Greetings Team Seagal Loyalistas! Weekends are amazing, and what better way to spend time than in the saddle. Axel and myself formulated a battle plan the night before - getting "trifectious" in the heat. But first we had to recruit some soldiers for our St. Charles Assault Team, or S.C.A.T.
Several potential recruits were out on their own trail assaults, but we were able to recruit our Mayor McPizzaTime, J-Peezy, and C-Steezy. We hadn't encounter C-steezy in quite a while, leading some of us to wonder if he had gone down the wrong path and gotten too deep into the jenkem underground. Fortunately he was live and well, arriving with Pry0r just in time for us to launch our initial attack upon the trailhead of Lost Valley.
Leaving the mound lot, we were already sweating in the late morning sun. And unfortunately, it at the exact moment that we hit the singletrack that Axel's chain got jam-jobbed like crazy, wedging his paul chain keeper into a bad spot. I know just how that goes, having DNF'd this past Turdsday due to a nearly identical problem:
A few minutes later our man-train was back on track and building up some steam, charging ahead down the brown dirt snake. Unfortunately, Pry0r and C-Steezy had to book it right out, unhitching from our party wagon, and returning to home base. Our trio pressed on, making sure to ride safely with all the safety equipment:
Continuing down the fire road, we crossed over to the Katy, and decided to hit Klondike first and Matson on the return trip:
Klondike offered all kinds of superior business:
We had to do a couple of laps of one of my favorites, the Strip Mine Loop, because that loop is just like one of my old girlfriends - tons of fun.
The heat was really something to be managed today, as it didn't stop. We took a long break at the Klondike campground, and lamented the removal of the vending machine there a couple of years ago. I've never been sad to see a vending machine go, but this one hit me (and I think anyone who enjoys a good trifecta) pretty hard, because it is nearly the farthest point from the Mound lot, and it always worked to serve me a marvelously cold Mountain Dew or something like that. Oooooweee.
Enough lollygagging around. Hitting 36 mph on the little drop to the Katy, we set our sights for Matson Hill. But we had to stop to give our "salute" to the sign for a person running for re-election on a solid platform of dumb-assery:
We made the dreaded turn up "The" Matson Hill, which was more loose than usual - kinda like climbing a hill covered in talcum powder. In upper 90's heat, as we slogged up that hill, I looked down to see that I was not moving faster than abotu 3.5 mph. I worried that I would see it slip below 3 mph, at which point I would hop off my bike and try to impale myself on my un-plugged handlebar.
We made it to the top, and proceeded to shred the incredibly buff Matson trail, which was so parched that it was cracked and dry like the disgusting b-hole of the person who put thumb tacks on the course of today's TdF stage.
We can't wait until that trail reaches it's full potential, because it is already WORLDS better than it was even 3 years ago. Word seems to be spreading too, because that trail has been getting lots of traffic, which is different from years past, when you would rarely see signs of people out there, let along other riders!
Crawling up back out of that valley, we coasted back to Defiance where we would rest once moar, and meet up with a cutie little kitten-bottoms that Jerkward, Boyd and I met earlier this year while on the M-Train to Hermann:
That was a long fucking day. 48+ miles on dirt, which is awesome. We were fortunate enough to miss out on any broken ribs or spines, the same which can not be said about Snurby McSnurberson a few days ago. He had an unfortunate encounter with the ground as Lost Valley, breaking a few ribs, spines, and helmets. Doctors were unable to determine if he had sustained any damage to his brain, as he is already totally fucked in the brain. I mean shit, have you evar met that guy? But he does have at least one thing going for him, he never has pooped his pants (in his adult life.)
The same can not be allegedly said for Master Steven.
-Casey F. U. Ryback