Part 1

On Monday I rolled out after dark for a quick camping trip, and my friend proved that not everyone can ride over a raccoon like this guy. Pitched camp, slept like a baby and was greeted with a great sunrise: heavy frost and frozen bottles. The morning ride home was fantastic.
Once home I unloaded gear and reloaded my Mom's car to visit family in Lousiana and bring my Mom back home. Her car has towels over all the seats to keep them from getting dirty. (Think people who cover their couches in plastic.)

Stopping in Springpatch to break up the trip lead to DaddyMac, Hogan, Skip and Brackett dropping me at Little Sac. Hogan and Skip led the charge with jedi-like skills and trail telepathy.

That night I sat through a planning meeting for the next season of Springfield's finest. They have trainers, coaches, work outs, power meters, gear, diets and goals. They will be eating sand and sh**ing glass come spring. Listening makes me feel like an unorganized slacker. Should I do more than ride my bike?

The next day Sylammo was on my radar. The weather was warm and the scenery top-notch. The trails, flawlessly marked, consist of fast-rolling single track, sections of sandstone, sand traps, technical sections to remind you that it is dirt biking and devoid of people. Well almost devoid. I found a digital camera deep in the trails. I was hoping for pictures of foul play or something racy. Pretty typical, but if you are the fella in the pictures please let me know, and I will gladly return your camera. Player.It got really weird after this. Part 2 to come....