No aliens. No Sasquatch. No Loch Ness monster. No Scully or Molder. Just a ride with no proof other than the word of those that did it.
I wish I could have provided grainy, shaky, blurry proof of any of anything we did on Sunday. However, riding home the other day I had the misfortune of my camera falling out of my messenger bag.
I've already built a small stand in front of my house to sell 'Beacon Hill Lemonade' to the hobos, knitted 40oz coozies to sell, and tear away clothing for the folks working my street. Hopefully it won't take long...
It was just a huge day of monumental riding without any photographic proof...that's all. Just the stories of the 8 intrepid riders who pedaled onto Galbraith in Bellingham this past Sunday.
So without any photographic proof you'll just have to take my word that Sundays ride was hard. No...not just hard...the climbs would have brought tears to Ned Overends eyes. The descents would have shook the logos right off Greg Herbolds kit. And the mileage would have left Johnny T curled up in a ball gripping his thumb with his lips. That's how hard it was.
Eight guys. Sixteen gears. (I always include walking as a gear) And eight different stories. Each one of those valiant riders rode the exact same trail, but if Nat tells you it was 20 miles...I could say it was 40. If Kevin said we climbed 1200 feet...Keith would say it was 6000 feet. If Brett said it was a little tacky with patches of mud...Brian could say we were fjording the entire time.
But no matter the story, each one rode away a little weary that day...and we all smiling as we toasted our first beer.