He had gone on a camping trip with his wife and family up at lake Trinity, near Redding, CA, and brought his mountain bike with him. The first morning there he decided to go for a ride.
He was on a 9 mi. climb from the lake into some logging company land, completely alone in quiet serenity, when after coming around a bend, he notice a figure up ahead. It was a guy, off his bike, standing, facing the morning sun. As my friend drew closer he noticed the guy had his bike shorts around his knees and was stroking his "german soldier" with blinding speed. In shock my friend tried to make as much "bike" noise as to be noticed, but to no avail.
Suddenly the guy came, screaming a primordial scream that echoed through the timber-lined valley. As my friend rode closer still, the guy broke out of his trance and, noticing he had an audience to his "King-of-the-hill" ritual, reached down and pulled his shorts up in a blink of an eye, nearly ripping his nuts off. He began looking at his bike like there was something wrong with it and as my friend pedaled passed, they both overted each others eyes and mumbled under their breaths "how's it going?" That was a Kodak moment.
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