Ran in to the DRJ at Lost Valley

I can't believe it. There I was shredding Schucks legs off on the singletrack going counter clockwise at Lost Valley tonight. And no sooner had I turned around to count the seconds that he was behind me, bink, my chain goes. Now, I have been known to have a mechanical or two in my day. Nothing too over the top, some broken spokes, a sheared rear D, a broken handlebar, the chainring of the month syndrome, whatever. I suck at bike maintenance. I know this.

The problem was that, while I was in good company, Mike Gibson, newest member of our training gig, a pretty handy guy, knows how to screw in bolts and stuff, he was a good one to have with. Then there is Schuck, who basically runs the Chrystler plant down in Fenton. If he can build cars he can break a chain, check. Ole Mikey Wise of the old Sunset Days joined us too. He could carve a canoe out of a toothpick for gawds sake, bring him along. I was in great hands with this group of grease monkeys, that is why I hang out with them--to fix my bike when it breaks 5 miles from the car. Mom would be proud of my good decision making. Schuck had it fixed in less time than it takes me to lube my chain. Thanks Eric.

The problem? Just as I was directing the efforts of my mechanic symposium, up rolls who else but the friggin DRJ. Ploch, nice guy Jim Krewit, Brendon, all happy and laughing and stuff. They are always there to remind me of how bad my bike maintenance is-like some fire alarm goes off and down comes Ploch on some brass pole, suiting up quick, to get a look at the old fat guy with the broken chain. Last week it was Paul and Jim, a broken spoke. A chainring with Bauer a few days before that. I am cursed with these pythons.

I snapped this photo as they tossed a gu at my feet.