Just About Perfect

The air was warm and silky. The dirt was smooth, fast, and tacky. Twenty of us rode for almost three hours at a good pace. Fast enough for an occasional burn, but slow enough to avoid any risk of a season opening blow-up. It was a long steady draw-down of the tank. EXACTLY what I needed to clear the cobwebs from a tough winter.

Watching the train of bikes ahead, snaking through the woods, was sublime. It was one continuous train, with each bike hooked to the one in front by an imaginary bungee cord gently pulling each rider along. The bungee cord was made by mother nature from the love of riding. It was perfect.

That's not my knee, that's where the top
tube smashed the inside of my tibia.

Well, almost. I rolled up behind a pileup in the chunnel and chose a bad line (there were no good ones left). Thankfully there was about a foot of water running through the culvert so as my tire slid out on the slimy algae coated metal sidewall of the culvert, my left pedal was filleting open my shin and the top tube was smashing the inside of my tibia and my leg was bathed in refreshing bacteria-infested farm runoff.

Back in the lot after the ride, Susan hit me with some sort of disinfecting spray. She said it was "for kids." The irony of that was not lost on me and I wouldn't have it any other way. "Perfect" I said.

Every year we have one of these rides. You never know when or where it's going to happen. But it's the first perfect ride of the year, and you know there is a full riding season of them ahead of you. And that is one pretty incredible feeling.

Chris

"There is nothing, absolutely nothing, quite so worthwhile as simply messing about on bicycles"
     -- Tom Kunich