Baker’s Dozen

It was a half-baked idea from the very beginning. Linz had spent the first part of the weekend resorting and melting into the hot waters of Orr Hot Springs Resort in Ukiah. When he arrived at the shop for the event, there was a relaxed, fluid manner about him. He looked like a big wad of Play Dough. Jim Korte presented his best half-baked offering by drinking way to much electrolyte replacement beverage before the event and having to hurl three different times on the drive to the outing.

The Moon Goddess had selected the ride several weeks in advance. She beckoned to the Fool’s to come to the Sacred Waters and indulge in a wonderful range of sensual offerings. The pleasure started at water’s edge as the outlaw Bikin' Fools stole a few moments of blissful wonderment from the all the naked ladies of the night. Moonlight on breasts will put a serious indentation on a guy’s funnometer as it hits the backside of the zero peg.

A record shattering twenty-six wheels would transform the quiet woods into a symphony of clickity clacking shifters and cleats. The rumbling tires occasionally tagged rocks, sticks and phantom holes. Light banter and talk was interspersed with expressions of anguish and frustration. Surprising quiet this evening was Dave Frame. His manner was smooth, easy and relaxed. On this night he seemed completely at ease with the concept of riding at night. Riding only in the light of La Luna in conditions that often turned into fuzzy nothingness.

The evening produced a new rookie. Tom from the bike shop, after months of raised eyebrows at the notion of a moonride, committed to the event. Along with Ryan who also works at the bike shop, they represented an excellent technical influence that psychically kept the thirteen bikes functioning flawlessly throughout the entire night.

A rare visit from Scott made sure that the average reality perception was off enough to produce certain anomalies in normal functioning. Actually, it was Scott’s reality-defying magic tricks that kept the Bikin' Fools’ in a state of disbelief all night long. First the hallucinatory Volvo appeared at the helicopter pad. Somehow the number of riders kept changing as the event unfolded. On Karen’s trail there were twelve. Then when the pack hit the Big Springs trail, the crowd now counted thirteen, even though the same people were there all along. Humm… Later in the ride, Scott would make his pack mysteriously vanish and change his bike into another one. How does he do that?

Sean had negotiated a window of opportunity to attend this special gathering of the Bikin' Fools. Shawn, Brent, Eric and Austin rounded out the 12 or 13 souls on board for the sailing of the S.S. BoggsAdventure.

There was some trepidation about the ability to progress with the large number of people. However, a relaxed and easy pace kept the commuters moving smoothly along the fickle edge of good sense. After all, this ride contains such features as the abrupt abyss, the overhead slammer (the main chute), carnivorous brush and bored mountain lions. The potential for an adverse outcome was multiplied by thirteen. Then the equation was divided by the various realities that existed among the participants. Bogglement of the mind occurred early, much as a poorly timed orgasm. For the rest of the ride the mind would be flaccid, limp, unable to respond to the temptations of reason, logic and sound principles of thinking. No, it would be left to get dragged through this euphoric experience unable to mount any real assault to the rampaging moment. It was an ongoing moment of extraordinary experience on the stage of the Goddess, in the Grand Cathedral of the unspoiled countryside.

The riders rode route 500 for the two miles to the campground. This allowed a much-needed warm up to combat the near freezing temperatures. It was only a couple of months earlier that the Fools’ were swimming across Rector Reservoir in the middle of the night. Tonight was brilliantly clear and chilling cold. The moon was so bright that it had a blue tint to it. It was high in the sky due to its winter ecliptic. It shown with such intensity that seeing was easy, except in the deep shadows, the shadows where fear feeds and doubt dominates.

At the campground the squad headed off into the woods, with Eric yelling; "Wrong Way!" The group spilled into the woods in what Eric was convinced would be a splitting of the bodies. This occurred on a past Boggs run. But no, the sketchy woods magically (thanks to Scott) morphed into Crew Trail. From that point forth, it was cool runnin’ all the way to Big Springs. It took an hour or so. No one could find a discouraging word. Life was good.

At Big Springs a Dave-worthy fire was brought to full blaze. A world-class culinary event unfolded from the packs of the Bikin' Fools. Venison sausage, steaks, corn on the cob, potatoes and other items stimulated the oral senses to the top of the scale. Garlic bread, fish tacos, baked carrots and apples urged the funnometer to blow right off the scale. The conversation became quiet as lower brain stem activity took over.

The fire was doused when dinner had been finished. The group re-entered bikin’ mode and pedaled up the hill to the Great Bowl Route. This part of the ride offers intense views of Lake County. Mt. St. Helena, the gracious lady, stood majestic in the background overseeing the moonlight madness. Then the road proceeded downhill past the great void to the shale pit. From that point, the route climbed steeply for three-quarters of a mile to the chutes turnoff.

Austin cleaned the chutes without damage. Eric bailed early and walked the hazard. Most of the group took the more sensible alternative chute "B". Once beyond the fabled chutes, the trail began several miles of delightful single track. The trail descended playfully down the west Harbin ridge. It eventually joined the tubby trail where a dozen Lunatistas waited for the Linz to slough off of the mountain. By now he was moving like syrup on cold pancakes. A total meltdown was only a few minutes away when Linz would slip into the soothing waters again, bracketing his weekend with more sensuality than a normal body could stand.

All of the Lunatistas managed to get to the pools without becoming lost in the maze of trails that occur near the bottom. One by one the Fools filed into the pool area and out of their minds. This evening was unusually well attended by a pleasant assortment of Goddesses. As the bikers melted into the warm soothing waters, it seemed that it couldn’t get much better. And it didn’t. Two women in particular took the edge off of the state of bliss that the oglemeisters were experiencing. First, Moby Jane appeared. Her generously endowed form displaced a major portion of the water when she entered the pool. The ghost of Capt. Ahab could be sensed in the area, eyes wide with anticipation of a major whaling encounter.

Jim Korte, concerned that the evening might slip past without a squirrelly incident, refused to take part in the pool action. Instead he chose to sit at the end of the deck, looking unkempt and much as a Lake Co. tweeker. His failure to blend in caught the eye of the management lady who proceeded to question Jim as to his status. Jim’s answers led the lady to the youthful Ryan who defaulted to Shawn. When the management lady came to the pool and motioned to Shawn, a quiet, but mass exodus began. One, by one and in small groups the cyclists carefully filed out of the compound.

All of the Bikin' Fools eventually made it to Middletown and convened a debriefing at Eric’s pad. The car shuffle was executed and somewhere near the 3:00 hour, the mission of Moonlight Madness drew to a very pleasant and successful close. It was a record night. It contained a huge amount of fun and abandon. Senses of many descriptions were titillated to the max. La Luna shined brightly upon the Bikin' Fools on this Veteran’s day, a day to remember. It was a classic ride.