Warning: The following contains the drivelings of a "super-annuated adolescent". If you find this kind of material boring or tiresome, please do not read it.

On a whim I decided to drop in to the lair of the four horsemen to see what was up this evening. (By this time, one of them had moved on to better things, so there was only 3 of them left.) They told me that there was a big ride tonight, starting about 5 pm. Unfortunately, things never go as planned, and we didn't set off for the first meeting point, the base of the San Juan Trail, until about 5:30. There were others waiting there already, but more riders were due to arrive.

As I assembled my gear, I realized that I had not charged up my batteries after my blue moon ride a couple of nights ago. Shidan had told me that the ride would take between two to three hours. I estimated that I had about 45 minutes of run time on each pack at full output. A while ago, I made a little doodad that cuts the duty cycle by about 50%, which can be used when you need some light, but not full brightness, such as on long slow climbs. It helps to extend the run time, and I gave some to my friends. It would be ironic for me to run out of light on a ride. I could still drop out at this time if I wanted to.

As everyone finally arrived, we decided on the actual ride. We would put everyone's gear into two or three of the trucks and drive up to the Main Divide road at the heads of a number of trails. We would ride down, and then someone would bring the drivers back to the top to retrieve their trucks. (This is known as a shuttle ride.) Carl was there to help bring riders up, but he planned on only hiking up the first peak, and then going home.

So as we got to the Main Divide Road, the pavement ended, and I began to wonder if all the vehicles would be able to make it up this road. I had ridden this road before, and it turns into very steep mogul fields at certain parts. We were in a big van following Carl in his front wheel drive station wagon. As we got to the mogul fields, we saw him stop. Then he sort of swerved a little, and began rolling back. We all knew what was going on; he can't climb any further. He waved at us to back up. There was no room on the road to turn around, so we slowly backed down the curvy, bumpy, and slick road. The other truck just caught up to us, and he obviously had to back up as well. We finally found a part of the road wide and flat enough to turn around, and Carl dropped off his passengers and gear into our van and the other truck. He was going to leave his car there and ride with us to our starting point, but at the last minute, he poked his head into our van and said:

"You guys are nuts; I'm going home!"

As we geared up, the words of Carl kept coming back: "You guys are nuts!" Everyone was taking turns at saying things to the effect of: "You know, maybe we shouldn't be doing this". But then, we managed to talk each other into it.

The rain we had encountered at the lower elevations had frozen at this point, and was stinging our faces. A strong gust of wind nearly slams the van door against my face. Shidan told everyone to put on whatever articles of clothing that we brought. Jesse brought up a bunch of plastic grocery bags, which he gave everyone to line their shoes with; they help keep your feet from getting wet, and keep the wind off your toes.

Finally, we started off. It was a little before 8pm. The Los Pinos Trail is about 9 miles long, and leads from the Peak over the ridges of a series of small mountains to Cold Springs Canyon, a little further in from where we left our cars at the base of the San Juan Trail. The first part of the "ride" was a hike up to Los Pinos Peak itself. This was about a 500 foot climb over about half a mile (about 19% grade). The ground was soft from the rain that fell earlier in the day, and strewn with rocks, and it was very steep. Any cold that we had felt earlier was immediately chased away. My legs began to burn in a very short time. I wish I had warmed up at least a little before starting. I was conserving my light, so I just followed the lights in front of me, and used the lights cast by someone behind me. I still stumbled over some of the rocks from time to time.

Finally, the trail leveled off enough for me to start riding. I pedaled toward the lights ahead of me, putting my bar light on low so I could see immediately in front of me, while cursing myself for not charging my batteries, and leaving the two fully charged packs at home. I'm saving my helmet light for that last descent, because I know it will be tough.

I got to a flat spot where everyone had stopped. This is the Los Pinos Peak. Shidan had pulled out his camera and was taking pictures of a couple of guys huddling together with the snow pounding on them. I was still having trouble walking with the strong winds that changed directions every second. The rocky surface and the strong winds made it difficult to stand or walk around.

I sort of thought out loud: "To think, I could be kicking back in a hot tub right now." The responses were immediate and succinct:

"You fool! You should have gone back with Carl!"
"Boy, did you make the wrong choice tonight!"
"Ah, shut up you wimp!"

The other can was sealed, and inside was a note pad and pencil. The outside of the can had a BGR sticker, put on by the Billy Goat Racing team. Mark began to write a log: "April 3, 1999, 8pm, 7 BGR members"

"But I'm not a BGR member." I told him. "You are now."

Then he added to the notes: "Carl is weak!" Of course, we all knew why Carl couldn't make it; he damaged his bike on a prerun of the Leapin' Lizards race last week. It seems that after the race organizers groomed the course the night before, some other people came and sabotaged it by placing trash can sized bumps at places where a rider would expect to land from a previous jump. Carl was the first to ride the course that morning, and he crashed badly. But that's another story.

Mark then put the pad back into the small can, sealed it, put it into the big coffee can, and burried it under the rocks again. We all hope to be able to add to it another day.

Shidan took some more shots, and we continued. The trail continued with a steep and loose descent. As I started to go down, a gust of wind started to pick up. The snow pounded against the side of my face as I leaned into it. Then it suddenly changed directions, and pushed me off to the other side, where I tumbled. I heard two other bikes falling behind me, and hoped that they don't fall on me. We picked up and continued down. Visibility was poor, as the lights were being reflected back by the snow, instead of the ground, where we need to see it. Shidan was somehow nearly at the bottom of the descent, where the trail went up again. I asked Kenny about how far we have to go. He said that we just got into it, and we will be climbing and descending about a dozen or so more peaks like this, and told me to quit whining about it.

We crested the second peak, and started going down again. More loose stuff. At one point, I skidded into a bush. The good thing about being so bundled up like this was that you don't get the usual scratches and scrapes on your arms and leg. But this bush got my face and neck.

At the next peak, Jesse was pumping up his tire. He will have to change his tube soon. As we rolled through a couple more ups and downs, I passed someone that I thought was Kenny fixing his bike. I asked if everything was OK, and he responded that he had everything under control. So I went on. I had my hood on, so I couldn't hear very well over the wind and snow. But it looked like Kenny.

We crest another peak, and at the bottom, people were stopped. Jesse and Mark were both changing their tubes. The rest went up ahead to do trail maintenance. They had brought folding saws and cutters, and were trimming back the plant life that had overgrown onto the trail. It looked like someone had come through before with a chain saw, cutting away a lot of the major growths. But this left a lot of the branches near ground level pointing up with very sharp ends. We tried to cut as many of those off as we could.

Then I ran into Kenny, and was a little puzzled. I thought I left him way back, and didn't recall him passing me. He said he must have passed me in the blizzard. Mark agreed that he didn't believe there was anyone else behind us. At this point, I realized he looked a lot like a huge Micky Mouse; he had 2 big round lights on his helmet, which lit up just about everything that his head pointed at. He and Kenny both noted the blood from the scratch I got on my face.

As we were preparing to leave, I saw a beam sweep the now foggy and snow filled air over the trail behind us. By the time I told Kenny and Mark, it had disappeared.

"You're really set on finding someone behind us aren't you?" Kenny asked.

I kept looking, and the air flashed again, and this time, they saw it too. "I told you I wasn't suffering brain freeze."

"Who is that? I thought everyone was here already?"

As the rider approached us, I finally saw his face; it was Shidan. He said he had a major mechanical failure. During a particularly hard climb, a branch was kicked into his chain, which dislodged it from the big cog and jammed it between the cog and spokes. Of course when you're pedaling that hard, it REALLY gets jammed in, not to mention damages the spokes. He had to loosen up two spokes to get the chain out. I was impressed that he was able to do the work in this condition; he had left the battery for his helmet light in his car at the base of the San Juan trail, so he was using his bar light.

So on we went again, through a few more ups and downs. By this time, I've lost count of how many times we had gone up and down. I also noticed that that everyone else was getting quite a bit ahead of me. I've never been a very fast descender, and tonight's conditions have slowed me down even further. At one point, I saw lights at the bottom of a canyon, while I was at a peak. But the trail goes off to the other side. I was worried that I might have missed a turn-off somewhere, but I kept on going. The trail had gotten very muddy now. My tires loaded up, and had almost no traction left. My death grip of fear on my brakes are sending shooting pains up my wrists and arms, and every bump I hit was excruciating. I was starting to have trouble maneuvering through even simple paths.

Eventually I crest another peak, and saw the lights of the other riders at the next peak. I heard them cheering me on, somewhat sarcastically. I noticed that my bar light, which had been burning yellow most of the night because it was on half-power, is now glowing red. I had depleted what little energy it had when I started. Still, it ran for about 2 hours, longer than I had expected.

When I finally caught up with the others, I told them of my lighting conditions. Mark offered to lend me one of his (many) batteries. But my home-made package did not use a regular connection. He then offered to give me one of his many bar lights. Again, my home-made package did not have any quick-release hardware. So he and Kenny offered to help guide me down the rest of the way. We were pretty close to the end, they said. We descended some more, and then climbed some more, with my faint red glow barely allowing me to see the area immediately in front of me. Of course, every once in a while, I get the light wash from the other lights, and it would blind me to my faint light. At least the wind and snow had died down by now.

As we crest yet another peak, Mark suddenly stopped. Something had come out of the bushes and grabbed his rear derailluer. It was bent outward at nearly a 90 degree angle, taking the hanger with it. He said: "That thing was due for replacement anyway. I'll have it fixed in a few minutes." He pulled out a new derailluer and spare hanger and began to work on it. Kenny and I went on. Within a few hundred feet, we saw two more riders working on a bike. Raji had broken his chain, and Tom was helping him to fix it. They had things under control, so we went on.

I wanted to start lighting my way with my helmet light, so I asked Kenny if we had more than 45 minutes to go. He wasn't sure; I decided to use it anyway. There is an advice given by expert riders when you don't think you have enough water to finish a ride. The question is whether to drink more slowly to make it last longer or drink normally and finish it before your ride. The answer is to drink normally, so that you will at least have full strength to ride while it lasts. I'm not sure if this advice can be applied to battery life on a night ride.

We were on a long descent now. Fortunately, this was the last one. Unfortunately, it was very rough; lots of rocks and drop-offs. Each irregularity shot through my wrists and up my arms, into my shoulders and neck. Occasionally, there were steps in the really steep parts. I didn't even try to maneuver through them on the bike; I hiked them.

Finally, after a series of very steep steps, I got down to level ground where Kenny was waiting for me. I could hear the other riders coming down behind me, and occasionally see the flash of their lights. When they joined us, we took off toward our cars. Shidan, Jesse, and Harry were waiting for us; they had already changed out of their cycling togs and into dry clothing, and looked pretty comfortable. The rest of us started to gear down as well. I found everything that I was wearing was soaked with sweat, and what an incredible smell! But I forgot to bring my sweat shirt, and only had pants and a dry T-shirt.

By the time I got into dry clothes, the clouds have cleared, and the near full moon was showing through the trees. Shidan had set up his camera on a tripod, and was trying to get some shots. Everyone had to switch off their lights so as not to interfere with it. I can hardly wait to see those pictures, as well as all the other shots he took tonight.

Someone had taken Harry and Jessee back up to the top to pick up their trucks. The rest were waiting for them to return, as some of the other people needed rides to go home. I was tired, hungry, sore, and getting colder by the second. Kenny and I decided to meet at an all-night eatery in Dana Point for dinner, so I took off. It was about 11:40 pm, and we lose another hour in a couple of hours. It was turning out to be a long night.

It was a pretty brutal ride, and I wish I had been better prepared with my lights. However, I'm really glad that I didn't drop out, as there was a lot of fun, though some of it was a little intense. Now I'll know to keep my batteries fully charged at all times, and for rides on even remotely chilly days, bring tights to better cover my legs, and maybe a face mask. But I'm sure I'll forget something else. However, I figure that I'll be safe if I ride with these guys; they appear to be prepared for just about anything. So it's really not as dangerous as it may seem at first.