Bo knows dirt

Ignoring the smoke in the air and simply happy that it wasn't 100 degrees, Adam, Chris and I loaded up the Subaru and headed down to Morrisville to hit some trails. If you know Adam, you know that he's hell on two wheels (and that he suffers no fools), but you might not know that he actually mountain bikes, too.

Well, occasionally: he showed up at my house with a broken front skewer, a noticeably dust-covered bike, while mumbling something about how the last time that he rode his mountain bike it was in a 'cross race. Whatthehaile? How can you do that to an IndyFab? We decided to correct that shortcoming, posthaste.

Unfortunately for me, whatever Adam lacked in trail-handling skills he more than made up for with his bulbous thighs of steel. You think I'm kidding? Try this on for size:


All told, I think that he dabbed once on a local bandit trail, and that was it. OK, so he did wreck as we left Crabtree, but we'll cut him some slack on that since it was almost fully dark at that point. Nevertheless, it did result in some carnage:


As no trip to the Crab would be complete without some pumpin', we spent some quality time going around in little banked circles. Chris has this thing figured out, and while I thought I was really getting it down, I blew a curve and landed with my face planted squarely in the dirt. Along with the rest of me. Thanks to the humidity, I turned instantly into Pig-pen. I have no idea what it is that Adam's doing in this first picture. Nor do I know why I'm showing jazz-hands.

Chris was smooth, as always. Would you expect anything less from the Professor? Ya gotta like the way he works it. (No diggity.)