Snot-Rockets, Road Rash, and Biker Shorts, Oh My!

“So my legs have finally stopped burning and my breathing is settling into a rhythm. This is good, only eleven or so miles to go and I feel good.”

Miles sees Zack’s eyes widen and lips press together into an incredulous tight lipped sarcastic smile. He’s not gonna make it through this story without an outburst.

Miles continues, “The weather over the past few weeks has kept me from riding the Old Creek trail so I’ve been afraid today’s ride would really suck.”

“Then you got bored, fell asleep, crashed, the end,” Zack blurts out laughing.

“Ha. No,” says Miles. “Ok ok so this guy is coming up behind me, but slowly.”

Zack starts snoring loudly.

Ignoring him, Miles turns toward the others and goes on. “I have to slow down to pass some people and now he’s on my ass.”

“And bang! Crash. Great story. Exactly how does this 'blow away' my coffee-shop-Karen story?” says Zack.

“She’s a Karen. You’re a dick. Riveting!” Miles shoots back.

Laughs roll around the table as the two trade faux-dirty looks. All good.

“So AN-Y WAY,” Miles continues. “This older dude is in one of those crazy skin tight multi-colored cycling suits. You know like they’re in a race, with corporate logos all over them as if they’re being sponsored to disrupt traffic? He cruises by me, slowly, and as he goes by I get a little bit of a shitty vibe, ya know? Well, I’m gonna step it up now. So I chug some water, blow a couple of snot-rockets over my shoulder–”

Groans and laughs from the group. A chorus of “gross!” and shaking heads.

“People do that! It's normal!” Miles insists.

“Please tell me you hit someone this time,” says Zack as the waitress delivers a fresh pitcher which is quickly passed around.

Miles continues, “the snot rockets fall harmlessly to the ground.”

More chuckles as the waitress just goes about her business, apparently deciding not to engage this group socially.

“So I speed up and stay right behind him, I don’t want to pass him yet, I have a plan for that, I just want to tail him for a while, right?”

“Dick!” says Zack, laughing proudly and pointing in mock accusation.

“I know,” says Miles, laughing. “So I stay on him for a while. I want to pass him at the bridge and show off a little.”

“Why?” says Maya.

“Cuz Miles is a badass biker,” says Zack.

Waiting only a moment for the laughs to pass, Miles goes on, “I don’t know. Just feeling competitive. So, biker suit dude has to take his bike up the long way and all the way back over the bridge on the switch-back thingy. I pop into low gear and just go straight up the grass.”

Eye rolls, heads shaking. Miles chuckles.

“So now I'm in front of him, mission accomplished, and completely gassed. Of course the dude flies by me.”

There’s a few kind laughs and sarcastic golf claps. A customary “well done” from Lena. The group in the booth in the corner is mildly amused. But Zack, oh no. He’s not letting this injustice stand. Shaking his head and raising his arms he starts to protest, “How is that better than–”

“I’m not done yet,” Miles breaks in before Zack can get his rant going. Miles’s tone is a bit different now though and ears prick up around the table as voices quiet down.

“So I'm catching my breath and coasting down the trail, looking around at the trees, the creek, bla bla bla. After a couple minutes, I see biker shorts dude coming back up the trail toward me, absolutely hauling ass. I think oh great, I showed off and now it's his turn. Only he’s all over the place and keeps looking over his shoulder. As he drifts onto my side I decide to hop over to the other side but then he looks up, instinctively corrects, and suddenly both of us dumbasses are in the middle of the damn trail.”

“Boom?!” Zack asks excitedly.

“Boom, total wipeouts.” Then Miles raises the sleeve of his hoodie to show off some fresh road rash.

“Oh shit,” says Zack, and actually sounds a tiny bit concerned.

Cringes and the sound of the rest of the group sucking through their teeth.

“So I get myself up and start picking gravel out of my arm. I’m thinking this is gonna be a fun chat… and I'm right. Dude is cussing and scrambling around trying to get his bike up. I’m looking at him, waiting for the yelling to start, but he looks right past me, eyes going wide. He desperately looks back to his bike but it’s fucked. He is panicking now and looking through me again.”

Now the table is silent as Miles pauses. They could just make out the bartenders’ conversation about the upcoming dinner rush. Finally they’re all really listening. Even Zack. Miles has been waiting all day to tell this story.

“BEAR. A fucking bear is running up the trai–”

“Fuck you. No way,” says Zack.

“Fuck you, yes way. No bullshit, swear to god. Fucking bear.”

Everyone has seen the articles recently. This was not impossible, merely unlikely.

“So, now I understand how fucked we are and begin to join my new ally in panic. I mean that thing is not far, and running fast as hell. I have no idea what to do. Just as I glance back …this fuckin guy… all I see is the back of his ridiculous shirt disappearing into the woods toward the creek. Dumbass.”

The guys are now beginning to realize that this might be serious. And are putting it together - if Miles is sitting at the table telling the story, that means biker shorts dude…

Another “Oh shit” from Zack.

“I don’t know what to do. I just think, I can't run, right? I look back down the trail toward the improbable end to my life and that fucker’s already, like, 10 yards away from me. I’m frozen. I hear its claws scratch the pavement as it crosses to the other side of the trail, then whoosh!”

Miles pauses a moment, then continues, “You know, I never realized how bad they smell. You hear about it bu–”

“What happened?!” they all yell.

“Damn thing went right by me and kept going up the trail.” Miles chuckles and shrugs.

“Crazy right? So biker shorts dude creeps out of the woods, gives me a holy-what-the-fuck face and picks up his bike. We’re both a little shaky, and clearly done with the trail today, so we make our way through one of those big backyards toward a fancy cul-de-sac. More people around. Probably safe, right?”

No responses.

“That was it. We both called Ubers.”

Uncharacteristically quiet, Zack is staring at his beer contemplatively. There’s a round of holy shits, then the theories and questions…

“Did it lose the dude?”

“Did he climb a tree?”

“Probably just didn’t care about you guys. Just out doing its thing,” offers Maya.

“Doubt it. It was running - like I felt the air rush by when it passed,” corrects Miles. “Scary fast.”

“Scary or scared?” Zack mutters and sets down his empty pint. “What if it wasn’t chasing? What if it was running away from something?”

Everyone takes a beat to consider. Then slowly the table returns to normal chatter. Miles picks up the already empty pitcher and heads toward the bar. He gives Zack a pat on the shoulder who returns the gesture with a smile.

***

As Earl closes the sliding door behind him his face scrunches up in annoyance, mustache and beard merging over his lips turn his face into one big cranky beard with eyes.

Shaking his head as he sits down with his coffee he mumbles, “Look at these dipshits.” A disinterested dog laying out in the late morning sun ignores him.

"Payin’ too much attention to their basket-weaving podcasts and not enough to what they're doin’. Wish I'd've seen ‘em eat it,” he says then laughs.

He thinks about saying something as the bozos traipse through his yard with their busted bikes, but changes his mind.

“Can’t even be bothered to bark at ‘em?” he begins but suddenly the dog is distracted, then scrabbles to its feet and darts inside.

Earl rolls his eyes then turns back to the trail and squints, wondering what scared the worthless “guard” dog. Just then, coming up the trail, big and noisy as hell, is a newly minted park service employee riding an old yellow lawn mower.

“Dumbass dog. Scared of a hippie on a lawnmower.”