A Dead Fish and a Fat Possum

So I go out for a little trail ride Thursday night and run into Rick Shaw of Ready to Race while I’m rollin’ down Rover’s Run. A little later, we meet again and start chattin’ with Rio over on Gasline, and Rick finds out I’m headed for Arizona without a bike. He drops a couple of e-mails and—badda big, badda boom—Brady Gay at Bicycle Showcase in Scottsdale is hooking me up with Gary Fisher’s new all-mountain ride.

Some smoked salmon and cold Alaskan Amber found their way to the shop, and there’s a Fat Possum XT in my sister-in-law’s laundry room. Looks like I won’t be spending my vacation drinkin’ margaritas and gettin’ fat. Well, at least not the latter.

That's OK. I can sweat out all the toxins. We fly out of Anchorage in 50-degree weather, and by Saturday afternoon we’re sizzling in 102-degree heat.

So much for sleeping late on vacation. Tomorrow I plan to ride between 7 and 9 a.m. just to survive.

Hmm. How long ya think a 40 oz. Camelback is gonna last in this stuff?