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Tonight’s ride was supposed to be just me and the woods, casual, close to dusk and one of those do-it-because-you-will-hate-yourself-tomorrow-if-you-don’t rides.  3 PM hit me like a ton of sleeping pills at the office today, normally a time when I can sneak a little nap in on the floor of my office.  My other two office mates are usually gone by then.  Instead, I left at my normal 4:30, no nap accomplished because our office manager stayed late.  Lunch was also light, creamy peanut butter on a leftover hamburger bun, so I was moaning for some food.  Life was as tough as it gets for this guy.

I rushed home, popped a leftover grilled hamburger patty and two corn on the cobs into the microwave.  As I greedily consumed the luscious leftovers, I anticipated the call of the couch, a nap on the horizon.  My couch has five stuffed pillows on it, so I knew that the hamburger (mayo with ketchup and huge huge huge hamburger dill pickles) would send me into snooze heaven.  I was not disappointed.  Furious 7 was on cable, one of the worst movies everrrrrrrrrrr, so I was off to the sheep counting races.

10 minutes later, my semi conscious mind reminded me that it was a perfect evening to ride.  The woods would be pristine, as would be the single track.  It was freaking 82 degrees with a tiny breeze.  GET OFF OF THE COUCH, YOU SLUG.

So, I listened to my guilty conscience, changed into my mountain biking attire (much more socially acceptable than the laughable road attire… no affable humors for me).  The bike fit into it’s normal space behind my car, quickly, and I was off to the trails.  ETA was close to 7 PM.  Surely (I won’t call you Shirley) no one would be there.

Wrong.

Five of the fastest young men on the planet arrived at the trail parking lot about the same time I pulled in.  They know me.  I am a regular.  I could not escape.

Are you going to ride with us, they inquired.

Oh no, I wouldn’t want to hold you back, I replied.

You know we don’t care, they retorted.

Poop.  Fiddlesticks.  Why in the world would these 20 something guys who ride like the wind want to ride with this old couch loving man?  They did, however.  Crap, what in the world was I getting into.  I knew.  I have been out on the trails with them before.  I can hang, but it’s balls out.  Poop poop poop.  POOP!

I rode with them, hung with them on most of the trails, gritted my teeth and rode the way I know that I am supposed to.  By the end, I was toast, but happy that I finished with them.

I will sleep well tonight.

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