Fuck Up Monkey X-Mas
The drywall is dulling my edge.
I rode trail 100 today. Is that a fucked up trail? Get-off there, and it usually hurts doesn’t it? At least that’s how it rolls for gnomeself and I’m finally at the point where my abilities are being compromised. The past 3 months of waking up, stumbling three feet to “the office” and staring at the drywall all day in hopes that something is going to change has caught up with me. That, and the Stans anyway…that god damned love hate liquid.
Rolling on a plushy squishy nar nar 35psi, I spied a nice double drop down type thing into a wash and, as with any other day prior to this past 3 month desk jockey bender, I floated it. I was feeling all cool braapy n shit until Mid way back to ground level, I realized that I was still staring at the same spot while the trail took a left hook that even Tyson would call absolutely ludicrous. No flow! No flow!! I tried to fast forward my line management, but it was pointless. I was already committed to the crash. I wasn’t even startled by it either. There I was, mid air, and I was as calm with the consequences yet to be bestowed on me as if my name was little baby Jesus. Fugg it. I’m going down Maverick! First, the tire contacted. It rolled a foot or two pulling some hard G’s giving me a slight wetness of hope that everything was going to be alright, and then it gave a gasp as it folded over the inside of the rim. I have Stans to thank for that. The stuff works so good until it gets stuffed like a porn queen. Then the handlebars ripped a hard left. Going straight to jail, my right shoulder checked the gravel landing zone followed by my bell. I topped it off with an audible, unsolicited slo motion “Whooaaatt????” I didn’t expect the last part I guess. Clacking my grape on the ground turned out to be a refresher.
At that point of impact, it all became clear. I ought to apologize, if only to myself, for that last drivel I spewed. I don’t know where that crybaby shit is coming from, but it’s got to stop. So, I’m sorry. And whatdeva. I get sloppy sometimes. I get it wrong. Although I can’t guarantee it, I’ll try to never sound like a douchebag trustafarian again. Love those guys. As far as our global death star warming up, it either will, or it wont. I understand it as such, and couldn’t give two shits about it at the same time. Well, that isn’t true. I think it’d be cool if we all gotta little more consciousness. But that seems to be a little hard to come by these days. Utopia is a matter of opinion. Ride, Don’t ride, Hold your breath. Even think that everything is the most wonderful thing ever. Whatever you gotta do to make yourself feel like you’re a contributor to whatever cause floats your rubber ducky. We all know it’s going to work out just fine in the end either way.
I sat in the wash for another 30 or 40 minutes praying and pumping that the Stans would seat the bead again and I could be on my way. Of course, it didn’t work. So I slapped a good ol trusty tube in there and set sail for smoother pastures. I rolled down to the canal from the trailhead of Squaw (Piestua?)Peak and dieseled it back to Angie’s mom’s house on the canal. It was a great ride. A great reality check.
It’s x-mas eve and that only means two things here. Merry Christmas to all that give a shit, and I can’t wait for Tuesday.