Richmond has a fourth Covid vaccine. I am told a mouthful of water from the James will do the trick. I am not making a political statement by any means. It is just something I heard. I imagine that a full belly of Kepone wards off all sorts of evil, even life eventually. 

Jarrod from Hope Cyclery in Johnstown, PA came down for a quick visit to ride, eat Cobra Cabana, and, of course, to get his river booster. I’ve been trying to get folks from outside the Southeast to visit for years. Most of my efforts fail, but Jarrod was game! I should note that I’m not from Richmond either. But I am just a couple of hours south. Admittedly I wasn’t planning on spending Memorial Day in Richmond, but when I received a text from Jarrod the night before, I just had to come up. When you constantly encourage folks to come visit, you have to be ready to meet them whenever they finally do. So yeah, I did. 

We met on scenic Hull St at Crust’s headquarters, which sticks out like kitschy plastic flamingos standing in a wild meadow. Matt was battling some vertigo or seasickness; it was probably the Cobra Cabana. He was really out of sorts, wobbling around the shop, stammering about rim locks for my tire that seemingly shifted while still on my rim. Has anyone ever heard of that happening? Anyway, he was out for the ride, sadly. You need to balance without vomiting and passing out while riding a bike, as it turns out. 

Luckily Garrett was available to show us around. If you’ve never ridden with Garrett, you’re missing out. He is as talented on a bike as he is handsome. Jarrod and I chased his golden curls in and out of the river’s surrounding woods, rolling through towers of kudzu and ivy, stopping only to shake and flick the sweat off our hands. Remember, it’s not the heat. It’s the humidity. 

The route was, as per Garrett: “Crust to Forest Hill Park, down to Reedy Creek, then rode Buttermilk East down to Browns Island, then North Bank to the Pump House, across the Nickel Bridge back up into Forest Hill, Outpost, back down to Reedy Creek, then back towards Crust.”

Riding in Richmond is so underrated. Or at least it feels that way to me. It has everything you could ask for within the city limits: bike path, greenway, gravel bits, single track, cut-throughs, and everything in between that begs the question, “Is this a bike trail or are we just making our own way?”  I thought this very thing while gingerly navigating through a field of baby heads below an underpass. By baby heads, I mean full-grown man heads. Man-baby heads. They were large bowling ball sized rocks, immovable and stubborn with their weight. I am still not convinced that we were on a bike trail at that point. It was still fun, though. I was honking with nervous laughter every time my wheels pinged like a tin can being kicked down the road.

If you’re still reading this, congratulations! You made it to the end. You still read in 2022, and that’s great. You probably also recognized that this is some C- copy at best. You can’t spell Crust without a capital “C.” Admittedly, that’s really more of a diss on my writing, not the bikes. But hey, it’s better than the news! Probably… I am now shrugging, though. Look, just come to Richmond. Someone here will show you a good time. I may even come up to hang, as well. There’s a lot of that good stuff here, that human spirit. And if you can make it down in the summer, we’ll get some ice cream and cut it with 100% endurance.

Bugs and Hisses,

Jared H.