Greetings you Jerks. Much like Robort's head while driving past a playground, the weather has turned. Orders came down from Team Seagal HQ to Jerkward and I, The Crotch. We were to take full advantage of this glorious weather and launch an all-out attack on the Mark Twain National Forest this past Thursday. After Nico's surgical strike-and-extraction of myself and my bike from my house, we set our crosshairs on the shores of Council Bluff Lake.
Our landing craft dropped us off at the boat launch, where we came ashore and geared up for the assault on the trail ahead. Arnold did an excellent reenactment as seen here:
A journey of a thousand miles starts with just one step. And a journey along the OT starts with a simple clicking in. We headed down the trail, towards the Telleck Connector, and let me tell you, it felt quite good to be able to pass by that damned camground climb. Further down the trail, we found some interesting sights:
This is what happened when that bridge tried to race us. It lost, as you can see.
We found this controlled-burn notice on a tree, but little did we know we hadn't heard the last about that.Mr. Toscani, taking full advantage of my super-secret stash of TP:
This was the first time that I had made it across this stream without getting hung-up mid-stream and having to put a foot down in the water. Turns out, even if you don't submerge your feet, they still get s-s-s-s-soaked.
Alas, our glorious day was about to take a turn. We were both feelin' fine and cherry wine with strong legs, backs and hands that have been conditioned well on this trail in recent weeks. Our bikes were in fine working order - me riding the Big Unit "King Midas Edition" and Jerky riding his Fellet-Brazed "B-29'r". The sun was out, the temperature was in the low 60's, a temperature that is most conducive to being jerky. Fatigue had not even set in when descending one of the more "carvy" and twisty downhills, I attempted to wheelie over a fallen branch. The branch wasn't havin' any of that fuckin' bullshit, and so it went and did this to my wheel:
Even though the wheel is at least 40 grams lighter without those two spokes, it was now getting its swerve on. Fortunately, that Salsa Delgado Cross rim is pretty burly so the wheel didn't even rub the frame, which allowed me to ride/limp the 15 miles back to our landing craft. The whole ride home I was thinking, "As long as I can make it back to the car, I'll fix this wheel and have it straighter than Branson, MO."
I sent Jerkward on his way to finish the last two hills Mario-Van-Peebles style while I backtracked one hill to the nearest gravel road, which I road back to finish the bailout route. On the way, I met Foghorn Leghorn and company:The (whom I suspect is the) owner of the chicken farm was out front of the place, and he gave me a big toothless smile and exclaimed how nice the day was. Indeed! He kinda looked like an old-timey prospector, like he should be holding a jug that says "XXX" on it.
Meeting back up with Nic-ward, we proceeded to man-train back to our extraction point. But not before being forced to recall that notice that was posted to the tree from earlier:
We finished with that many more hours and miles under our belts. Heading home, we pondered a few things. For example, we ponder what the names of those huge hills (probably in the St. Francios Mtns) were called:
We pondered what the fuck this sign means:And we also pondered what makes this building so damned professional:
The best part of the season is upon us. Let's enjoy this weather at least as much as I enjoy this video:
-Casey Fucking Ryback
A.K.A. "The Crotch"
p.s. My gas pills actually seem to work! Anyone want to buy some more for me?