OK, that's a bit of a stretch. I've meant to do it the last couple of years, but there always seemed to be a conflict . . . too many fun things to do and not enough weekend. This year, I decided early on that nothing would stop me (OK, that's a stretch, too) from joining to the "legendary" trip for mountain biking the Womble and camping at Daisy State Park.

I loaded up the car on Friday afternoon and headed north. I had heard that Perez was going to be cooking on Friday night, but time just wasn't on my side. The ol' tum-tum was rumbling as I rolled through Foreman, Arkansas and passed the Wooden Spoon Café. There seemed to be a lot of cars in the lot and it didn’t look anything like a chain restaurant, so I whipped the Element into a space between a monster truck and a mega-SUV. I could easily wax poetic about the food, but suffice it to say . . . Yeast rolls, onion rings and about ten different types of pie -- all made on site. Yeah, baby. The weekend was off to a good start.

About an hour after stuffing my gut at the Wooden Spoon, I wheeled my way into Daisy State Park. I stopped at the first camp I found that had vehicles with mountain bikes and Texas plates. Hoping this was the right group (but content to hang out with them even if they weren't), I got out of the car and started walking toward the gathering around the fire. Brandon's unique laugh confirmed that I had found the right group and I settled in to watch the show . . .

The show? Come on. Everyone's heard the stories. You know what I'm talking about. "Daisy" has garnered a bit of a reputation as a party with a little mountain biking thrown in on the side. Would I really see a debauched display of public drunkenness and general display of socially unacceptable behavior? Would there be a wild, tribal ceremony complete with loin cloths, bongo drums and a complete lack of inhibition?

Ooops, maybe I did find the wrong group. Scott was already in bed, Dwight was excited to be reading the Dallas Morning News, Pat and Brandon recalled the day's ride, and Perez was offering left over pieces of his dutch oven pizza. Not exactly the Mountain Bike Mardi Gras that I was expecting. Things picked up a bit with a few more arrivals and then things really got crazy . . . Dave Plants showed up with some pizza rolls that they cooked over the fire. OK, I'm probably understating the events a bit, but you get the idea. It was just a bunch of friends sitting around a fire rehashing old times. Good stuff. Fairly mellow.

Saturday morning dawned cool and a bit cloudy. People began stirring soon enough, but obviously they were not in a huge rush. Leisurely breakfasts and a whole lot of standing around talking convinced the temps to come up to reasonable level and we were on our way to the Womble Trail.

Seven of us started out together with Pat and Brandon leading the way. I had my doubts about how long I could stay up with the thoroughbreds, but was impressed when I noticed that they would often stop to let the group reform. What a classy bunch, I thought. Then I realized that they always stopped at a creek crossing or a particularly rocky section . . . They weren't stopping to be nice. They were hoping for a little comedy. When no one obliged their morbid sense of humor, Pat resorted to throwing large rocks at riders. Of course, I thought it was all quite hilarious as: a) Pat had not thrown anything at me and b) I had not yet fallen.

The group began to split up a little more and I found a nice pace riding behind Mike Perez. I think he was taking it easy for my sake. Then again, maybe he was being cautious for fear that Pat would be hiding behind the next tree or rock, ready to roll a large boulder across our path. Whatever the case, we reached the turnaround point in good enough shape and admired the view for a few minutes before starting the return trip.

Of course, we had a little uphill section that set the lungs to burning, but soon we were slowly descending a ridge that was all ablaze with brilliant sunlight and fall's best colors. Weaving in and out of switchbacks and what has to be some of the best single-track in the country . . . Ahhhhh, a moment of Zen. As the afternoon shadows lengthened, all riders (along with Trek the wonder dog) filed back into the parking lot and the stories, appropriately embellished, began.

Back at camp, the fire was brought up to full blaze and the circle of camp chairs expanded. Stories became more and more animated while Perez brought some Chili up to speed and Kim put the finishing touches on tortilla soup. It would be improper to go into too much detail, but there were a few interesting phrases and discussions (along with at least one beach ball and a broom) being tossed about the flames.

I heard . . .

• a discourse on socialized medicine,
• the relative merits of Cuban vs. Mexican cigars,
• blue vs. brown -- which is the best color,
• a treatise on the friction coefficient of generic vs. premium mashmallows,
• spa treatments and techniques to maintain modesty,
• etc., etc., etc.

OK, I'll admit it wasn't exactly the Algonquin Round Table, but it was easy to pick up on at least one interesting conversation at all times.

I retired pretty early and I was probably on my third dream (ooohhh, Daisy!) before they were even finished with half of the stash of marshmallows. The next morning, Dave Plants summed it up pretty well when asked what time he made it to bed. As he groggily and ineffectively attempted to smooth out his singed, pillow-coifed hair he stammered, "Uhhhhh . . . I think . . . uhhh . . . I dunno."

While I'm sure someone rode on Sunday, it somehow seemed better suited to lazy breakfasts and a leisurely return to Longview. Definitely a good weekend.

Now don't get me wrong. The dictionary in my head still has a picture of Ms. Bach next to the entry for "Daisy," but there is also a footnote at the bottom of the page that reads "n. a destination and/or frame of mind related to food, fire, friends and a little bit of mountain biking (typically set for the 1st weekend in November)."

NOTE:  Photos are old pics of the Womble from other trips.  The riders shown in picture were not on this trip.  Catherine Bach, aka Daisy Duke, also was not on this trip.