The desert mancations appear to fragmented into separate cliques heading off to the southwest instead of the renowned communal bacchanalia of 2011, where 30 some manly types descended on Gooseberry Mesa for fire jumping, wrestling and other bonding activities.
This year an anemic two Bitterrooters supplemented by three other Montanans, one Salt Lake City expatriate, and a token Colorado Front Ranger gathered at Rabbit Valley to sample the Fruita and Grand Junction trails. The Buhlburban doing the hauling of all the bikes and bodies.
Slayer keeping us awake for the last few hours between SLC and our playground for the next week.
Surviving the sub freezing temperatures of the first night, and a morning where sleeping bags were more welcome that shivering in lycra our first day's destination was 18 Road.
Despite, or perhaps due to our early afternooon starts, laps on the buffed bermed trails alternated with PBR pitstops. Eventually all the downhill trails were sampled.
The day culminating with old style cooking over an open flame.
The next morning brought slightly warmer temps and a visit to the Kokopelli trails along the Colorado River. Sadly Tim was waylaid by a gastric bug and guarded the vehicle. While prepping our bikes in the packed parking lot, a few differences between us and the Front Range Crowd became apparent, primarily in our sartorial choices. Lycera and matching team kits being more popular than our baggies and mismatched shirts.
Sitting around the fire drinking gin, eating spurned woman spiced pasta and watching the evening's thunderstorm roll off into the distance I had my slang education; learning about power bottoms, Eiffel towers, and Brooklyn Bridges.
The third day and finally some warmth. Despite several mild hangovers we eventaully rallied for late startingadventure day, taking on the original IMBA Epic - the Edge Loop. 30 miles and over 4000 vertical.
The last in Colorado brought us to Grand Junction and the Lunch Loops and the chance for some gravity shuttles. We found of the best trails of the trip here; great combinations of flow and technical rock. The Ribbon Trail and Holy Cross being definite rides to repeat. The day brought the only mechanical failures of the trip; a broken derailleur hanger and a constant series of flats on a single "tubeless" tire.
Overnighting in SLC a last day of riding was had in Pocatello. I hear the trails were a blast. Unfortunately, my front tire decided to a take a layover in SLC and play with a pair of pugs instead of coming home with the rest of the bike.
This was my first ride with our new illustrious leader Kim Jong Jeff and already I can see the glorious future that awaits us. The sun was shining a little brighter with the brilliance of a supernova. A cool breeze refreshed on the climbs and a tailwind was always behind us. Jeff The Beloved One, in his beneficence, has allowed me to continue my blog without editorial oversight, although it is clear that compared to the poetry that flows like a mountain stream from his perfect lips, the fluid prose that spills like honey from the the tip of his well formed pen, and the way his fingers fly dance across the keyboard like a sage grouse dancing in his lek swan gliding across a still pond, my writing is no better than gibberish written by a drug addled meth-head.
Before I get too far into the exploits of last night's ride the Magnificent One. Last night reminded me of the importance of appropriate bike positioning. By the end of the climb up Sawdust Gulch I was ready to get out of the saddle and stand up. Over the course of the winter I had the chance to surf the web and discovered that for women this issue can be one of agony or ecstasy.
"A recent Yale study written about in Monday's New York Times studied 48 "consistent" women cyclists who cycled at least 10 miles each week. They concluded that handlebar positioning can be a big determinant in whether women cyclists experience numbing and tingling in the soft tissues around their vulvas."
However with the proper adjustments:
I know the people down at Red Barn take their jobs seriously and want to make sure you have the proper fitting bike so that all your rides will be climatic. And dedicated they are, here is Chad giving his post ride prostate check to make sure Kevin's bike was still fitting after winter break.
Now that I have successfully segued into genitalia, it's time to revisit a popular topic: penis size. This week the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences (PNAS) published a scientific study "Penis size interacts with body shape and height to influence male attractiveness" and what I found interesting is how the press spun this. From Time: "Size Does Matter: Study Shows Women Judge Male Attractiveness by Penis Size." From the Telegraph: "Size does matter, study finds." While it is true that the study showed that women prefer larger penises and taller men, and that for a shorter man a longer dick can make up for lack of stature. What the media almost always glosses over or ignores is that the most important factor for attractiveness in this study was the ratio of shoulder width to waist size. A broad V shaped torso is far more important, and having a long john won't make up for being shaped like a pear.
While enjoying post ride wild game and beer at the barn, our discussions turned to when a dog's nuts drop and whether in certain riders, nuts had dropped and whether lack of said dropping could explain their behavior. So today, I did some research. First I checked my trousers, then I went on the web and discovered that dog testes usually drop by 8 weeks, so the shop dog should have something in his sack, as apparently do I. Now certain other riders were claiming that dog balls don't drop until much later, and I think the confusion has to do with dropping versus sexual maturation which happens around six months in dogs, and much later in humans. I'll spare you the embryology lecture about how the testes arise way up by the kidneys and eventually find themselves hanging down in the scrotum, since I think the question at hand is the optimal age to neuter.
Jeff The Anointed One, who sees all, hears all, smells all, tastes all, noted the absence of several regulars and rest assured he knows who was doing taxes, who opted for an indoor versaclimber workout, who was afraid of raindrops and who stayed home to drink homebrew. Jeff His Awesome was not amused, and in his beneficence has given everyone a chance to rectify their decadent ways. For those who are not enlightened, Jeff the Benevolent One will reveal his compassionate side and geld the wayward by crushing their jewels in his iron fist. Rewarding their desire for a slimmer sleeker look in skinny jeans.
Jeff the Most Honored One was also aware of the devotion of his dedicated followers who being truly enlightened creatures had abandoned their pregnant, overdue wives for the chance to follow the blessed tracks he left in soft dirt, rejoicing at the chance to wash the mud off his El Ciclon with their piss.
When we left the parking lot, in my ignorance I thought of us as the magnificent seven off on an adventure, but clearly it was the Magnificent One and the six, eventually eight dwarves. Jeff His Studliness ascended the 1000 foot climb as if being pulled by a team of invisible pegasi, while the rest of us struggled up the grueling ascent aware that he has granted us favor by deigning to allow us in his presence, and I could only be honored by the chance to lick the grime off his chain.
Riding along Forbidden Ridge under calm clear skies, Jeff the Gifted One lead us unerringly and lawfully to a new uncharted descent through public lands along the sunny southern slopes of Barely Legal Ridge before depositing back on Sleeping Child Road just as the canyon narrows.
Jeff The Compassionate One invites all the Wednesday Riders Como next week to acknowledge his rightful place at the head of the pack and to keep his Ventana clean with our urine and saliva.
