Taking trail bikes through the mountains is fun. True, it can be dangerous if you're careless, but the idea is not to be careless. Skill can make up for a great deal.
Paul, Dave, and me were running through the mountains and having quite a bit of fun. We were using the back trails, although every so often we came to a proper road. Oddly enough it was on one of the proper roads that we came to grief.
We came hurtling down this road and at the point where the road curved to the right we swung to the left where another dirt trail began. We hit that dirt trail moving fast and came to a halt in a surprisingly short distance. That dirt wasn't dirt so much as it was thick mud, several feet deep. Our bikes sank into the mud and vanished, leaving us standing almost chest high in muck.
We waded through the muck to a point where we could climb out onto dry land, murmuring a few words that we wouldn't want our mothers to hear.
"What now?" asked Dave.
"Well, damned if I'm losing my bike," said Paul, and I quite agreed with him. "We'll hike back to where we left the Rover and drive back up here and winch the bikes out."
With that he hauled his phone out of an inside pocket and marked where we were so we could use GPS to get back to the same spot. Then we checked to see how far a walk it was from where we were to where the Rover was. Walking along the main road it was about five miles. Using the dirt tracks it was about one. We voted for the dirt track. An added benefit of the dirt track was that it passed close to a couple of largish pools. A quick dip in that would remove most of the mud clinging to us.
Dave and Paul argued about how'd they recover the bikes when we returned to them. It seemed obvious to me. Someone would have to go into the mud and fasten the winch to each bike in turn. Whoever it was would be wise to strip before they did so. The only thing up for debate as far as I was concerned was which of the others I'd be able to talk into being the mud-bunny. Paul, I suspected. He was vulnerable to a bit of flattery. All I had to do was make wading chest deep in slime and then diving under seem heroic and he'd be all over it.
After fifteen minutes of steady hiking we were half-way back to the Rover and approaching the pools I knew about. I was quite ready to walk into the pool and get rid of some of the excessive mud. Approaching the first pool we laid our phones to one side and just walked straight in. The mud had been too thick to penetrate our clothes and ruin the phones - water on the other hand would do so without even trying.
We came out of the water a short time later, a lot cleaner and a lot wetter. The day was hot and I figured that the sun would dry us off fairly quickly. Still, I decided to carry my phone instead of putting it back in my pocket. At least until I was somewhat drier.
We put our shoes and socks back on and continued on our way. (Yes, we'd had the foresight not to get our shoes soaking wet. Muddy shoes are fine for walking, wet ones not so much.)
We set off, somewhat cleaner and, apart from being slightly damp, almost respectable. I say almost because we encountered a couple of people who seemed to consider us disreputable.
Just past the pool we'd washed in there was another larger pool. The pools were far enough apart that they were relatively private. We came upon the second pool just as two lovely young things were leaving the water. They saw us, screamed, and started the hand dance to hide their charms. Quite a considerable amount of charms on the blonde, I'll tell you that.
We stopped, looked, and appreciated. It's not often you catch skinny-dippers at that choice moment when they leave the water, displaying all for the world to see. Or for us to see in this particular instance.
I have to admit that I understood their consternation. We were on a bike trail but we weren't on bikes. Instead of hearing bikes roaring towards then and taking precautions they'd waded ashore, all fat and sassy, and been taken completely by surprise when we just appeared out of nowhere.
Please note that fat and sassy is just an expression. Neither of these young ladies was fat. Shapely is what they were. Very shapely, very appealing, with sweet voices, and a command of the English language that was appalling when it was directed at us.
"You perverted swine," the brunette screamed at us. "How dare you sneak up on us? Get the hell out of here or I'll scream."
"Actually, Ronny, you're already screaming, and we didn't exactly sneak. We just walked along the path. As for being perverted, we're not the ones that're running around naked. Not that we're complaining. You feel free to run around naked any time you like. You're a testament to the reason clothes should be banned."
The blonde just giggled, having given up on hiding her more obvious charms. She was now standing there demurely, hands crossed in front of her mons.
"My name's not Ronny," snapped the brunette. "What would you think it is? And what do you mean we're perverted? We were just taking a swim. We weren't sneaking around trying to catch girls in the altogether."
"Blonde, brunette," I said, pointing at each of the girls. "That makes you Betty and Veronica, or Ronny for short. A name of affection you might say. And we weren't sneaking around. We were just ambling down the track on a rescue mission. Our running into you was just our good fortune."
"Um, if you're on a rescue mission, shouldn't you be getting on your way?" asked Betty, sounding just a tiny bit disappointed.
"No rush," I said comfortably. "The victims are at the bottom of a mud pit and will remain there until we return with the Rover and winch them free. We have time to stop and chat and, ah, entertain a pair of lovely young things."
"We don't need to be entertained," said Ronny. "Feel free to move along."
"Don't be so selfish," I gently remonstrated. "Have some consideration for your friend. Betty wants to, ah, talk some more."
"She does not."
"Certainly she does. She's interested in getting to know us. Look at her nipples. They're practically waving to us."
