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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.