I wanted a better Sunday ride, so I took the nuclear option and made one. Dirt, gravel, not much traffic? Check. Cupcakes, coffee and beer? Check. Mix those ingredients up, and you get the Cupcake Ride. In the search for an ever improved route, I took off today with two of the locals to explore, eat and conquer. As I rolled to the start, it was instantly apparent that today was going to be even better than planned. I was riding my typical Cupcake steed, the Slingshot with 38 slicks. Stephanie was rocking the road bike with the mudflap girl on the headset cap.
This should inspire anyone to ride faster
To top it off, Chad had arrived on his DuWerke fixie. Pushing a 92″ gear around loose gravel on skinny tires is just how this mofo does it since his road bike was setup to be sold to a short person the next day. To put it into perspective, if he jumped on the road bike, it would be like Goliath on David’s trike, so the track bike was produced for this day’s ride.
We did some work, for sure.
Off we rolled into the heart of the good roads south of the city. After the standard prelude of rollers, we finally hit gold. Dirt everywhere. Beautiful, hard packed dirt gave way periodically to newly laid, fresh gravel. Loose, but always rideable. The 38’s glide over that like skis on snow. Gorgeous. After one short but painful gravel climb that was big ringed at about 6mph due to too much torque to downshift, we took a quick break at the top. At least, that’s what the others thought was happening. Flask and shot glasses produced. Ginger honey infused whiskey consumed. After that, the miles melted away with nothing but smooth pavement and sleek, hard dirt ahead.
Good dirt, best of times.
Soon, Serenbe. With it, Blue Eyed Daisy, which what the ride was built around. A little oasis of coffee and incredible baked goods. What’s that, buy 5 get 1 free cupcakes? Done. Those cupcakes had a solid inch and a half of icing, you just can’t top that. Fueled up, time to depart.
Ride Fuel: Banana pudding, chunky monkey, boston cream cupcakes.
Thus we rolled up to the bar, our day of riding to end calmly over a few cold beers. Or so we thought. As we approached, I spotted a gaggle of bikes and bikers. The leather variety. Birthday party! As cyclist and biker mixed and talked, drinks flowed, with the occasional round of shots for everyone inside purchased by a celebrating biker. Ring the bell, and watch the liquor flow.
As darkness approached, it was time to pack up and head out. Farewells were said to the new acquaintances as we geared up for the last couple miles home, but it would be too easy if things ended there…
“I want to ride my bicycle…” And so it went, as the leather clad biker sang our anthem as I exited the bar.
“Nice voice, Freddy.” Well, that got his attention. He seemed fine with it. That is, until all the other bikers started laughing their asses off at him. Masculinity in question, he couldn’t let it go now. After a brief verbal escalation, things started to calm and it looked like the end. However, one of the others called him “a big teddy bear” and, his manliness brought on the line again, he rushed me. As leather clad, booted biker collided with the crouching spandexed cyclist with the yellow, cleated Mavics, that corner of the universe stood still. I prepared for the worst and grabbed around the knees and lifted him up, ready to slam him to the ground… but something was wrong. The bearded drunk was kissing my forehead. Apparently my comment about him being Freddy touched him in all the right ways. Seeing no danger, I adjusted my hold, gave him a quick no-homo hug (tight bear hug squeeze followed by 3 sharp slaps on the back), and set him back down.He turned around to walk away, and right as my mind processed what had just happened, he did a quick about face and delivered an uppercut straight to my conveniently spandex outlined testicles. As he skittered away, he quipped about me enjoying the first time a dude had touched my balls, to which I spat back, “Nope, but that sure wasn’t your first time feeling up balls.” With that, victory was assured as all his riding cohorts laid into him with further laughter and jibes. The crowd was mine, and I rode away, victorious and satisfied that the the chamois in the new bibs had proved its worth in both gravel and punch protection. Which is great, because now I can trade in my steel balls for something a bit lighter for rides.
Save weight where you can.