The Long Slow Burn

Greetings, jerks. When the temperatures hit 80 degrees for the first time this season, there is only one thing to do, if not tied down by work.

Hit the trail.

Snurb and I had great ambitions today, 50+ miles worth of lake-side trail, leading into Middlefork magic. But instead, we only got a paltry 42. Pishaw.

The incredible onslaught of hills took advantage of our t'aints, mine having only gotten less than 5 hours of sleep the previous night. My trail ride closely paralleled this dog's run on the obstacle course:

The ride was going well, and then my legs took a gigantic shit all over the trail. We decided on a couple of bail-outs, which fortunately had tailwinds. Nevertheless, before our t'aintal regions became fully shredded and our wrists became fully snapped, we managed to properly shred the singletrack leading to CR 72, the waterfall, Hwy 49, Barton Fen, Buick Mine Road, though we had to bail on Shasta. Sorry, buddy. 

The ride home kept us amused - passing through Caledonia we laughed at the custom electrical tape dog on the pedestrian sign:

Those crazy kids!
 A quick stop for food before arriving at home, where more delicious food awaited me, courtesy of Mrs. Crotch:

Moar to come.

-Casey F. Ryback


T. Scott said...


That is all. Oh, and FUCK YOU!

Chris Wurster said...

Yeah I second that - fuck you! I do have to say Coach you continue to amaze me with your ability to tie in riding, your taint and animal bowel movements all into the same story. Bet that meal the Mrs. cooked up will guarantee some nuggets in the morning deuce.

Scott said...

Those are impressive shaft's of meat on that plate. You should call the Criss Angel hotline and tell them about these shafts. They would probably like a pic for their blog. They can be reached at: