Thursday
The thing about holidaying with my wife is that because of her insatiable need to experience new things and see, well, everything I rarely get a lie in. “Let’s get up really early and go photograph the dawn. It’ll be fun…” Uh Uh? Alrighty then. So when the opportunity does arise I try and grab has many Z’s* as my tired fingers can grasp.
Unceremoniously dragged out of bed later (“You sleep too much…”) we headed out to try and experience some modern Americana at it’s worst: a shopping mall. We were told later that we visited the small one but to be fair that amount of consumerism was more than enough for my “one-firebomb-away-from-anarchy” mindset and the sports shop we visited plain old frightened me. It was like a mall within a mall bringing home two things to me:
1) I didn’t realise there were that many sports and
2) apparently there’s a market in selling equipment to all those sports in one place: “Excuse me young man I’m looking for Disc-Golf frisbee soccer boots” “They’re behind the shotguns between ice hockey masks and spelunking helmets. Have a good day y’all”. Despite being in the land of the free for over a fortnight that was the day of my first burger and it was mighty tasty, thought there were enough chips to feed eight normal sized human beings. Not one to be outdone I only ate half of them…
Shopped out we headed down to Lake Ella to take a stroll around it’s delightful shore, watching sun basking turtles and the myriad of small fish in the shallow lap of water in the glorious North Florida sunshine. Hoping to experience another local bike shop we wandered over to Joe’s to find it bare only a sign hanging declaring business back soon. Back in the artificial cool of the not-so-mini van we rolled down first to the supermarket to pick up some dinner for me and then over to the pharmacy to stock up. Several of the delicious sweeties we devoured over there are very sadly not available back home. We visited a few pharmacies in America and I found it quite bizarre that mostly there are very few pharmaceuticals but lots of everything else…
Well, the plan tonight is to show Alan around our northside trail system. I think we’ll meet at my office around 5pm, and roll from there. There is plenty of parking and it’s convenient to the trails. For those not in the know, the office is located just north of Capital Circle, on Thomasville Road. We’re directly behind the Popeye’s Chicken, fast food joint, in the south end of the Albertson’s/Books a Million parking lot. We’ve got nice weather, so if you’re up for a mountain bike ride, come greet our guest, and show him some of the crew hospitality.
BIGWORM
That was the mail waiting for us at the hotel and I wolfed down my pre ride fuel of champions: bagel chips and pasta salad. True athlete’s food at it’s finest. Mrs Fat Lad and I rolled to the start and as we arrived the late afternoon sun was still hot on the skin. Bug spray applied, lid atop my skull all I had to do was sort my tyre pressures out and I was ready. I let out air, too much, put some more in after begging a track pump from WB and finally I was ready. The rest of the Bike Chain crew arrived and while Sarah took every back road in North Florida to get home in the name of adventure we rolled out. Assembled at the car park was Wrecking Ball, Bigworm, Tyler, Cliff and myself. I was in for fun I could tell.
Clipped in cranks turning we railed across the parking lot and snaked through alleys heading out towards suburbia. With white picket fences, perfect almost unreal green lawns and lego like houses everywhere sprinklers spraying I guessed we were at our pick up point. We picked up Mark and his son Berg (known locally as “Iceberg”) in the all American neighbourhood and continued on. Negotiating traffic on your own turf atop two wheels is a subject commented on in many places with many words. Doing it in another country where the traffic at junctions comes from entirely the direction your not expecting it to add a whole new dimension of fun and expletives.
It was time, the trails were here. Legs warmed up everyone launched into the tight twisting turns with out abandon. I was glad of the softer tyre pressure as the roots under wheel battered body and bike alike. I was hanging in there best I could, never hitting anywhere near the front of pack but holding up the British end all the same. The pace was brisk, like a Bad Brains Club run but without the “have a minute” cries at each junction. The heat was still an issue for me, energy infused moisture seeped from every pore. In true Southern style the locals kept commenting how mild the conditions were. Spat out at speed from the trees into a MTB playground. Up and overs, low log runs and the like inhabited an area the size of your average garden, once more misplaced patriotism shone through and I hoisted the front wheel up onto the short plank run. Little more than a foot off the ground back home I wouldn’t even dream of having a go, ” I’ve nowt to prove” is the standard get out clause of anything that might actually challenge my skills. But I rolled it without incident. Unfortunately Berg went flying over the bars getting over the log hop. Once we confirmed his good status the jibes common to any group in the globe started to flow too.
The guys bemoaned the next session ahead of us, and in truth whilst not up to the great standard of trails behind us, it was still tight twisting fun. Crossing parkland the bizarrest puncture I have had in fifteen years of biking occured. In a freak nanosecond my front tyre went from 40psi to flat in an instant. Slinging a new tube in not a nick, thorn nor any evidence of pointy inner tube death could be located.
Spoken about in hushed tones and with a certain reverence I was herded onto the secret singletrack. Unmanicured, unsignposted, unbelievably fun. Smashing through trail debris, ducking low branches, rough ground it was like being back at home. Admittedly a lovely warm, dry dusty home. Spat out onto the double track I rolled along with Terry and Cliff shooting shit and doing my best to try and explain the rules of cricket (an awful lot like baseball it turns out…) and some of the more interesting terms. We left dirt for the last time entering perhaps the richest neighbourhood I have ever seen, palatial homes lines the wide avenues roman columns and long drives conspicuously abundant. On the smoothest tarmac I have ever ridden on once more the front tyre deflated faster than a [insert your own innuendo here]. Last tube in, the tyre mysteriously free of any pointy or otherwise intrusions, we pedalled back to the car park. I had to grab a picture of Bigworms truck:
and with me and Terry both proudly wearing the BBMBC colours:
Being the short arse I am Worm had to lift my steed into the back of the pickup. The cooling night air flowed in the cab swirling and vortexing around us almost seamlessly with the reminisce and hopeful bike chat as Worm taxied me back to the hotel. Back in our artificial homestead I soaked in the bath in the bedroom as Sarah lounged on the bed. I think eventually we both managed to close our mouths once the VP debate’s jaw dropping playground level of discourse from the republican candidate had finished. Plans were afoot for us both to hit Munson the next day but sadly it was not to be…
Fat Lad
* That will be Zeds not Zee’s 😉
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