D2’s heading back to Cali next Saturday. That sucks, but the desert doesn’t care about your feelings. We gave him the only proper goodbye we know: a dirt-filled “see you later” at Pyramid Peak.
Dave led the charge into that rolling, technical playground. We started counter-clockwise around the first mountain—a first for me. It was a hell of a wake-up call. Punchy, loose climbs that kill your legs and rock rolls that test your nerve.
The Wash and the Pinch
We hit the “Flintstone Rocks” and pushed out to the far west mountain. I finally cleaned that one nasty wash—the kind where you plunge down, gasping, and have to find immediate traction for a steep out. Managed to squeeze through the tight, technical rock pinch without a dab, too. At 53, with a heart that’s been under the knife, those small technical wins feel fucking matter!
The Slab
Then came the big one. The huge rock slab. This was only my second time staring down that face. I was nervous as shit. My chest felt tight, and it wasn’t the bypass surgery—it was the adrenaline. I didn’t let the fear steer the bike. I dropped in, nailed it, and kept moving.
The Damage Report:
- The Crew: Started with nine, finished with eight.
- Casualties: Seth’s bike gave up the ghost in the second mile. Broken spoke. Trail tax is real.
- Dirt Samples: A couple of spills, but everyone rode away. Scrapes heal; ego is optional.
I’m going to miss riding with you, Dave. But this isn’t the end of the line. We’ve got Fruita next month, and the dirt there is just as unforgiving.
Keep the rubber down. See you on the next one.
