It's all downhill from here.

One Epic Goodbye deserves another.

Four years ago, this guy I worked with invited me to go mountain biking. This event changed my mindset about biking through the desert. A few hundred cactus spines can have that effect.

In my humble moments, this guy Adam stuck around, even though he laughed most of the time! So when he and his family decided to move to Alaska, there had to be a final biking trip.

After a perilous query into how we would attend our last service at the International Church of Bicicletas, Adam suggested heading to Sunrise ski area in Northern Arizona. The Dudes: Jeffe, Tony, Adam, and I. Check. Bikes and Gear: big tires, armor, and back up parts gin. Check. Beer, food, and cigars for camping. Check.



It turns out we had a great time riding the gnarly trails downhill all day. We had to pedal up a total of maybe 50 feet, as compared to our nearly 11,000 feet of vertical descent. By the end we had aired jumps, skidded turns, and fallen a few times each. However, we had no major injuries, and a lack of mechanical issues. Now, for the pictures...










So it is with a sadness infused joy I wish my dear friend farewell. And to quote a cantankerous old bastard:

"Benedicto: May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds. May your rivers flow without end, meandering through pastoral valleys tinkling with bells, past temples and castles and poets' towers into a dark primeval forest where tigers belch and monkeys howl, through miasmal and mysterious swamps and down into a desert of red rock, blue mesas, domes and pinnacles and grottos of endless stone, and down again into a deep vast ancient unknown chasm where bars of sunlight blaze on profiled cliffs, where deer walk across the white sand beaches, where storms come and go as lightning clangs upon the high crags, where something strange and more beautiful and more full of wonder than your deepest dreams waits for you --- beyond that next turning of the canyon walls."
Edward Abbey