Tom's Riding Journal

Rocky Hill

We set out from the parking lot in a group of nine. Fat Chuck’s Demise decimated our ranks as riders dropped off like pigeons shot off a telephone wire by some bloodthirsty preteen with a b.b. gun. I had to encourage the survivors with the promise that it would get easier as we got into the single-track, but they didn’t believe me because I am known for exxageration. They did ride on however, if only to satisfy themselves that I was lying to them once again. We powered along trying to hold our little group together but on each climb the weak and sickly fell back. It was like a mass migration of some doomed species forced to leave the comfort of what they had always known for that which they did not know only knowing that they must continue to move. The marginal ones of the group, those who might survive in the new land if they caught the right breaks, continued to slow the few who led until the lead group was forced to let them fend for themselves on this journey of a thousand lifetimes. The leaders would establish a foothold in the new land thereby ensuring the survival of the species.

Anyway the men who have experienced many such rides joyfully pedaled up and down the hills, through the rocky gullies and over the cool little cedar bridges having forgotten about those we left behind. When we got to The Black Trac we swooped down into the big holes snapping our heads back like we were in a F-16 accelerating to mach1.  Riding back to the parking area I remembered the riders we had left behind and began to worry about them .I was like a father who throws his son in the lake to teach him to swim and returns from his sixth trip to the beer cooler and realizes that his son is missing. It was in this agitated state of alarm that I began to eat lunch. Finally as I was finishing my second tuna sandwich and my third Little Debbie Star Crunch some of the stragglers began to roll in. I had pictured them struggling up hills, crashing repeatedly on the rocks and cursing my name in frustration as crabby as Paris Hilton finding out she’s over her credit limit during a shopping spree. I was pleasantly surprised to find them happy and exhilarated at the end of their first lap. They did admit to cursing my name a couple of times but overall they were having fun.

Secure in the knowledge that no one was lying injured on the trail, the excitement gluttons headed out to gobble up some more. Again we rode this time covering some single-track we had missed on the previous lap. The place had a good crowd but it is so big we rarely saw anyone out there on the trails. I am always struck with how perfect Rocky Hill is as an example of Texas mountain biking. I love the place. It is well worth the $8 per rider charge. We finished up and began the drive back home replaying our finest moments on the trail in each of our minds. Mine had a Tool soundtrack. I imagine Vancas had Brittany’s latest in the background for his mental ride.