Share the boredom

This weekend, I was not at Single Speed Arizona...

contrary to the evidence one might find on the internet.

I was not watching the Super Bowl at a bar with Dough, George, and Dejay.

Nor did Dejay buy me a beer while I was hanging out with Chuey.

That's obviously a staged photo, since Dejay doesn't buy anybody a beer ever, and the man accepting the staged beer appears to be three and a half (not four ) apples tall.

My weekend was much more low key. The weather was not toooo terrible to go for a ride, but since I am tired of the lingering cough I've had for two weeks, I decided to take it easy and accomplish the shit out of some shit. I got my tax stuff all together, so I can hand it to the best accountant (my) money can buy. I installed a top secret bike part (so much for the discretion part of the deal). I went to, but did not race at, the short track race.

photo cred: Chris Muddiman

I spent more time trying to get my kid out of trees than I did cheering on local heroes, but whatever.

I knocked out an entire article for Dirt Rag in one sitting... without beer. Perhaps that is the key. Who knew? While pounding away on the keyboard pumping out the best piece of cycling related prose known to man, I heard a sudden noise that made me jump. It was like a tiny explosion, the sound of a projectile flying across the room, and the associated ping/pang clatter associated with the landing of a miniature missile. I was dumbfounded, but easily gave up my search for the cause of the commotion.

Later that day, I stepped on something uncomfortable on my bike room floor. Not an unusual occurrence, but upon further investigation, I discovered this:

The noise was from the titanium bolt in my stem giving up the ghost and launching the upper third across the room. It was properly torqued, but I can't say it was always treated well. I've had it ever since Stan hooked me up with some ti bolts for my Ellsworth Truth way back in the day. This is back when Stan was just "Stan" the man and not STAN the company, say 2001 or so. Now he's big time with pros riding his stuff and employees and limos and private jets and gold bathtubs and whatnot. I often wonder if he remembers standing in my garage helping me install my Stan's tape and having a Continental Survivor Pro blow off my Sun rim in his hands...

Probably not. He sponsors big time pros now, so I doubt he remember the little people that believed in him the whole time.

I wonder if he still includes one of his old back issues of Mermaid Magazine with every order.

Prolly not.

Sweeter than Reese's Pieces soaked in grain alcohol

I talked to Steve Stickel yesterday about the new machine. He threw out some numbers, I listened to some numbers, and a general concurrence was had by all. I had asked him about whether or not I would get one of those cute CAD type drawings of my new frame to carry around like a fetal sonogram for the many weeks of waiting ahead, but he said he prefers to use a protractor, compass, piece of string, sextant, #2 pencil, and wooden yardstick to draw his frames.

He might not have said that exactly. His mouth was full of candy corn, so I could only catch every fifth word or so. Apparently when you're the bearded, eccentric frame builder in the neighborhood, parents steer their children away from your house at Halloween, and you end up eating leftover candy for months.

So I took it upon myself to head over to the Bicycle Forest and hop on the free version of BikeCAD and make my own drawing. I started with this stock bike...

and after fiddling for way toooo long with some numbers, colors, and whatnot, I came up with this:

My bike will look like that, as far as having two wheels, a saddle, and something tying it all together. Otherwise, it's a terrible representation of what's to come. What I did manage to do was waste about 1.5 hours making it, which is a small price to pay to carry a picture of my future bike baby in my wallet... assuming I carried a wallet, which I don't.

There are many details that are missing in the not-so-expert 2-D version of my frame. Things that were beyond my skill level to portray.

It will have some of this (not shown in my picture):

and this (also not shown in my picture):

and this (also, also not shown in my picture):

and most certainly one of these (also, also, also not shown in my picture):

I'm excited. Things are coming together. Parts will come from far and wide soon enough, and a bike will be assembled that will forever change the way people all over the world look at Mallomars.

Gremlins and Groundhogs

I was going to take today off to celebrate the 7th best movie ever made, but Brado posted the Icycle photos yesterday.

Photos of me ripping...

and tearing...

and shredding...

and failing...

miserably.

There was a clean line to the left (my right). I did not see it. Neither did this kid.

Yet he did not touch the floor.

Beats me why I wrecked. It just happened, like the AMC Gremlin just happened. It was ugly and ill-conceived. Brado took like a million photos standing there, and several riders missed the smooth line and went over the rocks.

None of them wrecked...

except me.

At least I'm good at something.

Being me,

and showing my ass.

Thirty-six years later, the Gremlin seems pretty cool.

Maybe I can hope for the same results.

Africa, Australia, whatever...

The Southeast Bike Expo is a little over three weeks away.

Did I even mention at any moment in time before now that there was a bike expo coming to the Southeast?

I can't remember, but it is coming regardless of my remembrance or lack thereof of its very existence. There are a shit ton of companies coming with bikes to ride, stuff to touch, and stickers to surreptitiously plunder before absconding to the surrounding woods. If you are thinking about plunking down some money on some cycling related goods this year, this could be your chance to play with it in person beforehand. Also worth mentioning is the fact that the event is being held in Conyers, historically significant to mountain bikers in that it happens to be the place where yours truly became World Champ in 2006.

Something else went on there in 1996,

but it paled in comparison to the moment that changed the cycling world forever. This would be your chance to ride someone else's bike around the trails that I personally made famous.

The URL for the Southeastern Bike Expo does bother me a little though.

http://sebikex.com/

I see bike.

I see sex.

I see a bike in sex.

I expect to see some porn, some bike related porn... something.

Oh well, admission is $20-25 depending on when you register, and the proceeds will benefit IMBA/SORBA.

This week's Wednesday Retro Dick Pic of the Week may be a little disappointing to some of you that are expecting a constant supply of mullets, acne, tinted glasses, jams, spandex, and cats.

That's a scan of a photo of a drawing that I created whilst in college. On the left is The Bush Man (Africanus Aboriginus) and on the right is the The Busch Light Man (Draftus Dependicus) also known as Eric Tupper, my roommate. Please disregard my geographical ignorance and my total disregard for cultural anthropology. I personally apologize to my entire Aboriginal readership (which I probably just doubly offended) for the ignorance of this once young, semi-uneducated man.

The first person to point out the cultural signifiance of Eric's shirt will get a big hug from me the next time I see you, maybe not in public, but a hug all the same.

It's on like so much Pong

Final score?
Pisgah: 111
You: 0

Well, it's officially official. The Pisgah 111K MTB Race is on.

The permits are no longer pending. The permits have been permitted. The registration is up (here or here). The numbers are limited. First come, first two hundred served.

This race will be hard. Achievable by those that consider themselves mortals, but definitely a ball buster of a race (ovary buster for the women's field). Am I stoked to be pumped about being pumped to be stoked for this race?

I guess so.

Training starts today.

I don't really know what that means, but I'm wearing my chamois 24-7 until the event.

It's my favorite shirt anyhoo.

Yes, there are other races in the Southeast scheduled for the same day. After many talks with Eric "111k Honcho" Wever, I have once again found a deeper understanding of race promotion. A lot of thinking, rules, calendars, organization, bureaucracies, agencies, and whatnot go into putting a race on the schedule. So many factors to consider when selecting a date for your event.

Eric said "Fuck that" and threw a dart at the wall.

I kid.

So race for 12 hours on buff trails or do yet another NUE race. That's fine, if that's your thing.

Just don't hate the waiter.

Hate the menu.

Remember, he can touch your food...

with his balls.

Icycle success: I lived to live another day

Another Icycle behind me, and I'm glad I went along for the ride. Although the "results" do not reflect a successful weekend of bike racing, everything in between was pretty sweet.

Zac and I arrived a little late to the party on Friday. 10:00PM shouldn't be considered too late, but when the party started at 2:00PM, there would be some catching up to do.

Party symmetry on the front porch at 27°.

There were some sad moments. A beer shortage occurred at some point that could only be solved by the arrival of Kurt and Gwyn. Jon Danger Evans lamented his temporarily empty coozie with a single face palm.

But then the evening went back on as planned and not.

Breck Epic shirt, Trans-Sylvania Epic hoodie, Epic evening.

There were two bathrooms in the three bedroom cabin. There were twenty bathrooms outside the three bedroom cabin.

photo cred: Jon Danger Evans

When I woke up, I could not find my keys or my cellphone. The keys were in a crack of the couch I sort of slept on, but after at least an hour of frantic searching, I could not find my phone. I looked in the coolers, the trash, the fridge, under and on top of everything, and several places I never went in the cabin. I had all but given up hope, and then miraculously it appeared...

in Kurt's pocket.

Registration hangover, lost valuables, lung butter from a cold that won't let me go, below freezing temps, an unorganized duffle that has been tossed and shuffled in multiple mad attempts to find my phone, farts that smelled like a burnt baby doll, a certain lack of desire to eat, the regrettable decision to preregister thus forcing my hand to race when I feel like three sacks of shit shoved into one proper shitbag.

I watched the first wave of racers go off around 11:00AM on an empty and very angry stomach.

photo cred: Eric Wever

In between the throbs in my head, I managed to spectate, cheer, get my shit together, eat something, and kit up for our 1:00PM start.

The race started LeMans style (running to the bikes)...well, at least the guys in front of me were running. I was dropped immediately by 90%+ of the field, and when I looked over my shoulder, I only saw two guys lollygagging behind me. Shit.

My nose felt like I had been snorting the corrosion off an old car battery and my throat was pinched down to a fourth its normal size and dry as the West Texas wind. My off the back start put me way further back then I wanted to be, so I put in a solid effort...

solid for something like ten minutes...

photo cred: Eric Wever

and then I dropped back into obscurity for the rest of the race.

I did manage a finish of sorts with some people in front of me and the rest behind me.

I immediately hopped on the next shuttle to the top of the DH course in my skinsuit of awesome. I don't remember anybody else wearing a skinsuit in the back of the U-Haul truck. Fools.

I took three practice runs and then headed back to the cabin, content in the knowledge that the course did indeed go in a downhill manner from top to bottom.

The night downhill race? Everything is different in the dark. I did not have a very clean run. I came unclipped in the air on the step-up root cluster jump and lost my shit once to the point of coming to almost a dead stop. Shit. The Extreme Tomato still crushed my time and he took the time to roll around in the dirt for 5-7 seconds. Shit once more.

But I lived.

At the awards, something got screwed up. They tried to give me third place in the XC race, and then called my name again for second place. I had to explain that not only was I not in third, I was most definitely not traveling with my clone who coulda taken second as well. I handed my schwag bag to Timmy and Zac and let them sort the placings out.

Then there was more beer, multiple fires, a drunk spectator that could no longer stand, a drunk person vomiting off a front porch, scissor fighting, a dance-off, wrestling, party searching, non-party finding, and movie reviews.

Later on, I did spend the rest of the night trying to sleep on the floor while hacking up a lung, but you'll have that.

Wake up to more frost and a mess to clean up,

and then the drive home wondering how many years it will be before I once again return to the Icycle.

My emotions are anything but in motion

One week into my "new" job.

Funny, but things don't seem that different than they were seven days ago. Then again, this never happened at my old job:

The Icycle is tomorrow. I am ready...

as far as Brocery shopping goes.

Word to the wise. Never buy beer and chips more than one day out from departure unless you buy twice as much beer and chips than you actually need.

I've been sick for the last week, not "I can't get outta bed" sick, not "walking dead" sick, just "coughing, sneezing, aching, stuffy-head so I can lay awake" sick. This should bode well for the upcoming festivities, and it certainly won't limit my ability to make great bike race.

I am signed up for the single speed class for the cross country race tomorrow afternoon, and as long as I can keep from straying down the dark path to destruction, I should be racing in the Hard-Ass class for the night downhill. I would love to blather on and on and on about the race, but since I spent last night fixing a steam cleaner, my morning is now dedicated to packing my riding clothes, lights, edible underwear, and tiara.

It will be that kinda race.

How motivated am I? Not very. Instead of my usual Rob Zombie get-angry shower music, I have been bathing to the tunes of none other than Billy Squier. Hardly the music to set me off into the freakin' outer space of anger, but that's the kinda mood I'm in.

Somebody please tell me why Billy Squier's 16 Strokes does not include Lonely is the Night?



Seriously? We get his later in life, weaksauce Love is a Hero and his self admitted, career-ending, sexually ambiguous, voted worst video of all time, Rock Me Tonite



but no Lonely is the Night?

Lonely is the night
When you find yourself alone...

Listening to Rock Me Tonite and enjoying it.