Years ago while attempting to take a train to Copenhagen, I fell asleep and woke up in Bonn, Germany. All of my life Ive made a career, no- an art form, out of falling asleep on trains and waking up miles away from my destination.
Anyhow- homegirl, Pixelfree*78 (aka the lovely Astrid) has enlightened us on the haps in the fare city of Bonn.
CASINO ALLEY CAT 21.04.2007
Bonn / Germany
Magnus from Velofix, Bonn, called for the next alley cat in Bonn. We arrived in Bonn around 7pm after a 35km bike ride from Cologne to Bonn along the river.
The first meeting point was Saturday evening at Max-Spree-Street at 9pm. Bike Messengers from Cologne and Bonn decided to share the funny alley cat.
The race took 2 ½ hours, including 5 checkpoints distributed over the city. Each team had to pull their fist checkpoint. The cologne chaos team with Dandü, me and Anja pulled No. 1, the checkpoint on the other side of the river. So let the race start. 10pm.
There you had to do two little jobs in a team. The first one was to pull another card to figure out which checkpoint of the five was your next one. And our team jumped the most time during the race between checkpoint 1 and 4, with the farest distinction and always the river with the bridge between us.
The 2nd task was you had to play like in a casino for money. You could pull a card and lose or win money, or you had to spin the back wheel of the bike to win or loose it, to check out your new checkpoint or you had to drink wodka shotz, doing some push ups or other crazy things.
Also you could get money if you left the fastest way between the check points and bringing some gifts with you like mercedes stars from the cars, printet-out bank account facts, infosheets...
One time i ran into a eros center and all of the sudden a security boy tried to catch me and to hit me...but i was faster and we got points for it too..
after a hard, rough, funny 2 ½ bike ride we all met us in a pub to figure out who was the winner. You also got bonus for best out of town and best girl***
our chaos team made the 4th place and also best girl and best out of town**
yeah**
so take your becks and cherio***
at 3 am in the morning we decided to take the train back to cologne***
so our 100km ride lied behind us*
let*s check out the next alley cat** rokk*n*rollllllllllllll
And this has nothing to do with D.P.s greatness, but if you find yourself in the market for an auditory pillaging,
you need look no further than Black Elk. Think 400 Blows, but pissed...
It cant be said better than this:
'Take the power of Hammerhead, the angst of Guzzard, the chops of Dazzling Killmen, the hand-in-the-underwear debauchery of the Jesus Lizard and the punk spirit of Black Flag, put it all in a dank basement full of angry bees and you'll come close to the sound and fury that is Black Elk.' -43rocket.com
And finally, I posted this a few months ago, but Im going to again cause it rules.
Thats super cool. Ive never had a bad time on the trails in Minneapolis.
Plus, didnt they have a Norba National in Waco Texas a couple of years ago on a whole network of trails that had been reclaimed from a relatively trashed sector of the city? It just goes to show what can happen when folks work together.
And Ashley sent this on.
Damn. 'Hammered' indeed.
Now then, its images like these two that tend to make a person take a bit of stock in their existence..
Burt and Andy just doing what they do...
Sometimes I think Im kind of a bad ass, and then I get a shot of reality like this, and it makes me realize my place in the universe.
Its good to have that happen in your life every now and again.
Anyway, I expect its probably a lovely day in most places today.
You should put on a track suit and ride your bike or something.
This image is nice. Its soothing. Its stolen. Go here to see more. This is badass. Like a t-shirt, kinda bad ass.
Ok, it looks like Cody forgot to take his meds again....Or perhaps this is a result of spending too much time with Kenny G.
"Hello Swobiters...
Hope all is well out there in knickers wearing, single speed riding, latte drinking, elitist land....Old C.O. spent the last weekend on the front range of Colorado (Denver/Boulder) checking the scene, racing, and catching up with some amigos from days gone by.....The first couple stops where by two of the sickest cycling shops around, Vecchios, and Boulder Cycle Sport. Two of the most genuine, bike friendly spots in the land...No matter if you are pulling the training wheels off your daughters first rig, or truing a pair of $2,000 hoops, these dudes will set you straight.....At Vecchios Jim, Peter and Sean will preach the gospel of all things functional (and Campy) over a cold brew...While over at BCS, Brandon "Dubba" Dwight will lay it down on all the reasons 'cross rules (as if you needed reminding), kids are the best, and most importantly, why Dopers Suck. Definitely check out these two spots the next time you visit The Peoples Republic of Boulder. It will be certainly be worth you while....
Next I rolled over to the household of the "First Family of American Cycling" to see how the Phinny brood is holding up....
For those of you that don't know, this is the most badass crew of cyclists on the planet....Pops has the most wins of any American cyclist in history (Olympics, TDF, Coors Classic Et All.), and has played a huge part in the development of young American beasts from coast to coast....He rolled over to Europa with Keifel, Alexi, Hampsten and the 7-Eleven boys and beat the euros at their own game, not knowing what the fuck a Team Time Trial even was....your tattoos may be rad...your fixie may be the shit...your honey may have the sickest dreads from Portland to San Fran, but Davis and crew, no matter what you think of pro cycling past, present and future where/are more punk than you can ever hope to be......not to mention his wife won the gold in L.A. in '84, and to this day will work each and every one of you....any time anywhere!! Their son Taylor is far and away the most talented up and comer in the country....try to beat him on a climb, sprint, dirt jump or document delivery, he will beat your ass.....badly...The Golden Crit was great...a huge turnout for a chilly day.....All and all the scene is stout here in the Rockies...the snow is melting, and the loons are heading for the hills....can the rest of the country keep up???? Doubtful!!!!
Say your prayers,
CO
Disclaimer: If anyone disagrees with any of the above statements (espicially those pertaining to the acheviments of the 7-Eleven Cycling Team) please attatch your address/telephone # to any and all comments you may have so the author (C.O.) may hunt you down, and beat your ass....over and over again!!!
That Cody, he so craizey..
Heads a bit foggy today. Wednesday #2 for the season went off without a hitch, and nary a bellyache.
We had the pee bottle flick, which Garen won with an astonishing flick of 16 feet or some nonsense, with Mike coming in a close second, and some of the women complaining that pee bottle flicking is a guy thing, thereby creating an unlevel playing field. I dont really understand that one. Whenever I see big gulp cups, pine cones, piles of horse dung, or especially pee bottles, I tend to always give em a fling with the front wheel. Its what makes America great.
Lots of one handed hijinx again his week, followed by dark and scary descents, as well as the much anticipated arrival of the Mafias own Yafro to our midst. Last week, Garen lost a shoe, this week I lost a glove and a bit of my liver. That, however tends to kindof go without saying...
I should also include this shot from 685 of Woodruffian.
'1978, Torker, Nebraska, his dad was a cop.'
Many years ago in Denver, 685, Larry Woodruffian, and Mark Dickerson used to have nightly rides they referred to as 'Night Cat Missions'. The objective was simple. Go out and ride bikes all over the city, perfecting trials skills, skid into beer bottles, propelling them at the knuckle headed clubber kids, race down parking structures, go 'gardening' or 'yarding' (skidding at high speed through freshly manicured lawns) and so fourth.
It was a magical time whenever I got to participate in one of these. Small factions of two wheeled trouble makers raising hell all throughout the city. One I remember vividly was when the Grateful Dead show let out from Mile High Stadium. We sat above the parking lot untill the drug hazed masses came flooding out into the streets, and then we all unleashed our fury, racing wildly with reckless abandon through the crowds- causing Birkenstocks, and dreadlocks to fly in every direction, our hysterical laughter dissolving into the night sky.
Now Im older and not much wiser, but Ive since found that this sort of activity is happening all over the country. Cells of miscreant cyclists have been reported in New Haven, Lincoln, Kansas City, Austin, Minneapolis, Oakland, Boise, Los Angeles.. All doing what the Night Cats were doing back in the very early 90s, and in some cases, completely unbeknownst to one another, and at the exact same time. Essentially its just the same mentality you held as a kid, hanging around the dirt jumps, riding a bit, breaking some stuff, and immersing yourself in the camaraderie of other trouble makers.
Its an exciting prospect for there to be a singular idea finally happening in the bike world, that there is a healthy, and hearty underground continuing to spread with a viral-like efficiency, and an open offer for a bed on which we all can rest our weary heads, should any of our paths of destruction ever cross.
Many thanks to Megan for the continued use of her photos.
For the better part of 25 years Ive engaged in the fruitless task of making and collecting zines. You know, the little hand made, xeroxed magazines that no one ever pays any attention to? Yeah, those...
In the early 80s, I made skateboarding zines, emulating higher profile zines such as 'Skate Fate' and the like.
Eventually, I began making random music zines, with bit of bike, and art flair, modeled after Greta Shreads indescribable and well ahead of its time 'Mudflap'. As an amateur music critic, I always held the badge of shame that music critics were nothing but folks who desperately wanted to make music, but were incapable. Guilty as charged. More on that in a minute.
But along the way, Ive collected some incredible specimens, as well as some life long friends. Cars-R-Coffins was (and occasionally still is) a zine made by a certain bicycleanthropist that goes by the name of Hurl. In the mid-90s, we began writing postcards to one another with zine making as the catylist. There was a whole underground that was swapping, pen-palling, collaborating, and reviewing each others wares...In fact, there exists a complete zine collection at the San Francisco library that is avalible to look at. Go to the top floor, and ask to see it. Boxes upon boxes of primarily, (though not exclusively) Bay Area zines about everything from urban gardening to punk rock to being a fat girl.
The process of production is really quite easy. All you need is access to a xerox machine, limited to non existent computer skills, and a stapler. Voila! you got yourself a vehicle to spew your ideas. Its what we used to do before there was any such thing as a blog, plus theyre a hell of alot easier to read on the toilet.
But hold up..Let me digress and get back to music for just a second and flex those crappy critic skills. These days, a band that has been getting alot of action on my stereo is called Russian Circles, and have succeeded in curling my severely jaded toes.. Personally, Ive never had a thing for vocal-less bands. Its been said that the only music that is capable of being without vocals is jazz, and it should stay that way, but these fellas sucessfully fuse math rock, heavy riffs, and ambient dream like noodling into one utterly complete package.
Think Don Caballero, but with a more distinct power, a pinch of Shellac, and a dusting of Slint, and youre beginning to get the picture.
Mmmm, that felt good..
Anyhow, speaking of Shellac, (and thereby completing this big disjointed circle Im drawing here,) this piece written by Steve Albini about the problem with corporate music remains probably one of the best things published in a fanzine to date.
In my humble opinion, the underground world of zines is still just as vibrant and exciting as it ever was. Take your shoes off and dip your toes in the cool pool that is zine making. You might even end up killing that blog youve got. Just dont forget to send me a copy.
Now finally, I just got one of my suspension forks back from the expert service of this guy. Not Al, but B. Rose. Hes one of the most purely capable suspension technicians we know, and wears the hell out of a bunny suit. If you find yourself in need of this kind of service, might I recommend Brian and his magic hands.
Oh yeah, and lest I forget, this guy is right. Our lawyer, Loudass, and his associate 'The Giant Drunk Russian' will be at your door any day. Just a word of advice, two 40s of Colt, and an economy pack of bacon will help to avoid any grievous bodily harm that they might be planning for your poor self.
Happy 4-20 you damn stoners. Never mind the date up there. Its wrong. I think.. Anyway, Firstly I have to wish Iggy Pop a very happy 60th birthday on Sunday.
60 years old and he still kills it. Hes the ugliest, most beautiful man we know.
Now then, the following item has appeared twice in my in box in the past week. Its a long read, but quite good.
It encouraging to know that in times like these, when you feel like youre all alone in this sentiment, a piece like this comes down the pipe and reminds you that youre not.
Had Enough?
Am I the only guy in this country who's fed up with what's happening?
Where the hell is our outrage? We should be screaming bloody murder.
We've got a gang of clueless bozos steering our ship of state right
over a cliff, we've got corporate gangsters stealing us blind, and we
can't even clean up after a hurricane much less build a hybrid car.
But instead of getting mad, everyone sits around and nods their heads
when the politicians say, "Stay the course."
Stay the course? You've got to be kidding. This is America, not the
damned Titanic. I'll give you a sound bite: Throw the bums out!
You might think I'm getting senile, that I've gone off my rocker, and
maybe I have. But someone has to speak up. I hardly recognize this
country anymore. The President of the United States is given a free
pass to ignore the Constitution, tap our phones, unsecure our borders and lead us to war
on a pack of lies. Congress responds to record deficits by passing a
huge tax cut for the wealthy (thanks, but I don't need it). The most
famous business leaders are not the innovators but the guys in
handcuffs. While we're fiddling in Iraq, the Middle East is burning
and nobody seems to know what to do. And the press is waving pom-poms
instead of asking hard questions. That's not the promise of America
my parents and yours traveled across the ocean for. I've had enough.
How about you?
I'll go a step further. You can't call yourself a patriot if you're
not outraged. This is a fight I'm ready and willing to have.
My friends tell me to calm down. They say, "Lee, you're eighty-two
years old. Leave the rage to the young people." I'd love to-as soon
as I can pry them away from their iPods for five seconds and get them
to pay attention. I'm going to speak up because it's my patriotic
duty. I think people will listen to me. They say I have a reputation
as a straight shooter.
So I'll tell you how I see it, and it's not pretty, but at least it's
real. I'm hoping to strike a nerve in those young folks who say they
don't vote because they don't trust politicians to represent their
interests. Hey, America, wake up. These guys work for us.
Who Are These Guys, Anyway?
Why are we in this mess? How did we end up with this crowd in
Washington? Well, we voted for them-or at least some of us did. But
I'll tell you what we didn't do. We didn't agree to suspend the
Constitution. We didn't agree to stop asking questions or demanding
answers. Some of us are sick and tired of people who call free speech
treason. Where I come from that's a dictatorship, not a democracy.
And don't tell me it's all the fault of right-wing Republicans or
liberal Democrats. That's an intellectually
lazy argument, and it's part of the reason we're in this stew. We're
not just a nation of factions. We're a people. We share common
principles and ideals. And we rise and fall together.
Where are the voices of leaders who can inspire us to action and make
us stand taller? What happened to the strong and resolute party of
Lincoln? What happened to the courageous, populist party of FDR and
Truman? There was a time in this country when the voices of great
leaders lifted us up and made us want to do better. Where have all
the leaders gone?
The Test of a Leader
I've never been Commander in Chief, but I've been a CEO. I
understand a few things about leadership at the top. I've figured out
nine points-not ten (I don't want people accusing me of thinking I'm
Moses). I call them the "Nine Cs of Leadership." They're not fancy or
complicated. Just clear, obvious qualities that every true leader
should have. We should look at how the current administration stacks
up. Like it or not, this crew is going to be around until January
2009. Maybe we can learn something before we go to the polls in 2008.
Then let's be sure we use the leadership test to screen the
candidates who say they want to run the country.
It's up to us to choose wisely.
So, here's my C list:
A leader has to show CURIOSITY. He has to listen to people outside of
the "Yes, sir" crowd in his inner circle. He has to read voraciously,
because the world is a big, complicated place. George W. Bush brags
about never reading a newspaper.
"I just scan the headlines," he says. Am I hearing this right? He's
the President of the United States and he never
reads a newspaper? Thomas Jefferson once said, "Were it left to me to
decide whether we should have a government without newspapers, or
newspapers without a government, I should not hesitate for a moment
to prefer the latter." Bush disagrees.
As long as he gets his daily hour in the gym , with Fox News piped
through the sound system, he's ready to go.
If a leader never steps outside his comfort zone to hear different
ideas, he grows stale. If he doesn't put his
beliefs to the test, how does he know he's right? The inability to
listen is a form of arrogance. It means either
you think you already know it all, or you just don't care. Before the
2006 election, George Bush made a big point of saying he didn't
listen to the polls. Yeah, that's what they all say when the polls
stink. But maybe he should have listened, because 70 percent of the
people were saying he was on the wrong track. It took a "thumping" on
election day to wake him up, but even then you got the feeling he
wasn't listening so much as he was calculating how to do a better job
of convincing everyone he was right.
A leader has to be CREATIVE, go out on a limb, be willing to try
something different. You know, think outside the box. George Bush pr
ides himself on never changing, even as the world around him is
spinning out of control. God forbid someone should accuse him of flip-
flopping. There's a disturbingly messianic fervor to his certainty.
Senator Joe Biden recalled a conversation he had with Bush a few
months after our troops marched into Baghdad. Joe was in the Oval
Office outlining his concerns to the President-the explosive mix of
Shiite and Sunni, the disbanded Iraqi army, the problems securing the
oil fields. "The President was serene," Joe recalled. "He told me he
was sure that we were on the right course and that all would be well.
'Mr. President,' I finally said, 'how can you be so sure when you
don't yet know all the facts?'" Bush then reached over and put a
steadying hand on Joe's shoulder. "My instincts," he said. "My
instincts." Joe was flabbergasted. He told Bush, "Mr.
President, your instincts aren't good enough." Joe Biden sure didn't
think the matter was settled. And, as we all know now, it wasn't.
Leadership is all about managing change-whether you're leading a
company or leading a country. Things change, and you get creative.
You adapt. Maybe Bush was absent the day they covered that at Harvard
Business School.
A leader has to COMMUNICATE. I'm not talking about running off at the
mouth or spouting sound bites. I'm talking about facing reality and
telling the truth. Nobody in the current administration seems to know
how to talk straight anymore.
Instead, they spend most of their time trying to convince us that
things are not really as bad as they seem. I don't know if it's
denial or dishonesty, but it can start to drive you crazy after a
while. Communication has to start with telling the truth, even when
it's painful. The war in Iraq has been, among other things, a grand
failure of communication. Bush is like the boy who didn't cry wolf
when the wolf was at the door. After years of being told that all is
well, even as the casualties and chaos mount, we've stopped listening
to him.
A leader has to be a person of CHARACTER. That means knowing the
difference between right and wrong and having the guts to do the
right thing. Abraham Lincoln once said, "If you want to test a man's
character, give him power." George Bush has a lot of power. What does
it say about his character? Bush has shown a willingness to take bold
action on the world stage because he has the power, but he shows
little regard for the grievous consequences. He has sent our troops
(not to mention hundreds of thousands of innocent Iraqi citizens) to
their
deaths-for what? To build our oil reserves? To avenge his daddy
because Saddam Hussein once tried to have him killed? To show his
daddy he's tougher? The motivations behind the war in Iraq are
questionable, and the execution of the war has been a disaster. A man
of character does not ask a single soldier to die for a failed policy.
A leader must have COURAGE. I'm talking about balls. (That even goes
for female leaders.) Swagger isn't courage. Tough talk isn't courage.
George Bush comes from a blue-blooded Connecticut family, but he
likes to talk like a cowboy. You know, My gun is bigger than your
gun. Courage in the twenty-first century doesn't mean posturing and
bravado. Courage is a commitment to sit down at the negotiating
table and talk.
If you're a politician, courage means taking a position even when you
know it will cost you votes. Bush can't even make a public appearance
unless the audience has been handpicked and sanitized. He did a
series of so-called town hall meetings last year, in auditoriums
packed with his most devoted fans. The questions were all softballs.
To be a leader you've got to have CONVICTION-a fire in your belly.
You've got to have passion. You've got to really want to get s
omething done. How do you measure fire in the belly?
Bush has set the all-time record for number of vacation days taken by
a U.S. President-four hundred and counting. He'd rather clear brush
on his ranch than immerse himself in the business of governing. He
even told an interviewer that the high point of his presidency so far
was catching a seven-and-a-half-pound perch in his hand-stocked lake.
It's no better on Capitol Hill. Congress was in session only ninety-
seven days in 2006. That's eleven days less than the record set in
1948, when President Harry Truman coined the term do-nothing
Congress. Most people would expect to be fired if they worked so
little and had nothing to show for it. But Congress managed to find
the time to vote itself a raise. Now, that's not leadership.
A leader should have CHARISMA. I'm not talking about being flashy.
Charisma is the quality that makes people want to follow you. It's
the ability to inspire. People follow a leader because they trust
him. That's my definition of charisma. Maybe George Bush is a great
guy to hang out with at a barbecue or a ball game. But put him at a
global summit where the future of our planet is at stake, and he
doesn't look very presidential. Those frat-boy pranks and the kidding
around he enjoys so much don't go over that well with world leaders.
Just ask German Chancellor Angela Merkel, who received an unwelcome
shoulder massage from our President at a G-8 Summit. When he came up
behind her and started squeezing, I thought she was going to go right
through the roof.
A leader has to be COMPETENT. That seems obvious, doesn't it? You've
got to know what you're doing. More important than that, you've got
to surround yourself with people who know what they're doing. Bush
brags about being our first MBA President. Does that make him
competent? Well, let's see. Thanks to our first MBA President,
we've got the largest deficit in history, Social Security is on life
support, and we've run up a half-a-trillion-dollar price tag (so far)
in Iraq. And that's just for starters. A leader has to be a problem
solver, and the biggest problems we face as a nation seem to be on
the back burner.
You can't be a leader if you don't have COMMON SENSE. I call this
Charlie Beacham's rule. When I was a young guy just starting out in
the car business, one of my first jobs was as Ford's zone manager in
Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania. My boss was a guy named Charlie Beacham,
who was the East Coast regional manager. Charlie was a big
Southerner, with a warm drawl, a huge smile, and a core of steel.
Charlie used to tell me, "Remember, Lee, the only thing you've got
going for you as a human being is your ability to reason and your
common sense. If you don't know a dip of horseshit from a dip of
vanilla ice cream, you'll never make it." George Bush doesn't have
common sense. He just has a lot of sound bites. You know-Mr.they'll-
welcome-us-as-liberators-no-child-left- behind-heck-of-a-job-Brownie-
mission-accomplished Bush.
Former President Bill Clinton once said, "I grew up in an alcoholic
home. I spent half my childhood trying to get into the reality-based
world-and I like it here."
I think our current President should visit the real world once in a
while.
The Biggest C is Crisis.
Leaders are made, not born. Leadership is forged in times of crisis.
It's easy to sit there with your feet up on the desk and talk theory.
Or send someone else's kids off to war when you've never seen a
battlefield yourself. It's another thing to lead when your world
comes tumbling down.
On September 11, 2001, we needed a strong leader more than any other
time in our history. We needed a steady hand to guide us out of the
ashes. Where was George Bush? He was reading a story about a pet goat
to kids in Florida when he heard about the attacks. He kept sitting
there for twenty minutes with a baffled look on his face. It's all on
tape. You can see it for yourself. Then, instead of taking the
quickest route back to Washington and immediately going on the air to
reassure the panicked people of this country, he decided it wasn't
safe to return to the White House. He basically went into hiding for
the day-and he told Vice President Dick Cheney to stay put in his
bunker. We were all frozen in front of our TVs, scared out of our
wits, waiting for our leaders to tell us that we were going to be
okay, and there was nobody home. It took Bush a couple of days to get
his bearings and devise the right photo op at Ground Zero.
That was George Bush's moment of truth, and he was paralyzed. And
what did he do when he'd regained his composure? He led us down the
road to Iraq-a road his own father had considered disastrous when he
was President. But Bush didn't listen to Daddy. He listened to a
higher father. He prides himself on being faith based, not reality
based. If that doesn't scare the crap out of you, I don't know what
will.
A Hell of a Mess
So here's where we stand. We're immersed in a bloody war with no plan
for winning and no plan for leaving. We're running the biggest
deficit in the history of the country. We're losing the manufacturing
edge to Asia, while our once-great companies are getting slaughtered
by health care costs. Gas prices are skyrocketing, and nobody in
power has a coherent energy policy. Our schools are in trouble. Our
borders are like sieves. The middle class is being squeezed every
which way. These are times that cry out for leadership.
But when you look around, you've got to ask: "Where have all the
leaders gone?" Where are the curious, creative
communicators? Where are the people of character, courage, conviction, competence, and common sense? I may be a sucker for alliteration,
but I think you get the point.
Name me a leader who has a better idea for homeland security than
making us take off our shoes in airports and throw away our shampoo?
We've spent billions of dollars building a huge new bureaucracy, and
all we know how to do is react to things that have already happened.
Name me one leader who emerged from the crisis of Hurricane Katrina.
Congress has yet to spend a single day evaluating the response to the
hurricane, or demanding accountability for the decisions that were
made in the crucial hours after the storm. Everyone's hunkering down,
fingers crossed, hoping it doesn't happen again. Now, that's just
crazy. Storms happen. Deal with it. Make a plan. Figure out what
you're going to do the next time.
Name me an industry leader who is thinking creatively about how we
can restore our competitive edge in manufacturing. Who would have
believed that there could ever be a time when "the Big Three"
referred to Japanese car companies? How did this happen-and more
important, what are we going to do about it?
Name me a government leader who can articulate a plan for paying down
the debt, or solving the energy crisis, or
managing the health care problem. The silence is deafening. But these
are the crises that are eating away at our country and milking the
middle class dry.
I have news for the gang in Congress. We didn't elect you to sit on
your asses and do nothing and remain silent while our democracy is
being hijacked and our greatness is being replaced with mediocrity.
What is everybody so afraid of?
That some bobblehead on Fox News will call them a name? Give me a
break. Why don't you guys show some spine for a change?
Had Enough?
Hey, I'm not trying to be the voice of gloom and doom here. I'm
trying to light a fire. I'm speaking out bec ause I have hope. I
believe in America. In my lifetime I've had the privilege of living
through some of America's greatest moments. I've also experienced
some of our worst crises-the Great Depression, World War II, the
Korean War, the Kennedy assassination, the Vietnam War, the 1970s oil
crisis, and the struggles of recent years culminating with 9/11. If
I've learned one thing, it's this: You don't get anywhere by standing
on the sidelines waiting for somebody else to take action. Whether
it's building a better car or building a better future for our
children, we all have a role to play. That's the challenge I'm
raising in this book. It's a call to action for people who, like me,
believe in America. It's not too late, but it's getting pretty close.
So let's shake off the horseshit and go to work. Let's tell 'em all
we've had enough.
###
Excerpted from Where Have All the Leaders Gone?. Copyright C
2007 by Lee Iacocca. All rights reserved.
And now finally, Pete has fallen victim to his own '30 in 30'. As this post was very long, Ive decided to link his own blog, so you can get in there and read all about his glory.
Hightower and I started this years Wednesday night ride series off in style. Just the two of us, cause everybody else was afraid. See, Im tired of planning races. Why race? Thats dumb. Thats right- racings dumb. Go find another pissing match, champ.
A few folks werent keen on that idea, but they can plan their own races. This years theme is 'feats of strength'. Another idea I stole from The Mafia.
The first feat of strength was to attempt to ride the entire length of a verrrry long red painted curb behind the Bell/ Gyro office. Hightower won, I lost. Id never survive the North Shore.
Next stop, beer store.
Then off to the designated meeting spot, but first, a single track adventure. Hightower on his cross bike, and me on my one speed. Off like shots we darted through winding loamy single track, backpacks full of amber refreshment and snacks secured over our shoulders.
The second feat of strength was bike wheel bowling.
Everybody took a shot, DanO won by smashing one can. Everybody else lost. We all suck.
Cry babies began singing their song of 'I wanna ride. I wanna race, this is dumb.'
They were all invited to beat it, which they did.
The third feat of strength was the one handed hill climb, in which the participant, opens a can of beer, and rides the bike of their choice up a rather rutted, and rock strewn section of trail.
Colina crashed immediately.
Highlander won the geared category, and Retodded and I tied in the single speed category. The fourth and final feat was to navigate that same section of trail only in reverse, again, with one hand. The winner of that one remains kinda fuzzy.
We all retreated to the confines of the bar, but not before maching down the treachery known as 'Fence Line', in the dark, drunk, and as fast as any of us have ever ridden it before. At one point, after getting bucked riding trough a mud hole, which resulted in me blasting through an unintentional 25 mile an hour nose wheelie, I thought to myself, 'this is how people get paralyzed.'
We eventually arrived at the bar, threw some darts, that would make the pros green with envy, one of which I stuck in Fajas back, and we all melted into the night.
Same time next week, and every one after. If you know, youll go.
Lets start with this. We can totally relate as shes actually the landlord of the Swobo office as well.
Now then, a very interseting site about headlights, and racks. Pay attention, this might save your life.
In Lincoln the winters are long, cold, and sometimes boring. Unless you know how to creatively bide your time.
This just in from our UK distributor, Dickon over at STIF.
" Just back from the land of the cobble, and a weekend checking Paris-Roubaix and all that goes with it.
It was 30 deg C for the race on Sunday which combined with the previous 12hrs of drinking Stella on a large boat made for a very special sort of carnage.
Amongst tales of forgotten passports, delayed ferries and 120mph motorway chases – we have the attached.
The house band on the 12hr ferry crossing (or should that be boat band?) - appeared from behind velvet curtains at Saturday nights cabaret performance in the attached jackets, presuming that the wild and rabid cheering from the bar was an unexpected but loyal fan base.
Whereas in fact it was due solely to the fact that their jackets are almost uncannily cut from the same cloth as the Daryl.
I’m almost certain that one of them was also called Daryl. Although this may have been pushing it...
It did however provide almost endless photo ops.
(I did try to get Boonen in the cap too, but he was a bit sweaty)
Dickon"
Oh good god..... They all kinda look like theyre named Daryl.
Now then, a bunch of bike race goodies from all over.
Spring has sprung, and theres lots to do. I expect this is still just the tip of the iceberg.
Now then, a bit more from N@ in South Africa.
"Tokai National Park, Cape Town, South Africa
In the middle of the city, fire road up single track down and just to make sure your on your toes the biggest troup of baboons in the cape....
plus the guys at the continental tires stand were giving away free beer at the Cape Argus expo
N@"
Ive heard tell that the Mountain biking in South Africa is amazing, but security concerns are unparalleled. The homes there are much like small compounds, and some have non lethal types of measures to ensure the occupants safety. Paint ball cannons that fire out shot gun blasts of tear gas pellets are as common place on some homes as alarm systems are here, but by the looks of the photos, the riding is incredible.
Ok, on to other news. Its story time. Scott Berg, who was one of the original orange jump suited trouble makers, once told me this tale, and Ive adopted it as my own. He used to work at a sign shop in Sacramento, and as per his usual habit, while he worked, he liked to play some air guitar every now and again. Well, one of his co-workers noticed his skills, and asked, "so, do you play the guitar?" Scott answered, "Well, yeah, you know, air guitar, but I put it down some place, and now I cant find it." His co-worker offered, "You know, my cousin owns a guitar shop. He could probably get you a new one", to which Scott said, "but it was an air guitar". The co-worker paused, and then said "Dont worry, hes got Ibanez, Gibson... He can get you whatever you want..."
Now a spy shot of the bike industry illuminati sporting wood. Cottonwood that is.
..And a note from El Corpo.
"Heading over to the East Coast today. NYC, Boston, etc. We'll be opening up a few dealers, so look for things to start to appear in stores over there. We're still heavily limiting the distribution, so don't expect it everywhere. Only a few places will get it."
So now you know.
And now finally, and in a totally unrelated bit of spew, I was attempting to change the background picture on an unnamed co-workers computer this morning, and after scanning Google images for 'monkey in fez', I found this-
which then linked me to The Soiled Chamois.
It kinda figures that out of all of the images I could pick, the one that most struck my fancy was something found by one of our friends.
Its true, great minds do think alike.
Our friend Skinny Bee told me this tale a few weeks ago, and I asked him to please write a piece for the Swoblog, because as it goes, this is as bummer a life as they come, and in the end, as difficult as it is to imagine, the bummer life for this young man is avoided as much as it can be, day to day.
“You delivered pizza with a wastoid ex-pro Saturn rider?” I was asked.
“Add crack addiction and homelessness,” I reply with new details to explain.
“Junkie homeless ex-pro?” my friend frowned. We were sitting at the bar across from the Dominos Pizza on Geary and Hyde is San Francisco, where I worked, briefly, with Jän. This is the story of Jän.
Every time I tell this story I have to shrug and walk myself through the same incredulity. You see how hard it must be to convince strangers to help you on the street. Cardboard signs soliciting spare change for all kinds of tragedies and lies- homeless vet, lost wife and kids, car broke down. Jän’s sign would, if he had to make one, call for sympathy, yet who would believe it? The events of his life are simultaneously unbelievable and tragic:
1. Jän raced throughout his teens to earn a pro contract with Saturn, at eighteen, circa 1990
2. Jän was struck by a motorist and severely injured in the Tour of Mexico
3. Saturn terminated the contract because his knee would not fully recover, starting a downward spiral life of crime no education hopes smashed on the streets for years addicted to crack working at Dominoes Pizza hookers $17.43 do you want hot wings with that TOUR DE FUCKED.
I first meet Jän when he stops by our shop to get a bike tube. He’s got a Dominos jacket on, khakis, pant leg strap. He’s sweaty, breathing hard, sort of wild-eyed. That jacket is loose and clownish and has grease stains.
“You guys have a cool shop,” he says.
I hand him a 700 x 23 presta. I notice the bike.
“That a Dutch delivery bike?” I ask.
“Yup. Check it out.” He moves the handle bars to show that the front rack doesn’t move with them, but does that Euro thing where it stays level, confidently cradling two extra larges with toppings and a two liter of Coke.
“Dominos is going eco-friendly huh?” I study the urban machine.
“I told ‘em, ‘pay me whatever you pay your drivers, I’ll do it faster. No insurance costs either.’ Didn’t believe me but I did forty five my first day. Easy to park, no tickets, never needs gas,” he says matter-of-factly, “people tip more when they see the bike.”
Jän tells his story, as he’s told many times. Over years, he’s developed a resolved tone; he pauses and looks at the horizon when his frustration beads up. He knows he is easily mistaken. However well he can explain his bad luck, his crime is a scarlet letter that precedes him wherever he goes. No ex-pro racer would deliver pizza in the Tenderloin district. Upon closer inspection, you see time in jail, periods of being institutionalized, dark contempt. Of course his irony is multiplied by the naïve, Colorado-cyclist mail-ordering cycling enthusiasts that must write him off as a street junkie, the lazy homeless. Never mind that Jän was placing in UCI worldwide tours and negotiating offers from professional cycling teams before turning twenty years old. Now he pedals pizza daily, dodges traffic, avoids Jesus freaks and generally makes moderately sized efforts to mind his own business and get over the MINOR SETBACK that ruined his life.
I worked with Jän for a summer at the Dominos on Hyde and Geary. While part of me genuinely enjoyed nightly tips and the freedom of working outdoors, another part of me documented Jän’s plight. Like many recovering addicts, he has made a certain peace with his past. Breaking windows and instigating fights with motorists is the path to jail and misery, prolonging his life’s cruel lesson. He doesn’t look for recognition, doesn’t brag. He is resigned and practical. He fixes his flat tires; no team of Mavic mechanics replace his wheel anymore. He fights the urge to relapse and lash out, but it’s hard. He visibly fidgets and longs for the escape and flight that both racing and drugs provided.
Jän rides in Cat 1-2 fields occasionally, when certain promoters and race officials personally recognize him and let him register. It’s understood that he deserves a break, yet technically it’s not allowed because of license rules. Jän can still lead out a hundred-man field of pros, amazingly. He pulls out before the race finishes, satisfied with a small nostalgic sprint or two. Jän does this once or twice a year, showing up not like an aspiring come-back story or nod to his past, but like paying visit to the deceased. He disappears afterward, quietly. To anonymously slay the Cat 1-2 field may seem useless, but it brings back his strongest memory of respect. Just behind his wheel there is a demon momentarily defeated.
It kinda reminds me of some of the adventures Mark, and the rest of the trouble makers at Paragon Machine Works used to get into.
You know, you can do that sort of thing when your day job partly consists of making ultra spiff ti parts, and $15,000.00 titanium couches.
To celebrate the hell of the North, I went out and had myself a quite peaceful few hours on the road. I wasnt hurting like those guys were, but I was still hurting. Being a fatty will do that to you.
Unlike Monster Magnet who once said "Im gonna eat me a mountain of pills", Im actually gonna go eat me a mountain of cheese. *Ahem*.. Low fat cheese...
And speaking of cheese, I just hadda pay a bit more cheddar to the man. I hate tax time.
Moreover, I listened to an interesting program on NPR last week on which they revealed some statistics about where all of our hard earned dollars go. Some of what I recall is this;
In 2008 there are 600 billion dollars slated for military spending which is twice what it was seven years ago.
If that money was re directed, the present national deficit could be cut in half.
My thought was 'damn.. how many miles of bike lanes would that buy?'
40 cents of every tax dollar is going towards military spending. That is to say that not only is it going to the present debacle in the Middle East, but for debt incurred by past wars as well, however only 3 cents of every tax dollar is going toward veteran affairs.
For 40 cents of every dollar, every single high school graduate could be given full scholarships this year.
Think about that. Every high school graduate in the country...
Then finally, a 100th of every cent of every tax dollar is going, among other places like social services and so fourth, to the investment of renewable energy options.
Im sure Ive butchered some of the statistics here fairly badly as I was furiously writing the information down on little scraps of paper, but you can go here to read the transcript of the show and see for yourself.
Something around here stinks, and it aint the cheese.
So they claim that Sea Otters a 'celebration of cycling'.
How better to start the day then chicken and waffles?
Holt and Chipps are a celebration of derelictisim, and Frenchy the dirt jumper is a celebration of creative rain avoidance.
It pissed from the sky in every direction, some bikes were raced, and high fives were slapped...
..and Sov was horrified that he left a relatively mild climate of Minnesota for this...
There... consider that your race report.
Swobo had the first booth in over five years, and everyones pants cuffs were soggy. Rain was coming from everywhere. It was like having a bike race under water, only there were fewer sea monkeys.
Again, our Colorado correspondent, C.O. waxes poetically about stuff.
Hey HTATBLers,
Long time listener, first time caller....The weather here in Colorado is cold as balls, snowing on and off all day long. The roads are a bit loose due to ice in shady spots/traction action pea gravel, keeping the rubber side up can be a bit challenging when you are on the verge of hypothermia....so....cross bikes it is! After two weeks in Moab the crew rolled out for a couple hours of hardcore Belgian action...Miles and miles of chrome....Mud flying to the ceiling (actually one crash due to bulky gloves, three flats and a possible sexual harassment suit by a local female jogger) one flat was on a Dugast tubie....100 dollar cotton...The douchbag had it coming!
Post ride we rolled up to the local watering hole (8.00 Bud's..cheap by Aspen standards) and ran into none other than Kenny G.....Great fella, claims to be an avid cyclist, and likes to buy shots. He suggested Makers, we refused.....Well drinks or no drinks at all (Bullshit).
Off to the Elk's club for .75 cent brews and 5.00 burgers....Gonna try another Cross debacle in the AM.....Stay tuned!
Enjoy the cobbles,
CO
Cobbles generally enjoy us, Cody. Out of respect for El Corpo, I didnt include the photo of Cody with a random girls vomit down his back.
How about some fast and furiousness?
Its really the only way to get around town.
But then again, theres always this.
And now, a gem over heard while some folks were discussing the prospect of picking up one of the Swobo bikes.
"Oh, you shouldnt get one of those. That would be like getting a punk rock jacket, and not being punk rock.'
As you might imagine, that one was a true head scratcher. El Corpo doesnt have much of a taste for punk rock, nor does Sky or Erin. In the days old old, Rennaker, and Fenster didnt much care for it ether. JMac was the only dirt of the bunch, but you know, that was then. I suppose I might be the only one here with a penchant for that particular brand of noise, and believe you me, dear reader, the powers that be didnt let me within a country mile of this project. So on the off chance that the individual who uttered those words might be reading this, you should think of them more like a velvet smoking jacket with reinforced elbows.
You know? Youll look smashing even after you fall down the stairs.
HTATBLs most BONE-CRUNCHING, REBELLIOUS, WILDEST post ever.
UPDATE- On a whim, I called the number, and spoke with Devins stepfather just now. He was a very nice gentlemen, and out of respect for him, and Devins mother, Ive omitted their phone number. Just so you know, young Devin is now 31 years old. Classic.
...Dont know where we got this, but were glad we did.
It aint no peanut butter wrench, but its pretty bad ass. Note the little hook on the bottom of the open ended wrench.
Thats dope.
As an industrial designer, Skys included bottle openers on TV remote controls, tampon dispensers, egg timers, disk golf bags, pet food dishes, video tape rewinders, as well as a myriad of other house hold items. The irony of this is, to my knowledge, shes never designed a bottle opener.
A pic from Portlands recent 'Too Much Scotty' event
Its never a dull time in The Emerald City. (Though its been pointed out to me that despite the fact that Portland is actually greener than Seattle, the latter actually holds that particular moniker. As the kids say, 'my bad'.)
and now a word from our South African representative, Nat;
Geetings Prof. Dr. Stevil
"Just some pics of the shop in SA, opend three weeks ago and moving along quite well, and one of Heide on the beach somewhere on the west coast of Africa, with my old merc battle wagon in the background. No framebuilding ye but coming soon. No one here (well outside the selceted few) know s what Cyclo-cross is so we've made it our mission to educate them, The first Southafrican Cyclo-Cross series is happening this winter. don't know if anyone'll show up but fuck it got to start somewhere. Single speeds are relatively new too, still get lot's of dropped jaw stupid looks passing people on the climbs...."
Cheers,
N@
I had to throw the big shot of Heide in, just so you know why weve always kindof had a crush on her.
Now then, ifin youre gonna be at the log jam of the deluded this weekend called the Sea Otter, M.H. offers this:
"What better way to add to the scene than to mix in some bike polo? Yes, that's right, I'm trying to get some bike polo on for Friday night at 7 at the Otter. I'll give you a dollar if you help me spread the word.
Bike polo at the Otter Friday night at 7.
Bike Polo Rules (subject to change without notification):
1) Don't be an asshole.
1b) No high sticking.
2) Randomly assorted teams of three on three. Play to three points.
3) Goals scored off of the shorty, roundy end of the mallet.
3) If your team scores a goal, you have to ride upcourt and circle behind your goal to allow the other team time to bring the ball up.
4) Put a foot down and you have to tag up. Tag up location to be determined.
Some mallets will be provided.
BYOB.
Any bike is ok as long as it won't break your heart to see it hit the ground."
Go to the food court circle to find em. If nobody shows, you can wiggle your toes in the mud, or dig through the trash for a crust off of a 17 dollar slice of pizza.
And finally, I have to offer this. Personally I have a grand appreciation for cycling specific bags. Not messenger bags, mind you, as the years of wearing sling bags for work have twisted my back into a pretzel, but the bags modeled after the old Mountainsmith World Cup back pack.
I have found one brand of cycling backpack that I absolutely love. I have gone through two of them, and Im guessing both combined, have amassed well over 200,000 miles of travel, cycling, day trips, 12 pack hauling, and so on with them slung over my back. Recently I found out that the production of them was going to be discontinued, so I bought four. Upon arrival, my contact directed me to these, thereby forcing me to completely reassess what the important qualities in a bag really are.
Normally we like the posts to take about as much time to read as it takes to drop the kids off at the pool, as it were, but recently there has been so much happening, we have to go big this time round.
Take those shoes off, stretch your toes out and waste some time with us.
Want to know whats going on here? Yeah, we did too. Lucky for us, Paul was at the 'Art Crank' show at OneonOne this past weekend, and caught a birds eye view.
Paul waxes poetically:
"S.K.
You'll hear many re-caps of the mayhem that ensued last evening, let this be my modest contribution.
-By far the most people that I've ever seen in One on One... B-Rad was working the front coffee bar food area and estimated probably 750 people total... (I am not good at estimating numbers of things, I would have just called it a "fuckin' lot")
-Tapped 2 kegs @ 7, drained by 8:30, Gene went out for 2 more, drained them by about 10:30. Although it is always a buzz killer, we know that sometimes running out of beer (for a short while) can be the best thing to happen to a party... it prompts about a 50% regeneration of party people.
-Too cold for bike riding out back, not the right crowd for derby-ing... (bummer, although I didn't have the bike for it).
-You know how every once and a while you get to have your own personal super-hero type experience? Well, let me admit that mine are quite few and far between... but I got to have a mini one last night:
So it starts like so many great stories, with someone drinking way too many beers and shots (tonight's victim, Hurl). A bunch of us were standing back in the shop and I was right by the tires, in front of the case and near the "mens" bathroom. Hurl had just finished up in there (and luckily, since he had just zipped up his trousers), turned to walk out and blacked plain out, falling flat forward and hitting the back of my lower legs (we were all super glad that he didn't hit the display case). He was o
