Wicked Ride

I've never headed into Victory looking to get sober. Last night I did. Somebody was kind enough to stash some beers at the top of Marc D'Huez (thanks DBs). I reached in the magic bag and pulled out a Storm King. Hmmm 9.1% alcohol. This should be fun. Fun and fast, it went down quick. "What else you got?" Out of the bag came a Fest. Not typically a choice of mine, but it complimented the Stout nicely. The 5.6% alc worked well too. Back on the bikes to head down. "Wow! I'm really drunk." I mean drunk like crashing into trees kind of drunk. This should be fun. Chris had a light failure. He needed someone in front and someone behind to light him up. Good. Gives me something to focus on. We took a quick glimpse at the illuminated riders down the hill in the switchbacks, then headed down ourselves. The woods were ethereal. The trail and the immediate foreground were lit. All else was dark. Dirt, leaves and bark were all I could see. As drunk as I was, I thought I could feel them too. A couple of times I actually did as I went careening off trail or over the bars. In the cool dark night, a screech owl called out (or perhaps laughed at us). Somewhere along the way our little light train stopped to pick up Yarnall's dropped flask. On a trail we've ridden hundreds of times someone asked "where are we?" Out of the woods and onto the road we were flying. Into tucks we pointed ourselves down. Going at least 30mph on the road, time seemed to stand still. Our cluster of light and motion felt like it paused and hung there in time. I didn't want it to end. I wanted that moment captured, the light, the bikes, the wind in our faces and held onto to experience over and over when needed. Alas it had to end. Ben made a hard left as the rest of us bottlenecked behind him into the woods.

Back in the parking lot I was elated. What a great ride. Good times with good people to be remembered while I'm away.

- b