(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
YIPPY SKIPPY
Early morning temps in the 60s with the sun in your face is the BEST!
Always stop and appreciate the local art.... WOW!
Always ride with the EAGLES, because I know we work with
a lot of turkeys
a lot of turkeys
Our two favorite water stops!
If you're nice and sing to them, they will feed you....
"OH, WHAT A BEAUTIFUL MORNING"
We did it!
The end to a GREAT DAY!
PS - If you blow a tire, take it back for a FREE NEW one... :-)
PS - If you blow a tire, take it back for a FREE NEW one... :-)
