Ever wake up in the morning with a funny feeling that somebody's gonna drop a pig on you that day? Yeah, raining hogs have become pretty common lately but I guess the exciting part will always be that none of us really knows what kind of pig or the size and color we should expect ahead of time. And, I think it well that porcine precipitation remain a matter of curiosity and excitement for generations to come.
See, there's this old bridge across the Little River. It's called Sugar Loaf Mountain bridge cause right behind it is - yep - Sugar Loaf Mountain. Honestly, calling it a mountain is kind of a stretch but it's the closest thing we have to one anywhere around here. Alright, it's really just a modest hill...OK, more of a terrestrial bump but it's ours and - by gosh - we'll call it a mountain if we want to. Anyway, enough geography and besides, this tale's supposed to be about raining rooters.
I live not so distant from the bridge and have ridden the bike out there several times. The old bridge has lots of character and makes a great place to quietly watch water flow gently past and ponder some of life's deeper mysteries like - wonder if I can ride down there and not into the river and then turn the bike around in that silt without falling over and maybe even make it back up that steep bank before dark without dropping into a crevasse - never to be seen again but rather consumed by various ravaging
varmints that would strip my bones and giggle while doing so. And thus was born the Sugar Loaf Mountain Bank Scramble tradition.
You should understand that tradition plays a prominent role in the lives of men, women, cattle and dogs around here. No reason motorcycle riding should be exempt. So, each time I visit the sacred site, tradition shall be honored.
First time I attempted this the bike still had stock gearing. Think 35 groaning horsepower with 15/43 sprockets. Not a happy sight. Thank goodness no one was around to witness nor record the inaugural event. But, it was quite the challenge and like that first slap from a pretty girl, we're not about to stop trying.
Fast forward to our Milam county gravel ride. Truly a great 200 miles with some of the most enjoyable folks I know of. Mostly friends I've ridden with many times before and have learned to love and admire. The kind of folks who will be there for you when gravity takes it's toll and you find yourself, once again, struggling to raise a 450 pound motorcycle from the horizontal disposition.
These are folks you can share laughs with over lunch and debate the merits of the TKC80 over that of a D606 openly and in public without shame. The kind of folks who would certainly let you know when three card carrying East Texas Bubba's and their gargantuan dog are about to wrestle a 300 pound hog out of their pickup truck and heave it off the bridge you happen to be under. No...wait. Maybe we drifted by that a bit too fast.
See, we get to the bridge and while everyone else is riding out onto the antique and historic structure, I head down the hill and drop over the bank toward the river. It's a tradition and like the elephant walk, not particularly flattering to watch and absolutely meaningless to anyone with good sense greater than that of a turnip. I do it everytime without exception. This time I'm really hoping that it all goes much better than usual and I can get this done and be up on the old bridge before anyone notices my absence.
Not gonna happen! Oh no. Not a chance. I'm down there struggling to get that dang bike turned around without slipping backwards into the river. The new back tire is digging down into river silt like a Bucyres drag-line and I'm wondering if that piece of rope is still in my saddlebags all while pondering how to ask my comrades, in a manly fashion, to help drag my bike out of the Little River.
What's that sound? Cheering? Oh sure...great! Horrified, I look up to see they're all lined up overhead on the old bridge like birds on a wire watching the entire spectacle below...cameras in hand...for all I know - streaming it out live on the internet for the free world to enjoy and blow Jolt Cola out their nostrils onto iPhones around the entire planet. Not my most dignified moment.
Now, having dug the back tire well into the heart of Texas, I'm trying to rock the bike back and forth while coordinating the front brake, clutch and throttle in every effort to get outa that hole. Down-hill (backwards) would be easy but then there is the unfortunate problem of sinking below the handlebars into that blasted river.
All I can compare the next few moments with are movie scenes of U.S. Navy depth charges exploding near the surface raising great plumes of white water high into the air with a thunderous roar. Yes, a 300 pound hog makes quite an event when dropped from 40 or 50 feet - easily exceeding terminal velocity - onto the surface of an otherwise placid stream. We should be cautious to not dwell on the philosophical meanings nor practical implications of dropping enormous hogs over the side of tall bridges. Such common discussions are akin to "what's the best oil" and starting another trite debate in this matter is of no benefit. It's no less an honorable past-time than say, cow-chip tossing or bunny stomping and I thank the Almighty we all live in a great nation where we're free to practice our inalienable right to the pursuit of happiness.
From a safe distance, I'm sure hog dropping is a perfectly safe and enjoyable sporting event suitable for families and church youth groups. Kind of like NASCAR. However, hogs dropped mere feet from one's unsuspecting and preoccupied consciousness can be at once abrupt and somewhat discomforting. It does focus one's attention, quite clearly, in remarkably little time. I was pretty much ready for a new set of riding pants anyway. Oh, and I'm pretty sure the seat will eventually work its way back out without the use of harsh laxatives.
GravelKLR did an awesome job of putting together and leading a 200 mile loop of some of the best gravel anyone could hope to ride. Greeneggsandham was a solid sweep dude and kept the group moving in the same direction. Much thanks to these two TWT'ers. Great group of riders and lots of fun to visit with during our shade/water breaks. Couldn't ask for a more enjoyable group to ride with. Thanks for letting me tag along.
Welcome to the Two Wheeled Texans community! 
Feel free to hang out and lurk as long as you like. However, we would like to encourage you to register so that you can join the community and use the numerous features on the site. After registering, don't forget to post up an introduction!
Here is a shot of the first break, thou.
Hits the water near RG. Please note, 3 young men on top of the new bridge. Now I am not saying the pig had any help getting his pilot's license, BUT 
this pig did not fly well, and was just about as good of a swimmer. 
You should have been writing for Conan O'Brian, heck he may still have a job at NBC if you were doing his jokes. Yep, that was kneeslappin', sidesplittin', rollin' on the floor funny. 
Enjoyed the lunch visit, and meeting you sir! Go Cats! 
