Matt was generous enough to let us know a bunch of trees were down so that we should bring saws, but not generous enough to bring one himself on his memorial day ride.
Driving over to the parking area, aka the Little Sleeping Child Trash Can Collective, I drove by Chad and Rob. I offered them a ride and in return I was appropriately castigated for being the total wuss I am for not riding from my house. I felt a little better when I noticed they were on rigid climbing machines, assuming that an El Gordo sans the gordo tires can be considered a climbing machine, and I was on my overbuilt uphill averse Ibis with flat pedals. Not that I would have ridden anyways. Getting back to a post ride beer seemed preferable to a twilight road coast down Sleeping Child.
Regrouping at the top of the first gravel climb, Rob was fiddling with his tire
At this point someone asked how much more a climb we had, and either Warwick (It may have not been Warwick, but he was in earshot, and if even if it wasn't Warwick it makes a better story if it was him, and anyways all ride reports are based on actual events) replied without irony that it was only a couple of miles more, and everyone knows what that means. Pain, maybe not the six fingered man degree of pain, but pain nonetheless: false summits, premature last turns, and forgotten anoxic grunts.
Towards the end of the ride, Chad was spotted wearing a glove on one had and a dirty inside out sock on the other. Theories were that Chad was channeling his inner Michael Jackson, or that Chad was practicing his lamb chop sock puppet theater. Alternatively, on one ride last year Chad almost froze due to lack of extra layers, and on another ride Chad became hypothermic after forgetting to pack rain gear. Possibly this year, misled by a forecast of a sunny 70° ride, he was once again caught without the necessary gear. Maybe this time Chad forgot gloves, and potentially his hands were slowly turning White Walker zombie white, aka Raynaud phenomenon. Chad may be a year older, but Chad may not be a year wiser. Chad asked that I not include his face on this photo. Here you go Chad. No one will know who the socked hand belongs to.
Oh what the hell.