Me and Mexican Monkey went on a mountain bike ride yesterday. It was in Sycamore Canyon and we dropped into the bottom of the forested canyon from a steep ridge. The canyon is oak and sycamore full of wildlife, green meadows and streams. It was a great day and some real hot guys were out both on bikes and foot. Though Mexican Monkey was ahead of me, I could count on him stopped near any hot guys. Works for me that's for sure and it seemed to take the sore from my legs looking at them.
We had done a short steep climb early and then came down through an area of streams, going through water or mud at the bottom of each gully. It was fun, cool fun though because the day was beginning to cloud and turn chilly. But it didn't matter then, we headed for the ocean and one long climb to the mountain ridge on one side of the canyon. The climb never ends. It goes up for miles until you overlook the ocean, the canyon and finally, the farmlands of Ventura coast. Before we started our single track decent, Juan had pulled up to hot hikers in admiration of how much we climbed and from where. We were admiring them more so, I think, and with that spurt of energy began a wicked, trail twisting decent. I did well until I went into a rut that held my bike while I went over the bars and, luckily, into some high green grass that softened the blow. Scratched, bleeding and sore, I got back on and did what I could to catch up with Mexican Monkey. He was waiting at the bottom and asked what in hell I hit that clawed me up. I joked about the coyotes being hungry.
We smoked a joint and with the cool weather and sore bodies decided to head back to the truck. It's a long slow climb until you get to the ridge where it gets very steep. Even in the chill of late afternoon and a stiff breeze blowing in today's storm, I was sweating on the climb. When I finally got to the top of the ridge where everyone waits, I noticed that they weren't looking at those still climbing up, but at the meadow across from the road. There was a pack of coyotes spread out searching the meadow. About eight very healthy, well fed and large coyotes. They were looking at me. The crowd turned to me who the coyotes were looking at and back to the coyotes. I had no legs left, out of breath and as Mexican Monkey said, "Adios Amigo," the group got on their bikes and fled from the coyote pack leaving me there as the weak, forgotten prey that would satisfy the bikers safe retreat.
I was hungry, very hungry, probably as hungry as the pack of coyotes and they looked like I was a good meal for a week. But I didn't get this big by turning down meals, so I looked at them too. They say dog is good tasting, I wouldn't know but I have run across road kill when doing two hundred mile rides and thought about taking one of the animal crackers from the pavement for a chew.
I started off toward the main road in the late afternoon. Slow, watching the pack watch me. They followed and I saw that they were going to flank me on both sides. I would have to go for the lead coyote if I was to have a chance.
He came up close to my side, to test me, but I had different plans. My mouth drooling, I spun around quick and shot off my bike with my mouth wide open, my teeth exposed and snapped at him when I made a quick shot toward the animal.
I never saw a coyote run so fast and along with his pack until they were well over the ridge. After that, I took my time getting back to the car where Mexican Monkey was looking through my wallet to see if there was any cash worth taking.
He asked how I survived. I told him I was hungry and looked at his arm that held a fist full of dollars. Mexican Monkey knows not to get between me a loaded table. He began to sweat yet still smile.
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