This vignette has a leaning towards the male's point of view. To fully understand the material, it helps to have testosterone present,otherwise material may seem sexist and offending

Women might refer instead to the article; riding the Oat Hill Mine road

The Bikin' Fools make no disclaimer about their appreciation for women and the feminine component of this life, the blessed goddesses help keep it all together. Comments contained herein are in no way intended to be offensive, disrespectful or hurtful, even though that may be hard to believe.

Along the Babealonian Trail

The Moon over Napa Valley

On this fourth weekend of the 2000 year, Spring, warmth and a soft lovely atmosphere visited Calistoga and the Napa Valley. The winter rains of late had ceased long enough to allow the flowers and grass on the smooth hillsides to leap forth in an orgy of virility and growth. This day belonged to the Goddess of fertility.

At the bike shop, there was an eager sense of anticipation, of wonton desire to shoot one’s credit wad into the seductive womb of the PMS credit card receiver. To break down and have an affair on the spot; to violate the monogamous relationship with cash only and flirt with big danger, danger of getting caught with the credit card in the luscious folds of the Palisades card receptacle.

The Santa Cruz posed coyly on the rack as Eric walked by trying in vain to be nonchalant. Her large, full figured frame begged to be ridden, ridden hard. Eric could feel the haze of addictive behavior begin to waft into his consciousness. He could feel the financial woody beginning to swell in his pocket. It was going to be a long, luscious day for the senses.

Dave had met his obligation at the bike shop and was free to fondle his new Santa Cruz to whatever degree he chose. Shane would mount his brand new Kona hardtail for the afternoon. Lindsey would waltz the gracious Bo-ti over the undulating terrain for hours and hours. But today Eric would get some "strange". He would stray from the home stable of bikes and spend the day in naughty, flirty play with the seductress from Santa Cruz.

A relationship can include some rough sledding as Dave discovered.

Apparently he asked it to do something early on that it just wasn’t ready for. One must be patient, slow and learn the Goddess increment by increment while quietly rising in love and bliss. In an instant before the troops even got out of the driveway at Eric’s apartment, Dave found himself flat on his back, writhing in pain after performing one of the coolest, but most unsuccessful wheelies we’ve yet to see. Thank God for Camelbacks!

The temperature was in the mid-sixties as the four Bikin' Fools began the six mile ascent up to the top of the Oat Hill Mine road. There were several cars parked at the trailhead. Before one hundred yards had been processed, two very lovely hikers appeared on the trail. They were smiling in delight at the very beautiful day and the wonderful experience of travel on the Oat Hill Mine road. The pleasing natural setting has a tendency to whisk away any blues and avail one to the joy of being alive on such a nice day.

Several other people passed. As the foursome gained altitude and began to access some endorphin buzz, the stage was set for another rush of sensual input. Without warning, seven giddy Babealonians appeared. They lined the trail as a sensual gauntlet tugging at the ‘Fools to go blond and stack in their midst.

But that was not the end of it for the Bikin' Fools. Waiting just a few more corners up the trail was Venus and her dog. Her sheer blouse had to be made of 100% spray can. Her youthful, perfect breasts stood out like two eyes demanding contact. "Hi there…" Her face beamed beauty and symmetry. She had the air of royalty, dignity and quality way beyond what the Bikin' Fools could possibly deserve.

For the next couple of miles the bikers would get a respite from the rush of the Saturday beauties. They could settle into their machines. Three of the four were on new bikes for the first time. All of the nuances and subtleties would be studied and carefully watched. The first set of lower technicals gave the opportunity to learn much. Each biker experienced the glow of a ride going well. Shane was climbing like a homesick angle. The Kona seemed to dig in and fly up the long, arduous grade. Shane was doing so well that he may have experienced endorphin overload, or a testosterone induced hallucination when he reached the high option junction. He stopped suddenly. As he looked ahead he squinted and rubbed his eyes. Could it be true what he was seeing? Did he smoke too much today? Fifty feet up the trail was a naked female butt staring him straight in the face. Eric arrived on the scene to confirm this U.F.O. (unpantied female object). As Eric scrambled past Shane, the lady suddenly noticed she wasn’t alone and quickly pulled her drawers up, but not in time to prevent a massive fragmenting of the sensory strunods in the brains of two Bikin' Fools. Gosh, what a day!

That was almost the end of it. Next it would be Lindsey’s turn for monumental hard drive activity when he met Jane Fonda on the trail. She was casually cruising down the path with her golden lab.

On the Upper Section, the Bikin' Fools would eventually find relief from the storm of unrelenting femalia sightings. Lindsey, propelled by his lingering vision of Barbarella, cleaned the very difficult first section of ‘baby heads’ for the first time ever. Eric would discover the delightful handling of the nimble Santa Cruz as he picked and worked his way up the very difficult section of the old, weathered mine road. Dave would be heard belting out expletives, processing not only the mine road, but all of humanities struggle to make sense from the myriad of relationships that affect the human condition.

At the Holmes place, the four wheezing candidates for cardiac arrest made the turn towards Pickett. Finally just past the gate, with all four breathing hard the climax of the ride was had. From this peak of altitude, it would be "all downhill" as they say. Immediately following the pinnacle of this event, it was time to dismount the bikes, smoke a cigarette and collapse in a groggy, satisfied heap.

The Bikin' Fools had chosen the secluded cave to take their well-earned rest. This moment would prove to be serendipitous for Lindsey who discovered his groovy shirt that he had left on the previous moonride. The four lounged on the deck for an extended period of time. They appreciated this moment to be Gods chosen few. Chosen to experiment with extraordinary sensual input. Could the Bikin' Fools handle this weighty task?

Although it seemed as though there was plenty of time for the riders to complete the mission, the sunshine of the glorious day would begin to fade along with the visions of Barbarella. At the Pickett turnoff, Shane and Dave made a sensible decision to depart for Calistoga. Lindsey and Eric, jaded by increasing L-Factor, pressed on in search of the old Air Force aircraft wreckage site. They reasoned that with daylight, the transit to Bell Canyon would take little time…

The travel to the south continued at an acceptable pace. Upon arriving at the Maacama Triangle, the two decided to revisit the area that had been so confusing during the moonlight ride nine days previous. It was there that Dr. J., Linz and Eric experienced a mysterious mental compass swing, in which the mind insisted that north was south and east was west. This bona fide L-Factor zone was again active as Eric and Lindsey tried in vain to make sense of direction. Finally with the realization that they were incapable of processing the situation, they headed off towards Shawn’s Inn. The single track through the woods was littered with brush trimmings. Eric spent an inordinate amount of time removing the nasty, hard-to-penetrate thicket from the trail. The sun continued its journey to the horizon.

After a short stay at the rest spot, they again headed towards the Bell Canyon turnoff; a turnoff that was to remain stealth. As the road improved towards Angwin the duo made good time in the fading rays of the day. Eventually they came to a gate next to a vineyard. This would usher in a high-speed thoroughfare to the valley. As they were un-trespassing over the gate, a stranger appeared walking in the vineyard.

"Hi there." Lindsey said.

"Hello." The stranger returned in a non-threatening voice.

Several rounds of pleasantries and banter followed.

"By the way," Eric asked, "Is this Bell canyon?"

"No, you’re going to come out on White Cottage road in Angwin." The stranger noted.

"Angwin!" Eric and Lindsey simultaneously exclaimed.

The L-Factor was intact. The plot was also thickening with the demise of the daylight. The moon was long gone; there would be no light at all soon. Not only that, but the scariest form of bicycle riding was yet to occur; sharing a dark highway in black clothing and no lights with traffic on a Saturday night.

Sure enough, a road appeared and the two unbelieving cyclists had to accept the fact that they were much deeper than planned. The improving dirt turned to pavement, Buckeye lane spilled onto White Cottage. From that junction for the next two miles, the brand new pavement had no lines whatsoever. The only distinguishing feature was the sound of the tires when they left the tarmac. When a car did pass, the lights blinded the intrepid cyclists forcing them to employ heroic means to stay alive. Lindsey used the Cyclops method, using one eye against the traffic and one eye closed in prayer. This practice seemed questionable at best.

Finally Deer Park road appeared. Now the two would have a chance to experience brutally cold, sub freezing chill factors while rocketing downhill on the brink of disaster. After observing that the traffic seemed to pass in ‘trains’, the ‘fools’ departed in an apparent break in the action. Eric was able to flash the entire hill to the hospital turn-off, but Lindsey, not content with the high level of danger, elected to time his run to coincide with the only bus likely to be on the road this week. This was not an average bus. It was the largest coach seen in Northern California. Further, to Lindsey’s credit, he timed it to pass on the narrowest part of the road with oncoming traffic. It is highly likely that Lindsey’s guardian angel suffered severe chest pains at this moment.

Continuing the unbroken string of marginal decisions, the two decided that Crystal Springs road would be the way to go. Under the canopy of trees that line the road, the faint lumens disappeared altogether. Not even owls dared to try navigate this place. The only option was to pedal at such a slow pace that damage would be limited when the crash occurred. The speed issue was revisited when a couple of bad sounding, mad dogs began to chase the hapless duo. It was rapidly becoming a bad dream.

Mercifully the beginning of the end occurred with contact of the Silverado Trail. The fog line could be faintly seen down there by the tire. Vision further than five feet, however, was still limited. This type of riding causes a pucker factor that can suck the cover right off the seat. The six or so miles slowly rolled under the tires. The lights of Calistoga began to glow brighter. Finally the trail ended at highway 29. Eric and Linz proceeded to Eric’s apartment, then directly to the Calistoga Inn for badly needed electrolyte therapy.

It was a day committed to the senses. Pleasure and an appreciation of the female qualities of life dominated the Bikin' Fools experience. The seductive qualities of the new bikes added zest to the spirits. The images seen on the trail were so scintillating that one had to wonder if they really saw them. Or was it rampant L-Factor? Being in the dark helped the ‘bikin'fools’ appreciate the ethereal guidance that is given to cover the innocence and frivolity associated with great adventure.

As Eric awoke the next morning, incredibly stiff and sore, he again felt some erectile action in the finances as he gazed with unabashed lust at the rented Santa Cruz. It stood waiting invitingly in the hallway. It could be another day for the senses.