Back in Yonder Times when targets were painted red and white, folks would have contests trying to hit that target with various forms of weaponry. Mostly primitive projectiles (since it was Yonder Times) like spears and bows. And perhaps an atlatl. When a competitor hit the white part of the target, which was worth fewer points, it was referred to as “missing the red”.
Right now, I am missing the red. But in a different, less made up way. Yes, it’s true. The above is completely fabricated nonsense. But you probably knew that.
Nonetheless, I am craving some time on snaky desert singletrack. Badly. And while the snowy Wasatch is beautiful and wonderful and all those other superlatives, it can, at times, be rather gloomy and, with our current snow pack, even spooky. The fact that the ICUP season opener is a little more than six weeks away is also adding fuel to that fire. I miss St. George. Potatoes and all.
And therein is the problem. I can’t go. Not for two weeks. Why? This is why! And that* requires two weeks of no-bike time. Which would have been perfect had I been recovering, as planned, from Camp Lynda, all week long. Alas, I am now sitting fidgety and with a dull ache in my lower abdomen wishing I could ride the new Presidio on the snowy roads, or flee to the desert and turn laps on Stuki Springs and the Hurricane Rim.
*If you are considering such a procedure, I say, “do it!” If even for the small dosage of Valium you are required to take before hand. I was in a fantastic mood while the Doc tugged and pulled and pinched and cut and cauterized. And as a bonus, my wife is rather happy. Exactly as is depicted on the brochure I was given. Seriously. This might be the creepiest pencil sketch I’ve ever seen:
Where was I? Right, St. George. As Liz Lemon says so often, “I want to go to there“. And in a couple of weeks, I will.
Who’s with me?