As gross as these two highly top secret prototypes look, the brown all on em is just coffee.
Now then, one night a few years ago, I was riding down Folsom, and just as I was crossing 13th street, I heard a mad cacophony of panicked screaming and then revving engines, and squealing tires. Just as I made it to the intersection, the car monster screeched to a halt. Head lights bright in my eyes, I wheeled past, and again, the car continued like a bat leaving Hell. Within seconds, the city streets were ablaze with police sirens all in hot pursuit of this car that had just narrowly avoided making my mamas son little more than a grease spot on the ground. As it turns out, Id just been given the right-of-way by a car jacker. Your turn on The Folsom promises to be a far more enjoyable one.
So Ive gotten a bit of flack about the piece I posted here a couple of months back written by Duncan Davidson as being an indication that were on the anti fixie-fad bandwagon. I will say again, that this is not the case. I for one welcome the influx of new blood for two fairly simple reasons. One, as I stated previously, the more folks on bikes, the better. The second, I believe that the bicycle world in general was long over due for a shot of something of the non-traditional variety.
Photo of Rob by Geoff Badner.
Ok, now hear me out- Take skateboarding for example. For as long as I can remember, there were skateboarders who were proficient in other realms aside from their professional vocation. Chuck Treese, and Steve Caballero, Both professional skateboarders, as well as accomplished musicians. Mark Gonzales, Natas Kaupas, and Ed Templeton redefined street skating, but always continued to peruse careers in fine art. Todd Swank, musician and professional photographer, Lance Mountain, artist. Tommy Guerrero, Ray Barbee, musicians, Neil Blender, renaissance man.. The list goes on and on. Can you name one professional cyclist, or non-professional cyclist for that matter, who not only immerses themselves in cycling but an extra curricular creative endeavor as well? Yeah, theyre out there, but the list is a pretty short one.
The bicycle world has never had anything like the 'Beautiful Losers' art exhibition thats traveling around the globe, or a movement like Hamburger Eyes. I mean for crying out loud, Juxtapoz Magazine was born out of the skateboarding world. There is an entire and vibrantly thriving scene there. What does bicycling have?
At the risk of reeking of sour grapes, Ive recently been rejected from the art show happening in conjunction with The International Bicycle Film Fest on account of the fact that my work has nothing to do with bicycles. Im employed in the bicycle industry, have a long and sordid history on the bike, and I make art, but thats not enough. When I was on the road and there were messenger shows, I was rejected for the same reasons.
My hope is that the fixie trend will bring into our fold a new way of thinking, as well as a new way of relating with our surroundings. Here come alot of folks who arent saddled with the overall relatively conservative and self-important goggles that the bicycle world tends to look at itself through.
There is a creative force behind this whole thing, that as I see it, cant do anything but breathe some new life into a rather stale world that embraces an archaic and tunnel visioned tradition.
It probably wont happen tomorrow, or the day after, but I have hope that one day in the near future we will experience a positive and creative backlash from this movement weve been repeatedly accused of hating on.
Anyhow, on to other news. The Phoenix alley cat I laid on you back a month or so ago went off without a hitch, so the no-good-nics are up to it again. Hot Citys getting hotter.
More info on this little beaut will require you to keep your eyes peeled here. This is a preliminary design. The actual one will come with a Rambo knife, compass, and flare gun. Or maybe just a couple different wrenches.
Shoot- Nobody tells me nothin'
Until Then, brush up on your salami fighting skills.
Ron Burgundy likes bikes and scotch.
Bikes and scotch, bikes and scotch, bikes and scotch....
New trailer, Norman Mailer, that Strunk aint no punk, and holy cow, its David Yow.
Also, I awoke this morning to find an email from Mr. Mr. 685 himself. He writes:
'I DITCHED WORK TWO DAYS AGO TO GO FOR A RIDE IN MY COMUNIST-RED SWOBO JERSEY.
BY THE TIME I GOT HOME I HAD; KISSED THE GOAT, CRASHED ON SOME ICE LEAVING A NICE WOUND ON MY LEG, WATCHED T.J. PUKE IN THE PARK INFRONT OF THE GENERAL PUBLIC, AND FOUND A SQUIRREL TAIL ON THE ROAD.
ALL OF THE ABOVE LISTED EVENTS HELPED MAKE FOR A GREAT RIDE AND A NICE SMELLING JERSEY.
NOW THAT'S ITALIAN!'
And I will finish with simply stating that Im sick as a dog, and my better half wants our parents to meet this weekend.
Psychosomatic, or what?
Now, its nether here nor there, but I found this footage of Mr. Yow taking a bottle across the back of his head.
The guys a trooper. I still have scars on my back from landing on a broken bottle at a Jesus Lizard show at The Kennel Club in 1993. It would appear that getting cut by bottles at the shows was a bit of a reoccurring theme. Im guessing by the sounds coming from the crowd that the perpetrator got themselves a bit of a blanket party to reward them for their excellent aim.
Swobos got some bikes, Robios got a twin, Hightowers got a rubberface, and Ive got a cold.
Thats right ladies and gentlemen. The Swobo bikes are here and square. Prepare yourself to be astounded.
Ok, well weve got a kink or two to work out, but shes a beaut, aint she? I was so excited when I first saw it, I barfed. However, what Id like to know is how Joe got a shot of it up before we did.
Second up, everybody's favorite crash course with self destruction, slumped over singlespeeding super star, Robert Ives has, after an exhaustive search finally found his long lost twin.
We here at the Swobo compound shed a sparkly little tear of joy at this reunion.
Next up, the young Hightower attempting the every popular, and always dangerous 'wrap your face around your head'.
Dont try this at home.
Now then, Id like to thank my biggest fan for the kind words. My mom thinks Im boring too.
Hey, whos the babe?
Now, with the mentholatum liberally rubbed under my nose, Im off to stick my head back in the speaker.
Ladies, jam out with your clam out, and fellas, rock out with your socks up.
Also, I was inspired by The Mess today and rode my fixie to the store to pick up some soup to battle the returned sickness. My head is trying to convince my body that its just allergies, but my head and my body arent communicating very well right now. Anyhow, I hadnt given her much love for a while, and I have to say, our reunion was one of bliss.
And finally, thanks to Hurl for the I.T. support he offered to me just now.
For a dummy, that cats pretty smart.
Now all he needs to do is help me figure out how to burn CDs....I mean seriously, I live in a cave.
Oh, and should you find yourself in or near our fare burg, mark your calendars for this. Art and bikes. Two things that make our hearts continue ticking.
All of the Swobo personnel wont be joining you however, as weve been perfecting the fine art of driving two Hummers at a time, while pouring a can of gas out of the window simultaneously.
El Corpos even got two running quads on his trailer while he drives. He is truly a champion among champions.
I blackmailed Ms. Erin Nicole Brown to get her to procure something about last weekends Monster Track 8 held in New York City. Shes came through with not only a blurb, but some pics as well.
'On February 17, 2007, held the 8th annual Monster Track in New York City. This is a track bike only alleycat race with NO BRAKES. The race started at Sara D. Roosevelt Park. Despite the snow on the ground and the cold weather people came from all over. Alfred from NYC took first place male (third time winner) and Heidi, also NYC took first place woman. There was a guy riding a penny-farthing during the whole race! It was amazing. Thanks to Victor, sponsors, and many others in NYC for making this, another memorable event.'
In regards to this photo, as an old crusty shop guy I used to know was fond of saying, "it looks like a bunch of monkeys humping a football."
He had the heart of a poet. And what do I spy over there in the left hand corner? A red jacket with white piping? Could that be an original issue Swobo windbreaker? I think it might be....
The aforementioned blackmail involved a threat that I would write something about it, if she couldnt get me a piece instead. What follows is what I wrote:
'It was a wintery day. Alot of people were there. Some were men, and some were women. There was one guy who wore a red jacket. Another guy wore ski goggles. There was snow on the ground, and despite the fact that it was very cold, bicycles were ridden.'
I know.. Totally inspired. Really, its a gift.
Anyhow, Michael Greens bike blog has a great scoop on the whole debacle as well.
Now, if only one of the lazies from Minneapolis would pen a piece about the Stuporbowl....
The phrase 'bad day' doesnt even begin to cover it.
The incredibly talented Kristen Ferrell just penned what I found to be a rather funny saga of her return home after what was a tiring week spent in the bowel of Las Vegas. Read on, if youve got a minute.
I've been in Las Vegas for the past week peddeling my wears at a trade show.
The show went well. I was satisfied with the results, and eager to get home (as much as I adore seeing all my friends at these things, I kindof hate Vegas).
I thought today would be great... hop the plane, get home to my son and cats, unpack, do some laundry, and go to bed early.
But for some reason, Brad and I booked a flight out at 7am... and considering we had MOUNTIANS of trade show gear with us, plus the rental car... we were up and moving at 4am.
I slept the whole flight, so as far as I know that was uneventful.
But once we got back to the Kansas City airport, I experienced the most surreal 15 minutes of my life, to be followed up with pure annoyance and inconvience.
The events I'm about to explain are not embellished or exaggerated (sp?) in any way.
Because of the amount of luggage Brad and I had, I told Brad to get the bags while I hopped the shuttle bus to long term parking to get our car. I'm standing outside waiting for the shuttle, and this perfectly normal looking business man in his late 30's comes outside to wait for the shuttle too. Him and I are the only ones standing out there. He walks right up next to me and starts doing these bizarre pelvic-thrusting stretches and making all these really animated "stretching noises" (I wish I could actually demonstrate on here what he was doing, because it was totally hilarious). I gave him a look like he was crazy, and took a few steps away from him. He stopped, took a few steps closer to me, and continued his weird stretching. I was about to tell him how much he was creeping me out, but then the shuttle bus drove up.
I get on the bus, and sit right up front, and put my briefcase and purse next to me so creepy-stretchy-guy can't sit next to me. And what does he do? He sits down as close to my bags as he can, and then puts his arm around me!! I look at him and ask him what the fuck he's doing... and he smiles, removes his arm, and then leans onto my bags. I'm about to start yelling, when our bus driver catches my attention. She's wearing a surgical mask, and is frantically wiping down everything in her reach with those antibacterial wet-wipes with both her hands. The only passangers on the bus are me, stretchy-creep, and this really old guy who is apparently in a near comotose state and noticing nothing out of the ordinary.
I'm totally facinated by the panicked cleaning frenzy of the bus driver- but am jarred back into reality when she shuts the bus doors and hits the gas. And when I say "hit the gas", I mean she was going about 60 miles an hour (in a 35mph lane... and keep in mind, we're in a bus driving on icy and snowy roads)... I could see the speedometer, so I know how fast we were going. And she never stopped wiping down everything she could reach with those damn wet-wipes.
Here's where it gets weird. As we were speeding towards the long term parking lot, a snow plow was coming towards us in the other direction, and shooting tidal waves of slush to either side of it. As it passed us, all the slush hit the winshield of the bus and made all visibility impossible... and the busdriver screamed at the top of her lungs. And not just a little yelp... but a full blown horror-movie style "AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!". And all 3 of us passengers answered with screams as well. She then slams on the brakes, stops the bus, and just sits there starring straight ahead not moving a muscle. We must have sat there for a full 2 minutes in full silence (i don't think any of us really knew what to do with this crazy lady).
After a lifetime of silence, the bus driver carefully took off her surgical mask, threw her wet wipes into a little plastic bag that was next to her, and began driving again. But this time, the speedometer didn't go over 5 miles per hour. What would have been a 3 minute drive took over 10 minutes. My stop was the first one, and as she slowly creeped towards it, she screamed literally at the top of her lungs "STOP NUMBER ONE!!!!"- which it was odd for her to scream like that because we were all sitting no further than 3 feet from her. I jumped up and said "that's me", and started towards the front door. She then mumbled something, and when I asked her to repeat what she had said she screamed again at the top of her lungs "USE THE BACK DOOR!!!". I said "ok!ok!" and rushed towards the back door- fully terrified of her at this point. And as I'm getting off the bus, I hear her say very sweetly and normally "have a nice day!".
So all that was odd.
Then I go to get my car.
And I find that it's the only one in it's row, and it is completely buried in snow from the snow plows having pushed all the snow up next to it. It was almost like it was done intentionally as some prank. I had to climb up a snow bank, and could barely get the door open enough to get in. I started it and sat there for a minute, and then said "fuck it"... I hit the gas and slammed it into reverse and somehow got out (fortunatly I was driving my new big car and not our teeny-tiny little 2 door, or else I'd still be there).
Then, when we were literally minutes from our house I get a phone call from my mom who was at our house waiting there with my son.
The conversation went as follows:
Mom: "Kristen, your basement is flooded."
Me: "Mom, I've been up since 4am, haven't eaten, and just dealt with crazy people... don't mess with me."
Mom: "Honey, there is 6 inches of rising water in your basement. And your cats have pooped on the rugs."
Me: "FFFFUUUUCCCCKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!"
Low and behold, a pipe had burst in our basement (where the cat's litter boxes are), and there really was over 6 inches of water down there. And comically, the cats litter boxes were floating around like little poop-boats (hence the cat shit on the floor... the poor fellas had held it in for god knows how long).
So now everything that was in our basement is ruined. The water has been pumped out- but it's so horrifying down there that I just want to board it up down there and never look back.
I am never leaving the house again.
And I now have a fear of bus drivers. And people wearing surgical masks. And anti-bacterial wipes. And stretching men. And cold weather.
It was two years ago now that I had an interesting experience Id like to share with you. Its a fairly involved tale, but Ill try to make it short and sweet, so you can get back to looking for the tiki salt and pepper shakers on Ebay.
Id just moved to my present location here in the Southern part of the the Northern part of California's coast. Id been invited to go on a night ride on a local, and well off the beaten path stretch of single track not far from my house. I grabbed my lights, changed my clothes, and rode of into the setting sun to find my mates.
Up the long and winding road we pedaled until we reached the turn off to the trail head. They opted to continue on, and I split off on this trail Id only ridden once previously, nearly ten years earlier.
This was the first of two seemingly simple mistakes that would result in the longest night of my life.
As I enjoyed the descent, the canopy over head closed in, and I clicked on my brand new light. Winding back and fourth, along the cliff, and back into the trees I went, the chill from the air, and the darkness surrounding me. About a third of the way into the ride, my light began to dim, and I weighed my options.
Ether turn around, and ride back the way I came, which at this point would take as long as it would to finish the ride, or continue to let gravity guide me, and make it home in time for supper. I opted for the latter, which seemed like a wise choice, only until my light was all but dead. The winters storms had littered the trail with debris of all sizes, making it impossible to differentiate the trail from any other part of the ground. Unpleasant thoughts began to fill my consciousness, but I knew if I was going to make it out of this, I was going to have to keep my cool. Eventually, Id arrived at the half way point, and I came to the dreaded realization that I was screwed. It was an absolutely moonless night, which promised to fall to the low 20s before long. Dressed only in my Fenster knickers, lycra jersey, a Swobo long sleeve, and a vest, I was prepared, but as it would turn out, not nearly prepared enough.
I figured the best option at this point was to feel my way down to the creek, and walk the waters edge the last 1/4 mile or so to the fire road. I dropped my bike into the abyss, and judged by the clatter of it falling and finally coming to a rest, that the drop was roughly 12 feet. I lowered myself in and let go, falling and hitting my head on the ground. A flash of white filled my skull, and I sat, dazed, reflecting on this, the second very substantial mistake Id made that brought me to this point. I made my way down stream, with my bike thrown over my shoulder, scaling two sizable piles of dew slicked flood debris which all told took the better part of an hour and a half. All of this, and Id only made it 50 feet at best. I finally sat down, my feet soaked with the frigid water Id been trudging through. At long last, I resigned myself to my fate. I was going to have to wait this one out, and at what I estimated to be about 8:00 in the evening, I knew things would get worse before they got better.
At this point, I feel the need to mention that from the time I was a young child growing up in a small mountain town in Colorado, respecting the will of the outdoors was a lesson that was regularly drilled into my head. It was simply my blind enthusiasm to go play in the woods on my bike that made these lapses of judgement happen. I should have thought twice, but alas, I didnt.
Sitting at the adge of the creek, I pulled off my shoes, and sat yogi style, with my feet tucked in behind my knees until my legs fell asleep, and then Id stretch out and resume the position. This went on for about 10 hours. All through the night, I fought the early stages of hypothermia, and tried my best to ignore the hallucinations, of which there were some doozies. In the valley floor, with the canopy rising hundreds of feet above me, the darkness was suffocating. At one point, I remember reflecting on a story that my dad had told me of an ill-fated solo hunting excursion hed been on when I was a child. Alone in the woods, hed developed a case of pleurisy, which as I understand it, is an excruciating swelling of the sacks that encase the lungs. He said he was completely paralyzed with pain, and was only able to literally drag himself back to his truck the following morning when his substantial fever broke. 'Well' I thought, 'it could always be worse.'
Hours went by and finally the darkness began to clear. I then began to make my way through what Id estimated to be Northern California's richest grove of Poison Oak, back to the trail that perhaps ironically, was exactly where Id left it the night before. Eventually, legs bloodied, I emerged from the forest, and the sun shone on my face for the first time in 15 hours. I arrived home in time to find a completely freaked out girlfriend, and Eric Richter, whod already been on the mountain in an attempt to find my dumb ass.
Sometimes folks ask me why I insist on constantly riding with a back pack. I may be carrying too many clothes, too much water, or a never before used flashlight, but as I realized that night, and just what my mom has always told me, its better to have too much, than not enough.
See? Like the title says- bicycles are good for lots of things. What? Like you thought I was going to tell a story about standing on bicycles? Nope, sorry. I just liked the picture.
By the way, you should take a second and check out the County Line recap. If I didnt know better, Id say it actually looks fun. However, Ive known Rick for a long time. His idea of fun is a bit different then what Websters has in mind.
Plus, keep your eyes peeled. In a day or two, were gonna have some photos and a few words about New Yorks own Monster Track 8. It looked like a brutal one.
And lest we forget, the barbecue becomes a banquet when the party quarts appear. As a matter of fact, Im gonna go get me a party quart of King Cobra right now.
Yesterday, while the numb nuts were engaging in the County Line debacle, I was off in the woods, finding evidence of somebody's bummer life. You see, this was dumped off of the edge of a very specific 'no motor vehicles' trail. The price to pay for partaking in a four wheelin' poach seems to be a bit steep.
Sucks to be them.
Ill be taking those rims and tires, though. One by one. The Bob trailer can handle anything.
What were you seeing on Saturday? Was it snow, sheets of rain, or a little something like this?
Now Im gonna share my favorite tale of irony.
There was a man eating at a restaurant in New York, when he began choking on his food. Luckily in the adjoining bar, there happened to be a doctor having a drink with a friend. The doctor preformed CPR on the man, who came back around, but who also happened to be deathly allergic to peanuts, which the doctor had been eating with his cocktail. The peanut oil that was on the doctors lips transfered to the choking man, who ultimately had a severe allergic reaction and died as a result.
I dont know if this is true or not. I heard it from a guy, who 'heard it from a guy who was there.'
Its stories like this, that for whatever reason, give me a perverse sense of hope.
You know? A hope that we are here to serve some kind of purpose, and when our numbers are up, no matter what, our numbers are up.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot. The girl in the lower left is totally fired. Off the team. Out of the band....
Were back in Myspaces good graces, and a bit of the oral funk.
Yup, thats right. After a month of wrangling around with the automated replies that Myspace has been sending us concerning a password snafu that left us cold, alone and locked out, weve finally been brought back into the inner circle. Just us, and 85 million others.
Dont get me wrong. Myspace is a dumb thing, but its OUR dumb thing. Come by and say hello.
Here we have three events for you to pay your spiritual pittance to. The fist one being a mad dash for cold cash (or not) brought to you by the screwballs over at the legendary DFL. The second being the 9th annual Grasshopper series up here in the Northern California region.
As the flyer states, 'there will be no road closures, no CHP, no H2O, no fee, no sag, and no prizes.'
It continues
'All rides begin promptly at 10 am behind the Union Hotel. These events are organized not for profit, but for fun. The less fun you have, the more you will pay. Do your homework,bad checks will bounce, especially while climbing for Jesus.You are responsible for yourself and your actions. Remember to ride and pass with care, bring plenty of food, water, tools, talisman, clothing, catnip, and blankey. Safety first.'
More info is over at the Grasshopper blog.
And lastly, while were still on the subject of big, dumb bike rides, the third Ill mention is that the Hunters are putting on the County Line Jamboree again. Some folks never learn. Ill see you at the bar.
Finally, I got an email from Sir David Richardson who pointed out I confused 'caption', and captian' in a whirlwind of bleary eyed typing last week.
I never said I was a Jr. high graduate.
Anyhow, and with the 30 in 30 theme well established, he writes:
'Day 2 of including Captain Caveman in everyday conversation for my "Include Captain Caveman in Everyday Conversation for 30 days" challenge.'
And with godspeed you go, David.
Im drowning in the beautiful people, and the golden fist slipped through my fingers.
Im back from L.A., and recoveries gonna take some time. How folks live down there, Ill never know.
More power to em though.
We went to the Getty for a show of photographs of America from the Berman Collection, as well as an installation of religious iconography from The Holy Monastery of Saint Catherine- the oldest monastery in the Christian world. The paintings the artists were able to achieve as well as the technical abilities they honed there in the shadow of Mount Sinai are indescribable. Both installations were utterly breathtaking, as were the grounds of the Getty Museum itself.
We also went to the reception at the Corey-Helford Gallery that Id previously mentioned. Gretchen Ryan and Michael Hussar were two of the painters featured in this 100 person exhibition.
The latter of the two whos work I greatly admire, and was pleased as punch to experience in the flesh.
There was no shortage of beautiful people there, and I felt as out of place as possible, until Burnedheart and Deana showed up. Then there were two more uglies for me to commiserate with.
The last bit of our time in the mire that is the Los Angeles Basin was spent sleeping, eating, and looking at the small things that most folks might pass by. Like the lock for instance. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as they say.
Then, with the Blue Pacific as witness, I stuffed myself into the sands of Manhattan Beach.
And finally, I received word over the weekend, that the fist of gold was finally purchased.
What follows is a transmission from a mole inside the Cannondale compound.
Their name has been omitted to protect their identity.
"I'm just pissed someone outbid me. I mean, shit. I actually have a
legitimate claim on that there fist, being one of the embroidered shirt
douchebags and all. That was MY major award, goddammit. And I thought
my $150 max bid was excessive enough to all but guarantee that the lost
fist of honor would regain its rightful place in Connecticut but, much
like our president, I misunderetimated the fiscal liquidity of you
bitter, old, steel-lovin' bitches. Next time, I'll know better."
You live, and learn, old friend.
You live and learn.
Scary children, alliance for children, the golden fist, and lunch with the doctor.
Im off to L.A. You kids behave, you hear?
As I said, Ill be attending a reception of art supporting the Alliance for Childrens Rights. Every low brow art stars gonna be there. I on the other hand will be smuggling one of my own pieces in and hanging it when noone is looking.
Another thing, my high bid on the golden fist got blown out of the water. Ill have to rely on this other golden fist.
Thanks for that, Furryknuckle.
And finally, I ate lunch with Dr. Jon and his lovely better half Trina today. Fine, fine folks those two are. The last several appointments Ive had with the doctor, Im not ashamed to admit, I was totally banjaxed for. It was nice to see them while sober. At least I think they were,....and Im pretty sure I was...
Any peeps in San Diego, and the virtues of a clean mouth.
Im gonna take a break for some shameless self promotion.
Ive got some new work in this here show, but alas, Ill be in L.A. for a different and super fancy pants art event at the Corey Helford Gallery benefitting the Alliance for Children's Rights.
Might I suggest if you live in the San Diego area, you go there, drink all of their beer, and make an ass of yourself in my absence?
Make no mistake about it, Id do it for you.
In other news, Ive been out bid on the golden fist.
The battle is on.
now you can rock out with Gene Simmons in your mouth and fight tartar build up: Pretty cool.
The fine upstanding folks at SOPWAMTOS (societyofpeoplewhoactuallymaketheirownshit, dontcha know) who bring you the brilliantly inspired Golden Toidy Awards have just gotten one thrown back in their shiny, happy faces. It seems that Cannondale must have assuredly forgotten the award they won at the 2005 Interbike trade show, as there is no way they would have actually thrown it away.
Would somebody do me a favor and let them know its in safe hands? Ill bet theyre worried sick, and wont rest easy until its back in their loving arms.
Let the bidding start now.
And then comes this from my boy Nat. More eye candy then you care to shake a stick at.
And just why would anybody be shaking sticks anyhow?
It started simply enough. Like usual I was gonna try until I got it right, then big, dumb Steve P hadda go pull it off on his first try, and after doing so, called me a pussy. Im not gonna let this go without a fight.
Here I am pre 30, and post 30.
Day 1. The first time I did this, I started the month off with like, 5 consecutive 5 hour rides, which made me totally screwed for the next 25 days. Fair enough. Ill start off small.
One hour off road cross loop lunch ride. Easy peasy.
Day 2. The aforementioned punisher with all of the maniacs from the East Bay. They were on suspension bikes, I was on a cross bike, but despite this fact, I gave it my all, and never got left behind.
So much for taking it easy.
Day 3. A recovery ride sounds like a nice idea. I jump on the road bike, and not 5 minutes later run into Brian Vernor. We have a leisurely hour plus spin, and go home for peanuts and beer.
Day 4. Ive found an amazing half dirt, (open space easement, which means no cars), half road ride that pretty much takes me to my post at work. I can add a little road, or I can add a little dirt. Today I added alot of dirt, though I was on my road bike. 1.5 hours. Thats about standard. Its 20 degrees when I leave my house.
Day 5. Same as above but Im on a cross bike, and way more road riding is involved. Its 25 degrees when I leave my house. The descent is so cold, my junk hurts.
Day 6. One hour off road lunch ride on the cross bike.
Day 7. An hour and a half pre-work easement, off road/road cross ride.
Its continuing to be very cold in the mornings. I dont like that very much.
Day 8. Because I was going to be enroute to Loudasses gun and booze show today, I knew I was ether going to have to ride the rollers for an hour at midnight, or wake up at 5, and do it then. I chose the latter. This day sucked. One hour= numb junk.
Day 9. 18 degrees up there in them hills. Bee, Friendly Paul and I set out to explore, and try not to get eaten by any locals in the process. One and a half hours = numb everything else.
Day 10. Today its 15 degrees when I leave the house. An hour and a half. My sweaty hair froze.
Day 11. Cross bike lunch dirt ride. One hour. I like seeing the sun again.
Day 12. I brought out the mountain bike today. She hasnt seen much action as of late, so I was ripping around for an hour and a few on her this morning. Id forgotten how easy it is to descend with a suspension fork, and began marveling how it is anybody has ever crashed on a mountain bike. Then I almost crashed.
Day 13. One hour on the rollers. Im mesmerized by my reflection in the oil slick that had dripped from my forehead onto the ground.
Day 14. My leg cramped getting out of bed. I have to remember to drink more water. Easy hour and a half long half dirt, half paved ride on the cross bike. Again, its in the low 20s when I head from home and later I almost crash on a frozen puddle.
Day 15. Im determined to find a path from point A to point B so I ride deep into the woods, and begin an ascent up a game trail past a make shift archery range. I then ditch my bike and bush whack until I reach the summit, and upon emerging from the brush, have no idea where I am. Amazingly I have lost the slight trail I came up on. At one point on my descent to find my bike, I found myself hanging, ala Wile E. Coyote from a sprig of a branch, while lowering myself onto a narrow and questionably stable ledge which sits atop a drop that Im not comfortable with the idea of falling from. Two hours, excluding the near death part.
Day 16. Just over two hours on the one speed cross bike, all off road. I went to take a picture of 'Cardiac Hill' (theres a reason its called that), when I suddenly found myself doing hill repeats on it.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Day 17. An hour and a half road ride. This was actually the best road ride Ive been on since I moved from the East Bay, and I felt really good to boot. If I was a more foolish man, Id think things were getting easier.
Day 18. On account of cause I had a whole heap of stuff to transport to work, I had to drive, so I hustled home and did a big old cross loop. Again, taking a left where I usually take a right, and I found myself riding up, then running up, then limping up the longest, steepest, and most perfectly made set of jumps, and berms Ive ever seen. It was well off the beaten path, all along the ridge, and complete with water breaks. Soon I will ride it going the correct direction.
Day 19. Cold, cold early morning cross ride. Im bored. I found a cool fence though...
Day 20. Young Hightower, who is engaging in this foolish endeavor as well, albiet one day later then myself, was mentioning how great he felt, and how on his last ride he was turning the pedals with ease.
Why did my day 20 feel so shitty? Heck, why did my day 2 feel so shitty? Then it dawned on me, Young Hightower is 13 years my junior. This is why he feels good, and I dont. Thats my story and Im sticking to it. This afternoon I did a long, and wonderful third single track, third fire road, and third road ride. I felt like a champ, untill I very narrowly avoided getting creamed by a guy in a pickup who by the looks of things was reading the news paper on the seat next to him as he drove.
Day 21. Back into the hills, exploring a bunch of new single track/ game trails onto a quiet easement/ road ride. One more hour and some change in the bag. Feeling good two days in a row? This has to be a mistake.
Day 22. Yup. Its a mistake. Today I was barely able to make it out of bed. Partly Im guessing this is due to the fact that I, Like Garfield hate mornings, but mainly due to the reality of having been on a bike more then Ive not been on a bike lately.. Same kind of ride Ive been doing more then less, but with the addition of a cross course loop. Part road, part off the radar access road, and a whole heaping load of single track. I think Demonikas been beating me up in my sleep. Tomorrows gonna be a better day.
Day 23. Due to the fact that I feel kinda crummy, and may or may not be participating in the cross season closer tomorrow, I spent an hour on the rollers, and not a second more. No intervals, no sustained efforts, no nothin. Just an 11 mile per hour spin through the quiet country roads of my mind.
Day 24. Rode out to Watsonville. 20 miles of rolling hills. Lovely ride, realized my rear der is out of adjustment so Im unable to reach the top two cogs. Considered racing the cross finals, but just drank a 24 oz. can of beer instead.
Day 25. Im tired of this. My legs feel of ass, and I want to sleep in, but its better then being in the hospital.
Mellow, road, off road ride, pedaling in squares.
Day 26. Just to give you an idea of where my head was at today... I was running around my house, in the dark this morning trying to decide if it was too cold for shorts. Indecisiveness is a sign of I-dont-want-to-do-this-anymore syndrome. Finally, I donned my helmet and said to myself 'it smells like cat pee in here.' I smelled my mess bag, with inconclusive results, and then bailed. At the end of my ride I stopped for a coffee. When I took my hemet off, I saw that there was another (rather foul smelling) cycling cap smashed up in there. Laughing, I grabbed my bike and bailed only until I realized a block later Id forgotten my coffee.
Young Hightower said his first thought upon waking up this morning was 'alright! Its Saturday!'
Its not. Today is Tuesday.
Day 27. The second day in a row Ive screwed up the painfully simple task of setting my alarm. To ad insult to injury, the power went out. Not everywhere mind you, just my house, and one other on the street. As Im stumbling through the darkness, my riding partner for the day, Joe, is knocking at my door. The fact that I even made it out the door with my shorts on frontwards is a miracle. More road/ off road today. We rode mountain bikes, and despite the fact that my body is in a shambles, I felt pretty good, and again realized that all of my time riding a cross bike has given me the ability to descend with a suspension fork like a damn demon.
The mantra "A bad day on a bike is still better then a good day at work" kept going through my head.
Day 28. I was on my cross bike today, wondering what I was gonna get into when I came across Troy. He gave me the skinny on a connector road that comes complete with a slew of 'no trespassing' signs. I rode a way-under-the-radar single track, to a long road climb, past the gates and foreboding markers onto an amazing rolling and desolate road ride. Regardless of all of this, I feel as if someone removed my legs and beat me repeatedly with them in my sleep.
Day 29. Midway into my one speed cross ride, I remembered I had to return home to grab my rent check, so I did a meandering hour long, mostly flat road ride into work. To finish off what most assuredly was the last of my juice however, I rode the rollers for 40 minutes when I got home. Retodded cheered me with a beer this afternoon and said 'heres to doing what has got to be the dumbest thing Ive ever heard of. Twice.'
Yeah, heres to that.
Day 30. I woke up this morning, laying on my back, and both of my hands were asleep. Young Hightower, and Dano came to my aid and helped me limp through the glory of the 30th day.
Truth be told, I felt pretty spry today, as we noodled through the woods, on my way to salvation.
The last day of my first 30 held a final blow out that had me cracked like an egg during the final descent.
Holding with tradition, todays remaining miles had to be ridden with one eye closed, much like those ridden after so many final calls. My head felt light as a feather, and my legs were cardboard tubes. I smashed my celebratory beer, and folded the top back perfectly in its original state. Its a rough guess, but assuming each ride was an hour and a half or so, which consisted of about 18 miles each, I figure Ive got 45 hours on the bike and in the neighborhood of 540 miles behind me.
Today I bid a fond, fond farewell to this years 30 in 30, and the time is now to go lie down and watch the ceiling for two or three days.
Finally, and in accordance of my standard writing style that tends to link up bits of information which have nothing to do with one another, Young Hightower informed me today that Strong Distribution, the company who is responsible for bringing us our delicious and refreshing Budweiser over here in these neck of the woods, is using bio-diesel in all of their trucks. Getting drunk has never felt so environmentally responsible.
The owner of this here linked blog, who shall remain nameless to protect the innocent, is the son of a woman of great talent. Along with key members of the MLPS Mafia, I saw her preform the coveted role of Mrs. Robinson in a live production of 'The Graduate'. The notifying email began with
"so.. you wanna see my mom naked?'
To date, Ive seen more of this families flesh then I care to admit.
I dont spend alot of time looking for blogs, although I am supposed to. Today, however, I think Ive found a favorite. You think youre tough? You dont know tough.
By the looks of things, the FBC likes to have fun like I like to have fun.
-Middle of Nowheresville, and having a gas. God bless em.
And the future of the world is in Mr. Awesomes
able hands.
And to conclude, begin your day with a cup of poison and a smile.
