The high cost of mountain biking!
On Sun, 14 Aug 2016 06:52:39 -0500, "EdwardDolan"
"John B." wrote in message
On Sat, 13 Aug 2016 05:16:13 -0500, "EdwardDolan"
My God! This idiot has finally learned how to edit a post.
I have no interest at this particular time in learning anything about how
Redwood trees propagate. I do know that "relative primitive" is not an
abstraction, but a reality that millions of us appreciate to have at our
beck and call without the plague of mountain bikers present.
"Relative primitive", yet another term used to justify the fact that
modern effete America only wants the "nice" things with none of the
real "primitive with toilets". Of course one cannot be expected to
squat down to take a crap. And how would one wash one's hands without
running water, and Oh God, a mosquito.
Jesus Dooley but you people are pathetic.
The only pathetic asshole here is yourself. I am now blaming myself for
wasting time on an idiot like you. Either post relevant content or get lost!
At least I am not hearing any more nonsense about you having tread where no
man has trod, nope, not even in the forbidding Sahara, let alone in lush
At least the mountain bike people are real, they are out there in the
mud and the crud, not sitting in an easy chair bemoaning the lack of
Mountain bike people are crud. **** them, and you, all the way to Hell and
Nope. The Mountain Bikers are real. Out there in the mud and the crud,
getting rained on when it is wet and covered with snow in the winter
The so called "treckers" are all living in their modified realism,
huddled in the shade and worrying about whether there will be a
toilet cubical available when the urge is felt.
The Treckers stand there and chant their mantra, "Its Ours, Its Ours"
while the Mountain Bikers just get on and ride.
One would think that the treckers would be out there defending what is
theirs, but they aren't. They are on the Internet shouting, "Its MINE,
Mine, mine". One can only suppose that the Treckers, or some of them
at least, realize that it isn't "Theirs" it actually belongs to the
public, of which they are only a very small part.
Sort of like the school kid, safe inside the school yard fence,
shouting "My daddy can lick your daddy" while outside the fence those
dirty people on bicycles just ride away.
But, I suppose, that is part of the while modified realism thing.
Imaging that one is an intrepid sort of bloke trudging over hill and
dale when the facts are that he/she/it is just a puny, insignificant,
creature, staring through the windshield of the car, looking at the