Merry Land III

So, this guy Delmer can get away with being Johnny Match because he rides like the faacking wind, and, as I found out later, gets all of his shit free from Yeti. (Just like going to the gym, where, if you wear one of those wide leather "kidney belts", you'd I better be able to lift a faacking house, if you show up at the trailhead and all your shit matches like faacking pyjamas, you will either go exceptionally large, or get buggered deep in the bushes far from the trailhead.) Neither LLF, nor Delmer mention any name for this run, but after about four or five times down it, satisfied that I am not a complete dweeb, Delmer opines that we should go the the "other side". The "other side" consists of about five or six trails where the locals take people who either can ride, or who they want to humiliate for their own obscure and twisted reasons. Delmer and LLF mention the names of the various trails in the process of deciding which one to ride first, and conclude to descend what the quick consensus called "the easiest one". The trails all have joke names like "Panty Line", although for reasons soon to surface, I do not remember any of them. After hearing all the cute names for the trails on this side of the hill, I asked LLF the name of the first trail we had ridden and he said something like: "the Girly Run". We suit up and take off down the "easy" trail. It starts out like the Girly Run, but soon enough turns into something disturbingly different. The woodsy single track morphs into a dirty line snaking across massive rock slabs and boulders. Before I knew it, going about fifteen miles an hour and already out of control, I popped up onto the top of a rock the size of conversion van. The little dirty line I had been following abruptly stopped and then re-appeared fourteen feet below in a pile of rocks the size of microwave ovens.