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The riding is good. Groomed does not come to mind, however. If I get time to consult the thesaurus I'll find the word that means opposite of groomed (some might say 'fuzzy' is that word.). Anyway, we'll just say that Rusty's masonry skills are evident in the trails he builds. This is not Fairhill. The closest range of hills tops out at about 800 feet I believe he said. All I know is that the second day Alan and I were there we were not yet used to the heat and climbing on the singles was an effort, shall we say. By the top of the first climb my body settled into the 2:1 ratio. Not my gearing but my heartrate was about twice my body temp. I'm thinking my temp was about 100 to 101 at that point. However, being Wooden Wheelers we stuck it out and managed to hang for the three-hour ride and got a taste of some of the "easier" trails as well as the DH and XC courses. All right, I lied. Rusty kicked my ass. I was whimpering at the end and just couldn't do another hill. I was sure that as soon as I got used to the heat revenge would be mine. Besides, at least I was feeling better than Alan. That poor guy was actually having cold chills. It also didn't help much that we got about zero sleep the night before; did I mention the lack of creature comforts? Think tiny little bed, no significant stuffing in the mattress and hot, humid, stagnant air. Actually, perfect conditions.for mosquitoes. And barking dogs. No problem. We're in Jamaica. Wednesday night; another long, hot sleepless night. Thursday. DH raceday. I'm feeling poorly, but at least my man Alan was doing better. The DH course wasn't technical by today's standards but offered a decent drop and a lot of rock sections and ended in a steep wash thru a shantytown around a bend and across the finish line right at the local cemetery.

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