The Return to Miami, Impressions of the Boat, and Random Musings!
When we last left off, our stay in Key West was pretty much wrapped up. We awoke Monday morning with thoughts of home on our mind. I was thinking about the movie "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles," as we would be boating 165 miles, catching a plane 1200 miles to Chicago, and driving home from O'hare Airport. If everything went according to schedule, we would be leaving Key West at 10am Eastern Time, and arriving at home at approximately 1am Central Standard Time. A long day to be sure.
Pat and crew showed up from their fancy digs on Sunset Key with a laughably expensive itemized bill, including a "Valet Fee" for an island with no cars! We gassed up and hooked up with Laszlo Lukacs and his crew in another 37 Active Thunder, and pointed bows north..into the wind. Yes folks, there had been a steady wind out of the north all weekend, with seas forecast to be 5-7 feet, we were hoping for the best. With that forecast, I was happy to leave the driving duties to Pat. Leaving Key West, the waves were not bad at all, but as we progressed northward towards Marathon, they grew and grew. Add to that the fun we had with the occasional rain shower, and it was an interesting ride to be sure. We were passed by a 40 Skater JUST before things really turned ugly. The seas were tossed washing-machine style, probably a solid 3 foot with occasional 5 foot holes. The Skater never left our horizon, and slowly but surely came back to us, even though we were only running about 45 mph....my guess is the difference in comfort between standing and sitting in that water was what motivated the Skater captain to take it easy on his crew. Pat expertly guided the boat...dodging crab traps and bigger holes the entire way, and losing Laszlo in the process (he wisely went at his own pace). We stopped for lunch at the Tiki Bar at Marathon, then I climbed behind the wheel for inside run (no waves!). After very nearly running out of gas, we splashed some more in the tank ($5.20/gallon!!!!) and continued on to Miami.
Upon arrival in our destination city, Pat made an executive decision to head out to the Atlantic rather than idle through downtown Miami to return to the trailer at Haulover. I was driving, and he turned to me with a smile and said "You should probably let me drive. In about five minutes, you will wish you did anyway." I deferred and gave him the wheel. It turned out, he was wrong. It was only about THREE minutes until we hit the nastiest water we had seen the entire trip. Pat did his best to keep us dry, but it was somewhat in vain. The waves were solid 5 footers, with an occasional ocean roller towering overhead. We could only run about 30 mph, but, once again, Mr. Active Thunder safely guided us through the melee, and after a LONG 15 minutes or so, we shot through the Haulover Inlet and back to the waiting truck and trailer....our aquatic adventure concluded.
After briefly considering pulling the entire rig up to the departure gate at Ft. Lauderdale International, we went back to Active Thunder central, changed clothes, said our repeated "thank yous" and goodbyes, and headed to the airport. Our flight was only slightly delayed, and we crossed the threshold of our homestead right on time....1am...exhausted, but very, very happy.
The BOAT
Now its my turn to attempt to justify my journalism degree and create a short review of our newly purchased floating hunk of fiberglass fun. Many have asked "How did you like the boat?" or "Was the boat everything you thought it would be?" My answers have been more definitive than any others that I could give with regard to this entire adventure...YES...I LOVE THE BOAT. Granted, proper journalism would maintain an objective perspective, and I can hardly be considered an objective source since I had just spent a couple dollars on the actual PURCHASE. However, I am allowed to say that the boat was nice as I had expected, and more. We ran it through water that, unless we are somehow caught in a majorly unavoidable situation, I hope to NEVER have to deal with...and the boat handled it with aplomb. This greatly helps my confidence as an owner and a driver, knowing that it will get me and my crew home safely, even in the nastiness. Then, there was the cabin. One of the main reasons we wanted to get a larger boat was for a more spacious cabin, and that of the Active Thunder has few competitors. We jumped right in and slept on the boat three nights in a row, and it was AMAZING. An actual usable head (bathroom for the landlubber) with hot and cold running water, a nice stereo, refrigerator, microwave, flat-screen TV/DVD, and air conditioning...it was like going from a pop-up camper to a Class A motorhome. Michelle had some doubts about the boat, but they were allayed with much haste and she likes it as much as I do. Success. Yet another thanks to Pat and Active Thunder. What an amazing product.
Random Musings
-One should avoid travel with me if at all possible. Of the 6 flights back and forth to Florida since July, 5 of them were delayed in some way. Weather, damage to plane, and even a pilot that didn't show up...travel with Mike generally sucks.
-Boating in Florida is NOT for me. Seeing salt spray on the boat makes me very unhappy...but salt spray is always there! I wash my boats too much as it is...I would go insane in Florida.
-Channel markers are to be taken seriously. If they are not, severe consequences will occur. Pay attention to your navigator(s). I had at least three navigators as all times.
-Duval Street is the most fun single street I have ever been on.
-Key West is a very strange mixture of extreme wealth and hippies that couldn't care less about money.
-I will most likely never spend that much money in fuel in one weekend again.
-Powerboaters don't do anything "small." A 37 foot boat that goes 85 miles per hour ostensibly should not be the smallest and slowest boat on any run...but it was damn close on this one!
-EVERY frozen and/or tropical drink should be ordered with a "floater." A shot of Bacardi 151 in a test tube on top! It is also very important to MIX said rum into the drink before consuming!
-Boating is really a great way to see the Keys
-Bicycles are a great way to see Key West
and, finally,
-You can do a lot with a dollar in Key West
Monday, November 26, 2012
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Key West Poker Run - Part II
I awoke Saturday morning with a fuzzy notion of what had happened the night before. I say this mostly because I was still in awe of where exactly I was, but it also had something to do with the rum. Friday night we had cleaned up and grabbed a cab to Duval St. for the boat parade. No...the boats were not actually parading, all of the race teams had them lined up and the street was closed off for blocks with thousands of people craning necks at scantily clad women dancing on boats, gawking at monster pieces of fiberglass, and catching beads raining down from above. We met up with some of our oldest boating friends from Chicago, Jimmy and Ginny Vos and their friends, people that were there at the very beginning of our boating lifestyle, which put a very nice perspective on our dream trip. It helped that they are really fun people, and that they had been making this trip for over 20 years! Within minutes of them leaving, we hooked up with ANOTHER pair we'd become friends with over the years, Bob and Heidi Mathers from Boyne City, Michigan. We had a couple cocktails with them and wandered the streets a bit, and when they called it a night, we ended up right back with the Chicago folks again. Its a strange small world, this offshore boating community...and full of some of the nicest people I've ever met. We finished off the night by checking out the Poker Run village around the Galleon, where many of the big dogs were parked. I have seen a lot of horsepower before, but NOTHING has compared to this. Millions of dollars in fiberglass, carbon fiber, and gleaming metal glowing with LED accents...it was breathtaking.
Anyway, Michelle was still enjoying the comforts of our luxury accommodations, so I did my usual morning-on-the-boat activity...I quick-waxed everything above the rubrail (I had sent down a bottle of wax and some towels the week before!). When I finished, I took a walk around our marina to check out our neighbors. On my finger pier, we had the aforementioned MTI and Outerlimits, along with a 45 Sonic, a 37 Hustler Talon, a 34 Hustler Cheetah, a 38 Cigarette Flatdeck, and a 28 Skater...with twin 300 hp outboards. One pier over, there was a Statement! V, a 39 Cigarette Top Gun Unlimited, two 38 Cigarette Top Guns, a 41 Apache catamaran, and a 52 Outerlimits. These are boats that have paint jobs that cost more than my first boat. It was like a tiny slice of Mike heaven. We also had the fortunate position of being in the marina with the best launch ramp, so Michelle's wake-up call on Saturday morning was the sound of Bill Pyburn's 190 mph Skater "Pure Platinum" roaring to life.
Our crew was a little late getting rolling on Saturday, as a reservation snafu wound up with them staying on Sunset Key, so they were at the mercy of the ferry over to Cayo Hueso. Plus, it was cloudy and windy, so we were hesitant to embark upon the day's journey over to Boca Grande, an deserted strip of sandy beach about 15 miles away. Eventually, the sun came out, our crew arrived, and we were off, tailing a 42 Cigarette and being tailed by a helicopter taking pics and video of us. By the time we got there, all of the protected spots on the beach were taken. We attempted to beach the boat, but the waves kept us bouncing off the bottom, so Pat pulled the plug and Mike and I jumped in the water to drag the boat off to deeper water. While we were engaged in this activity, there was a shout from onboard the boat, directing our attention to a large, shadowy figure swimming out way....or should I say MY way. Now...I am paranoid of all ocean creatures...I have seen Jaws and I know what's down there and what they can do... I saw the figure and immediately recognised it as a stingray, and despite the fact that everyone says they are gentle creatures and wouldn't harm you, I can assure you that having one swimming towards you when you are waist deep is disconcerting. I maintained my composure, and forced myself to fight my instinct of launching out of the water and into the boat...you know...for the sake of my dignity and all that. We do not have such things in Lake Michigan. Pat had procured a couple pounds of stone crab, and his friends in the Cigarette had steaks...our intention was a nice barbecue on the beach. Mother Nature had other plans, however, and the constant wind and waves prevented our anchors from taking hold, and after about an hour of indecision, we finally gave up and headed back, disappointed....and very hungry. We broke out the stone crab back at the marina, with the Florida natives firing the stuff down like it was candy. I tasted some, but my menial penchant for trying new foods took over, and I had some Doritoes and beer to sate my hunger. I cleaned the boat again as well. After a while, the crew took off back to Sunset Key, and Michelle and I cleaned up for the Poker Run dinner....and broke out the rum.
We took a cab over to Duval Street, and made our way over to the Conch Republic, where, upon entering we found that the video playing on the huge outdoor screen was of US. Way cool! We finally got our Poker Run swag....a nice duffel bag, shirts, hats, and a bunch of beer coozies, and drew our cards...a pair of 5s...typical. We left the bag in a safe place, and rolled into dinner, quickly finding out that we knew NOBODY there. So, we had a couple drinks and ate our food...and the worst thing EVER began to happen: we got tired. This was SATURDAY NIGHT AT KEY WEST...we had to rally! We walked a couple laps around the area, and finally settled in to a spot at the bar and ordered up a couple rum'n'cokes. And just like that, right when the night was about to go south...the people next to us struck up a conversation. Boom. We were back in the game. I've said it a million times....I am amazed at how nice the people in the offshore boating community are in general. We talked to these people for twenty minutes and they invited us over to their house on the Gulf Coast in the spring! Crazy! In the meantime, our Chicago friend Trent had shown up and sent a couple shots our way....momentum was picking up! After that, a quick trip around the bar found us in the company of Jim Porter and Kirk Jurinek, more Chicago boaters enjoying their annual pilgrimage to Key West. We ended up sticking with them and moving on to Hogsbreath Saloon (which makes a MEAN Sailor Jerry and Coke...you have to SIP them!). Kirk then decided that we, as Key West newbies, really needed to experience exactly what the place was all about, We were whisked away in a cab... and deposited back at the marina by another cab at 3:30 am. The interim period represented by ellipses in that sentence is best left to the reader's imagination...but it was awesome.
Sunday morning, I was up at 7:30 am...and I felt GREAT. Now, I generally have the ability to drink a LOT in an evening and function well on very little sleep...the hangover hits a couple hours into the day. Not this time. I was a little shaky, and pounded a bunch of Gatorade and a breakfast burrito to be on the safe side, but I suffered no ill effects. I credit drinking good rum. Michelle was running a little rough when she was finally roused out of bed by the Turbine Express boat, Pure Platinum and Jim Lee's 46 Skater "Freedom US 1" rolling to the launch ramp. By repeating the mantra, "I will NOT lose this day" many, many times, she was able to get herself going...I was impressed with her mental fortitude. Plus, she wanted to take the boat out to watch the races. We fired up the engines and embarked upon our first solo journey, carefully following the navigational markers out of the marina and into the bay...right on to the race course itself. We had heard that they close the entrance to our marina during the races, and knew we had just over an hour before that happened, so we decided to go for a little blast. Only...I didn't know WHERE to go! I followed the route we had used when we came into Key West, only to find 4 foot rollers out past the end of the island. Not wishing to beat ourselves or the boat, I turned back around and ran past the gathering crowds of Mallory Square. We were then pretty much out of "known" real estate...with shallow spots and shoals lurking everywhere and a nervous captain at the helm...not very fun. The wind was still blowing pretty good, so I doubted our anchor would hold should we decide to watch the races out there. Plan B would be to ask a larger cruiser if we could just toss them a line and swing off their anchor...but I was feeling a bit shy and didn't want to impose on anyone...so we literally idled up and down the spectator fleet four times! We passed one cruiser twice, and both times, a woman on board waved at us happily...so I figured...that is the person I will ask to tie to. So I did. She answered, but neither Michelle nor I could understand a WORD of what she said...she was clearing hitting the sauce early! I gave up and headed back to the marina, figuring it'd be less stressful to watch from land, anyway. I snuck the boat between the MTI, a Cigarette, and a concrete pole for my first docking success...and I was happy.
We rented bikes across the street from our marina, and pedaled down to Mallory Square, catching the middle of the second race from a small beach before moving on to the main seawall for the conclusion and interim period before the final race. We stood in the crowd that grew to 5 deep as the Superboat Unlimited class hit the water, and enjoyed the thrill of watching and hearing them thunder past 50 feet away at speeds approaching 150 mph. There is NOTHING like it...it gives you goosebumps. After the first couple laps, we decided to move to another vantage point, and jumped on the bikes again, heading over to Ft. Zachary Taylor at the end of the island. The water was much rougher over there, as it had been in the morning, so our view from atop the fort was pretty thrilling, as we watched the boats getting some serious air and then mashing the throttles down for the front stretch. Pretty cool, I must say. The bicycles proved to be a most excellent decision, as the traffic jam leaving the fort and beach area after the race was quite large...and we just pedaled right by. We had called our Chicago friends to see if they wanted to come and check out the new boat, and by the time we had ridden back to the marina and gotten an ice cream cone, they were stepping out of a cab with a bottle of champagne to toast the new ride. We took them out for a sunset ride, and it was not lost upon me how awesome it was to be enjoying the company of these people who had been so instrumental in the foundation of my boating life so many years ago. Another dream come true.
We finished off the day with another bike ride down to Duval Street, and a nice dinner by ourselves, reminiscing about the events that had led to this trip, and also lamenting the fact that we had to go home tomorrow.
Anyway, Michelle was still enjoying the comforts of our luxury accommodations, so I did my usual morning-on-the-boat activity...I quick-waxed everything above the rubrail (I had sent down a bottle of wax and some towels the week before!). When I finished, I took a walk around our marina to check out our neighbors. On my finger pier, we had the aforementioned MTI and Outerlimits, along with a 45 Sonic, a 37 Hustler Talon, a 34 Hustler Cheetah, a 38 Cigarette Flatdeck, and a 28 Skater...with twin 300 hp outboards. One pier over, there was a Statement! V, a 39 Cigarette Top Gun Unlimited, two 38 Cigarette Top Guns, a 41 Apache catamaran, and a 52 Outerlimits. These are boats that have paint jobs that cost more than my first boat. It was like a tiny slice of Mike heaven. We also had the fortunate position of being in the marina with the best launch ramp, so Michelle's wake-up call on Saturday morning was the sound of Bill Pyburn's 190 mph Skater "Pure Platinum" roaring to life.
Our crew was a little late getting rolling on Saturday, as a reservation snafu wound up with them staying on Sunset Key, so they were at the mercy of the ferry over to Cayo Hueso. Plus, it was cloudy and windy, so we were hesitant to embark upon the day's journey over to Boca Grande, an deserted strip of sandy beach about 15 miles away. Eventually, the sun came out, our crew arrived, and we were off, tailing a 42 Cigarette and being tailed by a helicopter taking pics and video of us. By the time we got there, all of the protected spots on the beach were taken. We attempted to beach the boat, but the waves kept us bouncing off the bottom, so Pat pulled the plug and Mike and I jumped in the water to drag the boat off to deeper water. While we were engaged in this activity, there was a shout from onboard the boat, directing our attention to a large, shadowy figure swimming out way....or should I say MY way. Now...I am paranoid of all ocean creatures...I have seen Jaws and I know what's down there and what they can do... I saw the figure and immediately recognised it as a stingray, and despite the fact that everyone says they are gentle creatures and wouldn't harm you, I can assure you that having one swimming towards you when you are waist deep is disconcerting. I maintained my composure, and forced myself to fight my instinct of launching out of the water and into the boat...you know...for the sake of my dignity and all that. We do not have such things in Lake Michigan. Pat had procured a couple pounds of stone crab, and his friends in the Cigarette had steaks...our intention was a nice barbecue on the beach. Mother Nature had other plans, however, and the constant wind and waves prevented our anchors from taking hold, and after about an hour of indecision, we finally gave up and headed back, disappointed....and very hungry. We broke out the stone crab back at the marina, with the Florida natives firing the stuff down like it was candy. I tasted some, but my menial penchant for trying new foods took over, and I had some Doritoes and beer to sate my hunger. I cleaned the boat again as well. After a while, the crew took off back to Sunset Key, and Michelle and I cleaned up for the Poker Run dinner....and broke out the rum.
We took a cab over to Duval Street, and made our way over to the Conch Republic, where, upon entering we found that the video playing on the huge outdoor screen was of US. Way cool! We finally got our Poker Run swag....a nice duffel bag, shirts, hats, and a bunch of beer coozies, and drew our cards...a pair of 5s...typical. We left the bag in a safe place, and rolled into dinner, quickly finding out that we knew NOBODY there. So, we had a couple drinks and ate our food...and the worst thing EVER began to happen: we got tired. This was SATURDAY NIGHT AT KEY WEST...we had to rally! We walked a couple laps around the area, and finally settled in to a spot at the bar and ordered up a couple rum'n'cokes. And just like that, right when the night was about to go south...the people next to us struck up a conversation. Boom. We were back in the game. I've said it a million times....I am amazed at how nice the people in the offshore boating community are in general. We talked to these people for twenty minutes and they invited us over to their house on the Gulf Coast in the spring! Crazy! In the meantime, our Chicago friend Trent had shown up and sent a couple shots our way....momentum was picking up! After that, a quick trip around the bar found us in the company of Jim Porter and Kirk Jurinek, more Chicago boaters enjoying their annual pilgrimage to Key West. We ended up sticking with them and moving on to Hogsbreath Saloon (which makes a MEAN Sailor Jerry and Coke...you have to SIP them!). Kirk then decided that we, as Key West newbies, really needed to experience exactly what the place was all about, We were whisked away in a cab... and deposited back at the marina by another cab at 3:30 am. The interim period represented by ellipses in that sentence is best left to the reader's imagination...but it was awesome.
Sunday morning, I was up at 7:30 am...and I felt GREAT. Now, I generally have the ability to drink a LOT in an evening and function well on very little sleep...the hangover hits a couple hours into the day. Not this time. I was a little shaky, and pounded a bunch of Gatorade and a breakfast burrito to be on the safe side, but I suffered no ill effects. I credit drinking good rum. Michelle was running a little rough when she was finally roused out of bed by the Turbine Express boat, Pure Platinum and Jim Lee's 46 Skater "Freedom US 1" rolling to the launch ramp. By repeating the mantra, "I will NOT lose this day" many, many times, she was able to get herself going...I was impressed with her mental fortitude. Plus, she wanted to take the boat out to watch the races. We fired up the engines and embarked upon our first solo journey, carefully following the navigational markers out of the marina and into the bay...right on to the race course itself. We had heard that they close the entrance to our marina during the races, and knew we had just over an hour before that happened, so we decided to go for a little blast. Only...I didn't know WHERE to go! I followed the route we had used when we came into Key West, only to find 4 foot rollers out past the end of the island. Not wishing to beat ourselves or the boat, I turned back around and ran past the gathering crowds of Mallory Square. We were then pretty much out of "known" real estate...with shallow spots and shoals lurking everywhere and a nervous captain at the helm...not very fun. The wind was still blowing pretty good, so I doubted our anchor would hold should we decide to watch the races out there. Plan B would be to ask a larger cruiser if we could just toss them a line and swing off their anchor...but I was feeling a bit shy and didn't want to impose on anyone...so we literally idled up and down the spectator fleet four times! We passed one cruiser twice, and both times, a woman on board waved at us happily...so I figured...that is the person I will ask to tie to. So I did. She answered, but neither Michelle nor I could understand a WORD of what she said...she was clearing hitting the sauce early! I gave up and headed back to the marina, figuring it'd be less stressful to watch from land, anyway. I snuck the boat between the MTI, a Cigarette, and a concrete pole for my first docking success...and I was happy.
We rented bikes across the street from our marina, and pedaled down to Mallory Square, catching the middle of the second race from a small beach before moving on to the main seawall for the conclusion and interim period before the final race. We stood in the crowd that grew to 5 deep as the Superboat Unlimited class hit the water, and enjoyed the thrill of watching and hearing them thunder past 50 feet away at speeds approaching 150 mph. There is NOTHING like it...it gives you goosebumps. After the first couple laps, we decided to move to another vantage point, and jumped on the bikes again, heading over to Ft. Zachary Taylor at the end of the island. The water was much rougher over there, as it had been in the morning, so our view from atop the fort was pretty thrilling, as we watched the boats getting some serious air and then mashing the throttles down for the front stretch. Pretty cool, I must say. The bicycles proved to be a most excellent decision, as the traffic jam leaving the fort and beach area after the race was quite large...and we just pedaled right by. We had called our Chicago friends to see if they wanted to come and check out the new boat, and by the time we had ridden back to the marina and gotten an ice cream cone, they were stepping out of a cab with a bottle of champagne to toast the new ride. We took them out for a sunset ride, and it was not lost upon me how awesome it was to be enjoying the company of these people who had been so instrumental in the foundation of my boating life so many years ago. Another dream come true.
We finished off the day with another bike ride down to Duval Street, and a nice dinner by ourselves, reminiscing about the events that had led to this trip, and also lamenting the fact that we had to go home tomorrow.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Key West Poker Run - One Man's Perspective Part 1
Background
A long, long time ago in this very galaxy, Mike and Michelle decided to buy a boat. Yes folks, its been just over ten years since we threw rational thought to the wind and decided to embark upon a journey that has resulted in thrilling highs, torturous lows, a ridiculous amount of fossil fuel consumed, and a great number of invaluable friendships.
To those unfamiliar with our particular brand of aquatic enjoyment, we like to go fast. Our first boat had twin 454 cubic inch V8s and went about 70 mph, our second boat ended up with 540 cubic inch motors and topped out at about 84 mph. "Go-fast" boats, "Cigarette" boats, "Muscle" boats...obnoxious, loud, and really, really fun is our modus operandi.
The Dream
Way back when the whole thing started, I had a dream. My dream was to drive my boat through Government Cut in Miami, Florida, the birthplace of the offshore boat. Some of you might remember the scene in the opening credits of the greatest television show ever produced, Miami Vice, when a bunch of boats were racing around a turn towards a city....yeah...that was it. I thought...how AWESOME would it be if I was to buy a boat in Florida and step into Sonny Crockett's sockless loafers for one incredible moment. It was definitely a long shot, living around Chicago as I do, but, I kept that dream alive in the back of my mind for many a year.
This summer, I found the key to making that dream a reality. After 7 years in our beloved 35 Fountain, we decided we wanted to go bigger. Years of experience with successes and failures in our boating lives had created its own criteria as to what we wanted in our ideal craft and, in the end, only one boat really fit the bill...the Active Thunder 37 Excess. A spacious, well-appointed cabin coupled with an efficient hull and turn-key, fuel-injected Mercury Racing 525 horsepower motors had us heading down to the AT factory in Pompano Beach in July, and finalizing the purchase of the Sommer Thunder in September. That in itself was something of a dream-come-true....but we decided to push the envelop even further, rationalizing our impetus with the mantra "You will only have one shot at this, might as well do it!" We would shoot for the Florida Powerboat Club Key West Poker Run...the big daddy of all Poker Runs, coupled with the offshore racing World Championships. We had to make it happen.
Ignition
I would like the preface this tale of adventure by first thanking two persons instrumental in making it possible...my father, Don Sommer, and Pat Haughey, the owner of Active Thunder Powerboats. Without my dad, well, I'm not sure where I'd be in life, and without Pat, I know exactly where I would have been...stuck on a shoal somewhere between Miami and Key West! Now...on with the tale....
Michelle's job as an educator only provides for three vacation days per school year. She had already used one to attend a wedding in Florida in September, so our trip was going to be somewhat abbreviated. This was ok, according to our trip coordinator/advisor/navigator Pat...our livers most likely could not handle a longer trip. We flew down to Ft. Lauderdale after work on Thursday, and spent the night in a hotel on the south side of Pompano Beach. Pat's buddy Mike and his girlfriend Megan picked us up the next morning in what could only be described as the quintessential Florida vehicle...a diesel Ford F250 jacked to the sky with HUGE mudders on it. It took a step stool to get in...actually, a ladder would have been more helpful. We arrived at Active Thunder headquarters at around 8:30, and found our boat and the remainder of our crew, Pat and Jim ready to roll. Now, I am usually a complete freak about time...I am ALWAYS on time, and hate being late more than just about anything in the world. For some reason, the relaxed manner of our Florida compatriots must have shorted out that sector of my brain, and I felt only a mild discomfort when we encountered a blocked highway and subsequent detour through the surface streets of Miami. It might have just been masked by the relief I felt knowing that I wasn't the one pulling a 37 foot boat through a city! The Poker Run was scheduled to leave at 10 am...I was nervous about missing the driver's meeting, but my anxiety was pretty much laughed off by Pat...something that would occur quite a lot in the ensuing days. Pat had been there and done that too many times to remember, and as a personal friend of Stu Jones, President of the Florida Powerboat Club, he assured me there would be no repercussions. We launched the boat at Haulover Inlet in Miami, and went out onto the Atlantic with Pat behind the wheel, the idea being let the actual experienced guy (he has owned the company since 1994) handle what we had heard were "less than optimal" conditions. I had NO problem with this...once again, no anxiety for me! After banging through some 3-4 foot waves on the ocean, we came into Government Cut (and yes, I did find myself kind of tearing up), and met the other Poker Run boats as they headed out. The Key West Poker Run is a multi-day undertaking, with groups leaving each day from Tuesday through Friday...this year totalling some 140 boats. Most everyone had gone down earlier, so our group only consisted of 12 or so.
I slid behind the wheel as we idled out, and got comfortable in the driver's bolster. I had only driven the boat one time prior to this on the day I closed the deal, and then it was only for about 15 minutes. I scanned the boats around us, and immediately recognised an old friend from Chicago, Trent Hammerlinck, on board a 38 Donzi ZR. He was shooting pictures and video with his phone like crazy...I was trying to keep my heart from beating out of my chest...and finding it difficult to look cool and relaxed whilst engaged in this activity. I had known from the start that despite the fact that we now owned this big and beautiful boat capable of speeds in the mid 80s, that we would be one of the smallest and slowest boats on this run. That became immediately apparent, when I scanned the fleet and found a 50 foot NorTech Super V, a 36 NorTech catamaran, a 42 Fountain, 39 Cigarette Top Gun, 37 Hustler Talon, and a couple of 36 Deep Impact center consoles. We hit the gas out into Biscayne Bay, where the water was flat as a pancake, and were soon running in the low 70s, trying to keep up with a couple of boats throwing rooster tails indicative of big horsepower and surface-piercing drives. Pat let me keep that up for a couple minutes to humor me, then suggested I slow down to run with the group behind me at a more reasonable (and fuel-friendly!) 55-60 mph. The idea, he said, is to make it to Key West and back WITHOUT BREAKING. I thought...this is a great idea...and we had something like 320 miles to go to make that happen! I slowed down.
We stopped for lunch about an hour into the run at Gilbert's Resort in Key Largo. There we stretched our legs, had a couple of cocktails, and met some of our fellow Poker Runners. People were walking down the docks taking pictures of the machinery, and I was proud to see that they were actually checking out my new ride. I answered some questions about the run from an Australian couple that had never seen anything like it...they were pretty impressed and amazed at the display of color and horsepower on hand. I made no bones about the speed of my boat compared to the 43 Motion cat and the 43 NorTech cat that were on hand...I proudly pointed out that those boats would likely run TWICE the speed of mine. They just smiled and shook their heads. I have never taken for granted the speed and power and MONEY it takes to keep these things going, and that has fostered a great appreciation and fascination for these machines that is probably pretty apparent to anyone unfortunate enough to be around me when I start reeling off boat statistics.
We got running again, dodging crab traps and passing through mangroves whilst running from one navigational marker to the next...things we DEFINITELY don't have to deal with boating on Lake Michigan. The first 120 miles of the run were the "inside" or Gulf side of the Keys, but in order to make the navigating easier (inside, the water was only 6-7 feet deep in the channel...MUCH shallower elsewhere), we would be going out into the Atlantic for the remaining 40 miles from Marathon Key to Key West. The north wind had been kicking all day....blowing over 20 mph...so there was a lot of chop on the ocean. Pat got behind the wheel again, and we ran very conservatively at around 45 mph through 4 foot following seas. That 40 miles seemed to take forever, but, finally, Key West was in sight, and in no time, we were cruising past Mallory Square and into our home for the next couple days, Garrison Bight. I wasted no time doing what I do best on the boat...CLEAN...she was covered with salt spray, and I do not rest until my boat is shiny...especially considering the company we were now keeping....a 44 MTI as our neighbor, and a 46 Outerlimits next to him...both boats worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Oh...and the rum came out for the first time this trip. We needed a celebratory cocktail or seven! Once we got all set up and Pat and the crew went off in search of their hotel room, I paused and thought...I cannot even believe I am here right now.
A long, long time ago in this very galaxy, Mike and Michelle decided to buy a boat. Yes folks, its been just over ten years since we threw rational thought to the wind and decided to embark upon a journey that has resulted in thrilling highs, torturous lows, a ridiculous amount of fossil fuel consumed, and a great number of invaluable friendships.
To those unfamiliar with our particular brand of aquatic enjoyment, we like to go fast. Our first boat had twin 454 cubic inch V8s and went about 70 mph, our second boat ended up with 540 cubic inch motors and topped out at about 84 mph. "Go-fast" boats, "Cigarette" boats, "Muscle" boats...obnoxious, loud, and really, really fun is our modus operandi.
The Dream
Way back when the whole thing started, I had a dream. My dream was to drive my boat through Government Cut in Miami, Florida, the birthplace of the offshore boat. Some of you might remember the scene in the opening credits of the greatest television show ever produced, Miami Vice, when a bunch of boats were racing around a turn towards a city....yeah...that was it. I thought...how AWESOME would it be if I was to buy a boat in Florida and step into Sonny Crockett's sockless loafers for one incredible moment. It was definitely a long shot, living around Chicago as I do, but, I kept that dream alive in the back of my mind for many a year.
This summer, I found the key to making that dream a reality. After 7 years in our beloved 35 Fountain, we decided we wanted to go bigger. Years of experience with successes and failures in our boating lives had created its own criteria as to what we wanted in our ideal craft and, in the end, only one boat really fit the bill...the Active Thunder 37 Excess. A spacious, well-appointed cabin coupled with an efficient hull and turn-key, fuel-injected Mercury Racing 525 horsepower motors had us heading down to the AT factory in Pompano Beach in July, and finalizing the purchase of the Sommer Thunder in September. That in itself was something of a dream-come-true....but we decided to push the envelop even further, rationalizing our impetus with the mantra "You will only have one shot at this, might as well do it!" We would shoot for the Florida Powerboat Club Key West Poker Run...the big daddy of all Poker Runs, coupled with the offshore racing World Championships. We had to make it happen.
Ignition
I would like the preface this tale of adventure by first thanking two persons instrumental in making it possible...my father, Don Sommer, and Pat Haughey, the owner of Active Thunder Powerboats. Without my dad, well, I'm not sure where I'd be in life, and without Pat, I know exactly where I would have been...stuck on a shoal somewhere between Miami and Key West! Now...on with the tale....
Michelle's job as an educator only provides for three vacation days per school year. She had already used one to attend a wedding in Florida in September, so our trip was going to be somewhat abbreviated. This was ok, according to our trip coordinator/advisor/navigator Pat...our livers most likely could not handle a longer trip. We flew down to Ft. Lauderdale after work on Thursday, and spent the night in a hotel on the south side of Pompano Beach. Pat's buddy Mike and his girlfriend Megan picked us up the next morning in what could only be described as the quintessential Florida vehicle...a diesel Ford F250 jacked to the sky with HUGE mudders on it. It took a step stool to get in...actually, a ladder would have been more helpful. We arrived at Active Thunder headquarters at around 8:30, and found our boat and the remainder of our crew, Pat and Jim ready to roll. Now, I am usually a complete freak about time...I am ALWAYS on time, and hate being late more than just about anything in the world. For some reason, the relaxed manner of our Florida compatriots must have shorted out that sector of my brain, and I felt only a mild discomfort when we encountered a blocked highway and subsequent detour through the surface streets of Miami. It might have just been masked by the relief I felt knowing that I wasn't the one pulling a 37 foot boat through a city! The Poker Run was scheduled to leave at 10 am...I was nervous about missing the driver's meeting, but my anxiety was pretty much laughed off by Pat...something that would occur quite a lot in the ensuing days. Pat had been there and done that too many times to remember, and as a personal friend of Stu Jones, President of the Florida Powerboat Club, he assured me there would be no repercussions. We launched the boat at Haulover Inlet in Miami, and went out onto the Atlantic with Pat behind the wheel, the idea being let the actual experienced guy (he has owned the company since 1994) handle what we had heard were "less than optimal" conditions. I had NO problem with this...once again, no anxiety for me! After banging through some 3-4 foot waves on the ocean, we came into Government Cut (and yes, I did find myself kind of tearing up), and met the other Poker Run boats as they headed out. The Key West Poker Run is a multi-day undertaking, with groups leaving each day from Tuesday through Friday...this year totalling some 140 boats. Most everyone had gone down earlier, so our group only consisted of 12 or so.
I slid behind the wheel as we idled out, and got comfortable in the driver's bolster. I had only driven the boat one time prior to this on the day I closed the deal, and then it was only for about 15 minutes. I scanned the boats around us, and immediately recognised an old friend from Chicago, Trent Hammerlinck, on board a 38 Donzi ZR. He was shooting pictures and video with his phone like crazy...I was trying to keep my heart from beating out of my chest...and finding it difficult to look cool and relaxed whilst engaged in this activity. I had known from the start that despite the fact that we now owned this big and beautiful boat capable of speeds in the mid 80s, that we would be one of the smallest and slowest boats on this run. That became immediately apparent, when I scanned the fleet and found a 50 foot NorTech Super V, a 36 NorTech catamaran, a 42 Fountain, 39 Cigarette Top Gun, 37 Hustler Talon, and a couple of 36 Deep Impact center consoles. We hit the gas out into Biscayne Bay, where the water was flat as a pancake, and were soon running in the low 70s, trying to keep up with a couple of boats throwing rooster tails indicative of big horsepower and surface-piercing drives. Pat let me keep that up for a couple minutes to humor me, then suggested I slow down to run with the group behind me at a more reasonable (and fuel-friendly!) 55-60 mph. The idea, he said, is to make it to Key West and back WITHOUT BREAKING. I thought...this is a great idea...and we had something like 320 miles to go to make that happen! I slowed down.
We stopped for lunch about an hour into the run at Gilbert's Resort in Key Largo. There we stretched our legs, had a couple of cocktails, and met some of our fellow Poker Runners. People were walking down the docks taking pictures of the machinery, and I was proud to see that they were actually checking out my new ride. I answered some questions about the run from an Australian couple that had never seen anything like it...they were pretty impressed and amazed at the display of color and horsepower on hand. I made no bones about the speed of my boat compared to the 43 Motion cat and the 43 NorTech cat that were on hand...I proudly pointed out that those boats would likely run TWICE the speed of mine. They just smiled and shook their heads. I have never taken for granted the speed and power and MONEY it takes to keep these things going, and that has fostered a great appreciation and fascination for these machines that is probably pretty apparent to anyone unfortunate enough to be around me when I start reeling off boat statistics.
We got running again, dodging crab traps and passing through mangroves whilst running from one navigational marker to the next...things we DEFINITELY don't have to deal with boating on Lake Michigan. The first 120 miles of the run were the "inside" or Gulf side of the Keys, but in order to make the navigating easier (inside, the water was only 6-7 feet deep in the channel...MUCH shallower elsewhere), we would be going out into the Atlantic for the remaining 40 miles from Marathon Key to Key West. The north wind had been kicking all day....blowing over 20 mph...so there was a lot of chop on the ocean. Pat got behind the wheel again, and we ran very conservatively at around 45 mph through 4 foot following seas. That 40 miles seemed to take forever, but, finally, Key West was in sight, and in no time, we were cruising past Mallory Square and into our home for the next couple days, Garrison Bight. I wasted no time doing what I do best on the boat...CLEAN...she was covered with salt spray, and I do not rest until my boat is shiny...especially considering the company we were now keeping....a 44 MTI as our neighbor, and a 46 Outerlimits next to him...both boats worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Oh...and the rum came out for the first time this trip. We needed a celebratory cocktail or seven! Once we got all set up and Pat and the crew went off in search of their hotel room, I paused and thought...I cannot even believe I am here right now.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
How to become a mountain biker.
In a sincere attempt to write things in this space that stay true to its intended message (I am a person who does stuff and then writes about it), I hereby present my personal insight into the world of the mountain biker.
HOW TO BECOME A MOUNTAIN BIKER.
The Decision.
Congratulations. You have made a decision that you feel will benefit your life as a whole, both physically, and mentally. You have decided that you want to be a mountain biker. The wind in your hair, the smile on your face, the bubbling laughter emanating from your epiglottis...ahh...those are the memories of your childhood on a bike. Why not bring those memories and associated wonderful feelings into your present day life? There is a forest preserve nearby with a lovely network of trails, and you still have that 1987 K-mart special "mountain bike" in the garage...and the shifters still work! Also...you have been riding the couch with an aplomb that Homer Simpson himself would find enviable, and mountain biking seems like a great way to get back in shape. Let's do this!
The First Ride
Arriving at the trailhead, you are immediately conscious of the glances the other bikers are firing off in your direction. You unload your trusty Roadmaster (we'll just say it's a Roadmaster for fun) with considerable effort...after all, it has to weigh 40 pounds...heavy gauge chromium molybdenum build strong to withstand all that offroad abuse. "Weight doesn't matter," you tell yourself. "That's why I have 18 gears." You have consulted a map and planned out a route for your initial excursion. 10 miles seems like a nice even number...how bad could that be? You swing a leg over your trusty steed, place your feet on the plastic pedals, and with a grunt, shove off into the wild. The bike comes alive under you as you leave the pavement...you tighten your grip on the bars as your front wheel dances a jig...bouncing off rocks and roots as you struggle to keep it pointed in the right direction. Your chain speaks to you loudly, saying in a high-pitched and constant chirp "You really should have oiled me, stupid!" Then, just as you are getting annoyed by the insolence of that chain....there is a hill in front of you. You take a deep breath, bear down, and mash the pedals. The hill is only 20 feet tall, but it is steep, and, apparently, you are in too high of a gear. You wrench the shifter, and the bike shifts...immediately. All of your weight is on one pedal...which suddenly has no resistance. Upon picking yourself and the bike up off the ground, so realize you have learned your first lesson on how to shift PRIOR to a hill. Excellent. You climb to the top of the hill and start down. WOW! This is GREAT! There's that feeling you had as a kid! BUT....now you are an adult...and there is a tree in front of you. Instinctively, you grab a handful of brake...your front brake. This time, as you are staring at the sky, you are thinking about how much more violent this fall was than the previous one. You gradually determine that all of your parts are still in working order, and, with slightly shaken resolve, you continue. Now...depending upon your strength as a person, either physically or mentally, you finish this ride. You come back to your car...legs shaking, arms aching, at least one article of clothing looks like it has gone through a cheese grater. You are covered with sweat and dirt...and, quite possibly blood. Your bike may or may not have survived. You are experiencing major discomfort in the crotchal region. In spite of all this, against all your better judgement, you find....you actually had FUN.
The Gateway
The above routine gets repeated two or three more times, when you realize that your bike just isn't going to cut it. You have oiled the offending chain in order to silence it. You have somewhat mastered the "art" of shifting, but the bike doesn't always shift when you want it to. Your brakes leave something to be desired as the pads are dry-rotted with age. You have an appointment in the near future with your dentist to replace the fillings that have been jarred loose from the abuse of the frame's stiffness. If you are going to do this, you are going to need a new ride. So, off to the local bike shop you go. Once again, you find yourself prostrate on the ground, this time staring at the ceiling of the bike shop, while your eyes and ears slowly come back into focus and pick up on the shop rat frantically attempting to decide whether or not he is getting paid enough to administer CPR to potential customers. Yes, a decent mountain bike is expensive. A good mountain bike, more so. And an excellent mountain bike easily eclipses the "I didn't pay that much for my first car" cliche. Plus, there are so many decisions to make. Shimano or SRAM? Front suspension or full suspension? 26 inch, 29 inch, or 650b wheel size? Your head spins, your wallet comes out...and the addiction BEGINS. At this point, you have spent, say $700 on a bike. You should chuckle softly to yourself, because, as the third person omniscient author, I KNOW that in the future, you will spend that kind of money on PARTS.
The Intro
You return to the trailhead with your new ride AND the helmet you wisely purchased, and emboldened by your new acquisition, you decide to actually speak to the other riders. This is where the whole mountain biking thing really separates itself from other disciplines of cycling...the other riders not only speak with you as an equal, but invite you to ride with them. Through this experience, you determine that you have a LOT to learn, but you find that imitating what the rider in front of you is doing seems to help in developing your own skills. Then comes the REAL bonus...at the end of the ride...they offer you a BEER. What started as a slippery slope has rapidly become a rollicking downhill into the morass of mountain bike addiction.
The Abyss
It will most likely happen gradually, and you might not even notice at first, but slowly, inevitably, your life is consumed by thoughts of....dirt. You schedule some rides with your new friends, and your ability improves greatly. Those hills that caused you more pain than you care to remember on the first few rides are now dispatched with ease. During work, you start planning routes that you will be riding in the afternoon. Your significant other starts to question their importance in your life. You start speaking the language of the offroad crowd. Words like derailleur, bottom bracket, crankset, cassette, stem, saddle, and shocks are now part of your lexicon. Your friends notice you are...different. You think...maybe...just maybe...I should try a race. Now THIS is where things get serious.
The Plunge
You toe the line at your first race and, for a fleeting second, wonder how in the hell you got there. Aside from the obvious car ride, of course. You flash back to that first ride, smile to yourself, and the gun goes off. An hour or so later, you are exhausted, battered...and ready to do it again soon. Getting that first race under your belt results in an entirely new set of problems...the UPGRADES. Surely, a better fork would have resulted in better speed through that rock garden. A lighter frame would definitely cut down on fatigue as would a lighter, faster wheelset. Clipless pedals, riser bars, hydraulic disk brakes, shifter upgrades...oh my! And then <gasp>...CARBON FIBER. Its called "The Plunge" for a reason. This part happens quickly. Before you know it, you are up to your bib shorts in a kind of dirt-infused miasma.
The Acceptance
You are now a regular at the trailhead. YOU bring the beer. YOU show the new guys around. You get involved with the local trail maintenance crew, and suddenly, you find yourself going to the trails for reasons OTHER than riding. Now your friends and significant other are CERTAIN you have lost it...who volunteers their time to go dig in the dirt...for fun? But you realize the greater good. You know that without the work, there is no place to play. Your journey is complete. You actually became a mountain biker the first time you rolled a tire into the dirt, but the rest of the trip was just a product of a great environment, a great sport, and a great group of like-minded people. Enjoy. Because that is what its about.
HOW TO BECOME A MOUNTAIN BIKER.
The Decision.
Congratulations. You have made a decision that you feel will benefit your life as a whole, both physically, and mentally. You have decided that you want to be a mountain biker. The wind in your hair, the smile on your face, the bubbling laughter emanating from your epiglottis...ahh...those are the memories of your childhood on a bike. Why not bring those memories and associated wonderful feelings into your present day life? There is a forest preserve nearby with a lovely network of trails, and you still have that 1987 K-mart special "mountain bike" in the garage...and the shifters still work! Also...you have been riding the couch with an aplomb that Homer Simpson himself would find enviable, and mountain biking seems like a great way to get back in shape. Let's do this!
The First Ride
Arriving at the trailhead, you are immediately conscious of the glances the other bikers are firing off in your direction. You unload your trusty Roadmaster (we'll just say it's a Roadmaster for fun) with considerable effort...after all, it has to weigh 40 pounds...heavy gauge chromium molybdenum build strong to withstand all that offroad abuse. "Weight doesn't matter," you tell yourself. "That's why I have 18 gears." You have consulted a map and planned out a route for your initial excursion. 10 miles seems like a nice even number...how bad could that be? You swing a leg over your trusty steed, place your feet on the plastic pedals, and with a grunt, shove off into the wild. The bike comes alive under you as you leave the pavement...you tighten your grip on the bars as your front wheel dances a jig...bouncing off rocks and roots as you struggle to keep it pointed in the right direction. Your chain speaks to you loudly, saying in a high-pitched and constant chirp "You really should have oiled me, stupid!" Then, just as you are getting annoyed by the insolence of that chain....there is a hill in front of you. You take a deep breath, bear down, and mash the pedals. The hill is only 20 feet tall, but it is steep, and, apparently, you are in too high of a gear. You wrench the shifter, and the bike shifts...immediately. All of your weight is on one pedal...which suddenly has no resistance. Upon picking yourself and the bike up off the ground, so realize you have learned your first lesson on how to shift PRIOR to a hill. Excellent. You climb to the top of the hill and start down. WOW! This is GREAT! There's that feeling you had as a kid! BUT....now you are an adult...and there is a tree in front of you. Instinctively, you grab a handful of brake...your front brake. This time, as you are staring at the sky, you are thinking about how much more violent this fall was than the previous one. You gradually determine that all of your parts are still in working order, and, with slightly shaken resolve, you continue. Now...depending upon your strength as a person, either physically or mentally, you finish this ride. You come back to your car...legs shaking, arms aching, at least one article of clothing looks like it has gone through a cheese grater. You are covered with sweat and dirt...and, quite possibly blood. Your bike may or may not have survived. You are experiencing major discomfort in the crotchal region. In spite of all this, against all your better judgement, you find....you actually had FUN.
The Gateway
The above routine gets repeated two or three more times, when you realize that your bike just isn't going to cut it. You have oiled the offending chain in order to silence it. You have somewhat mastered the "art" of shifting, but the bike doesn't always shift when you want it to. Your brakes leave something to be desired as the pads are dry-rotted with age. You have an appointment in the near future with your dentist to replace the fillings that have been jarred loose from the abuse of the frame's stiffness. If you are going to do this, you are going to need a new ride. So, off to the local bike shop you go. Once again, you find yourself prostrate on the ground, this time staring at the ceiling of the bike shop, while your eyes and ears slowly come back into focus and pick up on the shop rat frantically attempting to decide whether or not he is getting paid enough to administer CPR to potential customers. Yes, a decent mountain bike is expensive. A good mountain bike, more so. And an excellent mountain bike easily eclipses the "I didn't pay that much for my first car" cliche. Plus, there are so many decisions to make. Shimano or SRAM? Front suspension or full suspension? 26 inch, 29 inch, or 650b wheel size? Your head spins, your wallet comes out...and the addiction BEGINS. At this point, you have spent, say $700 on a bike. You should chuckle softly to yourself, because, as the third person omniscient author, I KNOW that in the future, you will spend that kind of money on PARTS.
The Intro
You return to the trailhead with your new ride AND the helmet you wisely purchased, and emboldened by your new acquisition, you decide to actually speak to the other riders. This is where the whole mountain biking thing really separates itself from other disciplines of cycling...the other riders not only speak with you as an equal, but invite you to ride with them. Through this experience, you determine that you have a LOT to learn, but you find that imitating what the rider in front of you is doing seems to help in developing your own skills. Then comes the REAL bonus...at the end of the ride...they offer you a BEER. What started as a slippery slope has rapidly become a rollicking downhill into the morass of mountain bike addiction.
The Abyss
It will most likely happen gradually, and you might not even notice at first, but slowly, inevitably, your life is consumed by thoughts of....dirt. You schedule some rides with your new friends, and your ability improves greatly. Those hills that caused you more pain than you care to remember on the first few rides are now dispatched with ease. During work, you start planning routes that you will be riding in the afternoon. Your significant other starts to question their importance in your life. You start speaking the language of the offroad crowd. Words like derailleur, bottom bracket, crankset, cassette, stem, saddle, and shocks are now part of your lexicon. Your friends notice you are...different. You think...maybe...just maybe...I should try a race. Now THIS is where things get serious.
The Plunge
You toe the line at your first race and, for a fleeting second, wonder how in the hell you got there. Aside from the obvious car ride, of course. You flash back to that first ride, smile to yourself, and the gun goes off. An hour or so later, you are exhausted, battered...and ready to do it again soon. Getting that first race under your belt results in an entirely new set of problems...the UPGRADES. Surely, a better fork would have resulted in better speed through that rock garden. A lighter frame would definitely cut down on fatigue as would a lighter, faster wheelset. Clipless pedals, riser bars, hydraulic disk brakes, shifter upgrades...oh my! And then <gasp>...CARBON FIBER. Its called "The Plunge" for a reason. This part happens quickly. Before you know it, you are up to your bib shorts in a kind of dirt-infused miasma.
The Acceptance
You are now a regular at the trailhead. YOU bring the beer. YOU show the new guys around. You get involved with the local trail maintenance crew, and suddenly, you find yourself going to the trails for reasons OTHER than riding. Now your friends and significant other are CERTAIN you have lost it...who volunteers their time to go dig in the dirt...for fun? But you realize the greater good. You know that without the work, there is no place to play. Your journey is complete. You actually became a mountain biker the first time you rolled a tire into the dirt, but the rest of the trip was just a product of a great environment, a great sport, and a great group of like-minded people. Enjoy. Because that is what its about.
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