Where Men Become Boys

Most news stories are mandated by The Suits. Others you assign yourself. Such was the case today, as I worked harder than I had to simply because the subject matter, well ... mattered. But I'm getting ahead of myself, something you won't find me doing whenever Weaver and I soak up some singletrack. "Singletrack"- that's cyclese for twisty ribbon of dirt. There's miles of it behind my house and even though I'm a full-grown homeowner, you'll find it still runs straight through my heart. Thing is, my heart's forty-four years old. And while that's nowhere near retirement age, it is a little 'up there' for the kind of riding I like to do. Thus, it recently became clear to me what I must do...

Suck up to the rescue squad.

That's where Chris Roseboro comes in. Hulking and gregarious, this former floor camera jockey gave up television years ago for a higher purpose: firefighting. But it ain't just flames Rosie knocks down with a single beefy forearm. Lately, he's lent his considerable might to the fire department's fledgling mountain bike rescue team. When word reached me that he was looking to get the word out, I rung him up to quite simply say, "I'm your huckleberry". Trouble was, he wasn't much of a 'Tombstone' fan so I politely informed him I'd be happy to point some eyeballs at his pet project.

That, he understood.

All of which is a wordy way of explaining why Weaver and I took to our weekend ride with a bit more vigor on Saturday. The Blue Heron trail was as dry, hard and fast as we'd seen it in months, and we wasted no time rocketing down its many ravines. Perhaps we should have wasted some time for it wasn't long before I found myself flying over the handlebars, headed for Terra Firma while wondering what other hobby I should explore. Likewise, Weaver made sweet, unplanned love to a tree stump. Both collisions were recorded by the GoPro camera and eventually made it into my report. We didn't plan it that way, but I've been a news man long enough to when to take advantage of a bloody knee.

Even when it's my own.

Fast forward to Monday morning. No longer outwardly limping, I met Roseboro and his pals at a North Greensboro park for a few hero shots. And speaking of heroes, Weave showed up! Dude had some time between shoots so he lent me some assistance with the kick-ass but finicky GoPro camera. Even more to his liking, Weaver got to exhibit his finest Dukes of Hazzard skill-set, at one point, driving a Gator backwards with one hand while shooting video with the other. Somebody call the law! Then again, all they would have found is two TV geeks and three firemen giggling like school boys as they popped wheelies and dropped one-liners. All in all, a great way to spend a Monday...

I just hope the rescue squad remembers it, should they ever have to scrape me off a tree.