About two weeks ago I’m on one of my travel days through the west coast for Zumiez Couch Tour. I love this gig cuz it’s laid back as hell, 12 hits in a matter of 4.5 weeks, so I get a lot of down time. So in between San Francisco and Salt Lake City, we stop in the Lake Tahoe region of Truckee, CA. A beautiful mountain town that’s been getting a little snow here and there. I’ve been bragging about my biking skills to Kevin, a 27 year old Spyoptic rep and Erik, a 24 year old Vestal rep. Which is the bus I’m rolling on.
I’m thinking we’re gonna rent bikes, go on some trails, stop off a lake, take a smoke break, ride on and look at some nature. Maybe see an elk or a bear (I got two spliffs in my socks, bye the bye). Nope!
First off: we had to hit at least five hills before we even hit a trail, I’m struggling! Then we hit the rugged Truckee Trails, which aren’t paved. I’m sensing I’ve overestimated myself but I gotta save face and I’m not doing a good job of it, I’m tripping hard! Meanwhile, Erik is off-roading off the off-road, hopping shit like an overeager lynx on wheels, fucking show off.
And at first I’m in the middle of the pack but I soon am falling behind Kevin too. These motherfuckers got a city boy going through trees and leaves! I’m like the clown in a comic sketch. I mean the narrowest of the narrow roads, steady climbing, rolling over nothing but gravel and seeing chipmunks. Erik is the ring leader for sure and I’m on fumes four miles into the climb and am at peace with being pixilated cougar meat.
I’m like, “Man, shouldn’t we go back? We been out here an hour!”
“Nu unh!” Erik says, “we only been out here 45 minutes!” So I don’t say shit else, cuz I wanna reserve all I can, until an hour later I see snow right beside me and I’m doing 23 mph bumps, hitting my nuts on the gooseneck and killing my shins but still looking cool and am like, “why didn’t we get helmets and why am I seeing “snow!?!?”
Erik says “follow the wires!”
I’m like, “Is this mothafucka serious! There are wires all over this place!”
“I’m bummed,” as the extreme outdoor sport cats say. Needless to say we rode another three miles to get back to the finish line… my spooky hotel! Hey man! I’m 38 and I just did 2.5 hours of off-road mountain biking with young ass men. I’m in good shape but I ain’t 20-something no more, it’s a young mans game. Would I do it again? Yep, but damn, take it easy on a old man, motherfuckers–pleease! – GW