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.