An Autobiographical Photo Essay in Seven Frames.
I came home from work in a foul mood, even with it being Friday. Long story. I decided to head out and get what I could pre-Hurricane Dorian. My mood didn’t improve much when:
[Frame 1] 15 minutes into my ride I was smacked with an exceptional exhibit of just how stupid we humans really are. I rode on, sulking, and had a nice climb through some sun-doppled ferns [2]
where I alternately ruminated on our eminent demise and the beauty and silence I was immersed within. I apparently was too immersed however, and missed my turn – the one that led to the panoramic view spot I was aiming for and instead dumped me at a dead end clearcut. I bushwacked sideways for 15 minutes or so through dense woods (leaving a considerable amount of leg skin in the underbrush) to a singletrack trail I was familiar with. I rode aways and managed to score an alternate panoramic view [3].
The drawback to this whole detour was having to navigate a bunch of gnarly singletrack on an entirely inappropriate bicycle for such a task, undoing all the fine work my chiropractor has done over the last 2 weeks [4,5].
I quested on to try and find the original scenic spot I’d ventured out looking for but was thwarted by poor memory and decided to bail out down a monstrous, rutted, washed-out fire road downhill [6]
that was far better suited to a bike with any suspension as opposed to none. I can still hear my tires and rims cursing me from the garage. At that point, I popped out to a nice paved ride home into the sunset [7] in time for chili-dog casserole. The. End.
