I rode out from the barn solitary and slightly off-kilter. I had my machete and a bottle of water, my wild rag and my multi-tool. Why was I feeling like I was driving a car and had forgotten to fasten my seat belt? Oh right, my chinks. It was a bad day to forget my chinks.
Gunner and I blazed trail, looking for a new way up Second Creek Ridge. I've never ridden in Texas, so I cannot comment on the tortures of cholla cactus, but let me tell you, if it's anything like scrub oak, it's hell. The going was so rough I rode home with my wild rag in shreds and my boot sole torn off. Unsuccessful: no new trail today.
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