No kidding! There may be a place for that kind of drivel, but wherever that place is, I don't want to be there. By the way, a funny thing happened to me out in the woods about two weeks ago. My son and I were out at Muenster, back in the woods, you know the high trail that runs along the creek as it nears the river. It's one of our favorite sections, with lots of banked turns, some whoops, and some medium-gnarly sections here and there; nothing really difficult, just a few places where you have to loft over a rock or two to make it up the hill, some mudholes after it rains, you know the trail. Anyway, Jimmy and I were re-grouping at a crossroads, and discussing which trail to take, when a trio of riders comes into view. One guy is riding in jeans and tennis shoes, on an old rat-bike Jap motocrosser of the yellow variety. Another guy is in street clothes and no helmet, mounted on an old CR 500, and he's stalling it every 10 feet. I don't remember what the other guy was riding, but it was green, and he seemed to have a helmet and boots, and probably pants, but I didn't notice.
Anyway, they struggle into view, and stop just down the trail from us. The CR 500 guy is bull-dogging his mild-mannered trail bike through a muddy rut, and it's obvious the bike is geared for about 100 mph. The leader isn't doing much better, and as he lurches to a stop, he says to us, with obvious frustration: "Is it all like this out here? This is awful!"
Well, it's a commonly known fact that Muenster is one of the worst places to ride in the country, as it has only about 2,500 acres filled with hundreds of miles of trails traversing a wide variety of terrain from sandy whoops to exquisite single-track, to rocky hardpack. I can see why they were disappointed. "No," I said, "it's not all like this. Some of it is really gnarly."
"Man," he said. "This sucks. Where's all the jumps?"
I overlooked his minor grammatical faux pas in using a singular conjugation of the verb with a plural subject, thinking that in all probability he would not enjoy a discussion on that matter, and told him that all of the best jumps, along with the easiest riding for cool guys like him and his buddies were in a little grove of trees known as Bill's Woods, and I thoughtfully pointed him in the right direction. I said that I thought the CR 500 guy, with a first gear high enough to hit 60, would particularly enjoy Bill's Woods.
They headed that way, but I never really had a chance to ask them how they liked it, as they seem to have left early for the day. At least I guess they did; we never saw them again. Wonder why they left their truck parked down by the sand pit, though? Maybe they found some other way home.