It's over.

Yeah, I alluded to some "big" news last Friday.  Something's been on my mind for awhile.  I'm tired and haven't been feeling it anymore.

I'm gonna stop writing...

For Dirt Rag (on a regular basis).

I rode home last Thursday pretty convinced I was gonna make the call. When I walked into the kitchen, there on the counter was issue #174.  Within its pages was the last article I wrote. Seemed like a sign to me.

To be honest, it's something I've been thinking about... for like four years, just as long as I've actually been writing Wassupwidis? 

How's it gonna end?

Will I get fired eventually... cut loose... put on waivers...asked to just stop sending stuff in?

If I quit, will it make me a quitter?

It has been an honor and a privilege to write for a magazine that I've been reading for almost as long as I've been mountain biking.  Back in the early 90's, I woulda never thought someday I'd have any desire to write anything.  After putting college in the rear view mirror, what could possibly motivate anyone to write other than signing a credit card receipt?  College... I'll get back to that.

I want to thank Karen Brooks for giving me a chance, Josh Patterson for keeping the dream alive, and Mike Cushionbury for all the opportunities and encouragement he lumped on me.  They tolerated my unprofessional journalistic tendencies, and edited the word jumbles I sent them seven or so times a year.

If it was so great, why quit?

College.  I hated out-of-class work.  One of the absolute best things about my job (other than getting paid to ride a bike) is the fact that it starts at 9:00AM and ends at 5:00PM pretty dependably.  The only "work" I take home or have hanging over my head would be putting air in my tires, tightening up my chain, or drying out my wet bag and shoes after a rainy day.  Pretty sweet, I must admit.

Writing this blog... that's cake.  I can do it or not.  If a post is well received or provides a modicum of amusement, my "job" is done.  If someone doesn't like it, they can eat a bag of dicks.  This shit is free, and one can always change the channel.  I can blather about any topic I want and photoshop images of Arby's roast beef sandwich bells to amuse myself.

Makes me laugh... every time.

This is my world, I control it (to some degree), and you are welcome to share it with me or walk away whenever you please.

Dirt Rag is a different story.  People pay to read what's tucked away in those pages... except for industry insider douchebags.  They don't pay for anything.  Knowing that the reader was paying for the words within, I felt a certain obligation to put my best foot forward.  I was always sweating the next topic, poring over each sentence as I wrote, never wanting to disappoint the reader or my editor.  I had to care about what others thought of my efforts as if they were being graded... like college.

I'm not an irresponsible person, but I'm not a big fan of responsibilities... especially extra ones.

That's not it though.  It is with a certain amount of sadness that I walk away from this.  Some people have told me they enjoy Wassupwidis?  I am certainly not one that likes to let people down, but I assure you that Dirt Rag will find someone to fill the tiny hole I'm leaving behind. Mike also told me that I'll still be "in the family," so if somewhere down the road I find myself with something worthy of being in print, I can go ahead and send it in... and I will.

So thanks to everyone that made the whole experience awesome.  It was fun, a nifty chapter in the book of me, a strange ride indeed.