Been Too Long

It's been a while since I last threw a leg over my bike and honestly, I'm a bit torn up about that. Of course, I've got a handful of excuses: girlfriend's in town after being away for two months, had to move from the city to Brooklyn this past weekend, but I could've dragged myself out of bed early and rode in the rain (for those of you outside the tri-state metro area, it's been nothing but rain all weekend) before I began lugging box after box from the Upper East Side to Brooklyn Heights. I could've, but I didn't.

Regardless, what I've failed to mention so far is the mountain biking me and the two Picco's did a week ago in south Jersey. The previous evening, I held a short conversation with Mr. Picco #1 (#1 being the older of the two): "Supposed to rain tomorrow." So I said, "Then I guess I can drink to my heart's content," which I did. Unfortunately, when I peeled open my eyes the following morning, I saw blue sky and sun, which meant packing a few things and riding all the way downtown to the truck I had left behind the previous evening considering I was too drunk to drive. Then I drove to Staten Island where Mr. Picco #1 was ready and waiting, both his beautiful mountain bikes loaded atop his Explorer.

An hour later, we were in Jersey, in Mercer Park? Don't recall the name exactly, although I'm sure I'll get a call from Mr. Picco #1 shortly correcting me.

While Mr. Picco #1 went about the bicycle maintenance (as they said in the Jerky Boys, "I don't know shit about this tunin',"), Mr. Picco #2 arrived in a VW bus most people would describe as atrocious, although that Mr. Picco #2, the man has a fetish for everything Volkswagen. Myself, I've never understood it, but you do what you gotta do, and that seems to be exactly what Mr. Picco #2 has in mind when it comes to his VW bus.

"This, my friend," I said, surveying the bus, "is embarrassment on four wheels."

Soon, the riding began: a pleasant, rolling course through the woods and fields that kept us entertained until I noticed my ass kind of rolling from left to right. "Flat!"

Then Kenny got a flat. Then my tire went flat again, and then again. Before that I went over the bars trying to clear a log the size of a baby's wrist (I could've used a dirty sexual innuendo there, but I'm trying to keep things clean). Then I think Mr. Picco #1 and Mr. Picco #2 went over the bars. Mr. Picco #2 definitely threw it away going down a straight, which simply boggled my mind. Poor bastard smacked his some sort of knot in the small of his back, and if you know Mr. Picco #2, you know the boy takes issue with his back.

Eventually, our day came to an end. Lots of good riding, lots of good times despite the flats. Then on to a terrific lunch at Chez Mr. Picco #2 with his lovely family: hot dogs, steak, chicken, salad, and lots of iced tea. That Mr. Picco #2, he sure does know how to entertain, but so does Mr. Picco #1. That guy's got an-dooly sausage out the wah-zoo. Those Piccos and their grills--they know what they're doing.

Now I live in Brooklyn, so no more riding in Central Park, which is kind of too bad. I enjoyed riding in the that park, althouogh I certainly won't miss those nights during concerts when the park staff incessantly stops cyclists to let pedestrians past. Kind of gets on your nerves after a while, but now I'll be hauling it in Prospect Park, getting ready for the next race. Should be fun.