Suretyagent

This ride is mentioned in the Portland section and posted here also to allow riders who are unfamiliar with this ride to participate.

We’re meeting at the 12th Street Circle K which is a ½ mile north of the 12th street intersection with Madrona in South Salem. (2904 12th Street SE Salem, Oregon)

All riders are welcome. We usually have a good group of guys and girls and go for 50+- miles then get a bite to eat. The average age is probably 40 and this group is Semi-fast but the pace is not reckless and slow guys (like me) are always allowed to catch up with the fast guys.

Hope to see you there.

Derek

Whitesmokeyzf

Hey Derek,
Thanks for the invite, I didn't look in time or I would have been in. Next time.

Lowman

I'll check in on the boards and try to catch another one.

Suretyagent

Through cloudy skies gray light fell upon us as we hurdled corner-to-corner at a 6/10ths pace. Unlike so many rides before, Jim was not leading as we followed Massimo on his Aprilia factory special RSVR and Onetrack on his intoxicatingly sensual 848. Our two leaders were keeping the pace relatively sedate, obviously peeling one eye in their mirrors, making sure I was not left too far behind as I followed the other five riders like a bungee cord attached anchor.

Into a 90 degree right-hander I downshifted under hard breaking and felt my rear tire serpentine as it searched for grip along the gritty surface of the farm road which we were riding. As I exited and shot towards the next 90 degree corner, a left-hander on the edge of the smelliest sheep farm in Marion county, I saw Matt hard on his brakes with hand out to slow both me and Alcorn69. As the corner opened up into a granular nightmare I witnesses Jim pulling himself up from the ground, knee puck hanging off one leg of his riding pants, scrapes on 20% of his gear, including his face shield and quiet curses tumbling from his mouth. We dismounted and asked Jim if he was ok, which was answered (no surprise, if you know Jim) with a resounding, “I’m fine, no problems” and he jumped down into the ditch to retrieve his bike.

Slugging down the slick embankment and into a foot of water Jim hoisted mightily on his bike – which moved convincingly under his strain – before dropping it back down and muttering something about his wrist, “might be sprained . . .”. He crawled back out and we began the bike salvage operation as various body parts began to swell and bruise on Jim. And then the pain seeped in. It was beginning to hurt just to look at him. The wrist is broken.

The remainder is history. Jim The Intrepid is out for a spell and will be sorely missed by the rest of us.

Derek