To a mountain biker, sixty degrees and sunny in Michigan on January 28th is like taking a newly rehabilitated alcoholic to an open bar. Oh, there were plans, all right. Our group was to meet at 9, pick up another friend downtown and drive to Cleveland for a day at an indoor mountain bike park. All was on track until 45 minutes later when we got to her porch and on a whim decided to scrap the trip because the sun was out. There will never be a more fickle bunch than a group of cyclists on a sunny day. Racing back from whence we came, half of the group decided to ride back roads, which at this time of year are muddy at best. There was no question the roads were muddy. With the sun melting the remaining spots of ice, wet, sloppy, slow and deep can be added to the condition description. Plodding along we splashed through miles and miles of water filled potholes and mud bogs until we and our bikes were nothing but unrecognizable mud figures. Our jerseys were covered, it was in our hair, teeth, and eyes and somehow it even managed to get lodged in our bike shorts. Finally we headed back, but not before walking in to place a take-out order at a local Thai restaurant. The look we got was something like this: (as described by Dustin) Hostess: “Ohhh…what you want?? You so muddy!” Biker: “I…I just want to place a take-out order…” Hostess: “Oh nooo…you pretty girl, but you leave! You diiirty!!!” Take out order was placed and we rode back to the house to clean up. Of course immediately upon return beer was opened, pictures were taken and conversation took the place of getting clean, and by then the food was ready to be picked up. Off I went, glass bottle in hand riding my filthy bike and drinking my delicious beer through the neighborhoods and into downtown. This is exactly what I needed – what I missed from my days in CA. Suffering through an otherwise miserable ride with good friends with the promise of good food and a good brew afterwards. It’s hard to explain why I felt so free at that moment. Maybe because I felt like I was 8 years old again, maybe because I felt like I was untouchable by the “real world” or maybe because at that moment, I was devoid of all responsibility. Whatever it was, it’s the feeling that I long to attain each time I get on my bike. Thai food, a quick bike cleaning at the local car wash clean(er) clothes and I was on my way back home, somewhat exhausted, but feeling that high normally reserved for epic summer rides. I was looking forward to a shower. I cranked the hot water then went to the refrigerator to grab a badly wanted beer. Grocery duty was neglected over the weekend. Shame on me, we were out Blue Moon. Grimacing, I selected a Porter from a “Beers of America” gift box. The quality was suspect, but after a sip from a chilled glass, the prospect of it actually being somewhat good was promising. Stepping through the rolling steam into the shower I relished taste of my magic elixir. How good it tasted at the end of the day! There is nothing like standing under a spray of hot water with a cold beer in hand, remembering the day, feeling the ache in your muscles and watching your skin appear from under the layer of dirt and grime. Sometimes life is so simple!
