Finally, I'm Back!

47 minutes to do one lap of Red Bug, but worth every second. The woods were beautiful, and it was a nice welcome back after 2 weeks of mucous oozing from my melon. ME, my bike, and my camera. Ahhhh.

There, but for the Grace of God, Go I

Watching the twisting spiral of a falling star, he wonders where its trail may end.

The realization that his Father was merely mortal settles deeper.

The tell tale chinks in the armor were always there, just not visible from the height of a young child. As he grew older, the chinks came into view, but were always glossed over with a heavy dose of hero polish.

Now the blemishes are so deep and cancerous, no amount of polish will return the once brilliant gleam.

Age and addiction are evil bedfellows.

Pride was that with which he was taught to hold his head high. He once read that Pride goeth before a fall. Now, he understands that Pride will smother as completely as a plastic bag over the head, when left unchecked.

The downward spiral drops lower towards the horizon.

There, but for the Grace of God, Go I.

Jack Frost is a Bad Bitch!!

It seems that recently I saw some interweb press regarding the future beatdown that was to be applied to Jack Frost.

Huh. It seems that Mr frost may be a bit more wily than originally considered. You may even say he was largely underestimated. While a fairy princess Jack Frost, sure to quake in his boots at the mere sight of our Chaingangedness, was expected. This is more like the Jack Frost we met.



This insidious climate villain had his own plans! First, he would divide and conquer. As we set off in search of the perfect warmth inducing pace, we soon realized that those paces would differ for most of us, and slowly but surely we would splinter. As we found ourselves alone, the fear and doubt crept closer.



As he slid his icy fingers around our hearts, and slowly squeezed all that is good with Felasco from our deepest depths, each rider had to dig still deeper to find motivation to continue. I rolled up behind Wrecking Ball after lunch, and our combined strength saved us from this evil fortune.



Derwood, haunted by images of what Mr. Frost may have had in mind for his beautiful bride back home, called it quits at the lunch stop.



Earlier this week, I scored an interview with the elusive author of the Jack Frost Callout, albeit via mobile to mobile text messaging. When asked how cold Jack Frost's hands were, when he was spanking that bare ass last Saturday, the reply was simple and to the point. "They were f#*king cold.....I hate you!!"

Big Love to those who wrestled free of the icy grip and completed the coldest Felasco in awhile, and Bigger Love to those who knew they shouldn't, but tried anyway!!