Sunday morning, I was reading several articles by journalists that were either way too caught up in the “Phelpsian” success, or they are on his payroll. Titles like “best achievement ever!”. “Best athlete of all time”! Ok, hold on here. Swimming is no doubt one of the more demanding sports out there. However, every meet and practice takes place in a controlled environment. In short, you don’t deal with weather. I can think of several athletic feats that are astonishing; like the first ascent of Mt. Everest in the 1950’s, Eddy Merckx’ entire cycling career, and Jesse Owens kicking the crap out of Hiter’s Olympics – That’s pressure + athleticism = greatness. My point is that while Phelps is awesome, dominant, and humble - you can’t call him “the greatest”. I still reserve that title for Muhammad Ali.
Sunday afternoon brought on one of those “almost perfect” rides that I usually roll into every couple of years or so. I left the house just as the sky opened up pitchers of water. The storm moved slowly, and I managed to ride out of the rain within a few minutes. Over the river and through the woods I rode in light rain, heavy thunder, and occasional lightning. After climbing to the middle of Rocky Ridge trail, I stopped for a second as about 2 miles and 500 feet below to my left was the blackest cloud of nastiness I have seen in a while covering Flagstaff. Onward, and soon the trail turned muddy – but not “f*ck your bike up” muddy. Over to Schultz Creek, out to the Girlfriend Trails (so named because they are moody (up and down), and then looped back the same way home. Trail? Velcro. Temps? 60 degrees + or -. Anyone out riding? Hell no. Bike? Singlespeed rockin’ at warp speed. It was bliss out there.
I’m closing in on two hours, and I hit the most hellacious mud – Satan’s mud – at Buffalo Park which is about ½ mile from my front door. I thought it had not been raining much there, much to my surprise. This is the kind of black, heinous, sticky beyond belief mud that cakes up on your tires and frame….then you reach a gravel road and all that muck picks up 1,000,000 rocks that trash everything you ever owned. Chain, brakes, brake pads, BB, shoes, kit, you name it – and you’ll be pulling your bike into a goddamn carwash just to get the psi required to get this sh*t off your frame.
Like I said, almost perfect. It gave me a reason to wash the Rig, besides the comment that JB made a couple of weeks back “wash your bike”.
I know that kinda mud! Great description, pallie. We call that sh!t "prairie dog mud" because it always seems most abundant in areas where prairie dogs live.
ReplyDeleteYou cannot kick that mud off your boots if you try-- it just makes your hiking boots into disco platforms in 10 seconds flat. You're like frickin Herman Munster in his jumbo stilt boots.
On a bike, forgettabout it! You're best to just cut and run! Leave the bike to the prairie dogs and get the heck out of there, Maverick!
Love, Iceman