Some people crack a cold one, slump in front of a football game on the boob or nap to escape.
An hour alone on the night trail does it for me.
Minutes from the house is a multi-mile ribbon of singletrack, turned to viscous slime from today's drizzle. Semi-slicks don't offer much bite, the back tire launched giant mud clots at branches 20 ft. above.
Dank and dirty, nobody around as my heart rate tapped out. More, please.