Talk about mudflaps

Sun Valley, Idaho.

Tomorrow.

Pinch me.

On second thought, don't. I'm agliophobic.

The timing of this trip is perfect. Not so much that I'll be riding above 6,000 feet for seven days just two weeks before the most important race on the international cycling calendar, but because I'm almost out of beer from the Great Birthday Beer Purchase of 2012.

Sad, but all good things must come to an end... like the hopes for an Encino Man sequel. Since Zac and I will be cruising the mountain buddy movie style, perhaps we'll find refreshments anew.



I don't wanna take the buddy theme too far. There's buddy movies and then there's "buddy" movies.

We won't be going to that Idaho... not that there's anything wrong with that.

*insert some Seinfeld clip here*

Travel, packing, planes, automobiles, maps, a disgusting travel toothbrush from 2001... it will all be worth it. Tomorrow I'll be tooling around on a shifty bike for the first time in over a year and looking down at a 26" wheel for the first time in five years. And then I get to race it on Sunday down a 3,350 foot mountain. What could go wrong?

And then the rest of the week is just ride, ride, ride, ride, ride...

until they kick us out of the hotel.

Like I said before, I'll try to update the blog some next week, but when I'm in Rome, I like to get all Roman'esque... not sit in front of a laptop. We'll see.

Things I learned yesterday

While doing research for yesterday's post, I discovered that it would be smart to enable the "safe search" function on google before looking for images of "man eating sausage."

I also found out that when testing a new tire, it would be wise to ease into it gently. No sense in looking for the edge of control lest one wants to "touch the floor" a few times.

Three times to be exact. One wreck resulting in a second elbow about four inches from my primary elbow.

Not sure if it was the tire or my lack of game. Even though I thought I had addressed my recent noise issue on the Misfit diSSent Brontoawesomeous Meatplow V.5, it was still creating an intolerable racket. Too many variables, not enough follow through on that one. Anyways, the crunch/creak was driving me nuts, and I had forgotten my iPod at home. Spurred on by the desire to make my ride as short as possible yet cover the whole trail, I might have been in too big of a hurry. The more I wrecked and the more my bike creaked, the more my mellow was harshed.

Go home, drink beer, work on bikes for and hour and a half.

Two more days till the Sun Valley, Idaho trip.

Stokeage levels are high. Pumpage levels are even higher. The fun has already started out there, but I'm still facing two more days of delivering business sized manila envelopes and shit in the heat.

This is what I'm leaving behind:

This is what I get to look forward to:

I'll take a 20° temperature difference... especially here:

Less than 60 hours to go...

SSave Our SSport

The USADA is very busy right now chasing down a cold case . Some folks aren't too thrilled that they are going after Lance and the gang, while others are standing by with their torches and pitchforks ready to storm the gates at Lance's ranch house. Waste of time and money? Only time will tell, but as they bear down on Not-So Mellow Johnny, they continue to ignore a growing problem in the sport that I used to hold in the highest regard.

"Doping" in the single speed class has been rampant for years, yet no one has said a word. It's bad enough that we've had to compete against washed-up pro riders looking to reclaim some of their former glory, but now it seems like everyone at the top of the game is on "the juice." Heart rate monitors, training on road bikes, compression socks, power meters, and even sobriety are all being employed at the highest levels of a sport that used to be the most purest and noble of all the cycling disciplines. In the early days there was an omerta of sorts. We knew it was going on, but it seemed like everybody was doing something questionable to get an edge. Now we have single speeders not only "doping" right in front of the whole world, they're even boldly posting it on popular social media sites such as facebook and twitter.

I'll admit that I haven't shown up at a race hungover in a long time... well actually since January. It seems like a long time. Anyways, the latest form of doping I've seen at the front of the SS peleton has me perplexed and disturbed. What am I talking about?

The consumption of low quality meat product encased in co-extruded polymers.

Most single speeders know that bacon is fair game when it comes to dietary enhancement, but the ingestion of sausage, bratwurst, kielbasa, chorizo, etc has gotten out of hand. According to sources that refuse to be named, 30 minutes of meat tube consumption provides as much recovery as three days at the beach with a 1980's Phoebe Cates.

As the rumors spread like wildfire, single speeders who spend most of their time as pack fodder are even reaching for the latest and greatest doping product in an attempt to break free from the anonymity of mediocrity.

This aggression will not stand, man. While meat tube consumption amongst my single speeding brethren is on the rise, I will stand against this overwhelming trend of doping all in the name of one gear glory.

Join me in my fight to once again level the playing field and give those that choose beer, bacon and hard work over the easy street of performace enhancing meat sticks a chance.

Keep single speeding clean...


I mean dirty.

It's like I'm running towards the storm

Yesterday was an odd day. Let's face it. I'm four days away from leaving Charlotte bound for Sun Valley, and I'm freaking out.

Yet the life of being a sorta sponsored professional douche rolls on.

Packages of happy rolled in. The Pie called me at work.

"Something from Swiftwick showed up."

Some ultra- lightweight Pulse socks and some sexy limited edition Vision socks.

Sweet, but not what I'm really anxious about. I mean, socks are nice, especially socks so thin it's like I'm not wearing socks at all. I've been waiting for these but making due with the super short pair of Pulses Thad gave me two years ago... back when he adored me.

I came home to the box of sock happy and an odd envelope. Not expected but requested nonetheless.

Some GU Roctane product, big time sponsors of the near and dear to me, Breck Epic. This does not make me a special douche. I'm just an average douche preregistered for the Breck Epic who filled out a form and waited for something to show up. Since I've never been picky about what I use for hydration, I'm always anxious to try something new in my search for anything other than beer.

Still, the one thing I was anxiously expecting had not been delivered by the time I arrived at my domicile.

I waited...

for like an hour.

And finally there was a ring at the door.

The UPS man brought me the box of pure delight I was waiting for. Within the next seven minutes, I had released it from its corrugated cardboard prison and had it mounted thusly.

A prototype MAXXIS tire that if you had your ear to the ground, you'd know what it is. Big, voluminous, awesome, black... everything I like in a tire and a woman. Yet, due to some contractual restrictions, that's the most I can say about it.

Well, I can say that it has big knobs and is made of something other than Corinthian leather. Being a test rider has its limitations but obvious benefits. I love big rubber, and I was finally able to hit the reply button fast enough to get one...

Just in time to leave town without my bike.

Segue.

Details, other than when the airplane dumps us off and whisks us away, have been limited and ambiguous. We are flying in early enough to join in on the fun of the Super Duper D race, but I don't know if there will be bikes ready for us to ride. I have been assured there will be, but Chopper has fallen into the seam of people that enjoy toying with me. There is a strong chance that Zac and I will have to beat none other than Travis Brown and Western Spirit head honcho, Mark Sevenoff in an unlicensed game of badminton to the death in order to get our hands on the bikes.

Then we still have to set them up, adjust the tires, suspension and cockpit, test ride them down Chopper's stairs, and the next day race them down a 12 mile long, "brake-burning, eye-blurring" 3,000ft descent.

How many trips down the stairs are necessary to properly bed-in brake pads?

Guess I'll find out.

Our ground transportation from the airport is confirmed as a " 1 FULL SIZE2/4 DR", but Chopper has eluded to the fact that once we hit Sun Valley, our transport will be just as described in the contest :

For this kind of trip, I have no worries. Shit's gonna get nuts. I have no doubts about that. If there is anything I like to do, I will do it all in excess. For nine days, it will be my own private Idaho.



Sorry. That was gonna happen. We all knew it.

I will OD on coffee. I might have a hangover that lasts for 32 hours. I will do at least one thing I
regret.

Four more days to go.

I will do what I can to occasionally blog, facebook, and tweet. It might be hard to do with a badminton racket in one hand and a 40oz in the other. Follow me or friend me if you can help with bail.

Random excerpts from Chopper's recent emails:

"...three peckered billy goat."

" I live in the woods and have a lot of mosquitoes"

"paragliding and gun shooting while drunk seems great in theory"

"bring your own slippers to the slumber party"

I can't wait.

Will press bearings for beerings

Saturday, I did not go down the Wizard Staffs Across the Universe road. With my family busy till 4:00 and a daughter leaving for a week of camp the next day and me leaving for the Sun Valley, Idaho Remedy trip before she gets back (do the math, that's 16 days apart)...

I had to be an semi-responsible adult at 4:00PM, so none of this for me:

photo cred: One Eyed Zeke

But up and out the door on the Fire Mare headed to the Treeshaker for some spectating. Using my Smarter phone for navigation, I went with the "walking route." This took me on unfamiliar roads. I passed a castle wall on the side of the road.

Odd...

until I saw this:

Then it got odder (not Otter)

As it was explained to me when I got to the race, these are the remains of Heritage USA. It was a theme park founded by Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker that at one time was a top vacation destination. Six million annual visitors, right behind Disney World and Disney Land.

Jerry Falwell (doh) on the John the Baptist Water Slide to Salvation.

I pressed on leaving the castle in my rear view mirror. Eventually I saw this:

I knew that the Carolina Thread Trail was supposed to link up to the Anne Springs Close Greenway (where the race was being held). The sun-faded map promised to get me close, so I jumped off the googlemap plan-o-gram and headed down the greenway.

Flat, single strip of dirt, overgrown with tick-laden weeds. I gave it a shot for awhile, but gave up when I saw a way out.

Sucked.

Eventually I got to the race... late. It had already started, so I sat around in the Bike Source tent since I recognized a couple of the boys in red and white. Beer was had, I changed a flat tire for someone who was giving me a headache watching him, and cheered on anybody I knew...

including this guy.

Fellow Bike 29 rider, Chris Muddiman was out there rocking it in the single speed class. I said "Way to do some stuff and things." Something like that.

I waited until the four hour race was over, found an old-skool MTBR acquaintance, told her she came in third, and then went home.

I had shit hanging over my head.

Last Monday I mentioned that I never go for weekday rides, then Thursday I went on one just to show people how full of shit and douchey I am. I grabbed the Misfit diSSent Brontoawesomeous Meatplow V.5 since the Dickstickel Meatplow V.6 was front fjorked and my friend Todd's rack couldn't handle my girthy 15mm front end. For the entire ride there was clicking, ticking, and rattling going on. The bike needed some serious love.

I located the rattling first. The rear caliper was loose, but before I fixed that I needed to address some rotor shimming issues to create some cross compatibility between all my wheels and bikes.

My pedals were wiggly. Had they been Crank Brothers, I woulda made a phone call to their "excellent customer service," had them ship me new ones, and shit canned the wiggly ones. Since they were Shimano XTR's, I adjusted the bearings, repacked them with fresh grease, and the let Shimano customer service reps do what they do best... sit back with their feet on their desks tossing back umbrella drinks.

Then it was time to finally replace the two year old bearings in my Enduro bottom bracket. At only $12 for a set, I'm not sure why I spent so much time tearing them down and rebuilding them when they were toasted.

Three taps with a screwdriver and a mallet and the old ones were out. I spent a fair amount of time looking for something with the right outer diameter to press the new ones in.

Then I grew a brain.

I reversed the stepped cup insert and it happened to be just the right diameter. Just wait till my friends see this image. The bike room is gonna earn some serious beer karma very soon.

Two options enter, one man leaves

There are two important events going down tomorrow.

The Treeshaker 4/8 hour race is happening just twenty miles from my house. Alas, I don't think I need to be on my bike doing laps tomorrow. I did a 12 hour out there once in 2007, and I think it had some sorta negative impact on my head. Many people I know will be there chasing their tails, so perhaps I'll hop on the Fire Mare and make an appearance... I mean spectate and ring a cowbell.

It's part of the Turn and Burn Endurance Series, and by not racing I have assured myself my no chance of winning the money being offered up for the overall. Prepare for failure and succeed at it.

There is another event that is going on even closer to home and all over the universe at the same time.

Sure it's just a holiday created by Stevil, but all the "real" holidays are made up anyways. How does one celebrate?

Buy a large number of canned beers.
Drink one.
Duct tape the empty can to the bottom of a full can.
Drink it.
Duct tape the empty can(s) to the bottom of a full can.
Keep going.
Don't stop.
Ever.

Longest wizard staff wins. Normally holidays don't have winners and losers, but those are stupid holidays meant to boost your self-esteem like a participant trophy in tee-ball.

I could combine both events, but I think building my wizard staff alone at an endurance race would be like masturbating in church. Sure I'll have fun once I get going, but everybody else is gonna be uncomfortable and someone's gonna have to clean up my mess.

All of this will require planning, and I just started thinking about it right now. Maybe if I planned ahead I could do Crack Pipes around the Solar System while attending the Dash for Cache on July 15th.

"Ready for the next generation race? Check out www.Dash4Cache.org for our inaugural event on July 15, 2012 at Jetton Park in Cornelius. You can run/BIKE/drive... use your smart phone, our customized software, and your friends. Our goal is to provide 100% of the profits to Lake Norman YMCA. Join us!"

I wonder what the YMCA's stance is on crack pipes...

This dOES nOT cONCERN you

The Democratic National Convention is coming to Charlotte in September. You know, where the Democrats will all get together and say, "Yeah, we're gonna stick with that guy." This is old news at best. The city is in quite the kerfuffle over the whole thing. Our brave city leaders have come up with a new term for this situation, an "extraordinary event." What that means is that our police can do pretty much whatever they want. Got a bag, backpack, purse, or satchel? They can look in it. What are they looking for? Just about anything.

Tip: If you look suspicious, do not carry a tube sock and three dollars in loose change.

This would not be the week to bring my Trans-Sylvania Epic stabbing weapon collection to the office for show and tell.

Some of the things I carry on a daily basis in my black messenger bag are suspect. Even my helmet could be considered a prohibited item. This list was published back in January, and an official from Charlotte Center City Partners said that no businesses had contacted them regarding their concerns regarding as to how this will affect their day to day operations.

So I sent them an email in February.

Nothing.

Guess I'll show up and see what happens. The best I can hope for is topless protesters.

The "upside" to all this is that Charlotte has been dumping money into "improving" the uptown experience. I can't find anything stating that these improvements are related to the DNC, but they are unprecedented in my time on the streets.

New signs are being erected everywhere and in a hurry.

This is how you get to the highway.

This is cultural.

This is historical.

This is rhetorical.

Most of the uptown streets are being resurfaced. Upside? I can roll down to the post office at 4:00PM with a mail tub on my bars and catch all the lights without swerving around potholes in rush hour traffic. The corduroy patchwork by the bus station where shit gets real is now a shimmering black carpet of sexy. My Strava segments should blow up real soon.

Downside? The new blacktop is being put down right before summer. It's gonna get hot this July.

Africa hot.

Some of the holes, lumps, and bumps that are being covered have been there since I started as a bike messenger back in 1996. Some will be missed. The bump I gap my front tire to when I drop off the curb at One Wells Fargo, thus creating a smooth transition? Please don't take that away. The dip that fills with rain water in front of BB&T? I can live without that.

Memories... years of them. Gone just because the DNC is coming to town.

This is nice:

This bike lane has always shifted to the left since they put it in.

Now drivers might actually notice.

The city is doing what it can to at least make the uptown look bike friendly. The city could stand to do this all over though, just not our newly beautified Center City. We've got lots of scary lane shifts where you just tighten up your asshole and hope that drivers understand what you're doing while they are merging onto the beltway and thumbing an all important text.

"u r right. traffic is bad today. srsly. :/"

Don't forget today is the day you can live chat with the dreamy Travis Brown or ask Mike McCormack WTF is up with his hair.

.

Live at 10:00AM PAC TODAY

Back to stage racing and other cool shit

Getting a certain email newsletter from a certain bike company embraced by some and loathed by others sparked my brain into remembering that I have stage race information still to share.

"Dejay Birtch won the Transylvannia Epic Singlespeed class - dominating every stage."

On top of their slaughtering the name of the race (Trans-Sylvania Epic), dominate is such a strong word. Sure he might have stuck the red gag ball in my mouth the first few days, but I did close down on him towards the end of the week. Perhaps if the race lasted two weeks the shoe woulda been on the other foot (not sure what that means) or the gag ball woulda been in the other mouth (that makes more sense). Anyways, at least they could mention that he was the only SS rider on a girl's fjork (yes, I do own one) and that he wrecked like a bazillion times on his way to victory. Other things will go without mentioning because I love Dejay too much, but not so much that I won't mock him with private information for the rest of his miserable cosmic wave surfing life.

I did run some big meats all week long at the TSE.

Ardent 2.4 front and 2.25 rear. Did I flat? Yes and no. I never had to fix a flat, but the night before we shot the STDD video a week after the race (the first time back on the bike after TSE) I pumped the tires up. The next day the front was super soft. There was a tiny hole in the casing, but a little jiggling/riding and the Slime Pro sealed it right up. Hooray for technology.

I rode the Misfit on days 1-4 and the Stickel on days 5-7. I chose the Misfit for its steeper head angle on the slow stuff and the tight stuff at Raystown. The Stickel got the nod when I had to loft the bike over obstacles all day long. The last day I rode the Stickel since it was the bike that was still put together and the slacker front end made it easier to climb with a beer in one hand.

The Industry Nine wheels built up on Crest rims took on some damage, but only from an aesthetic standpoint. Riding in Central PA will do that. I'm looking into a possible lawsuit since you can sue over anything nowadays.

If you wanna know how the real fast guys get their shit together for a stage race, you should be paying attention to the Breck Epic/Gu Roctane online chats. Last week they covered some nutrition, training, and equipment questions. This week, Travis Brown and Colby Pearce will be telling you their secrets on how to go fast. I know what you're thinking.

"Why is Dicky not on this panel?"

I know. It's an oversight, I'm sure. I think that Travis and Colby can fill in the gaps of my absence, and remember...

There is no such thing as a stupid question. Unless you're Thom Parsons, in which case they are all stupid questions.

Mike McCormack will once again be there as a moderator.

He will also be serving up hair care advice live from his Unabomber shack in the woods.

That would be tomorrow, live at 10:00AM PAC time or 1:00PM normal human EST. Apparently no one works on the west coast. I can affirm that fact as every time I call a customer service hotline that is manned on the wrong side of the country, I get a "Yo bro, leave a message or something. We're high."

You can wait till tomorrow to submit your questions or you can jump the line over on the chat page if you so choose.

After the show, Mike will be serving hamburgers.

I'm glad I got that out of my system

After yesterday, I feel like we got to know each other a little better. I feel warm and fuzzy. Besides, I like to talk about myself...

and Zac...

and Zac's mom.

Speaking of Zac and his mom, this is the frame that Zac built... for his mom.

What a good son. I told you he was a frame builder.

Sunday was indeed my 43rd birthday. I thought I was going to do trail work as part of my 12 days in 2012, but I managed to squeeze it in the day before at Poston Park.

photo cred: K Bark

Zod and I are not far away. We are just that small. Think Honey I Shrunk the Kids small. Later that day, we went tubing down the Catawba river in a couple Cheerios.

A little reconnect work trying to piece together some trail that was lost when the land managers dropped a pond on the world. I like chopping things. Good times until my Nike Waffle Trail Work Racers decided to quit on me.

I was told I would lose a piece of my soul doing trail work at Poston. It was a misspelling.

Sunday, on my actual birthday, I didn't spend the entire day filling my grocery cart with expensive but marked down beer. I got out for a birthday ride with Big Worm and Zac at a trail simply called "Steve's Place."

You know you're in North Carolina when the trail head landmark is an abandoned Plymouth.

I haven't been out to Steve's, other than that one day of trail work back in Febraury when I thought I was gonna pass out from lack of food. We started on a feature that was my bright idea, and there was no leaving until it was done. Zac proved that it was worth the effort.

photo cred: Big Worm

Like my penis, I swear it's much bigger in person.

Good times at Steve's... worth the trip. Rocks, rocks, and hey... look, a rock. Climbs worth complaining about. Not many trails in the area you can say that about. At least with some climbing, you're guaranteed a descent. Local? Go check it out.

I haven't ridden with Big Worm in some time. He's been thrashing my original 29'er Zion 737 frame that I bought brand new back in January of 2007. He even mentioned his lovely Zion on Facebook thirteen days ago.

Well Sunday was the day of its final bogitification, his first ride on the Zion since that fateful post. Bill pulled over at one point and proclaimed a moaned "F-u-u-u-c-k" to the surrounding trees.

photo cred: Big Worm

And like that, it was over. For Big Worm, this type of event is not an "if," it's a when. He breaks everything (his warranty Surly Steamroller is waiting for him at the shop). Seven months under me, one ORAMM victory...

and probably the only $200 frame to ever finish the BC Bike Race...

and it survived four years under Bill's reign. Bill is now accepting proposals, so if you want your frame long-term strength tested, give him a shout.

And before someone else goes there...

"Did you, an industry insider elitist sponsored douche, actually ride a $200 frame at the BC Bike Race?"

Yes...

but I loathed every minute of it.

Let me clear my throat

So just who the hell are we, winning that Sun Valley Remedy contest?

"Zac and Dicky just stank so bad..."

Sure I took that outta context, but it's funnier that way.

I don't have to justify myself. Most of you read the blog often enough to know what's up. I'm open about the things I do, and I pretty much live my life right here, wide open, unfiltered... like a good cigarette. I don't hide anything, mostly because I'm just too old to give a shit.

But I guess misconceptions and assumptions will still be made.

Prepare for some air to be cleared...

If "the industry" were New York City, I would be New Jersey. I can enjoy the benefits of being close to New York, but it still stinks on my side of the Hudson and true New Yorkers know I'm from Jersey by my general douchiness. All I can say is "At least I'm not Cleveland."

Most of you know that I have a regular column in Dirt Rag as a contributor. One might assume that I get remunerated for my creative efforts, and one would not be wrong. Keep in mind that it's only about 800 words per issue (so limiting for someone who can ramble on incessantly like myself). Doing the math real quick, after taxes and expenses, I end up with enough money to pay for about half my monthly beer bill. With that information, you can assume one of two things to be true:

1) I'm not amassing a fortune with my writing.

2) I drink too much beer.

I guess you could assume both were true. You would not be not right.

Although a 20% off sale on craft beer on my birthday is helping me save for my retirement. Happy birthday to me.

One might think I'm a "sponsored rider," especially if you look at all the fancy logos on my sidebar. That term could be applied to me in a somewhat liberal sense. There's a reason that I list them under the header "Dick Support." Those fine people help me get what I need to make great bike race, but I probably still end up spending enough money on bike parts and racing in a year to support a healthy coke habit... or would that be unhealthy? Potato, tomato... or patato tamato, I'm not sure of which is the true folksy expression I was looking for. I'm not implying that I'm a wealthy man by any means. I stretch my semi-meager salary as a bike messenger by shopping at Goodwill when I need "new" shorts, I have shitty $16 cable service, my TV is the size of a Fiat, my dancing sandals are four years old and are in need of their bi-yearly mending, the deck on my push mower is 20% Gorilla tape, and the only means I have for recording the Tour de France is a VCR. These sacrifices are the things that are necessary for me to make great bike race.

I guess you could call it a "sacrifice." I call it laziness.

None of this do I mind.

Why?

Because bikes are my passion. I choose to live in Charlotte because I have the opportunity to ride my bike for a living. Perhaps I could make more money if I used my degree or applied myself in another profession, but I head out every morning on my shitty track bike five days a week, and for that I am thankful. Alas, I usually only squeeze in one mountain bike ride per week, generally on the weekends, prevailing weather conditions permitting. My weeknights are for my family and dogs (and whatever other foster creatures The Pie drags into the house), except for those rare occasions when they're not around, and then I sneak in a ride after work...

Unless the trails are closed because they are wet. Then I just go home, drink beer, and pre-blog so I can sleep in the next day.

I do live close enough to the Pisgah National Forest to sneak in a day trip once and awhile. Go ahead and hate me for that. I can live with it. It's quite nice. You should go there some time.

I am the luckiest man on earth. I have a wonderful family, a great job, good friends, a copious amount of beer, and air in my lungs on a regular basis. I am blessed.

But I worked hard to get where I am. Make no bones about it. Others poured their hearts and souls into their careers, and they are reaping the financial benefits. Good for them. I chose the route I'm taking and it's working for me... so far.

And as for my good friend Zac...

Most of you don't really know his story. He works hard as a landscaper trying to get his frame building business off the ground in whatever spare time he has. That's where his money and time goes. He's super passionate about bikes for recreation, transportation, occupation, and motivation. A lot of his equipment is clapped out, and he's a little tight on fundage for road trips. That would be why I asked him to team up with me for the Sun Valley Remedy STDD contest. Not to mention, we've had not one, not two, but three strokes of bad luck as teammates in Pisgah Production races, and I owed this to him. He's been a terrific friend, and I know he deserves the trip to Idaho as much as anyone. He has a heart of gold, and anybody who knows him would say the same. Besides that, he introduced me to his mom as "his mentor."

*blush*

Zac will ride the crap out of this bike:

He's been wanting to own a bike like this for some time, but obviously funding such a purchase is not in line with his current financial status. He rides his SS Chameleon with some guys that are equipped with longer travel machines, and this bike will even those odds up quite nicely. I can assure you that Zac is a great bike handler... well, better than I am.

This blog was not created as a marketing tool, ego trip, or soapbox. It's a cathartic way to release the pressure in my brain and hopefully it makes people spit coffee onto their keyboards once and awhile. I'm super passionate about mountain biking, and as shallow as it may make me sound, I live my days for those fleeting moments in the saddle. I've been this way for well over twenty years now. I'm a junky always waiting for that next toot, snort, puff, drag, or whatever you wanna call it. When I'm on my bike, all the mental weird shit in my head quiets down, and I feel like I'm as close to sane as I'll ever get. When I die, they will find me splayed out on the trail, surrounded by gel packs, face down in a puddle of drool... smiling.

Trail overdose.

Some people might say I "live the dream," while others have called me a "washed up racer boy" who needs to get a "real job." I am all that and none at the same time...

and a douche.

Let's not forget that one.