We both ended up skeleton luging down the road, at the same time.
Laughter ensues. The hard earned head-wind battered climb to the summit would be rewarded by nerve fraying survival mode bobsledable downhills that more often than not would have to be walked out.
Backing up the bus a bit -
Coach and I decided to go on a little adventure. He's been jonesing for some backcountry ski adventures but that ain't in the cards due to this Liberal Agenda Winter, much different than the Totalitarian Stalin Siberian Wonder Winter of last year. I've been riding almost daily as the singletrack that I couldn't touch till April last year is high and dry, and bird season is over.
So we ended up becoming Ice Road Suckers.
First off, I de-sissified the Fargo -
Put the 29er tires back on, stripped it of all it's gleaming asphalt atonements from the Escape to Mexico tour. No more bells and skinny tires and fenders and other city shit.
In other words -
*Life lesson - There's always Slapshot if you need inspiration for awesome.
Secondly, Coach rocked the singlespeed 26er.
Coach took Slammer of the Year - about six separate times. I thought I was going to have to drag him out (thankfully it would be easy on the ice, body bag that mofo) but he's tougher than Mickey from Snatch. Kid's made of coffin nails.
He did rock this sweet tyvek jerk-et he found in the free pile at the Reno Bike Project. It was swiss cheese by the time we got home.
Lots o' slip 'n slide.
|The only dry part of the downhill.|
Some places the snow was soft, and you could dip your pedals into it. Looks like a well hung bear walked through here.
It was a good 47 miles.
Can't wait to get myself a Pugsley...