BIKING VAGABONDS

WE PULLED OFF THE HIGHWAY TO EAT LUNCH, and by happenstance it was an MTB trailhead.  A crusty, ripped ol' dude pulled up on a super sweet Ibis Mojo.  He was wasn't wiry...

... as much as he was sinewy.

A lifetime of adventure radiated his countenance.  Flame and snake tattoos added charm, beginning at his fingers and flickering up to his biceps...

... he'd ridden a few miles, for sure.

Just got this bike.

It's a beaut.

My first full suspension.

Do you love it?

Yes, it just knows where I want to go.  Telepathic control.

Amazing.

But, to be honest, I love all the bikes.  I started riding in the 60s, Schwinn cruisers.  We rode all over these hills.  And just never stopped.

He could have been 60, or 70, or 80.  

I couldn't tell.

Before he left, he looked at us and said...

... It must be nice to be biking vagabonds...

... then drove off in his fancy truck, dream bike inside.

I thought that was funny.  He's aspiring to be like us, who he thinks we are, and we've spent a good portion of the drive to UT trying to figure out how to do these trips more than a few times a year.

New goal:  Biking Vagabond.