The first year, I managed to stay on for maybe two seconds (the second year, I barely made it out of the gate). I remember the cowboy at the bull pen casually saying as he helped me tie my left hand to the bull, “when you hit the ground, you better hit it running.” Then I remember holding my right hand high in the air in a display of iconic bravado while whispering “go.” The only thing I recall from that point on was that the bull greatly resented being ridden like a horse. He bucked and brayed like crazy, my other hand quickly grabbed onto the rope, and I was flung through the air like a rag doll.

As I hit the ground, I heard the crowd let out a collective “ooh” and I was over the fence in less time than I had been on the bull. The rodeo clowns were giggling loudly and I overheard one of them say, “he’s ridin’ ‘em Mexican-style.” I don’t know what that means, but I’m pretty sure it’s an insult. When I got back to my cluster of friends, they said the bull had tried to gore me with his horn and barely missed. Instead, he left a big streak of bullsnot on my back.

In case you’re wondering, they don’t just let any idiot walk up and hop on a bull. You have to show up a week early, sober, to sign a bunch of forms and pay a fifty dollar registration fee. Well, I guess it’s more accurate to say that they will let any idiot hop on a bull, just as long as that idiot pre-registers.

This benchmark is full of information.

Here’s a closer look at the map: (Print a PDF version)

We only rode to Furman University and back. It was really crowded. We were out there the day before the USA Road Cycling Championship, and so was everyone else who likes to ride. It’s kind of like the week of The Masters, when everyone develops spring fever and you can’t get a spot at the driving range. I managed to get this picture when we reached an uncrowded spot:

It was fun and we’ll definitely do it again. Next time we’ll get lots of pictures of the scenery. Once they have the Trail Tram up and running, I think we’ll ride it out to the end of the trail and ride our bikes back home.

UPDATE: The trail is finally connected from Greenville to Traveler’s Rest. Here are some pictures.

Within a couple of miles (in any direction) from my house, I have a farmers market, a local butcher, a chain grocery store, and several restaurants. So I can use the bike to run several errands, as long as it’s not too hot. In honor of this new challenge to ride my way to a thinner waistline, I turn to the master for inspiration.

By the way, I watched I’m Not There again a few days ago. It’s a masterpiece and a paean for Dylan fans. But it’s like an inside joke; it’s great if you’re on the inside, and abstract silliness of you’re on the outside. If you didn’t like the film, I suggest you watch Scorsese’s No Direction Home first and then give it another try.

After you’ve brushed up on your Dylan lore, you’ll find this spoof hilarious: No Direction, Period.

My wife and I recently stayed at the Jekyll Island Club on Jekyll Island, GA.

It was founded about 100 years ago as a winter retreat by our nation’s titans of industry:

At the turn of the century, tycoons, politicians, and socialites flocked to Jekyll Island to revel in their own luxury and America’s burgeoning wealth. Our historic Georgia Club was described in the February 1904 issue of Munsey’s Magazine as “the richest, the most exclusive, the most inaccessible club in the world.” Its impressive members included such luminaries as J.P. Morgan, William Rockefeller, Vincent Astor, Joseph Pulitzer, William K. Vanderbilt, and other recognizable names on the roster were Macy, Goodyear, and Gould.

Eventually, the state bought the island and opened it to the public. The historic district is really nice, but the rest of the island is an odd mixture of modern development, RV Parks and 1950′s nostalgia.

The historic district is the land surrounding the Club, which includes the many “cottages” built by wealthy families who frequented the resort in the early 20th century.

The whole place is bike and pedestrian-friendly, so we rode around half of the island and took in the sights. The island is covered with trees that droop to the ground:

We even saw an alligator just off one of the bike trails:

I named him Mr. Hyde. Naturally.

I got this Raleigh Sprite Mixte 10-Speed (circa 1978, coffee finish) for $60 at a local thrift store. The Sprite was a bit retro even in its own time, but it was also foward-looking. It has thoroughly modern gear and came in three frames. Most people assume that a diamond frame is a man’s frame and a step-through frame is a lady’s bike. That’s mostly true (the low bar helped with modesty), but it wasn’t always. Diamond-frame bikes were designed for riding long distances on the roads and step-through frame bikes were designed mainly for getting from A to B in town. That’s why they are sometimes called “townies” by cycle geeks.

The Mixte (French, pronounced MEEkst) was supposed to be the best of both worlds. It was big like a road bike, easy to mount and dismount because of the lower frame, and it had “townie” handlbars. It was the precursor to the now-ubiquitous hybrid mountain bike. Some people hate them, but I think that has more to do with what they’re used to riding.

Here’s the brochure for the 1978 Sprite. You can see the three different frames.

Now we just need to get my wife a new bike and we’ll be able to ride the Swamp Rabbit Trail through town.