Adventure Vibes Trip

Photos by Robert Prieto Words by Corey Gardner

 

A day that did not see us reaching our original destination began with a classic J. Michael moment. Jennifer and I arrived at Robby’s house a few minutes after the agreed upon 8 a.m. start, to be greeted by a dreary eyed Robby. Despite his tousled, bed-headed appearance, he was ready to go, so we unloaded our bikes, Jennifer’s single speed Dawes and my fixed gear Pure Fix.

 

“Hey Robby, Jennifer wants to make a bet on how many flats Michael gets.”

 

“At least 7, maybe 100.”

 

Ding

 

Jennifer checked her phone for an incoming message from Michael.

“Gonna drive, had some bike repairs. Be a little late.”

 

Attached was a picture of twice patched tube.

 

But despite his warning, Michael arrived only 15 minutes late, so we quickly assembled to get to the St. Andrews State Park “Wild Edibles” lecture on time. Michael unloaded his Surley with two racks and panniers from his creepy white cargo van while Robby changed shirts to match my orange and black Hawaiian shirt’s cool factor.

 

At last, after Michael tested his newly patched “spare” tube, we set off, heading into the climbing sun and hitting Thomas drive, picking up a little speed with the eagerness of a new journey. Robby shot past the group, and with what would be a theme of the day, Michael kicked to catch up. All of a sudden, Michael’s back wheel locked up in the middle of Thomas Drive, a fish-tailing, smoke spewing skid ensuing. Had he given up on beating Robby and locked his brakes in protest? No, his panniers, loosely dangling from his rack, had caught in his rear wheel, locking it up. Having gone past him, I glanced back to see him righting the situation, not off on the shoulder, but right in the middle of the lane. Cars are trying to go past? Michael was oblivious.

 

After Robby tried to get a couple’s rate at the entrance to the park for him and Michael, and some misdirection from the clueless park staff, we wound our way at last to the pier where registration for the free events of the day was taking place. We all got Dunkin coffee and donuts from the overly-aggressive coffee pouring senior citizen volunteer (Do you want coffee? Maybe in a second. So you want coffee? Decaf or Regular?!).

 

We waited a bit, munching on donuts (yes we got seconds, yes it counts a fuel for the ride we’d yet to truly begin), before embarking on a winding 20 minute trailer-tram ride through the park to our edibles talk, which ended up taking place about half a mile from where we’d started. Government efficiency.

 

A spunky old lady park ranger with an unnatural affection for edible bugs gave a rousing 30 minute presentation on the types of bugs you can and cannot eat, and how they’re better in every way (but flavor, but who cares about that?) than beef. Robby especially enjoyed the giant grasshopper he got to crunch on and taste for the next half-hour, and Michael was so inspired that he immediately began planning a bug-based life after several questions and a follow-on, one-on-one talk with the ranger.

 

Fueled by only crickets and mealworms, and a thousand calories of donuts, we hit the road heading west on Thomas towards Houndfest at the Idyll Hounds Brewery. We had to stop at Robby’s so he could swap out bikes and ditch some un-needed gear. He did bring along his bluetooth speakers though, so we rolled out around 11 to embark on the main journey. With CCR’s Ramble Tamble blasting out “Move, down the road I go”. For 10 seconds. The speakers died immediately. But that 10 seconds of rock had gotten our spirits high, so off we went.

 

Jennifer and I held up the pace, but Robby punctuated the ride with skids in the dirty shoulders of the road, sprints far ahead to beat segments, and slowing to chat. This would be the pattern for the next several hours. For his part, Michael took great pleasure in riding his Surly with off-road 38s, riding in the grass and gravel at every opportunity, and chasing Robby in his mad-dash sprints. Bless his heart, Michael really did try to keep up with Robby.

 

Around lunch time we cruised up to Pho Pier 77, where one by one, Michael, Jennifer and I all agree on the pho bowl with all types of beef, including tripe, which we’d never had. All of us got delicious spring rolls, and I wished we’d gotten seconds. Michael and I got the large bowl of pho, which was way too much to finish in one sitting, so Michael slowly spooned half a cup or so into his thermos for later, refusing the waitress’ offer of a funnel. Classic Michael.

 

By this time we were almost to Back Beach Road, so we made a pit stop at the CVS at the joining of Front and Back Beach. Robby decided to buy a 4 pack of beer to split, but realized he’d lost his ID as he tried to pay. After a lengthy search, Jennifer went in to buy the beer, and she got a stern warning that she wouldn’t be able to buy beer next time if Robby was present without his ID. The cashier was sure that Robby was underage due to his sparse beard and baby face.

 

We took the beer to Camp Helen to drink in the shade on Lake Powell, where Michael, not quite full from his pho, as it turns out, snagged and ate a poor ant. That 0.1 calories probably made all the difference. Camp Helen was actually hosting a Fall Festival with a pumpkin patch and more, so we checked it out. Jennifer and Michael played a quick game of Tic-Tac-Toe to stalemate while Robby and I looked on. Robby declared that he wanted to play Jennifer, certain he could win after studying the game intently. Their game kicked off, Robby focused like a laser on his moves, while Jennifer crushed him, his blinders keeping him from seeing her own moves. I was told to redact his loss from the story, but I must tell the truth. They had a re-match that Robby won, but the general consensus is that Jennifer may have let him win to salve his wounded pride.

 

It was too late by now to make it to Houndfest with any time left to enjoy the festival, so we made contact with Robby’s girlfriend Katie and met her in Rosemary Beach on 30a for coffee and beer at Amavida, where we also met up with Minh, who tolerated our presence for 15 or 20 minutes before zooming away to finish his ride.

 

The ride back home was a swift affair past standstill traffic on Front Beach, due to the Pirate Fest no doubt, marked only by our stop at Dippin Dots for cups of dippin dots that never seemed to end (get the small cup, trust me). Robby and Michael occupied themselves on the stately ride back by more sprints, skids, and off-road legs, lit only by brake lights and neon signs (and Michael’s car headlight-bright light). Don’t look back if he’s behind you at night is what I’m saying.

 

We made it back to Robby’s and collapsed on the porch for a bit, uploading to Strava and checking segment results while Owlet prowled around and kneaded dough on Michaels chest, flirting with his beard all the while. Realizing we hadn’t had dinner, we climbed back on the bikes for a short ride over to Off the Hook for cheap Rolling Rock and hot dogs. And with talk of the next camping ride, and Michael’s plan to live in his dad’s old hunting trailer, parked in the yard of an older lady friend (paying rent with his body, perhaps) we all went our separate ways, tired but happy in having spent a day in riding, friendship, and laughs. And not one flat for J. Micheal.

Done