All story: Mojo MOJO, what's a MOJO?
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Mojo MOJO, what's a MOJO?

Sunday, 17 June 2012

Well, I put my first bruise on my brand new OCLV carbon fiber TREK "Y" mountain bike frame today. And what do you think got me?
Yes friends, the Damn Four Foot Log!
For the past few months I've OWNED the Four Foot Log! It was Mine! I guess IT decided today IT would humble me.
I was excited. I hadn't ridden since my big crash in Lawrence, and I had just gotten the OK from my Doctor to ride again. He said my ribs had healed just fine, but try and take it easy for a while. Since I was fine, I wanted Bike N Bob's shop to look over my bike and see if it was fine. When I took the "Y" in, Gil, his number 1 mechanic, was out test riding a Specialized M2. I should have waited for Gil to return, cause Bob himself took a wrench to the "Y" bike.
I wanted to ride the River Trails, just to prove I wasn't scared to go back to the scene of my rib cracking night ride. I took Jim "The Animal" and his 10 year old son, Adam (nickname, "Master of Disaster") over to Lawrence. Jim had never been there and I knew that these trails wouldn't kill his son. However, I had hoped they would do Jim in!
Jim already has his young son in endurance training. He is using both a physical training method and a psychological training method. On the half hour drive over to Lawrence, Jim made Adam drink two 16 ounce bottles of water, eat a chocolate power bar, 3 bananas, a strawberry Carnation breakfast bar, and drink down some homemade banana flavored power drink that Team Shakley sells. By the time we got to the trails, the poor kid had to pee so bad he was turning green!
As Adam kept drinking and drinking, Jim kept saying to his son:
"You don't want Mr. Bonk to visit you on the trail do you?"
"You don't want Mr. Bonk's black spots on YOUR eyes?"
"You don't want Mr. Bonk's cold shivering chills in your body?"
"You don't want  Mr. Bonk's viscous leg cramps, do you?"
He then told both of us a horrible story about when he was about 10 years old; how Mr. Bonk had attacked him in a road race in Arizona. How he had laid beside the road, deaf, dumb and blind for two days in 100 degree heat, while buzzards circled over his head and his skin started to melt off his face. He almost cried, as he remembered waking up in the hospital in a full body cast with 3 or 4 needles in each arm, each one hooked up to saline bags, trying to put vital fluids back into his dehydrated body. And the doctors whispering, behind the pale green curtains around his bed; "If only the boy would have drank a little water, we might have been able to save his legs. If he doesn't improve we may have to amputate both of them in the morning." And Jim went on that the scars on his back weren't really road rash from a bike wreck, but scars from the hundreds of vultures that dove out of the sky and picked as his flesh. And as he lay boiling in the sun, trying to sell his soul for a thimble full of water, he could always hear Mr. Bonk, somewhere, off in the distance, laughing and taunting.
 When he was done with his story, Adam and I both grabbed another bottle of that Shakley power drink and choked down 16 ounces of that stuff. Mr. Bonk  wasn't about to get us today! I even filled my 32 ounce Camel Back with the chalky tasting liquid.
Everything went great on the trail. Adam loved it. Jim loved it. And I enjoyed riding in front of Jim for a change. We did the little six inch logs, the 12 inch logs, and the 20 foot dip-c-do's. The dip- c-do's are quick up and down mounds of dirt. If you use your brakes on the sharp down portion, you don't have enough speed to make it up the up portion of the next bump. There are about 10 of these together in the dip-c-do portion of the trail and are one of my favorite parts of the trail to show rookies. Then we came to the Four Foot Log. When we came down the hill at about 20 mph, turned the corner and saw the "Beast" sitting across the trail, Adam slammed on his brakes and I think said his first cuss words ever in front of his dad. It was his good luck that his "Oh Shit, Oh Shit" were drowned out by Jim's "Jesus Christ Don! What the Hell is that Son of a bitch!"
I replied, "You two little boys need to walk your Huffys over the log so you don't get hurt." And of course I grinned just a little.
They hauled their bikes over the Log while I rode back up the hill and yelled at them if it was all clear. The secret to doing the Four Foot Log is speed. I had seen Steve Tilford, a "Pro" riding for Team Specialized, do it and had copied and mastered his technique. There is a small pine tree 15 feet in front of the Log, which is a "mark" to tell you where to stop pedaling. You simply pedal as fast as you can till you get to the pine tree, stop pedaling, level the cranks, coast up to the log at about 25 mph, and your momentum will take you to the top of the log. On top, you just have enough speed left to coast gracefully down the other side and snicker at your friends.
Jim yelled, "All clear." and I blasted down the hill.
At the pine tree, I stopped pedaling. I leveled my cranks. My front tire hit the base of the log. My front tire turned 90 degrees away from my intended path! My handle bars still pointed straight toward the log. My mind wondered just how tight Bike N Bob had screwed down the God Damn headset! My body flew over the Log. And just before doing a face plant in a tree, I heard the sickening sound of a hollow carbon fiber bike frame being smacked against a hard ridged surface. My SPD clipless pedals failed to be "clipLESS!" And with my puny legs still attached, I scraped the "Y" bike up one side and over the top of theFour Foot Log.
Immediately Jim and Adam both ran to the "Y" bike and started looking for scratches on the frame. I lay upside down and semi-conscious in a thorn covered locust tree while Jim and Adam continued searching the "Y" for signs of damage. Adam squealed with delight when he saw the Y-33 model number decal now only saying, "Y-?".
I tried to stand, but my legs were just rubber and I was still a little dazed. I had a handful of 3 inch thorns sitting in my backside and my nose was bleeding. One eye was almost swollen shut and the other was turning purple. My lower lip was split open exposing a jagged row of lower teeth, giving me a hideous, evil grin. I opened my mouth to talk, but only a gargling sound came out. I then tried walking a straight line to my damaged bike, but looked like a drunk staggering home from an all night drinking binge. As I swaggered hunched over, arms outstretched and moaning toward my bike and Adam, Jim told his son to take a good long hard look at me.
"Son" Jim said softly, "That's what Mr. Bonk  looks like when he comes knocking at your front door."
Adam's wide eyes locked onto mine and I could see he was terrified of ever meeting Mr. Bonk  on the trail! He grabbed at his water bottle for another pull on the life saving liquids and found it empty. As he panicked, he suddenly jumped at me and pushed me face first down into the dirt! He grabbed the water tube hose from my Camel Back and stuck it in his mouth. He then started rapidly jumping up and down on my back. By repeatedly jumping up and down on the Camel Back water bladder, he was able to pump the thing dry in about 30 seconds!
As he bounced up and down on me, for the last remaining drops of the precious liquid, I swear, I heard each and every rib in my chest crack once again. And somewhere off in the distance, I heard  Mr. Bonk,or maybe Bike N Bob, chuckling and laughing.


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