No Call Bastards

On my desk sits a home-made upright open file. It was one of the first things I made upon arrival of my first (and only) table saw. The top slot is labeled "no call bastards". Tenacious tele-marketers met their match. Each tele-marketer's call encountered a politely request to "remove me from your list, please" and i would promptly record the company name on my "no call bastards" list in anticipation of filing a complaint with the FCC. I never did file a complaint, but my intent came from a desire to fix a problem and improve my world. The past workday at Dupont had similar intent - desire to fix a problem and improve my world.

It wasn't just my world though. It is everybodys world...anyone with access to Dupont State Forest. I suppose that list is endless with exception of most people on the no fly list or on wanted posters in the almost defunct local snail mail hubs. Trail work is an excellent way to improve cycling friendships in a cycling yet "non-cycling" way. We get to know people on the bike when we ride. I learn bikes first, then names. I put a face with a helmet and a bike. "Oh, the dude on the Santa Cruz with the yellow helmet? or "Yeah, that girl on the huffy with the tassels...on her bars" - you get the point. With trail work, the helmets come off and an alternate side of each person illuminates in the dirt. Side by side we work, shoveling, lifting rocks, hoping Woody doesn't roll down the hill in his mini-dozer, but we add to our cycling relationships, build them stronger as we fix run-offs, erosion and bad design. We communicate using more than hand signals indicating a pile of gravel or yelling "low" to indicate a low hanging branch. Trail workers interact in a more human way than when biking.

It's always weird to see people out of the box you know them in. Like seeing your preacher at the strip club, it's awkward but usually has a good outcome. We all chipped in our time and did some more work on Cedar Rock. We rock armored, built a few jumps and re-routed part of the trail. In return, the state park powers who be allowed us to camp at the Barn.

I didn't arrive until Saturday around noon due to caring for a sick friend (i love playing doctor) and work was already in full force. I grabbed a pulaski and weaseled my way in to the digging groove and acted as if I'd been there all day. I was quickly noticed and put to real work laying out a line over a Volkswagen sized granite slab that was now part of the trail. We debated and stood around like DOT workers and finally picked a line. Clay Rockhound kept snooping for larger boulders and me a sucker for a challenge would help him move the 100+lb rocks from too far away and add to the turn on top of the granite slab. Each new rock caused a snowball of decisions. We moved that dab gone line at least 5 times. I politely slipped into the woods and walked up the hill for different shenanigans.

I found Z Andy working on a nice table top/log ride, Mr. George entertaining the troops with his crisp wit and cynical comments and some other folks I didn't know very well. We all worked a few more hours then left for camp.

Clay, Cissy and I decided to do a quick loop before nightfall. From the barn, we hit Airstrip, Cornholio, Laurel, Mine Mtn., then finished with a post dark/no light jaunt down Airstrip to cap off the night. That's living.

Camping was great. The stars by Bridal Veil were magnificent. It was a great time by the fire, slightly more mellow than hanging with my regular peeps, but relaxing and rewarding none the less. Needless to say, i woke up from a bike trip camping experience without the slightest hint of alcohol induced antibalance-ism-ish-ness. Sweet! We ate breakfast (a kick butt omelet, i must say) and decided our route. Bergan and Henry were ripping around the campsite on their bikes showing us old farts what youth used to be (it just happened to be my birthday so i was feeling it even more than usual). They were ready to roll so we rounded up the remaining posse and hit the trails.

We were representing with age 8 to the late 50's (i thought i heard someone say) and beginner to almost elite level riders. Who woulda thunk that we would all stay together and just have a "fun" ride. Well, it happened. As if my "no call bastards" list actually worked, and the telemarketers stopped calling, our ride was flawless and perfectly grouped and paced. Faster riders waited for slower ones, older faster riders waited for younger slower ones, slower older ones waited for...enough, you get the point. Bergan and Henry were a real inspiration to me. They attacked the trails with such vigor, such zest that it was a fricking blast just watching them enjoy the trail. This was my first ride with youngins and to my surprise it was great. It brought back memories of riding my bike with my Mom and Dad when I was there age. Rubber was just invented so the whole idea of smooth rolling tires was still a novelty, but to see these two kids attack any part of the trail was glorious. Of course when you are seed of two legendary local riders what would you expect?

Gracious was the group. We left the barn and went up cedar rock. The youngins opted for a tow line up the steeper section (i don't think they really needed them). Cissy towed Henry and Noelle towed Bergan. Note Bergan expressing his best compliment to the photographer.

To be a kid again. Oh, wait...I'm only 23! Yeah, that's what i was telling myself all day.

When we arrived up top, everyone was patiently waiting and sharing small talk, laughing, joking and just jiving well. The view rocked. Puns are cool.

After a brief pause, we flew down the new section of trail that we shaped up day prior.

Here is Mr. George and Beefcake pondering the table top jump:

This picture was taken by some girl. I was too flustered to get her name but thanks to Mr. George's calm and collective persuasiveness she seemed interested in talking with the cool mountain biker dudes that we are. We chatted and they talked me into hitting the nice soft, brand new table top jump, with work boots on. Yeah, beast ruffled my better judgement and up the hill i went. Better judgement somehow slid into my numb skull (i guess it comes with birthday #37-also see "skip out early part 2" for example of poor judgement amongst beuty vs. the log). My beter judgement was with me! Wow, a new day has dawned. I hit the jump at about 1/3 speed and per Mr. George "I could have put a bussiness card under your rear tire". My ego shrunk so much i had to re tighten my helmet. Enuf of this "business-card" hang time, I wanted some sky. To hell with better judgement, I just turned 37. I was 36 way longer than I'd been 37 at this point so back up the hill I rode. Work boots, carhart thick jeans and work gloves. I was gonna show this perty girl who the best table top jumper in these here parts was and by golly i was trying to win that perty . I hit the jump with good speed and soared to at least the height of a box of business cards. Man, I felt like da bomb. She had to fall for me now. I rolled back to my audience and they were both now star struck, no doubt. I was the rock star I always wanted to be. I finally got her name.

The entire group made it down to Cornholio/Burnt Mtn. intersecion and we parted ways. A little payoff time for being kind citizens. We hit Burnt Mtn. fast as fire on a So. Cal. beach and regrouped at the river crossing on Cornholio. I led the way across the creek and Clay, Cissy and oodles of others followed my line and made the crossing! A followed line is the utmost compliment a rider can get. So many people made the crossing, I lost count. We went up and did Laurel, Mine Mtn., Reasonover and once again the icing on the cake -Airstrip. Since I was now 37 and was utilizing my newly gained better judgement, I hit the top of Airstrip with zest and finally cleared the elusive table top jump for the first time! How fun. Our trip ended by breaking down camp saying goodbye. My tent was warm, was yours?

More weekend pics: