I was glad to sleep late on Saturday and after a small breakfast, we made a chili start up the mountain. As it began to warm, I couldn't help but think about the fact that I had ridden the same pass with 8 to 10 inches of snow just a couple months before. We had a great climb but at about mile ten my brother unleashed a series of attacks that kept things interesting until we reached the top. After a couple of picture oppurtunities we started the almost routine descent. But much to my surprise something different happend this time. In a 180 degree turn and at about 45 mph, I heard a pop like a .22 rifle and had just enough time to realize that the sound was my rear tire. I went out of control, crossed the opposite lane and had a close encouter of the Ford kind before shimmying back into my lane and came to a stop. My brother was in front and didn't know that I fell off. My tire was trashed. I started to walk with my thumb out. I couldn't believe how many cars just blew right by before two nice ladies picked me up and took me down the mountain. All in all, it still turned out to be a nice ride and we finished it off with Cajun food and a PBR.
