suck at road racing and that it's getting hot as shit out there. Spending the season doing crits and circuit races (and fighting hobos) has left me ill-prepared for anything that requires getting up anything. Spending the past couple days out there in the heat and humidity has me longing for the chillier, embrocation-heavy months. I think it's time I started training for 'cross and I can't wait until the season starts.