Lets see, had a great ride on thurs. Distance, crashing, beach time, wob life, photo shoot, tall cans, holler... House (Mac & moss'ish) mac to 40th via pablo, hollis tohorton, aquatic park to the bay trail, and point richmond we head. Five wobs hit a snag on w. cutting and the roadie goes down, in close pack I peg the downed machine and hang ten off the bike and over the bars landing oh so cat like with a four footedpitter patter of stealth. Woben crushed his left side and proved once again why wearing helmets is not lame... Limping into ferry point we opt for ample beach time laced with sporadic rock skipping copious pabst consumption and plenty of reflection on life, wobing, women, injuries, beach glass, future endeavors, and what the hell was wrong with that poor dog. On the way out our boy like sense of adventure and ej's paparazzi tendencies led us to some abandoned work buildings fully adornedwith classy graffiti and a view to die for. Our inner farrah faucet comes out and the bicycle laced, window silhouette, bridge backed, photo shoot is rocking. Bike stacking, silly posses, and cocky smiles dominate the flick fest and as we loose light we scurry home along a very similar path less we take the brickyard exit out, climbing the quicksteepy, and spin out on the 11* decent. I crack hard on the way back and demand food–Im guessing the three nights of debauchery and hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of ounces isn't the best conditioning for thirty mile sprints. We cream some gnarly cheese steaks and ride san pablo home'ish thought animal territory picking up new and old wobs and wobets. A nightly at the hut with hundreds and hundreds and hundreds. What you see is the best of the best from the director of creative design.
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