A Ride in the Cold Snow: Better Than a Sharp Pedal to the Shin

Sheeeeit, a little snow never hurt no one. Well, actually, maybe it did. But hey, we can't think about the past now. We have to think about the future. A future where we can mine tribinium on Mars for export and arm rebel midget hookers with machine guns to defend against Cohagen and his goons:

 So we formed a small surgical-strike team had to get out in the snow on old technology (2-inch and narrower tires, triple cranks, rim brakes) and somehow see if we could manage the 1-2" of snow on our completely outmoded bicycle designs. Thank Energor we survived.

Anyway, we did in fact establish our F.O.B. (forward operating base) at Steinberg Ice Rink, from which we launched our attack on the crusty grounds of the park. We immediately set our sights on each and every inch of double-secret singletrack within it's borders. (There's more than you think...)

I may or may not have broken my frankenstein fender while crushing a log pile, but that is no matter. One thing that didn't break, however, was Jerkward's tubeless Bruce Gordon tires on crabone rims.

We crushed out several miles of the Kennedy Forest loops and then some - not to mention the loop require tops hats, monocles, and a sun umbrella. It was pretty easy to see all the lesser-known trails when they are highlighted by snow, and it was super awesome. Why bother scraping off the car and driving to the legitimate trails when we can shred the tread in FoPo? After an hour or so, we had to stop for beverages, courtesy of Nico's handlebar bag:

Not pictured: open Busch and Ranger cans.

Despite temperatures barely in the double digits, we crushed out another few miles after this social stop, and then parted ways, on a mission to head home. But not before a CX practice lap in the Steinberg Heights.

After arriving back at Casa Del Crotch, while warming up and drinking a Busch Copper Lager, I was please to find out that Tornado Tom was doing his own C-C-C-C-C-CRUSHING today. No doubt that after his race, he was recovering in his own 1980's coke mansion with coke and hookers. Which is what makes it awesome.

If only we would have had a fat recumbent, we could have been so much cooler:

You're welcome,

-Casey F. Ryback