For whom the bells toll

It was 67 degrees as I pulled into Wakefield parking lot for the Monday night MORE ride. Incredible, since over the last two weeks it barely got above 40 and the very next day was supposed to be more of the same, plus rain. Surely some other cabin fever crazed biker would show up and ride with me I thought. I wasn't disappointed. There was Mike, David (a new guy), and Dominic waiting for me. A few minutes later a familiar bright yellow car, with matching roof racks, pulls up: Peter had arrived. The sleigh bells which adorned his old aluminum singlespeed now hung on the seatpost of a new bile-green Karate Monkey. Big guys need big wheels. His old aluminum hardtail was a bike with a huge frame held up by little 26 inch wheels. Aesthetically, not happening. By contrast, the Karate Monkey with its huge tubes and 29er wheels, was perfectly proportioned-- looking like a work of art, albeit deadly art that could crush a tank. And with Peter on the saddle, everything about the setup screamed, "Get out of my way, ya little punk!"

We started off slowly as we headed to the race course to sample the new singletrack built just days ago. Flow city. These trails were built for speed, singlespeed that is. Smooth and swoopy. We rode two laps before we headed towards "the bowl." Once in the bowl I unleash my evil plan. See, I never really rode with Peter much, but I knew the guy was a veteran racer with skills to spare. He usually leads "casual" paced rides for MORE, but I knew there was something meaner under the hood. So once in the bowl I gun it and, as expected, Peter takes the bait and jumps on my wheel. We're off flying through the woods. I zig, I zag, I zig again, I attack the climbs and do my best to fly over the logs, but the sleigh bells of death are never far behind. They follow me like some evil reindeer coming to eat my soul. When I can take the torment no more, I stop to let the pack regroup. That was fun.