Parleys Canyon Riders: The Ride that Lasted the Day Before, the Day of and the Day After My Day

(Read on and you will get the title)

Reveille for the Saturday PCR Ride: We started at 5:30 a.m. by command of the poser leader/rule maker Mr. MBA. Surprisingly 6 people showed up. Okay, it is not all that surprising inasmuch as anyone affiliated with this group is per se unhinged psychologically.

Route: We traveled from Wanship to Evanston, which was dictated by the Big Man aka the wannabe shepherd of the feral cats who call themselves the PCRs. Who put him in charge? And anyone who did is per se psychologically unhinged if he follows Big Man more than once, which confirms the psychological make-up of the group referred to above.

Pace setter: Sexy Legs, who has less body fat and more muscle per square pound than a Cheetah. If the truth be told the only pace he set was for himself. He is always way ahead of the group. In fact, he so outclasses the other group members in every sense of the word that he can honestly claim that he is in a class by himself and does not have to claim any affiliation with the PRCs, other than making cameo appearances.

Means of transportation: While many of us rode bikes, Animal Bruner also managed to bum rides twice from two unsuspecting owners of trucks who had no idea that when they picked up the frail, diminutive, older looking figure with his thumb out that he wasn’t looking for a ride down the street, but instead to the state boundary line. Not surprising, after dropping off Bruner both Good Samaritans called all full-time care facilities within a hundred mile radius of where they picked him up to see if they were missing any “residents”. Not surprisingly, no one would claim him.

Bike fuel: Ron Hicks brought with him half of the bike energy food offerings of REI and saved Prez. Hale, who forgot his food supply. Hicks is prepared for just about anything, except the random acts of craziness inspired by Big Man. If Hick’s bishop is reading this, Hicks is a great candidate for a Scout Master, although you should be aware that he is so fastidious that all of the camp meals would likely be catered and servants would be hired to pitch and clean the tents. Also, at the midpoint of the ride the members of the Moveable Mancave stopped at a local sandwich shop in Evanston for such epicurean delights as roadkill hoagies and twice cooked three day old ground deer patties. No small wonder why it took so long to get home. Sexy Legs, we know why you got sick. Let the Doc know what you ingested.

Entertainment: Watching Big Man try to lead the group; Mr. MBA make up and try to impose rules (need we remind you that as a rookie you are not in charge of anybody and never will be); Big Man and Prez. Hale failing to record on Strava their mileage and more importantly the ascent for the day; watching 6 old men try to suck in their guts (okay, only 4 really had to; you can guess which ones from the photos) for photographs along the way; watching Big Man sing for the PRC’s breakfast at Pinecliff Camp in front of dozens of future soccer stars who wondered about what institution he escaped from (Big Man, they were not laughing with you), and listening to all of the creative excuses proposed by the PCRs during the ride become fused into a cohesive story about what they were going to tell their better halves when they got home about why they were so late (we reached our designation at 3:30 p.m.; Big Man don’t crack under the cross when you get home: we all need to stick with the one “true” story).

Priceless: Riding with biking brothers and making it alive (at least until we got home to our better halves and Big Man cracks under cross examination), and listening to Mr. MBA’s following TATS:

The Day Before My Day

By: Gloria Liu a Senior Editor of Bicycling Magazine

“Apparently, feeling short on time is not unique to our modern era. In 1910, writer Arnold Bennett observed in a book, How to Live on 24 Hours a Day, “Now the great and profound mistake which my typical man makes in regard to his day is a mistake of general attitude … He persists in looking upon those hours from ten to six as ‘the day,’ to which the ten hours preceding them and the six hours following them are nothing but a prologue and epilogue… [But] if my typical man wishes to live fully and completely he must, in his mind, arrange a day within a day”

There are a number of reasons that I often wake up pre-sunrise for trail rides—how quiet and pretty the woods are, getting my ride done, even warding off seasonal affective disorder in the winter. But my favorite thing about dawn patrol is that I roll into work feeling like I’ve already had a day before my day. Seeing and doing something a little unconventional before I start “adulting” at 9 a.m. makes me feel like I’m sneaking in extra adventure time, and that it all eventually adds up to some bonus living.

To “bonus living”, even if our ride seemed to last three days!

YIPPY SKIPPY