true confession 27

Subject: Tuesday Ride Report: Singing from the Train Date: Wed, 6 Oct 1999 00:36:09 EDT

In the absence of luminaries such as el Jefe (PCT ride,) Danny, (bruised kidney,) the Professor, (too much to do,) and the others, (never come anyway,) we were me, Babs, Shednickers, Mt. Val, and Shred's friend Ken. We motored over to Olema hill to pick up Cody, the previously lost kid. The Rock Island Line As we passed Samuel P. Taylor Park, Babs and I overtook 2 of our number, apparently Mt. Val and the Kid. Safely tucked in behind Babs, and swept away by the power of our choo-choo, I launched into song, with this excerpt from the famous tune about smuggling iron on the railway: "I fooled you, I fooled you, I got Pig Iron, I got Pig iron, I got aaaaallllllllll pig iron." Oh well, the Rock Island Line Is a mighty fine line, The Rock Island Line Is the road to ride." Later on, Babs asked where the others were. I said behind us.we had just passed them. "That wasn't them," she said. Wow! Those poor bastards! Probably from New Englandaccosted by a loudly singing nut! What must they think? We snagged the kid, found the others, and went up the ridge. Ken kept politely speeding ahead and opening gates, thus scoring numerous style points on his first ride. At the top of some trail, the name of which reminds me of rapid transit, Ken bailed, and the rest of us had a great descent. Autumn leaves, canopy of trees, deceptively tricky rock garden, stickersgreat stuff. At the bottom we did the Olema Valley trail. Talk about dusty! I kept expecting to hear Woody Guthrie singing tales migrating Okies. Down the pavement to the bottom of Randall, but not before scaling a barbwire fence, right at the point where there was a nice user-friendly gate. Mt. Val and Shred headed up Randall, and the rest of us did OVT. Moving to Pismo Beach As we approached 5 Brooks, I was off the back (duh) and approached an equestrian from the rear. I decided to alert the horse to my presence in the finest IMBA tradition. Again, music seemed the best vehicle. I quickly rejected "Don't Fence Me In," (did you know Cole Porter wrote that?) as being too aggressive, particularly when it gets to the "Oh give me land, lots of land.." part. Instead, I picked the more soothing "Whoopy ti yi yo-oh, git along little doggie.," with a nice segway into "Drifting along with the tumbling tumbleweed," (Roy Rogers and the "Sons of the Pioneers.") The effect was great. Riders and steeds remained calm and smiley, and I passed safely. Later, the Kid, Babs and I were re-grouping at the stables, and the same woman, (did I mention she was foxy?) rode up, and we had a pleasant conversation. She was into athletic horsey endeavorsand Tae-bo to stay in shape for them. (I wondered if she was a celebrity.) She is not from the area, but was visiting from Pismo Beach for one week. As we went in different directions, she shouted back to me "I love your legs.very muscular" When I regained consciousness, I realized that I had indeed experienced true lovewhich had ridden off on a black horse, never to be seen again. Endgame The Naked Lady transported Babs and me to the Rock on the ridge for lunch and gossip, then we descended the Shaft for an early return. Times they are a'changing I was driving home and musing about the day's events, when I was nearly smothered by a huge ejaculation of slick SUV's from a side streetled by an energetically squirmy, topless black beemer. What had I chanced upon? A fundraiser for the America's Cup yacht race? Marin Moms doing post-soccer kid pickup? It was a mass student exodus, marking the end of another day at Drake High School.* Respectfully submitted, Franchael Statistics: 3200' elevation 25-30 miles minor leg adulation * Lest I appear overly critical, I confess I did have a '51 Jaguar MKV Convertible when I was a senior in high school-well after it was a new luxury car, and well before it was a classic. Actually, I owned several classic cars: a 1949 Ford convertible that lived in pieces on the garage floor; a 1951 Ford six-banger which ran so rough that the muscle cars were afraid to challenge it; a 1961 MGA; a 1960 Renault Dauphine; a 1959 Opel Record; and a 1971 BMW 2002, to name a few. But none of these were classics when I owned them-generally just old cars.