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TBH, if the most interesting thing that happened in my life over the past week was my third ever restriction placed on my Facebook account, I'd say my life is terribly glum.  Every.  Single.  Time.  It's been something that made me go "hhhhhmmmmmm" and also "shit fuck stack."

I posted this image almost a year ago...

I added "Kill you and apparently enjoy doing so."

See Dick post.  Bad Dick, bad.

The second time, a Canadian friend commented on something I don't even remember (about an inanimate object), and I replied, "... this is America.  Shoot everything first, then ask questions."

See Dick post again.  Really bad, Dick, really bad.

And this time, I just posted on our Charlotte cycling group page that I hoped the 6 Hours of Warrior Creek would happen a week later on the calendar so I could beat a local rival's d**K off.

As my grandpa used to say, "Damn you, Dick."

That was actually his nickname for me.  Damn you, Dick.

I sat out a two day restriction from posting or even liking anything that actually lasted 68 hours, and now I have to wait a few more days before I can post to groups AND...

So, mebbe you see a link to this blerhg post on Facebook or mebbe not.  Mebbe the Al Gore Rhythms scans this post, and I get an even stronger sentence. 

Dunno. 

Words to avoid like the Noid in the future: kill, shoot, and beat (even in regards to dicks).  I did ask for a hooman to review my issue, but I kinda doubt FB is gonna use a hooman to do a robot jerhb.

More important stuff has been happening to me IMHOMO.  

I rode about 88 miles over the weekend on all sorts of surfaces on equally stupid bikes.

There's a hint of something even more importanter in there.  Mebbe.

The only thing significant here is that I proved that I can do the entire Party Pace route of the upcoming Triple Dip - v20.22 on one beer and three Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (that I brought home from the Air BNB gift basket last week).  I'll probably need a little more nutrition to get through the 5-8 racing segments, so it mebbe time to pick up my favorite rectangle pepperoni pizza.

I did the whole ride on this, so that was fun:

Fool me once, shame on you.  Fool me twice, shame on me.  Fool me thrice... obviously I'm up for number four.  We'll see about the warranty this time.

I noticed a wobble about forty minutes before I needed to leave for the Triple Dip pre-ride.  I wasn't sure what was wrong... I tightened the preload collar... nope... decided to ride a different bike... thought about it... moved the crank to another bike to limit the variables... but it totally was what I thought it was.

I know there are "solutions," so allow me to thank you in advance and say don't bother commenting.

I didn't really gain any useful knowledge (other than nutritional) about the Triple Dip.  I wasn't headed down there to acquire beta as much as I wanted to continue to do anything that would keep me from racing at the Winter Shart Tarck.  As long as I can keep coming up with excuses, I plan on not racing until the very last weekend of the series.  Way too much garvel on an empty belly on Saturday followed by a ramble all over Fort Mill/Rock Hill cemented my decision quite nicely.

I would imagine my activities were better prep for the Moab Rocks Stage Race coming up in less than two months than bleeding out of my eyes for 37 minutes... although the concept of "structured training" or really anything that could be called "training" continues to elude the rational lobe of my brain part.  If anything, Moab Rocks will serve as a litmus test for the other two stage races I plan on doing in 2022, because when it comes to Moab...

If I can fake it there, 

I'll fake it, boom boom, anywhere.