It was rad. For the first time in weeks, my legs didn't feel like passengers hitching a free ride on my bike and weighing me down. They weren't exactly in party mode either, but it's nice not feeling like you have useless appendages attached to your hips!
Anyway, it was all a bit strange, I am riding up Collins rd to drop into Rocket Frog track (which, by the way, has so many muddy hole-y bits in it at the moment that apparently beginners are going over the hangers on the trail in droves—oh to be a fly on the wall at 9am on Saturday!) and this black Holden ute is parked across the trail head. This happens sometimes, mostly on weekends, when people don't use the carpark.
Anyhoo, grinding up Collins Rd, someone opens the door of the ute and pops their head out. They say something, that I don't really hear, so I stop and the guys says; "Hey, how's it going?"
Am I supposed to be creeped out now? Is this a guy that preys on female MTB'ers at the top of the easy trail, cuts them up with an axe and makes lampshades out of their skin (aka: Ed Gein style)?
I say hi, obviously not wanting to accuse this potential axe-murderer of being so, in case it incites unstoppable rage.
"Hey, are you going riding? Can I come along?" He says.
I say...sure—but I am meeting a friend.
He goes to get his stuff, as he walks to the back of his tarped-up ute tray, I am convinced he may be an axe murderer, but also feel okay with my two wheels and miles of bush all around. Despite my warped sense of navigation.
Alas, he pulls a Scott hardtail from the back of the car, and picks up a helmet and a hydrapak. I feel a little less creeped out now.
I blast it down Rocket Frog, just testing his mettle. He doesn't get dropped so I decide he can ride with us.
We meet Erin at the picnic area...and I introduce Chris (the appendage). It was okay!
Erin and I gas-bagged throughout the whole ride, I can hear Chris breathing heavily in the background. After we have done a clean sweep of all the trails on that side of the park, we climb back up to the top of Rocket Frog.
Chris asks..."Where are you going now?".
We say...oh down that trail then up here then back down then across the road, up the DH track..across and down...
It;s then that he points out his car, "that's my car", he says. I think he had:
a. Had enough of riding behind two girls and was a bit pooped after 45 minutes; or,
b. Was sick of hearing us natter on about bullshit.
Either way, the axe murderer (I still have reservations...) left us and we rode some more trails.
I did a bit of this:
But going uphill, over a log and on an XC bike. But it's all good. I have no idea how I ragged it on the log I did—bizzare! My technical inconsistency bamboozles me at times.
Anyway, now I am feeling quite content following a double-macchiato, a serve of leftovers and now a tea.
I love days off, mountain biking in the sun and picking strange men up off the side of the road!