Beautiful sunny afternoon early November in the mountains, with the gentle hum of nature whispering promises of an epic adventure. We loaded the crew for what I envisioned as a serene, peaceful ride to shake off the work stress. I was about to enter a slapstick comedy of errors, starring a lot of mud and my questionable life choices.
The trail look decent and manageable terrain. But then—plot twist—Mother Nature decided to transform it into a mudslide worthy of an Olympic event.
Have you ever tried to bike through wet cement while being pulled by 4 fluffy freight trains? The pups living up to their Siberian lineage, saw the mud as their personal playground.
What should have been smooth sailing, turned into a slow-motion struggle of epic proportions.
By the time we finished our run, we looked like we'd been through a mud-wrestling championship. My rig, once a gleaming beacon of adventure, was now a muddied relic of its former self. I, too, had been transformed from a casual biker into a modern-day swamp creature.
Sure, I had mud in places where mud should never be, and my huskies looked more like mud monsters, but it was a gloriously messy adventure. The mountains, the mud, and the dogs combined to create a memory that, much like the mud itself, is sure to stick with me for a long time.
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