One of the things that I sort of took for granted in Sacramento, was the excellent fellows I rode with. Over the years there were several interesting characters, for instance, Eric the Raider fan. Like most Raider fans, Eric had spent some time in jail, and generally had what you might call a raunchy outlook on life (and also a predilection for 16 year-old girls). If you had to drive somewhere, to a race or Moab or wherever, you could always count on Eric to fill much of the time recounting hilarious (and really weird) stories about his social life. The sickest was probably the x-rated video he rented which featured people with milk cartons, funnels and straws, who proceeded to drink chocolate milk out of each other's butts. No sane person would ever recount such a thing, but Eric did. Somehow, a power bar didn't seem so bad after that.
Then there was Karsten. When we got hold of Karsten, he was a complete spazz. He was fast enough to be a Cat I trackie, and had spent some time at the Olympic Training Center as a junior, but he seemed to be completely unable to execute even the most rudimentary steering maneuver on a mountain bike. To add humor (ours) to injury (his), he was about 6'5" and 220 lbs, so when he hit the ground, it was a tectonic shift. When he got in shape though, watch out. Once my wife and I wound our tandem up to about our top speed on flat ground, around 32 mph or so. Karsten rode alongside us grinning for 20 seconds or so, then jumped away from at an unbelievable rate, musta been well over 40 mph. He pulled away from us so fast I thought we'd stopped, so I got off at 32 mph to see what was the matter. I felt that the next morning.
Then of course, there's Keith. Keith lives in an alternate plane of reality. He has a unique ability to make no sense whatsoever on any subject you can think of. He might be the funniest guy I've ever known. Just when you're starting to wonder what drugs his parents must have been on, he goes and cleans some incredible technical section that you would never even think of trying unless you had spotters belaying you from above. Keith is also the only person I know who has a degree in vise mechanics. He can find a way to use a vise for any job, from hub repairs, to sandwich-making, to foreplay.
The guy I rode the most with was SuperDan. Dan is famous for being the fastest guy to never win anything really important. He was 2nd at the sea otter a couple years back to Norba's top semi-pro, Justin Robinson. He was leading the lemurian when he flatted, then lost a front brake pad while fixing the flat, and had to descend the infamous lemurian chute with only a rear brake. He was about to take over the lead at the Skyline mtb race a couple years ago when he forgot how to steer, so he t-boned the leader, totally pretzeling his front wheel in the process. He's also one of the few people who doesn't start to shake and twitch and the thought of going for a ride with me. Dan and I have spent more time alone together than my wife and I have, usually utterly lost in some remote stretch of the Sierras, completely unprepared for whatever is happening to us. Once we decided to try a new trail on a night ride. We were sure we knew where it popped back out onto our planned route. It ended up being a 5 hr ride (at night), for 3 of which hours we were totally lost. But he keeps coming back for more.
I figured since I got so slow all of the sudden, that I might have some legal recourse against my former homeboys. So I went to see a lawyer, Shylock D. Rippov, to find out if I get an injunction forcing Dan and Keith to move here, or possibly get some kind of damage award to compensate me for my lack of fitness. After all, this is America. I can't possibly be responsible. Unfortunately, when Mr. Rippov discovered that neither Dan nor Keith actually own anything worth seizing, he started to fear for his fees, so he decided not to take my case. I'm still looking for another lawyer who might be willing to take the case on a pro bono basis.