I used to be baffled by people who put their bikes on cars and went somewhere to ride them.  Why not, I thought in my fourteen-year-old’s experience, ride your bike THERE and then see it, and ride HOME.  That silly idea (like most silly assumptions we make) stuck with me until I discovered that clearing the first twenty miles out of the way left more time to enjoy the actual ride at the destination. My wife taught me that.  Then I took it where I wanted, and the destinations became less about what interesting part of town, or another person’s interesting town, than about riding a piece of dirt that you REALLY REALLY enjoy but wouldn’t want to ride to on a bet because the car drivers around here are dumb as dirt.  But that’s another story.  Or maybe three.