For whatever reason we decided we needed a more social ride. You know, easy going, fun ride without pressure. The plan was to head to our local marg shack, ride there and ride back. It would be dark when we rode back so bring lights. See where this is going?

Let’s rewind a bit. We are building on some history here. The last time we did this it was an utter disaster. Picture seven guys on the side of the road. In our neighborhood. On a weeknight. On bikes. All the red tail lights blinking like airport fucking strobes clustered around a not-to-be-named member of the crew yakking. I’ll never forget the red color of the strobes reflecting off the yak. That shit sticks with you.

So we knew a shit show could ensue. Maybe none of us wanted to admit it. We all sort of had a bit of a “this will go sideways” mental model.

This time we are a split start. The eMTB nerds (me and Vberg) wanted to get some Emma laps in first. Which by the way were fucking absolutely epic. We took the Connors downhill, which we crushed, then did a half loop so quick our timetable was all off. Instead of meeting the others we decided to do another lap. If you’ve ridden Emma Long you don’t just opine hey dude let’s just do another lap. This night we did and we did.

We aren’t even done high-fiving when the other three hoodlums show up. We’ve got JB the ringleader, Boots as normal, and the newbie Z. So that makes five with me and Vberg.

Looking at us… uh, this crew could cook. Everyone looks a little fiery, maybe ready to rumble. I thought this was an easy fun ride?

So JB leads, as he often does. Some innate character trait will not let him follow. Seriously, if you pressure him he just goes faster. So we’ve learned not to press. For the love of fucking god do not press JB. You poke the bear, the pace goes up for everyone.

So yeah it wasn’t a simple fun run. Three of the five on eMTB and the two analogs (Boots and JB) are monsters. We start cooking. JB leads us on his home brew route. It’s unbelievable. Guys, Texas Hill Country MTB is so amazing. I almost don’t want to tell you. Don’t overpopulate the place type of thing. But hey my readership is pretty slim, I think we are safe.

Rocks, roots, climbs, zip zap, the pace is good. Rowdy. Z smacks a couple trees, he’s ok, I forget to shift and block everyone, we are hooting and hollering and zooming. Dreamy.

We pull up at the marg shack. It’s Tuesday. And yeah it’s all us. We park our bikes on the dock next to Lake Austin. The temps are perfect central Texas spring. Not too hot, not too humid, just perfect. Vberg orders margs two at a time. Fucking genius.

bikes on the dock

Let me just pause to say. Wow. I mean, shit, I’ve been riding bikes for 30 years, it’s second nature. But some of these guys haven’t and I just want to say wow. Vberg crushing Emma. JB’s pace, his on-bike posture. Boots is a fucking diesel-powered freight train. And Z. Dude, Z is brand new to this sport. We didn’t go easy on him. No whimper, no whine, he just fucking put his head down and got it done. Only two tree strikes! Most guys this new would have gone down half a dozen times at that pace. Everyone deserved a marg.

Or 6.

the crew photo credit: Boots

And that’s exactly what happened. Any more margs would have meant we needed a dust off from the wives. Nope, time to go. 3 margs in 30 minutes is redline. It’s now dark. Everyone dons lights and heads out. I am going to just admit. I was a bit nervous.

To get home it’s a climb. Not a crazy climb but it’s mostly uphill. JB has a plan and a pace. We fall into line. No one is talking now. Everyone’s inner gyro is recalibrating after the tequila hits. Uhhhhh.

night peloton photo credit: Boots

We settle into a rhythm. It’s pitch black, lights are illuminating the trail but everything else is dark. If you haven’t ridden at night you have to do it. The darkness around has a way of focusing you, no distractions, just the trail, just where your headlights are. I’m rocking a helmet-mounted unit from Outbound Lighting. Dude it’s the sun. Our ragtag MTB-style peloton winds its way up. Single track all of it. Some parts smooth then rocky, some technical then more technical. A quick rock drop down keeps us on point as we find our way through the forest. Not too fast, not too slow, just right. Night pace. Fast enough that we are all on edge. Vberg quips how fucking epic this is — he’s right. Fun level 9 million as we finally get our out-of-breath train of 40-and-50-somethings feeling like kids again out to the road.

We all give big high fives and knuckles. No yakking this time. A new standard has been set — and a new level of oh my fucking god night riding. As I pedal home Vberg just keeps saying epic. Epic. Again he’s not wrong. I’m not even home yet when JB sends out the next marg shack run invite. Yeah it was that good.

through the forest photo credit: Boots