Apebike

Desparately Seeking Susan

2012-01-31T14:16:00.000-05:00

Okay, maybe not "desparately', and maybe not even "Susan", but I am looking for crews that could use another electron in their electron cloud.

My crew has scattered to the 4 winds, like so much flotsam. Big Jim Slade is busy training, and his training plan has him off on Tuesday. Human Wrecking Ball went and wrecked himself! Lil' Ball is doing as he should, and getting hisself an edumication. The rest of the core has long since reached critical mass, and fizzled out of the cycling atmosphere.

There are a bunch of new recruits out there, that are fun to ride with, but their attendance on weeknight rides is a little more sporadic.

So, who out there is still running around in the dark, on weeknights? I typically ride on Tuesday and Thursday nights, but I can be flexible. Don't tell me that I should join faceyspace! That place is the timesuck devil, and if you feel that the FaceBorg is the only way to communicate, you're probably just going to aggravate me anyway.

I heard today, that Munson Monday may still be rolling. That sounds promising. I see that the ever stoked, Tommy G is still running his Tuesday night crits. That may be a viable option. What else? I know somebody around here has to be helping keep the cycling night light industry afloat.

Minutiae

2012-01-25T11:15:00.000-05:00

A lot has happened since my Rwanda trip, but writing about it all felt so insignificant, compared to that post. The reality is, if you stop writing when you don't think there is something as "big" as the last post, you wind up living out your life as that high school quarterback.......who peaked in high school.

So now, you get minutiae. Not entirely, but maybe a little.

Another Felasco has come and gone. After last year, I wasn't doing it again. Last year sucked, for a lot of reasons. But when I found out that only a couple dozen people had done the event every year, me included, I signed on, again. We were still missing some key players, this year. Some out due to life reasons, others due to poor planning. This year saw Un-Big Tony make the 15hr drive to join us. U-BT is an old school crew member, who was often mistaken as my brother. His trials skills are renowned, but now that he is no longer Big Tony, and has been spending quite a bit of time in the saddle, he has a motor to back up all of those skills. It was bitter sweet realizing that he was a changed rider. I was stoked to see him riding so well, but at the same time it stung a bit to realize that I was getting dropped. So be it, that's just how Felasco goes.

I didn't feel so strong during my ride. I got popped off of the group, after lunch, and it took me a while to get back on. When I did, I made the decision to forgo the 62 mile option, and stick with "just" 50. I did, at least, decide to keep my foot in the gas to the best of my ability, for the full 50. I was bummed at cutting it short, but when I looked at my Garmin, 2 days later, I realized that I rode one of my fastest Felasco's, yet. With all of the added singletrack, and the heavy traffic, that's saying something. I'll take it.

Life has been super complicated, the past 2 weeks, and I feel like I constantly have my nose to one grindstone, or another. I had intended to stay at work late, and try to put a dent in the heap. But after some cajoling from this new school, Tiny Might, I decided to join the HG ride. The ride didn't fit my desires, so I slipped off into the dark, alone. I settled into my pace, and continued further into the woods. As I found my rhythm, and the flow came together, I pondered how lucky this night had become. That afternoon, between work and the promise of rain, I had no ride plans, and only more work to look forward to. Instead, the rains dispersed, the work was pushed aside for another day, and I found so much peace in those woods. I typically ride with a big group, but that solo ride was just what the doctor ordered. It was an unexpected gift, but again, I'll take it.

I have a new page I'm playing with, that is perfect for quick posts of images and ideas, both mine, and borrowed. Check it out if you get a chance.

One Beautiful December Sunday

2011-12-20T11:42:00.000-05:00

Home

2011-12-02T08:19:00.002-05:00

How was Africa?

The question comes often, and is completely expected and understandable. However, the answer is not so simple. It doesn't fit the pleasantries short form. I stumble over my reply, and try to explain that it's complicated.

Just name your favorite thing or moment, that stands out.

Again, no one moment, idea, or feeling springs clear of the jumble in my head. It's more like a constant boiling of emotions, with a new point bubbling to the surface every few seconds.

At one point, I was amazed at the beauty of the country. It is absolutely gorgeous, once you get clear of the city. There is never a flat moment, as the land of a thousand hills rolls off into the distance. The green and brown undulations, the patchwork of organized agriculture quilting the hillsides, look as if they were created by some grand artist, inspired to render both heart stopping beauty and life giving functionality.

Another, I was truly scared. I ended up solo, looking after the truck in a small village. As the crowd ebbed and flowed, as it does when the oddity of white people come calling, I realized that the look in the eyes gathered around me had changed from that of the curious, to that of the hunter. Not that they were looking to cause me harm, as street gangs here in the states will do, in the name of fun or power struggle. I simply stood between these teen kids, and a wealth of supplies in our safari truck. The food and water could easily be replaced, but my riders diabetes supplies were inside, so I stood my ground.

That hour at the truck, created a wellspring of its own thoughts and emotions. One small boy, about 10, got between me and the crowd, turned his back to them, and whispered, Don't leave your truck, Mister. They will steal. Hope. It springs eternal in the minds of man. Without it, what's the point? You see, this boy is young enough, that he did not witness the horrors of the genocide. The older crowd that had gathered, falls into the age group where they got the ugliness that comes from the aftermath of those unforgettable, but mostly unknown to us here in this country, 100 days. The death toll estimates range from 700,000 to 1 million, slain in just over 3 months. Who were the participants of this mob at my truck? Were they the offspring of the 5000-8000 estimated rapes that occurred? Did they watch their parents be exterminated by their neighbors and countrymen? Or, are they left in the unspoken purgatory of grudging acceptance, granted those who participated, or who's family participated, in the killing spree?

Heartbroken. The poverty that we saw tugged at my heartstrings, repeatedly. The throngs of people you see walking up and down the mountains at the crack of dawn, are not headed to a 9-5, to earn their retirement or buy a new ski boat. They are working to survive. They hike several miles to bring water to their homes, many of which have only dirt floors, and no secure doors, only curtains. Electricity is available, but far from prevalent, outside the cities. They grow what they need, be it crops, goats, cows or chickens. Anything above what's needed is traded for other supplies. Despite what I saw, I unexpectedly, did not feel "white man's guilt". I recognize that wealth is relative. While my modest, 1000sqft, home far exceeds what is common in Rwanda, I am still in the lower economic quarter of this country. Though I may not suffer guilt for where I was born, or my station in life, I will likely hold my tongue, before I gripe about the trivial garbage that we complain of so often, here in the land of the spoiled and "deserving". I realize that it is cliche to say that I have a new found appreciation for the many gifts taken for granted in my life, but these types of generalities spring from kernels of truth, and I am thankful to have had the experience.

Contradictions. While the majority of the homes are sub-par by our standards, the people take great pride in what they have. There may be no doors, windows or grass lawns, but they will take time to construct elaborate beauty, with well placed agriculture. A wall of banana trees may define a courtyard, or rows of flowers and food plants bring ordered walkways to the front doors. Pride in their country is evident when you see people out cleaning the streets by hand, with small brooms and dustpans. The last Saturday of every month, automobile travel is curtailed, for the few with such luxury, and everyone chips in to clean the roads, ditches, parks, etc.

People would walk many miles, or wait many hours for our crew of type 1 diabetics to come and speak at local clinics, every day. Their thirst for knowledge, to protect their own life, as well as those of their families, was clear. Yet the genocide stands as a reminder of the ability to kill, in vast numbers. It is very difficult for me to grasp this contradiction. We value life so highly, and they do, too. So how did this murderous event come to occur? How do you reconcile this desire to protect life, with this ability to kill? I cannot imagine a scenario where I could be convinced to take up a machete, and hack down my neighbor, based upon a loose ethnic affiliation.

I had resentment and anger for the crowd that spooked me, by the truck that day. But at the same time, I understand that poverty and hunger can make people desperate. This in no way brings absolution to the offenders, but at the same time, I cannot view it in the same way that I view criminal activity here at home, fueled by drug abuse, or simple laziness. Despite all our desires for issues to be black and white, to instill order, life is almost always shades of gray.

Friendship. The people who share a trip like this, can be a defining influence. Phil is like my adopted little brother, at this point. I don't get to see him very often, but when I do, the jokes and laughter pick up right where we last left off. Bobby was on the first 2 RAAM trips, and I have the utmost respect for him. He and I discussed this strange friendship we have. While we don't pass on the streets daily, or have years of exposure with one another, ours is a friendship forged in times of short term, high intensity. It's as if the focused weeks of RAAM, and now Rwanda, pressure cooked our relationship to this moment, where we clearly. each call the other, a friend. The moment I saw that the 3 of us were back together, I knew it would be a trip to remember. The myriad other personalities that made up the Team Type 1 entourage added the spice and flavor that made the trip great. I met so many new people, that I hope I can stay in touch, though I freely admit, I suck in that general department. Hopefully, if any of them read this, they will hold me to task. Bobby said it best, mid-trip. You meet only so many, truly good people in this life. So, it would be a shame to let those opportunities pass.

Shining moments. Phil's infectious smile and ever positive attitude. Laughing with the gang, over Mutzig and Primus, the local beers, after a long day. Meeting another mechanic, whose OCD style attention to detail, made my OCD friends look like slobs. Seeing the professional team rise to the occasion, and win time and time again. The adventure of driving those psycho streets with Stephanie, in search of food and water for those in our charge. Getting to know Claude, our driver who took such great care of us, and without whose help, the morning crew likely would have failed, utterly. Trying to keep the ladies' spirits high, as they struggled each day to clear the relentless mountains of the Rwandan roads.

As you can see, it is very difficult for me to answer the question, How was Africa?. The answers are many, and convoluted. It may take weeks, months, or even a lifetime, to come to terms with all that I saw or felt, while in Rwanda. I am glad that I went. I spent my Thanksgiving, in a hotel in Butare, run by nuns, eating spaghetti with some strange red liquid poured over it. When I asked Phil what the liquid was, he responded that the pasta was turkey, and the soupy liquid was gravy. I was/am thankful for the opportunity to be there, and for the people with whom I shared the experience.

Would you go back?

Let's let this boiling mind of mine turn down to a simmer, before I answer that question. But already, I see disturbing lights at the end of that tunnel. With the right seasoning, I just may jump right back into that soup bowl, again.

Finally, Racing!

2011-11-20T10:11:00.000-05:00

After what seems like weeks of washing bikes, the racing finally got under way. While the weather threatened all day, it never more than lightly sprinkled. The Rwandans came out en masse, to watch the big show.

This was my first experience at Rwandan congregations. They smile and wave, and are genuinely curious about these big white men, and blonde, white women. They want to be nearby, in case you do something interesting, or more likely, want you to give them chocolate, water bottles, or money. The kids have learned to hang out at the team cars. There are so many, though, that we could never satisfy that demand. The kids found my tattoos today, and were so enthralled. They would go get there friends and bring them to see, too. They liked to touch it, to see if they could feel the image. I watched as a couple kicked around some empty water bottles, and when the bottle came near, I returned it with a kick of my own. They went crazy! Kids poured out of the woodwork, to play with the crazy, inked, mizunga.

Rwandan cycling fans, are much more reserved. They never clapped or cheered, just watched. Us, however, well, let's just say we were "us". Eveytime I hooted one of our boys, the adults around would twitch, and the kids would giggle. They are so reserved, up until the hometown favorite launched last. For the first time, a huge cheer went up, and they all ran for the finish.

All of the announcing was in French, but I kept hearing our boy, Ty's name in the mix. When all was said and done, TT1 swept the top three spots! The team is amped, and the game is on. Tomorrow we must defend, and I think we can. Wednesday and Thursday will be deciding factors, when they hit some pretty vicious climbs. I have a feeling that on those days, I'll have quite a few of my pre-riders, hanging onto brushgaurds!

Brush gaurds on what, you may ask. Why, on this most ridiculous, 9 seater, Land Rover, complete with snorkel, I'd answer! My ride for this gig is so over the top! Phil's gonna look over his shoulder to ask for a bottle, and I'm gonna be gone, off on safari,somewhere.

Rwanda!!

2011-11-19T05:54:00.001-05:00

http://tt1rwanda.wordpress.com/

Check it out for up to date TT1 dealings over here.

I had a few minutes, so I thought I'd share some of the experience. At night I hear drums playing in the distance, but now, I sit in a hotel lobby, listening to Don Williams on the hotel sound system. They were playing Michael Jackson and Kenny Rogers, this morning. Just bizarre!

Keeping bikes clean after daily rains, and my newfound, soigneur-like responsibilities(minus the massage), take up most of my time. It's tough to determine how much food and water to buy for myself, and 7 riders. Luckily I have a little guidance from the team's professional soigneur. She's been in the business for 15+/- years, and is a well of knowledge.

We picked up the team car today, and got quick lessons in African driving. No real rules, just guidelines. It really feels like riding in a pack, just put your bumper in, and take the spot. Own it, or lose it!

Prologue is tomorrow. The guys are ready to ride, and I think we have a guy who can contend for the overall.

By Tuesday, we leave our comfortable hotel, for the road. My understanding is that our accommodations range from resorts, to last resorts, once the race leaves Kigali. I'm psyched to see the country, but nervous about the unexpected.

We have good people with us, so as long as sanity can be maintained, we'll be good. I can already see that my shepherding skills are going to come in handy. Each morning, I suppose I'll wake and share Don's chorus, Lord, I hope this day is good....

Weekend in Pictures

2011-11-14T09:59:00.000-05:00

I'm still behind the 8 ball, getting everything done before I go wheels up for Rwanda, so, you folks will have to settle for pics from the weekend, for now. The trip was awesome! The weather really could not have been much better. We caught the middle GA woods in the midst of beautiful fall colors. Well worth the hoops we jumped through, to make it happen.

Ducks in a Row

2011-10-31T11:34:00.000-04:00

Piece by piece, I'm ticking off my list before I spend 24+ hours in airports and planes en route to Kigali, Rwanda. I'm taking the vaccine for Typhoid all this week, and I get my 2nd Hep A/B shot on Friday. My passport is renewed and valid.

A big box of Team Type 1 shirts and socks showed up on my doorstep last week. I love schwag!

I've had a few folks ask, "Why would you go to Africa?", with their faces all scrunched up, as if they'd just bitten into a rotten apple. I get it, Africa is not the place your typical vacation seeker thinks of, as a top 5 destination. Rwanda is a developing nation, and as such, seems to be finding its way through much political and social unrest. But sometimes, you just need to see something a little different. We get so caught up in our little bubbles, that we have no idea what's going in in the rest of the world, unless it's spoon fed to us via Fox News, NPR, or the Tallahassee Mullet Wrapper. Do I think that everyone should travel to a 3rd world nation, so that they can appreciate what they have? No, but when opportunity knocks, it may be time to answer the door.

I get to see another country, and I get to see it through a bike race, all while utilizing my skills as a mechanic. I'll be turning wrenches and assisting a team, run by my adopted little brother, as they race 7 days/8 stages, through Rwanda. I love bicycles. They have taken me to so many destinations, and introduced me to so many people, that I can no longer even imagine where I would be now, were it not for my love of two wheels. And now my associations via bikes are adding another continent to my list.

Read this, and get a better understanding of what I get to see. Granted, I'm not working for the Rwanda National Team, but I get to be part of the international community that adds integrity to this growing stage race. The Rwandan people are very proud of their athletes, and their race, and I get to see all of that firsthand. Despite the hurdles of corruption, distribution, and bureaucracy, Phil and Team Type 1 are trying to get needed diabetes supplies to the people of Rwanda, and other developing nations around the world. They are trying to show people that a diabetes diagnosis is not the end, but only the beginning, to a new way of managing one's own health. I get to be a tooth in the cog of the Team Type 1 machine, at least for a short while.

That's why I'm going to Africa.

The Perils of African Bike Racing

2011-10-11T10:48:00.000-04:00

At least we'll be dealing with road racing on this trip, which hopefully lessens the chance of such a thing happening. BUT, if it were me, I'd tackle that beastie and bring him home.

I can hear it now....

"Why does Bigworm have a Red Hartabeest in his backyard?"

"'Cause he wanted one, and this one volunteered."

I would love him, and pet him, and call him George.

New Adventures on the Horizon

2011-10-04T09:53:00.000-04:00

Life is funny sometimes. Other times, not so much. Mine has been a roller coaster for longer than I'd like, lately, but I just keep my eyes out for those peaks between the valleys, that bring opportunities and experiences worth seizing.

This time, I owe a big thanks to my other adopted little brother, Phil. He saw that I needed a change of venue, and came to the rescue. I fought it at first, but he speaks with a golden tongue.

I'll be spending my Thanksgiving in Africa, as a team mechanic for Team Type 1 in the Tour of Rwanda. I'm a big fan of the holidays, and though I'll miss my family, I'll be thankful for these new experiences.

Fool's Gold Time Stamps

2011-08-25T12:48:00.001-04:00

Fool's Gold was long enough that I can't remember it all in a fluid fashion. I only have these blips.

5:02 - It's too early to be getting up to race. I hope I don't forget anything...

6:00 - We're supposed to be rolling out, right now. I wonder if Big Jim Slade is flipping out.

6:07 - En route. I wish this diet coke was the fountain variety. The bottled version has too much fizz.

7:02 - Shit! I forgot my gel flasks back at the hotel. Better cram a couple more stinger waffles in my camelbak.

7:15 - This camelbak has to weigh 40 pounds. I HATE a camelbak!

7:18 - Pour out half of the camelbak.

7:40 - Wow!! This is a huge crowd for the start. I hope BJS lined up with Silk, near the front.

7:45 - Neutral roll out.

7:47 - I finally cross the official start line.

From here on out, I no longer knew clock time. All I had was the actual roll time on my Garmin.

0:37 - Camp Wahsega. The base of the climb up Cooper Gap. The last time I saw StorminNorman, as the folks I knew dropped my bis ass.

1:12 - This creaking pedal is gonna make me lose my ever loving mind.

1:46 - Shit, I forgot to take my endurolytes. Better stop and take some now, before it's too late. Damn it! They're not in my camelbak. Must have left them in the truck. It's gonna be a looong, cramp filled day.

2:11 - Ahhh. The top of the climb, and the first sag station. Refill camelbak and top off bottle. Chat with Naked Indian, before he rolls out before me.

2:15 - Blast past Naked Indian, and quite a few other folks, as I try to gain back some of what I lost on the climb. This descent is sick fast, and waaayyy fun. Scared myself a few times, but so worth it!

2:56 - Skip sag 2. Too soon after last sag, so I think I'm good to go ahead and take out Bull Mountain.

3:11 - Whoa, was that hunger pains? Been trying to eat something every 0:45-1hr. Guess it wasn't enough. Get passed by Paul, as I get rolling, again. Trying to eat a Clif Bar while grunting in my granny gear is tough!

3:21 - These 2 old cats, lounging just past the creek are cracking me up! Reminds me of The Benny Rooster and Longshanks Sr. How'd they get way out here? Looks like they're having fun heckling the racers, though. We crack jokes as I work my way past them, beginning another uphill grunt. Made me smile thinking of all the rides I've done with our favorite 2 old cats, back home.

3:35 - Oh please, Dear God, let that be StorminNorman's red jersey I see walking that climb up ahead of me!!!

3:36 - Awwwww! No such luck. But that is Ms Paige, I see up there. Guess the technical stuff is catching up to her.

3:45 - Ride past Paige and Paul, standing by the trail. She does not look happy! Ask if they're okay, and keep on rolling.

3:47 - Suhweet, fast downhills! This is why I suffer so long to get up here. Worth every second!

3:51 - Pass a fit looking guy, who says he's fighting cramps. That sucks. OOOuuuuucchhhh! Shit! Damn!!! Guess it's my turn. Son of a bitch, that hurts!!!

3:51:05 - Fit guy passes me back, looking like he really does feel my pain. He wishes me luck, and pedals out of sight.

3:57 - BAM!!! Hit a rock so hard with my back wheel, I almost get tossed over the bars. Please don't flat. Please don't flat. Please don't flat. Shit!

3:59 - Glad I could limp it this far. This is a good spot to watch folks climb this little hump, while I swap my tube. Booyah!! There's those damn endurolytes! Gulp. You've got to be kidding me! This tube is brand new! How is there an effing hole in it?!! I'm gonna kick Red Dragon in his baby maker when I get home! I hope this glueless patch kit holds.

4:19 - Begin my ride again, now joined by Paige and Paul. I bomb the downhills, they catch me every time the gradient turns against me.

4:25 - Ahhh, Sag 3. Time to remix a go-go juice bottle, and refill this dead weight on my back. Mmmm, cookies and M&M's. Somebody out there is looking out for me!

4:55 - Glad we didn't miss that turn! Wonder how many folks did...

5:14 - Creek, big creek! Paul was wondering if it was rideable. I said sure, rode to the middle and got off. I stood knee deep in that cold water, and dunked my helmet. It felt amazing, as I was starting to overheat. I heard Paul laughing as I began climbing the other side.

5:16 - Really? Was that a rain drop?

5:18 - Apparently God has a serious sense of humor! Now that all the pretty, fast people are off the course, the bottom's gonna fall out. Guess that creek was the least of our worries, when it comes to wet equipment. Wish I had glasses, to keep the mud out of my eyes.

5:45 - This rain is serious. I hope I have enough brake pad left to make the last couple of corners that follow those BIG downhills on the road back to the winery.

5:55 - Sorry Paul, but if I stop to wait for Paige, I may not get started again. What, you're not stopping either? Oh boy! Hope you don't get in too much trouble.

6:01 - This is pure evil! Even the paved uphills are destroying me.

6:03 - WTF?! Why can't I catch Paul?! I'm pedaling as hard as I can, and my heart rate is only 126. I think my heart may have died.

6:06 - Yeah yeah! Whatever, fit dude! You're soooo fast on the pavement. And you're white Hammer jersey is filthy!

6:07 - If I could catch that guy, I'd tackle him.

6:21 - Please don't make me have to walk this steep bitch right here in the winery. Okay, paper boying this hill is less embarrassing than walking. Yeah, let's go with that. I'm kicking Eddie O'dea in his baby maker, if I can lift my leg that high.

6:22 - Thank God that's over! I wonder if I'd get in trouble if I hucked my clay orange bike, followed by my clay orange body, into the pool?

??:?? - That hose barely got the mud off. I bet Big Jim would cry if I just went and climbed straight into the truck. I'm pretty sure my right ass cheek is cramped.

??:?? - As soon as I can move again, we need to eat.

My official race time was 7:01. That was a lot longer than I expected. The patching of the flat fiasco, and the rain, certainly didn't help. Oh well, I suppose it gives me something to improve upon, next year.

Brews, Blues, and Bee-Bee-Q's!

2011-08-17T16:55:00.002-04:00

It started out as an innocent look at the map, but ultimately, I turned Big Jim Slade's world upside down.

Phil won't stop talking about this rib shack, so I finally got a name, and googled the joint. Fat Matt's. A name like that, how can it not be good? The captain already sounds like a brother clydesdale. While looking at the satellite view of the location map, I happened to notice a little marker, less than a mile away. Sweetwater Brewery.

Now, Big Jim has wanted to tour this place since the beginning of time. He has a bit of a thing for seeing where his tasty beverages originate. Unfortunately, I broke his heart on our last NC trip, that had 2 tours scheduled, when I came down with typhoid. After arguing incessantly, they decided to call the trip short, and brought me home to die in my own bed, or yard, or wherever, as long as it wasn't in the hotel room with them. Me being me, I've always been bummed to be the root of this void in Big Jim's heart. So when I saw this little icon, I let him know just how close it was.

In the meantime, I had started perusing Fat Matt's website, and discovered that they offer live blues, every night. And then, way back in the deepest recesses of my pleasure cortex, a speck of light blinked into life. This light brightened, until the very angels delivered upon me, the idea that maybe we should leave on Thursday, hit the brewery tour, hang for the blues and ribs, and then stay the night with little brother Phil. A quick message session has BJS all fired up, and Phil is all in. BJS and I split our remaining travel companions between us, and commenced to selling them on the idea. Our level of employment uselessness, had reached all time highs. Neither could concentrate on our jobs. I could already smell and taste that bbq!

In an effort not to publicly shame the naysayer(s), I'll not say who shot this beautiful bird from its trajectory, but let's just leave it at, it a'int happenin'.

So, now all I can think about is the fall NC trip. I'll be putting that together as we return from Fools Gold. There will be brews. There will be blues. There will be BBQ(s).

The Hay is in the Barn

2011-08-15T08:37:00.002-04:00

Yep, the day loathed by folks unhappy with their work choice, has arrived again.

Today, it has a little different tint for me. I don't have much going on at my day job today, so I've arranged to turn wrenches for a little extra dough. I need to finish finessing Mingo's bike back into working order, on the off chance he takes the Fool's Gold bait. Wrecking Ball got his name from his innate ability to mysteriously explode seemingly indestructible bike parts. I'm fast beginning to refer to Mingo as, The Grinder. Nothing ever fails catastrophically with him, but I promise you, he gets every last ounce of goodie out of that bicycle shaped oreo. No worries. We have the technology. We can rebuild her.

Speaking of Fool's Gold, she looms on the horizon.. We roll out Friday morning. Phil is supposed to be meeting us in Atlanta, for lunch. He texted me something about "the best ribs EVER!". I just need to be sure the restaurant that houses such an accomplishment has an organic, low fat, turkey sandwich, that looks and smells suspiciously of Subway, so Silk will be happy. The other two in the truck are card carrying southern boys, so hopefully they will be good to go.

Fool's Gold spooks me a little. Given the facts that I'm a true to life clydesdale and a quarter, or damn close, and the organizer's bizarre ability to find a damn 10 mile climb, in GA, it's gonna be a long day for me, my taint, and my saddle to become super close; like marrying your first cousin, close. I look forward to the trip, though. No doubt, it will be a challenge for me, but I'm okay with that.

It's not the general difficulty of a ride that long that bothers me, it's the fear of cramps. Being a well insulated big guy, and the fact that it is still summer, even if it is NORTH Georgia, I cramp like mad after 4.5+ hours. I've tried a million tricks, with mixed success. After their first Fool's Gold, Silk, Double D, and Danny Boy came back touting the magic of mustard. Sounded good, so I gave it try. Total flop. Now I'm pedaling down the trail, trying to not to cry as an angry muscle attempts to relocate my groin down by my kneecap, and really wishing I had a hot dog, a slice of cheese, and some chopped onion, to go with that useless mustard I just gulped.

So be it. I have not died yet from cramps, so I probably won't this time, either.

Has anyone heard from Lil' Ball lately. Best I can tell, he hacked the Drunkcyclist site. I hope not. Some of those AZ boys seem a little twisted, and several seem to be somewhat nomadic. They may come looking for him.

It's a week of easy rides for me. Like Silk said, "the hay is in the barn". I guess now it's time for some recovery type, barn dancing.

Twitch

2011-08-03T13:10:00.002-04:00

My level of twitch is growing leaps and bounds. Maybe it's the overtime my brain has these days. Maybe it's the need for something new to replace the hole left by what was known. Maybe it's just the amazing photography and stories told by these guys.

No matter the reason, it's coming. This fall, maybe sooner, I intend to try my hand at some sort of bikepacking. I envision a cx bike, rural paved and clay roads, and destinations like Suwannee River, or Lake Seminole; maybe somewhere over by Marianna. I foresee swimming in cold refreshing water at the end of a long dusty day on the road.

My skills are limited by my ignorance of what is needed, but my intelligence will fill in the gaps either by trial and error, or proper guidance. Personally, I hope for the proper guidance route.

Inspiration:
Lacemine29
DirtandDogs

With Friends....

2011-07-29T08:25:00.001-04:00

Tomorrow is the memorial ride for Dave Baton. I have family in town, but I will be there, because he was a part of my "other" family.

Right now, there is so much loss in my life, sometimes, it feels like I'm drowning. Thankfully, I have many friends who reach out to help, to hold my head above water. That's what family does. Judging by the emails, I've seen, there will be a lot of friends out tomorrow, to remember Dave. That's what family does.

Though tomorrow is symbolic, Dave will live on far beyond tomorrow in the hearts and minds of those who knew him. They say no one is truly gone, until the last memory dies. I'm thankful for the memories.

I'm thankful for the thousand times Dave told me my saddle was too high, or too low.

I'm thankful for the thousand times he told me I'd be better off sitting and pedaling.

I'm thankful for the thousand times he told me it was time to stand and hammer.

I'm thankful for the thousand times he made me climb the hills of San Luis, in my big ring.

I'm thankful for the thousand times he said it was okay to hurt, because "they" would be hurting, too.

I'm thankful for the thousand times I heard Derry, tell Dave, "Just fix the bike, Dave! It's not rocket science.", showing me that Dave didn't know everything.

None of us do. None of us have all of the answers. But together, as a family, we can find enough.....enough answers to keep our heads above water.

Tomorrow, I'll be swimming in a sea of funny stories, and great memories, shared by friends. Tomorrow, I will immerse myself in what friends do. When friends share the burden, the heart is just that little bit lighter, that little bit more buoyant. With friends, there is no need to worry about drowning.

In Memory...

2011-07-19T15:57:00.000-04:00

Life is short folks. Hug your loved ones. Hold them close. Don't miss any opportunity to tell a friend how much they mean to you.

The T-town cycling community took a hit here today.

Tonight I ride in memory of my friend.

Shunscreen to avoid Shunburn

2011-07-15T09:38:00.002-04:00

I've long mocked my friends for their obsession with social networks. Now, I'm sure everyone is going to be quick to point out all of their positive attributes. I will concede that the thought of catching up with my best friend from 6th grade, who I have not seen or spoken to in 30yrs, sounds quite appealing. Stalking an ex-girlfriend, in hopes that she got fat and lives in a trailer park could be good fun, until I find out she's hotter than ever, married a professional athlete who doubles as a movie star and underwear model, and she owns a chain of successful fitness centers nationwide. Dohhh!!!!

Yesterday, Big Jim Slade sends me an email to check out a new ride route he drew on Mapmyride.com. I've never used mapmyride, having for whatever reason, only used ridewithgps.com. I had no ill will towards mapmyride, I just stumbled into the other first. So when I click the link, I'm quite surprised to find out that Big Jim Slade has allowed his "friends" to view the map, and apparently, I'm not among the chosen. Feeling shunned, I begin to jump through the hoops to become a registered member of mapmyride.com, and view BJS's map. Nope, not that easy. first I have to "find" BJS, and when I finally do, I am then prompted to request BJS's friendship. Wiseass website, you don't know me! You don't know my transmission! How dare this damn website have the audacity to challenge the relationship of Gemini?!

But I want to see the map.

I concede to this arrogant web domain's demands, and click the request friendship button. It opens a small window, with an area for a small message to the requestee. There's a suggested phrase already entered. "Hi, Big Jim Slade. I'd like to be your friend." Fard that! I typed my own quaint message to BJS, telling him exactly how much I loved him for wasting 20 minutes of time, just to qualify our love, so I could see a damn map, of a ride I damn sure won't do now, just on sheer principle!

"Your request has been submitted, and you're now awaiting Big Jim Slade's approval"

Big Jim Slade almost had a visitor in his office, demanding approval or else he was gonna get his windows tinted!

A couple of hours later, I get a cheerful email to let me know that Big Jim Slade has accepted my advances, and we have a date. I check out the route, and does look kind of fun. Maybe I will ride it, but I'm not going to tell mapmyrides.

All's well and done, until this morning. I open my email to find another cheerful header from mapmyrides. This was inside.

Hey Bigworm,

Here is a recap of your recent workouts between: 2011-07-09 to 2011-07-15

0 workouts
0 calories burned
0 routes created
1 new friends

Are you kidding me?! Not only does this damn site have me jumping through hoops like a circus chimp, begging for validation of my longstanding friendships, but now it has the gall to JUDGE me! As if I needed another blow to moral.

"Thanks for joining our wondrous network of amazingness! We're glad to have you! By the way, looking at your stats, you REALLY suck!"

If I can figure out how to email a molotov cocktail, it's on! Lil Ronnie once tried to text me bullets, so when I opened the text, I'd get shot. I wonder if he ever got any further along on that technology. I guess not, since I'm still sitting here telling this infuriating story. I now know why we have evil computer geniuses devising viruses and worms, and myriad other devious internet hate methods. It's because their nerdy selves even get shunned on the interwebs! If I could write a proper flamethrower in geek code, the folks at mapmyride would be in for a hot lunch!

My aggravation for social networks has been restored, and it should be at least another week before I join anything else that requires me to request friends.

Lil Ball's Dirty 30

2011-07-10T18:12:00.000-04:00

Lil Ball is prone to these moments of enthusiasm and motivation. Once in awhile the stars align, and he has a good idea, one worthy of the effort it takes to bring it to fruition. Thus time, it is the Dirty 30. Basically, this is a 30 minute dirt crit, or short track race. Keeping it grassroots, with no classes or division, it's just simple enough to attract folks to the show.

About a dozen contestants showed for this inaugural race. The crowd spanned the gamut, with riders as old school as myself, to the latest generation of juniors. Lil Ball showed everyone around the course, for a lap or two of warmup.Having had my body revolt against the heat the day before, I opted to handle the start, finish, and timing duties.

They were off with a bang, and young Graham Gillis proceeded to begin issuing the spankings he'd promised the field, in the parking lot earlier. Unfortunately for the younger Gillis, his body was soon to leave him hanging, much like mine did me the day before. His 1st lap pace was blistering, but soon enough, a group formed around the rabbit. A few laps later, the rabbit was gone again, only out the back this time.

Ricky Silk went to the front, and began dishing out the hard laps, in typical Silk fashion, making it look effortless. I know he hurts, but he never shows it. His poker face is formidable. As the laps ticked down, he lapped the entire field.

John A. threw down an excellent effort, riding an uncontested 2nd to Silk. John impressed me, keeping many of the middle laps right on time with Silk's pace, no easy feat!

Longtime Tallahassee stalwarts, Tom Gillis and Zach Finn teamed up in the their efforts, which lead to a lot of debate for those of us on the sidelines. Tom has a healthy sprint from his road experience, and Zach is a super talented mountain bike racer. Zach was apparently concerned with the senior Gillis' sprint, too, and proceeded to unload him in the closing laps, to avoid the situation entirely, and wrap up 3rd.

StorminNorman passed Jeff M in the early laps, and in the confusion, I thought he had nearly lapped Jeff. I called StorminNorman as 5th and Jeff as 6th, only to be corrected after the fact. Turns out, Jeff rallied, and passed Norman back. As various folks got lapped, dropped out, reentered, etc, I lost track. That's what's cool about these small local events, everyone looks out for one another, Mr Norman corrected my mistake, and I owed Jeff an apology.

Our last finisher, and the guy I was most proud of, was StorminNorman's son, Blake. He stomped big gears at the urging of myself and Wrecking Ball, early in the race. But the efforts caught up with him. I even joked at one point, about blowing him up, and unfortunately, that's exactly what happened. I think that in the excitement, WB and I were simply a little too encouraging. Blake held tough, grabbed the wheels we instructed him to grab, and held each one as long as he could. He never gave up, and never once complained. Even at the finish, he still found the juice to rise from the saddle, and hammer it home. It's gonna be fun watching this one rise through the ranks.

All in all, it was a cool event. Folks were stoked, and I had a blast watching and cheering. A crew of us finished it off with a stack of tacos at Los Amigos, where once again, Blake got grilled about his birdish eating habits. If he's not careful, he's gonna grow up to look like Silk! Not a bad way to spend a Sunday morning.

Looking for Drive

2011-07-05T15:48:00.000-04:00

I'm tired. Deep down, tired. I looked back at my Garmin log, in a monthly format, and see that I've been averaging only 3 days a week, for about 3 months, now. 4-5 days a week was the old normal. With me enjoying the deeper strength I felt from long rides, when we were getting ready for the Dirty Spaghetti, I've been trying to get at least one longer ride in every weekend, so while I've lost a day per week, my hours have barely dropped. The saddle time is still there.

This weekend was a 3 day holiday weekend, and I was atop one of my bikes every day. Saturday, Big Jim Slade, StorminNorman, his son, and myself, made the day trip to San Felasco. It's an easy drive. We hit the highway around 7:30, after feeding BJS's Bruegger's fetish. After 3hrs of singletrack, I was done. The Titus was on blocks, so the Niner pulled the duty. After all that eroded, choppy, Conquistador, I was hating my bike choice. Suck it up. You brought it, so deal with it. Conquistador has lots of up and down, but almost no flow. Bang, bang, slap, crack, duh, Unnhh, down the hill. Poorly laid out u-turn, and pedal, yank, lunge, stall, your way back up the roots. I was soon far behind my less gravitationally challenged companions. I didn't want to bitch, because after all, it's not their fault that they are faster than me uphill. But I was having a hard time keeping a positive mental outlook. Eventually, at a regroup, I slid to off the front, during everyone's nature break, and told Jim I'd see them when they caught me. Low and behold, we hit a rhythmic, flowing, FLAT section of trail. I settled into my groove, not wanting to hold folks up as I had so far, and before long, it was just BJS and I. While it's not very kind to revel in the struggle of others, it did help my bruised ego to see that I still have a skill or two that keeps the new guys honest. I was getting tired, but noted that after 2 hours, I wasn't as dead as I should have been, and actually felt okay. Not fresh as a daisy mind you, but strong enough to be aware that the longer rides were doing their job.

After 3 hours of singletrack, I was glad we were done. The FL heat was turning up the volume, and I was ready for some respite. Conestoga Wagon is straight up, country style, caloric love! I wolfed down a 1lb burger and fries, with no problem! Feeling good about the trip, I was ready to get home and hold down that couch, and watch the Tour stage.

Sunday found me getting caught up in life, and I was on the fast track to skipping out on any riding. Luckily Silk, and Marcus were in the wings, ready to foil that plan. It felt good to be on the road bike. No harsh banging, and a self created breeze. It felt like I was riding on a cushy marshmallow, after the what felt like chainsaw wrestling the day before. 2 more hours down.

Monday the 4th and folks wanted to ride in the woods again. Late Sunday found me in the shop, replacing a bottom bracket on the Titus. I had no desire to ride that hardtail, just yet. We had a big crew, show up at Zone 5, for an 8:30 roll out. We hit Secret Singletrack, Overstreet, and eventually churned out one of Ricky Silk's torture loops. It felt like we had only ridden for a little over an hour, but when I felt the legs growing empty, I looked down to see we were gonna have another 2.5hr day, by the time we reached the trucks. StorminNorman suggested a quick walk to Tropical Smoothie, and I honestly can't decide if I enjoyed the food, or their A/C, more.

Now Tuesday has rolled around, and it's typically a ride night for the crew. Everyone is out of sync, as their bodies think it's still Monday. I'm not sure if the weather will hold, and I know my motivation is thin, but I'm trying. I just keep telling myself, the weather may be worse tomorrow. Get it while you can.

The Right Bait for the Right Fish

2011-07-01T10:33:00.001-04:00

Hey, did you ever see the Mosso Straight Rigid Fork for MTB , and just instantly knew that you had to get to know about Mosso Straight Rigid Fork more experience it for yourself or your beloved? Maybe once before you had got all excited about how much great it'd be to experience Cannondale or Trek and how curious and intrigued you were feeling about it has stable, light weight and the best performance?
As you REMEMBER THOSE FEELING, do you first imagine how much GREAT it would be to have Mosso Straight Rigid Fork, and then get intrigued, or do you get intrigued first then imagine how much great performance of it.

Before studied the specs, let me tell you the truth.
Most of the worldwide cycling adventure fighter ridden around the World with MOSSO FORK. Sounds awesome? No one use the luxury brand, like Cannodale. Frankly speaking, it's because of the greatest performance of Mosso Fork.

Do Think that The Mosso Fork is quite expensive in your neighboring Bike Shop?

That's becoz they earn your money by raising the selling price! It's ridiculous!

Believe us, we will provide you the product you want with the Cheapest Price and the Best Quality. This is regarded as our Operational Objective!

This is the bait, and despite the pure brilliance of prose, and the Lil' Ball spelling and grammar, my boy Flash was the right fish. I hope this fork does not fall off and injure or maim his beautiful better half, somewhere in Newfoundland. Otherwise, he may find himself in Newfoundpain!

What a Month!

2011-06-16T12:50:00.001-04:00

This site has lay dying, in an under utilized, underfed, under nurtured, dehydrated shock, while I did the same to myself for the past month. Honestly, it hasn't been that bad, but there have been a few bumps on the road, that I could have done without. Life is just that way, sometimes, everyone's life.

The key lies in perception and focus. If you focus on all of the aggravations, errors, and confrontations, you will find yourself mired in negativity.

So, herein lies the good:

I raced at the Redbug Challenge, and had a lot of fun. No stellar performance, just good fun chasing lines through the roots. I started last, and planned to move up as I needed. The problem was, I apparently jumped the gun on "as I needed". I passed guys, and blew to pieces. After that, I settled in and started riding my rhythm. Next thing I know, I'm reeling folks in again, and moving back up the ranks. Juancho recently touched on the concept of flow, and my race that day was a study in forced effort versus flow. I went against the grain with entirely too much vigor, and it cost me. Settle in, push the tension here, load the spring there, lighten the load over this, and symbiosis was regained..

I built a new ride. The Niner EMD has been an excellent addition to the stable. In fact, I've only ridden the Titus once, since I built this thing. I still have the incorrect fork installed, yielding the most twitchy 29er ever. I didn't think it was possible to make those big wheels so agile. As I've ridden it the last month, I find myself less insistent about finding a correct fork. I kind of like some of the idiosyncrasies of this mismatched match up. It's a new test, and a new set of skills to learn.

I did my first century. All these years riding, and I never went after one of these monuments. Here is where perception becomes interesting. Big Jim speaks of a sedate pace, whereas I was sure that I was pushing far beyond what I could sustain for the time required. I don't remember much talking, just single minded focus. I was bummed when Wrecking Ball and his clan separated from us, in Monticello. I was thinking I would need his comic relief in the coming miles. I stared at hubs. I took my pulls. I did not allow myself to get pushed too far into the red zone on the bigger hills, and I survived. Big Jim and his buddy Don pulled like clydesdales that day, and the one true clydesdale hung on as tightly as he could. When I cramped at mile 95, I thought I'd be on my own for the last 5, but Big Jim would have none of that. He slowed up, and gave me a chance to work the errant muscle free. By the time we finished, it was just BJS, Don, and myself, still together. That's just how these long rides go. At some point, folks find their own pace; their own sense of flow, that will carry them to their finish. This ride was a charity ride, based around cancer. I was blessed with incredible in laws. And the loss of my wife's mother came much too early. I watched her fight, tooth and nail, for one more Christmas. I would have given anything to give her my strength, as she battled the evils that were emaciating her body. As I watched the miles tick away, every time I thought of sitting up, I thought of Mama Lou's struggle, and I went back to work. That one was for you.

Did I say it's been hot? Damn hot! Sounds like a negative rant coming, right? Nope. I'm thankful that, for whatever reason, it's been a very dry hot. Reminds me of Arizona and New Mexico. It was 104F when we rolled out Tuesday night, to ride the trails of the east side. 15 minutes in, and water bottles carried piss warm hydration. BUT, the night was beautiful. We had an outstanding group. I mixed up the route; a little old with a little new, much like the riders who made up our posse. Everyone finished with a big smile. Several actually went so far as to thank me for the lead. It was a simple thing that brought pleasure to folks, that, in turn, brought pleasure to myself.

Redemption, salvation, and just plain relaxation, can all be found, if you just keep tuned to the positive.

What a Weekend!

2011-05-09T14:01:00.000-04:00

This weekend was one of those weekends where you need another weekend, so you can recover from the first weekend.

Friday night, I picked up my new 29er frame. I didn't hang the first part on it, because I knew if it got built, I'd be riding it the next day, and that was not in the spirit of the ride. Better not to tempt myself, I decided.

Saturday morning, I drove to Joe's Bike Shop, to meet the crew for a little cross ride down to Munson, since they recently paved the Munson Hills Trail. Cliffy hauled us off the beaten path, to take a different route south. We paralleled the Munson Slough, via access roads. The scenery beat the usual traffic racket, and the change of venue was good. I even dragged the boys onto the old slough, quad trail, just for old times' sake. They were less than stoked, except for Longshanks. For him, the more arduous the better! Surprisingly, one of the biggest complainers was piloting the lone mountain bike on the ride. Hmm, maybe with expert speed, comes F1 fickleness. Those thoroughbreds need constant care. Donkeys like me, we just slog along. However, word on the trail was that he may just be revisiting his dusty, forgotten blog, so I'm not gonna bust him up too much, for fear he loses his way before he even finds it again.

Afterwards, I met Ms Worm for a quick lunch, and then drove over to Zone 5, to help out with ceiling painting. Because nothing is better for a neck that's sore from riding a cx bike all around the woods, including 10+ miles of singletrack, than ceiling painting. It was cool to to see how the shop is progressing, and to catch up with Marcus, who's been MIA since he joined the Northeast Baby Maker's Association.

From there, I hit up the grocery shopping for the next day's Mother's Day dinner, go home a get a shower, and load up to meet the Wrecking Ball and his Missus, for good old Mexican grub. By the time we got home, I was beat....and full. Los Amigos kept their spot as one of my favorite Mexican joints in town.

Sunday morning brought Ms Worm and I to church with my Mom, and then to her house so we could cook her lunch, and hang with the fam. BIG, FAT steaks, grilled asparagus, potato salad, rolls, and blackberry cobbler(That's right Lil' Ball, I had cobbler!), and I was right back in that stuffed feeling of the night before. It was all I could do to stay awake.

After Ms Worm and I returned home, I assumed the horizontal position on the couch, and nearly had a heart attack as I watched young Eli Tomac nearly win a national SX championship in his rookie season.

I needed to take a break from yelling at the television, so I went out and spent 1/2 hour hanging parts on the new frame. I was beat again, so that ended the night. By then it was after 10, and time to crash.

Truly a good weekend, but I somehow felt more tired when I walked into the office this morning, than I did when I left Friday.

This weekend shows no sign of slowing down. The Redbug Challenge is on again, and hopefully has a decent turnout from the local community. This race has remained primarily a local's race, which has a cool, down home flavor. I'm sure that the Red Cotton Candy Dragon would love to see it blow up into a World Cup event, but for now, it's manageable, and not so intimidating. Come check it out if you have the time. Hopefully, I'll see ya out there!

Let Down

2011-05-03T09:29:00.000-04:00

Since I spent Sunday night watching a movie and recorded supercross with my girl, I missed all of the hoopla that hit the US media, regarding the death of Osama.It wasn't until the next morning on my way to work, when I happened to venture over to a satellite radio channel that has a dj, that I heard word of the US special forces' great success.

I hit the interweb news sites, and read the stories. Here's the rub. I can remember when I was younger, watching the news with my dad. There would be video of middle eastern and third world countries celebrating the latest death of some unpopular figure. Wild screaming, rifles fired in the air, burning of posters and flags; and I remember thinking, wow, they must have really hated that guy! Why are these foreign countries so bloodthirsty? I'm glad I live here the US, where people don't behave in such a manner.

I saw several photo streams on the various websites. I found out that once again, I was wrong. Apparently, the US is no different. I have no problem with Patriotism, and I'm still glad to live where I do, but I suppose the truth still stands, that no matter where you live, the mob is no brighter than a herd of cattle. I'm glad that Osama was found, and removed from the picture, and I can even be ok with his being shot in a firefight. But I feel no need to celebrate the death of anyone. Folks who actually lost someone in the 9/11 nightmare, maybe they have a different point of view, and by all means they have a right to it, but I'd bet that 90% of the yahoos seen chanting and partying, with flags over head, lost nothing more than a false sense of invincibility on that fateful day.

Osama's death will not bring back even one of those who died that day. It will not bring back the belief that US soil is untouchable. It will not stop the hatred of things Western. Those pictures reminded me of the celebrations I saw in foreign countries, when the Twin Towers came crumbling to the ground in a smoking pile of rubble and lost innocence. He needed to be taken out, via capture or otherwise, but I thought that we, the American people, would have handled the outcome with a little more class. I just thought we would have done better.

Blood Boiling

2011-04-21T21:45:00.000-04:00

The clock has ticked past the 24 hour mark, and inside of a calender day, I'll be staring across a sea of teenage angst and hormones, at this band from my past. 41 years old, and punk still takes me right back. I just hope this old heart and body can take it, 'cause given half a chance, I'll be wading in neck deep! From what I hear of the venue, we may have to bend some rules to get down front. These boys are not only not dead, but are still throwing down. They've been around ever since I discovered the allure of screaming fast guitar riffs and sheer irreverence. Dig around and you can find TV clips of them back in the early 80's, looking like Lil' Ball and Ice Berg, but wearing clothes from my era. Grafin's voice doesn't even sound like it's cracked yet, back then. There were angrier, and there were more heavy bands around, but this band has stood the test of time, in my book.

To top it off, they're the opening band.

This is the main event. Rise against has been a top 3 favorite of mine, from the new school era. I had tickets to see them in Atlanta, back in 2007, and got sick as a dog coming home from RAAM, and had to bail. That has plagued me ever since. I'm not missing the train at the station this time.

Just pulling these vids for this post has me bouncing off the walls, Time to knock back a cold beer, and slow things down....until tomorrow night that is.

Stolen Time

2011-04-20T16:40:00.001-04:00

This morning I decided I had no desire to drive my truck. Usually, my job does not allow for a choice, but today, I had no inspections. I pulled out the Lynskey, and rolled for the office. I was stressed as I left home, but the worries melt away with the morning humidity. The fresh springtime Tallahassee smells brought a smile to my face.

This extra riding time feels stolen, as if I'm playing hookie. I had a doctors appointment today, and I rode to that, too. All day, I've been looking forward to the ride home. This is the way a work day should be. Little gems of goodness interspersed with the drudgery of explaining to the bean counters, that yes, our real estate market is in fact, still in the toilet.

If you can swing it, I strongly recommend the occasional commute, not to make some political or environmental statement, but for a much more selfish reason. Do it because it just feels good.

Key West Pics

2011-04-19T17:12:00.001-04:00

Another Year Closer...

2011-04-15T11:00:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was my birthday, and all in all, it went pretty well. I mean, I didn't get robbed, like we did on Ms Worm's birthday. I wasn't stuck in an airport, like we were on Ms. Worm's birthday. The worst thing that happened on my birthday was having to go to work. I'm not about to bitch about that, given her nightmare celebration.

I tried to kill myself with food, though. Lil' Ball and I tabled up at Riccardos, and enjoyed what is, in my opinion, one of the best hot subs in T-town. After lunch, the office folk had baked a cake, so I partook. 20 minutes later, Ms. Worm walks unexpectedly through the door, carrying evil good cupcakes. Not wanting to disappoint clydesdales the world over, I indulged yet again. I spent the afternoon trying to imagine the technicolor icing foam I was gonna hurl rolling into the sprint on the Joe's Ride.

The ride was a good time. Wrecking Ball finally made it back out on a road ride, and in true form, he sprinted for about 50 yellow signs! Perry Mason even came out, as did Mark R, and at the last minute, Lil' Ball rolled around the corner, so instead of being the solo BC guy, I had a crew of 5.

Afterwards, we hit up Sonny's for some BBQ. It's been a long while since we've done the ride/grub double, and I miss it. Ms. Worm journeyed back across town to meet us, and 4 friends sat around bullshitting until after the restaurant had closed.

Thanks for the love folks. It made for damn fine birthday!

Violated!

2011-04-08T09:21:00.000-04:00

Our trip to the Keys was pretty successful. We made our flights south with little hassle. We navigated driving through N. Cuba, to reach the Keys without getting kidnapped and sold into slavery. I saw my brother get married. Nobody died during any of the partying, and I was only called a conehead once, by a smartass bar comedian/singer.

Of note, I have to say I was surprised at the early confirmation of a stereotype at the first convenience store I entered. We were on the road and headed south, when I was dying for my drink of choice, the diet coke. I know, it's bad for me and all that. Whatever, you gotta die of something. First stop, no less, and the lady behind the counter doesn't speak any English, whatsoever. A series of grunts, head shaking, and points scored me a $2 fountain drink, that tasted like carbonated piss. Apparently the national language carries little weight south of Ft Lauderdale. Poor beverage service, that's nationwide. You just have to find the local spots who take pride in their business.

I'll get pics from the trip posted later, the real story is what I'm here to vent. Sunday afternoon, we drive back up to Ft Lauderdale, to have dinner with Lil' Ronnie. No sweat. A ton of traffic, but overall, no biggie. Monday morning, we have breakfast with Ron again, and head for the airport. All still flowing rather smoothly. We get to Atlanta, and the hassles begin. Our flight to T-town is delayed a half hour. We find lunch, and return to the gate to find we've been bumped another half hour. This delaying continues until our flight that was supposed to arrive in Tally at 5:10, now is not scheduled to leave ATL until 8:30! Around 6:50, I notice our flight is no longer on the gate board. A quick chat and I find out the flight is now cancelled, but if we can get across 3 terminals in 15 minutes, we can catch a 7:30 bound for home. A mad dash ensues, but we score.

Back in town at 9, and home by 9:30, only to find the front door unlocked. Ms Worm is immediately mad, as I have a history of leaving doors unlocked. I'm running through my memory of leaving, in a panic, quite sure I locked the door. As I specifically remember returning to lock the door in the pouring rain, she tells the television is gone. Now I'm completely doubting my memory! As I follow her in, I'm gutted to know we've been robbed, but at the same time relieved to see that half of the back door jamb is laying in the dining room floor. Bastards kicked in my door!

They got my television, both of our laptops, Ms Worm's jewelry box, a shotgun, and a few other small electronics. We don't have much, but they cleaned out anything of quickly sold value we had.

Did I mention yet, that it was Ms Worm's birthday. Happy Birthday, honey! Welcome home, now give all your shit to somebody else for your birthday.

The heirloom family jewelry is the biggest physical loss. That stuff isn't replaceable. More than that, I hate seeing my wife scared in her own house. They took her feeling of security, more than anything else. The cops say they arrested 3 guys over the weekend, that they believe are tied to a string of burglaries within a mile of our house, that went down last Wednesday. I asked if she'd mind running them by my house, and waiting outside for about 30 minutes, while we "discussed" a few things. I know vigilante justice is not the answer, but right now, I'm pissed! I'm a pretty tolerant person, but given the chance of retaliation, at the moment, I'd jump all over it. Right now, we sleep Dirty Harry style, with a loaded firearm within arm's reach and the bedroom door locked. I know that there is a one in a million chance that anyone will return to our house anytime soon, but if it helps her sleep better, then so be it. Anybody got any recommendations on security system companies?

When's Happy Hour?

2011-03-30T09:18:00.000-04:00

Infrequent posting around here may lead you to believe that I've been on vacation for some time. Not true! However, at about 12:50 today, I should be wheels up for Key West. Never been there. Born and bred Floridian, and I've never seen the Keys. Hell, I've never been south of the New Smyrna area. I surfed there a fair amount when I went to school in Daytona, but that's it. Never seen Miami, Ft Lauderdale, etc.

Lil' Ronnie is quite stoked to hear that I obtained a S.FL/N.Cuba passport, and will be visiting his homeland. Don't the natives speak Seminole, or some other such language? I hope I can communicate.Perhaps I should bring trinkets and smallpox...

I'll be back next week, but in the meantime, I'll do my best to enjoy all that is stereotypical about Jimmy Buffet.

Bo-Bo Bikes!

2011-03-22T09:05:00.000-04:00

This is what my quiver of bikes looks like, these days. Despite Wrecking Ball's hard fought campaign to convince the world that I am some kind of competent mechanic, this is the state of my world. The first race of the GA State Championship Series is this weekend, and my primary mountain bike is jacked. The front brake caliper has developed an ungodly love affair for the rotor, and won't let it go. EEEEEEeeeeeeeeiiiiiiieeeeeeeeiiiiieeee, is the beautiful music my bike makes as I twist and turn through the woods, seeking the largest tree, at the bottom of the longest, steepest downhill, into which I may pilot man and machine into with all the forceful destruction of Tony Stark's Jericho missile system. The rear wheel is popping spokes like popcorn on movie night.

The Rig has derigged itself for the second time. The seat tube cracked again, and now sings the creak, Creak, CREEAAAKKK, cruuk, creeeeek tune, as you watch the smiley face shape around the seat tube get larger. It's like the damn thing is mocking me.

My singlespeed has a taller gear on it, set up for Munson. I'd try to apply Rule #5 here, and suck it up. Unfortunately, turning the big gear in the hills outside of Munson does more than make me real tired. It completely takes out my sketchy ankle for days at a time. Not worth it to me.

I'm in mid-pedal system exchange, and most of the remainder of my bikes have pedals incompatible with all of my current shoe/cleat combos.

Blah, blah, blah. Whine, whine, whine. Oh woe is me, right? If all I have to worry about is that my 47 bikes are inconvenient to ride today, I think I'll be alright.

I'm not sure how Bigworm, veteran wrench, has let this cancer of deferred maintenance into the camp, but I suspect a certain Robot Army General may have been scrounging around for robot repair parts, or at the very least, causing a little mechanical mischief.

No racing for me this weekend. I'm too uptight to go race on a bobo bike. Besides, it looks like I'll need the time and money to repair this fleet. If I can just find a robot graveyard...

Revisiting Old Friends

2011-03-18T12:35:00.001-04:00

So daylight savings time has returned, and the lights are packed away like some sort of anti-bear, to hibernate for the summer. I am ready. I was ready weeks ago. The last few night rides, I left the lights in the truck, giving the approaching darkness the middle finger, as if it may actually relent, and allow me a few more minutes of non-artificial illumination.

With the return of later daylight, comes the Joe's Ride. Folks who know me, know I look forward to this more than Christmas. As local road rides go, this one is an ugly bastard child, with 3 left feet, and mismatched eye colors. But being a guy who grew up with a dot on his head, I embrace the ugly duckling. My friends were steady checking in with me on the day of the first Joe's Ride of the season, to see if I had vibrated out of my desk chair, yet. I think they feed off my excitement. Who doesn't like to see their friends stoked and happy?!

Last night's ride may not have been exactly what I expected, but then again, I'm not sure what I expected. Only three of the crew rolled out together, but no worries there. Lil' Ball has been up to his neck in school projects, and Ice Berg has been on one of his many hiatuseseses,(hiati?), so I was riding with guys I don't see as often as I'd like. We cruised the warm up lap, cracking jokes and enjoying riding skinny tires. For Lil' Ball and I, the road bikes have been more or less dormant lately. When we met the group, I was relieved to see about 15-18 folks out to join us. We jumped on the back, and immediately noticed that a disproportionate number of the group, were clad in the garnet and gold of the FSU Team. I bet that at least 10-12 of those in attendance were Senamon Roles.

I was pretty sure how it would play out, if any FSU guy went up the road, the other natives would sit around to see if any of us heathens wanted to chase it down. And if we did, they would quickly swallow us in their midst, never to be heard from again, until we came of some cosmic vortex into the netherworld. My guess is we would have been spit out somewhere in Gainesville, as I am quite sure that that's what FSU-ites consider hell.

I was not to be surprised. As soon as we round the corner into the weapons hot zone, FSU #1 tears off the front, and a sea of garnet and gold look around like, "What? You gonna try? You REALLY want some of this?". A couple of the non-believers went to the front and gave chase, followed by a line of FSU teammates. The blasphemers were used up, and the FSU folk lined up again. I decided that I shouldn't let it go down quite so easily, so I start working my way forward, hoping that my boys were on my wheel. They're the firepower, so I just want to get them up to the front.

All was well until we passed a construction site, and apparently the road had been cut open to connect water and sewage lines to someone's new home. The calamity I heard behind me seemed to guarantee broken carbon and bloody body parts. As soon as I got clear to turn and check on my brothers in arms, Ice Berg tears by after the leaders. Alright, one is good. But Lil' Ball is nowhere to be seen. I loop back through the few stragglers, hoping it's nothing serious. The scene is nowhere near as bad as it sounded. A few bottles are coming to rest in the gutters, and Lil' Ball is upright, with his bike in one piece. He didn't come away clean, though. Three feet of road construction, actually road destruction, turned his $400 wheel into a hip-hop hoopty roller.

Flat fixed, we rolled backwards to rejoin the ride. We took up our spot on the back again, Berg and I called out every undulation, leaf, ripple, or twig in the road, so LB wouldn't do any more damage. We were the jokesters of the ride, and folks may have been tiring of it, but who cares? The next sprint went down, and again, it was 5 of us versus a legion of Seminoles. The new recruits are still a little green, though. They had a plan, and had they stuck to it, things may have worked out for them. Lil' Ball attacked during a lull. Either that, or he just wanted to go to the front and show everybody his new hoppy wheel. Regardless, his acceleration had the same net effect as throwing a cupcake into a tub full of puppies! The entire FSU regimen exploded after him. It looked like garnet and gold popcorn just as it hits crucial temperature! I was cracking up, and though they caught Ball, Ice Berg served it up the rest of them, handily.

On the next climb, The Butler went up and challenged the manhood of all of the FSU crowd, or at least I think he did. He may have just been waving around another cupcake, because they chased after him happily! Those of us still in wiseass mode thought that they would sit up, but if they did, they were well out of our site by then. Oh well, lesson learned. Always chase the cupcake!

The three of us continued our jokey smurf ways all the way home, and as far as I'm concerned, it was good ride. I welcome the return of the Joe's Ride, and I welcome the chance to ride with those guys I have not seen in awhile.

Return from the Dead

2011-02-25T13:50:00.002-05:00

I think I'm allergic to Big Jim Slade, but only when we cross certain northern state lines. It's as if some chemical change occurs when we hit Georgia soil, and I wind up sick, if I've been in close proximity to our local Majestic Stallion. This is 2 road trips now, where I've returned home sick. I'm just sayin'!

The trip itself was good. The folks at Camp Thunder BSA have changed their view point on public trail usage. In the past it was bootleg deal, no cop, no stop. Though, in this case, I suppose it would be, no troop leader, no stoop feeder, or something else way more clever that I am simply not bright enough to come up with at the moment. Now, they welcome cyclists, regardless of Boy Scout, Girl Scout, Brownie, or Taliban affiliation. You got 4 bucks, you ride. Of course they want you give THEM the $4, but you get the point. They also now welcome camping. They have these giant canvas tents built on deck style platforms, with 2 cots in each. They rent the tents out at $8 bucks a head...er, per person. I smell a BC weekend camping trip on the horizon.

The 1st climb up from the Flint River always lives up to my expectations. It's just 10-12 minutes of granny gear grueling for this clydesdale. BJS and I discussed at the top that this climb is the worst one on the course. While there are a couple of others just about as long, they tend to run along old logging roads or jeep trails. This one is singletrack top to bottom, with switchbacks and gravel, the whole way. Finesse is important. A heavy gorilla pedal stroke will stop you dead, while your rear wheel gleefully spits a shower of rocks on the guy behind you.

The views up top are not too bad for Central GA.

I think I even found a new location for my own bike shop. Bigworms House of Repair Emporium(B.H.O.R.E) may soon be open for business!

The next morning found us at the Dauset trailhead. This is one of my favorite trails systems in GA. There are harder trails, longer trails, and more epic trails, but these are just plain fun. You can link an 18 mile loop with minor overlap, or you can time your laps to be a little shorter, to afford return trips to the truck to replenish water bottles. For those of us who hate wearing backpack style water systems, it's nice to be able to tailor the lap length. The last few trips to Dauset have been less than spectacular. We had 2 swamp episodes, and 2 years ago we raced there in the dead of summer. Blazing, relentless, heat and humidity were on point. I'm still not sure how it could have been that humid, yet the trails were true dust bowls! Not this time. This time, the trails were as good as they get. I tested the limits of my tire's side knobs at every opportunity, and was rewarded with joyous free speed every time. The first 2 minutes down Bootlegger brings on the perma-grin.

It sucks getting home sick(not the same as homesick), but the trip was worth it in spades. Now, if I can just find a cheap helicopter, then I can move up there, and still keep my job. Big Jim says it has be a 6 man chopper, because he's tired of driving all these road trips. I'll just have to see...

Road Trip!

2011-02-19T07:39:00.000-05:00

Another important piece to the enjoyment we share for mountain bikes is the road trip. Part of the draw to this sport is its exploratory nature. Even as kids, the moment you learn to pedal, you begin to realize that with the mobility, comes expanded boundaries. I've seen more places and sights, that would never have been available to me otherwise, atop two wheels.

My travels this weekend take us to places familiar, but not unchanged. It's been awhile since I got us lost along the Flint River, climbing the southern most foothill ridges of the Appalachians. Though I've been there many times, I'm sure much of it will feel like it's all new, and other areas will be as communing with an old friend. A sweet recipe for a giant smile.

I'm chomping at the bit, as I sit here trying to write of this. The pre-trip rituals are in place. I'm wandering the house, hoping I didn't forget anything necessary, the television is blaring my favorite mountain bike videos, and I keep checking the window, to see if Big Jim Slade has arrived, though it's 30 minutes early. Perfect. I can already taste the donuts!

Check back in later, maybe I'll post from the road. Maybe not. See ya next week!

The Sunday Ride

2011-02-13T20:35:00.001-05:00

Sunday rides are the cornerstone of most cycling communities. While many of us go out of our way to squeeze in as many rides per week as possible, the majority of cyclists rely on the weekends. Saturday rides abound, but Sunday is for the Granddaddy of group get togethers. Sunday generally seems to be the day that crew members the world over manage to coordinate their free time, and congregate in a societal manner where we misfits function at our best.Saturday may see you at Bed, Bath & Beyond, mowing the grass, or painting dining room, but Sunday, Sunday is for riding and recovery from said ride.

In the Revolutions Cyclery days, Saturday nights were spent in preparation of the Sunday Ride. That may entail prepping the bike, eating a hearty dinner, cajoling your buddies who may be lacking the proper degree of enthusiasm. Or in some cases, Saturday was just a giant party, and the Sunday ride was something to be simply survived. I remember more than one occasion, where 8am rolled around, and more than one crew member still reeked of alcohol, and one or two may actually still be a little drunk! Somehow, when you're 23, and it's 3am, 3 hours seems like plenty of sleep prior to the Sunday group ritual.

You didn't miss it, though. If you dare be late, or a few guys simply decided that you were iffy, the shop phones were armed, and your answering machine got its speakers blown out by high decibel swearing and belittling, heard by most any neighbor who may be awake, and maybe even by the sleepy drivers cruising the neighborhood streets en route to their morning coffee. Spanish Mackerel was the most common recipient of this treatment, and as those of you new to the crew can still see, it never worked. His appearance on rides is still more a marvel than a regularity. I'm not certain of this, but he was likely also the first to get voicemail, versus the machine. That little bit of technology basically nullified our wake up calls.

By 7:45, the lot would be full of guys lubing chains, trying to decide what clothing was necessary for the day ahead, and bugging me to fix something that they could just never find time to deal with before that very moment. These rides typically had 6 or 8 guys, but sometimes topped 15. It really was cool to have so many folks riding together.

Our rides started at 8, and we had to be back by noon to open the shop. Outside of those constraints, the ride route and pace were free reign. We always rolled from the shop, and linked as many kid built cut throughs, city parks, and bum trails as possible. Sometimes the ride headed through downtown, and over to the campuses. We'd spend hours bombing urban downhill runs through the empty college thoroughfares, down loading ramps and stairs. Competition abounded to see who could hop onto the highest benches and walls, without destroying chainrings in the process. Newcomers to these rides would swear we took them out to intentionally kill their equipment, thus securing the shop's future.

On other rides, the urban trails were simply a means to an end; connectors to the trails of the day. We rode all points of the compass from the shop, only to return later, exhausted and stoked, to be lucky enough to do what we did every Sunday.

Lately, I've been missing the big group rides of old. Then along comes an email from Elio. Superbowl Sunday, Urban Gorilla Ride, rolling from downtown at 8, hitting most every trail within the city limits. Elio has been hosting these urban gorilla rides for awhile, and he once told me that the idea came from the old Revolutions rides. So Superbowl Sunday rolls around, and I find my freezing ass rolling through the early morning deserted streets of Tallahassee, to meet a ride that was born from the imagination of a guy who was inspired by our old rides. The empty city streets instantly brought the memories flooding back. The group of mountain bikers milling around City Hall, waiting anxiously to see who all would arrive, brought back even more. A few of us from our BC crew had discussed meeting this group, but then splitting off to do our own thing, but when I saw 15-20 guys ready to ride, I realized that I was not gonna miss this one.

My partners had not shown when the ride departed the meeting spot, but as we came over a big hill, headed for the trails, my guys were climbing the other side. The spectacle of 20 guys cresting the hill, lit by the early morning sun hit home, and they had no intention of missing out on an opportunity like this, either. We picked up a few more on our way to the trails, and by the time we hit singletrack, there was a train of 25 or more bikes snaking along. Silk went to the front and set a steady pace. Nothing scorching, just steady. We never stopped until we'd passed through the Fern, Tom Brown, Cadillac, and across the dike to the Alford Greenway. A quick nature break, and we were back underway, without another stop until we'd skirted the lake, and crossed to the Miccosukee Greenway. At this point, there were still 12-15 guys hanging together. Unfortunately, this is also the point that my legs decided it was time to let me know that it was time to head for home.

When I split off from the group, it was saddening to watch such a big bunch still riding together, knowing that my day was done, and not knowing when the next big group ride would come around. I didn't realize it at the time, but my wait was shorter than expected. One week in fact, was all it took. I guess it was just a perfect storm of word of mouth, but today's ride had 10 people show up, when I was only expecting about three.

Afterward, I told Big Jim Slade that we have to find a way to make this more regular. Earlier this week, Storming Norman asked what had happened to the big rides. I rattled through the list of folks who'd taken up breeding, opening new businesses, school and injuries. The crew is alive and well, but those still riding are few and far between. I offered up my contact info to a few folks who asked when and where we ride. Perhaps an infusion of new blood will be good. I look forward to the return of Wrecking Ball, and with him, hopefully Little Wrecking Ball. Juniors like Mingo Jr, Lil' WB and Rupe are the future of the crew. Hopefully they will stick with this as they get older.

Regardless of where the numbers come from, the Sunday ride will remain a staple of cycling crews everywhere. The new faces may be new to cycling, or they may simply be new to us, but either way, the flow of people meeting up to get their weekend warrior on, will not die off anytime soon.

Back In the Saddle

2011-02-08T13:40:00.001-05:00

2011 rolled in like a freight train, and I never saw it coming! I was ready to calmly let 2010 go it's way, and had scheduled a little R&R time for myself, the week following Christmas. My little brother, whom I had not seen in over a year, was in town, along with his 3 boys. I spent time hanging with them, and watching the year quietly reach its twilight. I used the time to get in plenty of riding, both road and mountain. Phil was in town the weekend of Christmas, so a Christmas eve spin was in order. It was really cool to get to spend some time with him. His Team Type 1 venture keeps him on the go, and large chunks of last year were spent over seas.

Things were going quite nicely, until we got word that Ms. Worm's uncle was in poor health, and an unexpected trip to Michigan was scheduled for the week after New Years. Last minute trips are always sketchy, but again, all went surprisingly well. I was nervous about driving in the snow, and sure enough, 10 minutes into the rental car, I'd slid across 3 lanes and up onto a sidewalk. No harm, no foul, and we were back under way. It snowed pretty much everyday we were there, and it was post card beautiful. I wouldn't want to deal with it on a daily basis, but it sure was nice to visit.

We returned from MI on a Friday, and Saturday morning was the annual trip for Tour de Felasco. This year, every one's schedules were all conflicted, so the usual Friday night throw down was discarded. No sweat, just wait until next year! Felasco was odd this year. Due to some arrowing inconsistencies, we got off track before lunch. The group had several different versions of how to deal with it, so we wound up in 4 different groups. Each group achieving different mileage. This year I took me 6+ hours of roll time, for 55 miles, and I was only with the crew for 45 minutes of that. That sucked. Felasco is a social event for me, and the social side went right out the window.

After Felasco, my sinuses staged a revolt, and eventually took over my lungs, before finally running out of steam, and allowing good health to win out. Two weeks, I spent my nights hacking up multi-colored squirrels, and keeping my poor wife awake with the retching sounds of bronchial battle.

At long last, my schedule is returning to normal. I'm on my bike again, and even managed to put in 10+ hours of roll time last week. Now I'm just tired, but it's a good tired. The kind you strive for, and lounge in, with the feeling that your are on the right path. Coach Silk keeps calling the plays, and I'm executing as many of them as I can.

2011 came out of the gate like a wild bull ride, but maybe, just maybe, the bull has realized that I'm not to be bucked quite so early.

Snow Ride! Take It Easy...

2010-12-28T08:14:00.000-05:00

I awoke Sunday morning with intentions of doing a 40 mile loop on the rural roads of Gadsden County. A quick look at the weather slowed my roll, though. 35F and winds gusting in the 20's, did not sound like fun, no matter how much I think I like to get my Belgian on!

Luckily, Big Jim Slade came through with a mountain bike plan, so I went into scurry and panic mode, to make it to the prescribed meeting time and place. After Saturday's rains, Munson was sure to be in prime condition. As I was loading my bike, I saw flecks floating down into the bed of the truck. My first thoughts were of snow, but nah! This is Florida, so someone must be burning trash piles this morning. It sure is early to be burning, I pondered, but then again, at least the fire would feel warm. And I continued getting dressed and loading my gear. 20 minutes later, Ms. Worm gives me a call, to tell me it's snowing on her in traffic. She's so excited, it's becoming infectious.

It was spotty at best, and certainly was not accumulating, but the fact that we got snow this far south made for a unique occasion. As I sat through various red lights, I watched the small flakes drift and skitter across the hood and windshield, eventually melting where they came to rest.

We rode probably 2 and a half laps of Munson, as I begged off from the Twilight Loop. Forgive me, but to me, that loop is good for packing on miles, but it just gets boring. Munson still feels like a mountain bike trail, and the constant twists and turns keep me entertained. Twilight was a blast, when I had 35hp in my throttle hand, and 12+" of suspension travel to eat the whoops, but at bicycle speeds. it leaves something to be desired. I had fears of riding Twilight this windy, damp morning, and having nothing to occupy my attention, except "turn the pedals", and "Damn I'm cold".

The guys entertained my desires, and I tried to keep things from getting monotonous by mixing up the directions and randomly throwing in the short cut trails. The pace, for me, stayed medium to high, for most of the ride. I'd heard of the knock down drag out battle these two had at their last Munson ride, and quite honestly, I just didn't want to get dropped. They let me lead, so I tried to keep it at a pace that kept me from getting passed. Besides, the best way to defeat the cold days like this, is to refer back to Rule #5, ride hard, and the reap the warmth that comes with the effort. The wind was blowing so hard in some sections, you'd round a bend in the trail, and instantly be 2 gears to high.(Except for BJS, who only brought one gear, anyway.)

Unfortunately, the snow was scarce until the very end of the ride. As we rode the Paper Cup trail back to the parking lot, I was just noticing the flakes in the air, and the dampness as it landed on my face, when Big Jim asked if it was snowing again, or was it just my tires throwing sand in his face?

I know it's minuscule to the folks who ride at other latitudes, but for Florida guys, it was cool to be able to say we got a snow ride.

The Juniors

2010-12-21T13:12:00.002-05:00

Revolutions, and later Bikechain, has raised quite a few juniors over the past 15+ years. I suppose the first two were Carl and Armie(sp?). I was living in Daytona, for school, when the boys opened Revolutions. But we always got together to ride whenever I came home. That's how I met Carl. He and Armie were the original shop rats. I kept hearing Armie's name, but never met him until some years later. Carl however, I rode with on these visits. He was a freshman or sophomore in high school, and built like a fire hydrant. At 12, the boy had calves bigger around than other kids' thighs. He was fearless, and talented, and was usually the first to try whatever dumb idea was brought up. When we began racing as a crew, Carl would just destroy the junior fields. That's how it is with juniors, the kids who develop the fastest, typically ride the fastest. I can remember more trash talking coming from the Joe's Bike Shop team juniors, as they tried to figure out how to beat Carl.

Carl has grown up now, but like most of us, is still a big kid at heart. His talent has grown along with him, and if you ever do a campus ride with him, he'll scare the shit out of you, dropping huge ledges and skying over staircases. He's living in Orlando, turning wrenches for a big shop down there. Most of his racing involves skinny tires these days. I've even heard rumors that he's married now, but like any kid, he's damned hard to get hold of, once he left the T-town nest. If anyone talks to him, tell I said to call me up, or else!

Another of the juniors, that luckily got a little less direct influence from us, as I think his Dad had better sense than to turn him loose with us, is now commonly referred to as Little Ball. I'm pretty sure that Little Ball was racing around his Mom's womb as a zygote. That's him on the right. He rode the smallest frame that Kona made, and he weighed less than his pedals, until he was about 19. Thanks to mountain bikes, Little Ball has been to the Olympic Training Center several times, and rode in Mexico representing the US of A at the Pan American Games. Now a days, he's typically found trying give Big Jim Slade a heart attack.

I guess the 2nd generation of Revolutions juniors came in the form of a 4 pack. Joel, Jacob, Jarond and Phil were all friends who somehow got sucked into mountain bikes together. Joel was the most talented at the time, and regularly did well in the junior races. He seemed to be the leader of the little group, and more often than not, it seemed like it was the 3 J's versus Phil. The boys would come by after school, and when they got too rowdy in the shop, Red Dragon usually gave them a choice between menial labor tasks, or getting out. Phil would watch the J boys as they bitched and moaned there way out the door and headed off, as he picked up a broom or rag, and did Dragon's bidding. The boy was tenacious, and wanted to be in that shop. The J boys all found their way into various sorts of trouble, and have long since given up bikes. But Phil, well he's a whole story all his own, and there is a book now being published to tell his tale. On the brief side, he kept racing with us until he discovered the darkside, road bikes. He showed even more promise in FL criteriums, where fearlessness will take you a long way. I can't tell you how many times I've seen him put his 20" handlebar through 15" gaps, all in the middle of full gallop, no holds barred, 30+ mph road sprints. He did a 12 hour solo mtb race, back when folks just didn't do that around here, just to prove he could. To top it all off, Phil is Type 1 diabetic. He nearly died at 6 months of age, when he was diagnosed. He never let it stop him, and after meeting a fellow diabetic cyclist in college, they started Team Type 1. TT1 has blown up, and for 2011, the team is now fielding a pro squad on the European race circuit.

Generation 3 was brought around by Little Ball. You guys know him, too, as our own lovable but grumpy, Ice Berg. I remember when Ice Berg first came around. Double D told me, "Great! I guess we're raising yet another junior to kick our asses!". Ice Berg has definitely lived up to his billing, and as long as he doesn't crash or break something, is still a threat at most any race, be it road, mountain, cross, of mx. This boy's story is still developing, so stay tuned.

The most recent batch of juniors looks to consist of Lil' Wrecking Ball, Mingo Jr, and Rupe, Stormin' Norman's offspring. This is the first generation of juniors, in which the Dad's are crew members. Luckily, these boy's Dad's are present and accounted for on most rides, so they don't get the full B/C dose, that some of the others got.

Now, to clear up a myth. Many of you have asked about a junior who has been seen riding with us on occasion, lately, and typically joins us in Felasco. Contrary to popular belief, this guy is crew, and not a junior.

History

2010-12-06T20:34:00.000-05:00

I straight stole the image above, from Dave Hall's site. Thievery, I know, but we have enough old school locals lurking around here, that they should definitely recognize one or two players from the game above.

Lately, we've been seeing an influx of new folks in the crew. As life goes on, the core group is still around, but busier than they used to be, and their appearances on the rides are fewer and further between. They are not gone, in the way that Romeo, Vee, or even Big Tony have moved on. They are still in town, just caught up with ball games, diapers, teething, or in the case of Spanish Mackerel, butterfly watching.The new guys who have either just discovered riding at an obsessive level, or guys who have had that all along, but only just discovered the ego and image destroying, dysfunctional family, that is the BC crew, keep our group rides numbers up.

One of the new guys recently suggested that those of us who have been around around since the beginning should share the history of the crew. This is a great idea, but I have 20 years of crew stories. You guys are gonna have to get these in installments. Hopefully my brothers in arms, at Bikechain and Dirtysouth, will jump in from time to time, with their own stories. If I have to tell them all, they're getting bent to my liking!

Tonight, I tripped over the picture up above, and the memories came flooding back. The purple Joe's Bike Shop jersey worn by Kingsnake, our Revolutions Cyclery jerseys, worn by Double D, and the old Scwinn kit of Zack then Murfree, now Finn.I was there that day, and have a plaque hanging on the wall to prove it, though not from that elite class above.

One of the guys I surfed and skated with, Tom Hellman, unknowingly changed the course of my life one afternoon. I went to pick him up to go skate some ditch, or some other spot we'd heard about, and sitting in the corner of his living room was this crazy looking bike. It looked like a bmx bike on steroids. I couldn't help but be drawn to those huge knobby tires. "What the hell is this?" I asked. "It's a mountain bike.", he replies. "My brother is living in Japan, and he's been riding one all over the mountains. He said I should give it a try, so I bought one at Sears." That was it. Innocuous as it sounds, the damage was done. It wasn't 2 weeks before Ms Worm, my then girlfriend, and I had been to Sears and picked out 2 ultra cheap, but crazy expensive to us, mountain bikes. Grade F department store Huffys, but more than enough to set the hook so deep, that 2 broken collar bones in my first 6 months, were not enough to shake me of my new found, 2 wheeled habit.

The first real bike I bought was a Specialized Rockhopper Comp, purchased from the first serious bike rider/racer I had somewhat befriended, Dave Baton. Dave introduced me to Jason Snow, and later to Nathan King. Kingsnake was still a 16 year old junior back then. He drove this old van, and rode a red Dakar with the shifters and brake levers all drilled out, 70's style. First flat I got was on a campus ride with those 3 guys, and my buddy Tom. I tried to bunnyhop a curb, not at all understanding the physics of it, and promptly dinged a rim and pinched the tube. I was so new that having a spare tube had never even occurred to me. Kingsnake throws me his tube and pedals off to fly off some huge loading dock, while I fiddle with the foreign valve stem, that clearly had had all of the rubber stripped from the outside. Yep, first presta valve stem, too. Completely embarrassed, but too stubborn to give up, I just kept trying to figure it out. Nathan finally comes back, looks at me like I'm an idiot, takes the whole thing away from, fixes it for me, and then promptly drops the hammer so that I get spit out the back. Tough love from a kid still in high school! But when it came to bikes, he was far and away my senior. Bikes will do that. Age goes out the window in the respect hierarchy, and I liked that. Master Baton, Kingsnake, and Snowman taught me a lot, and not all of it in the nicest terms, but I absorbed all I could. Those were the guys I looked up to in this new world I'd discovered, and hell. I was the same age or older than most of 'em.

By the time that pic was snapped, I'd been riding and racing for about 6-7 years. I had been working in a bike shop, for 3-4. Kingsnake still awed me with his natural ability, and still does today, when I get to see him ride, but it's not the same as it was that first year. By then, I was in it deep. Everything revolved around bikes. That bike shop I was working in, was Revolutions Cyclery. Double D is wearing the old jersey in the center of that pic. Revolutions was where the crew started. That melting pot of 20 something year old guys sent us down a path that continues to this day. I have been to more weddings from that crowd than I can count. I was best man in 2. I have adopted nieces and nephews; the offspring of crew members. I have many, many friends that came of that shop, and somehow the numbers just keep growing.

Dirty Ron

2010-12-01T12:46:00.001-05:00

Not sure that that image is relevant, but it came up in a Google image search for "Dirty Ron". Exceptionally dirty, I might add. I find myself a little concerned for folks who consistently eat Mickey D's.

The ride's namesake does not have long red hair, nor does he eat human body parts. If he had hair, he'd look a little more like this...

Or, if he had hair, a tan, and pharmaceutically enhanced muscles, he'e look like this...

But in reality, he looks more like this...

Anyway, he missed the Dirty Spaghetti, something about an expired green card. So, in order to make it up to him, we have come up with our own, unsupported version of the Dirty Spaghetti, affectionately dubbed, the Dirty Ron, and it's scheduled for 12/11/2010.

I've been working out the route, with Silk's assistance. And what I mean by that is, I work up the route. Then Silk tells me how I did it all wrong, and reroutes the whole thing. At least I got to pick the starting and ending location.We're rolling from downtown Monticello that morning, at about 9am. We could roll earlier, and that may be changed, but stay tuned around here to find out. I figure 9am gives the sun a chance to thaw the sleeping dogs before we roll by. Boston, GA falls at about the halfway point, where food will be consumed, if you brought it with you. As I said, this is unsupported. If you forgot to bring your Grey Poupon, or just forgot your sandwich entirely, Silk knows how to guide us to a sweet restaurant, or at least a roadside boiled peanut vendor.

After lunch, we will continue our route through scenic Dixie, GA, and then head south, to return to Monticello. The roads are a mix of pavement, chip seal, and clay, but mostly clay. You can ride your road bike if you wish, but if any of these roads get sandy, you're in for a fair amount of walking. Most of us will run cx bikes, but there will be a few mountain bikes, too. Just mount up a fairly unknobby tire, if you have one. If not, don't feel bad. I'm sure Mingo will be there on something akin to this.

The ride begins in downtown Monticello, so I can get my Tupelo's Bakery and Cafe fix. I dig their homemade breakfast goods, and the lady that owns the place has always been so nice, that I decided I'd drag a few more customers her way. After the ride, we shall take a short drive north to the Mingo family farm. Mingo claims that showers for cleaning, and a fridge for beer cooling are available on site. At some point a fire will be started, and meat seared for consumption. Cold oat sodas will be drunk. Lies will be told, and feelings will be hurt, but only by those closest to you.

Beatdowns

2010-11-19T12:51:00.001-05:00

Lately, there has been an abundance of beatdowns, and I seem to be on the receiving end of most of them. Spanish Mackerel, Big Jim Slade, and myself, did a recon ride for parts of the Dirty Ron, last Saturday. I casually bumped the pace, to be sure I got the 1st yellow sign. I'm very glad I took that dirty shot, as I would have been shut out otherwise. Mackerel handed BJS a heads up loss on the next sign, and there were 2 more close behind, so he rolled on through those as well. Now BJS is aggravated, that he's rolling a goose egg, to my dirty 1, and Mackerel's straight up 3. The monster was now sufficiently awake, and Big Jim proceeded to smear his amazingness all over Mackerel and I. It took 2 showers to get the residue off. I thought I could win at least a couple, but hell no! Every single time, BJS stomped his dominance all over the road. I hate to say it, but that bruised my ego a little. I've always sucked at sprinting, but damn! Final score had BJS around 15, Mackerel 3 or 4, Bigworm..........1, and a dirty 1 at that.

Tuesday night, we rode Munson. We got some much needed rain Monday night and Tuesday morning. Quite honestly, we expected to be rained out entirely, but a few of us held out hope, and scored Munson in good condition. We even had a special guest showing, in the form of Longshanks. Longshanks has been tearing up the local road scene, but decided to race his mountain bike again, this fall. Apparently his luck has not been so good. He mumbled something about the top 2 expert women catching him on the last lap of his last race, and that he just wasn't tough enough to race off road anymore. What I should have heard at that moment was, "...and you boys aren't either!". After a reasonable warm up, Longshanks takes us up to "fast but manageable" speed. After a little of that, he went into "are you freaking kidding me we're gonna die on the backside of Twilight" speed. We hit one of the small rises out there, and I could feel the damp, but still soft, sand sucking the resolve from my legs. The newer guys closed back on to my back wheel, and I hated to get us all dropped, so I gave it everything I had, to keep the gap down to 20-30 feet at the top. I so wanted to ease up, but I needed to bridge the gap. Slowly but surely, I reattached our cars to the train, and just as we closed it down, Big Jim Slade mercifully threw himself at a log and the ground in grand fashion, earning us a brief respite. I took the opportunity, between gasping deep breaths, to profess my true love for Longshanks. I told him I loved him so much, that I would like to arrange a mating with him and a syphilitic moose! In typical nice guy fashion, he starts apologizing, and explains that he had even gone easy up that last hill, so everyone would get to rest. Are you kidding me?!!!! My very soul was on fire as I tried to hang on up that hill. Perhaps I can find a dead, rotting, syphilitic moose for Longshanks' gift. He continues to apologize, and I just told him to refer to Rule #5, and administer the beatings like a man. It's my own fault for not being faster, and he's got no reason to apologize.

Last night, everybody and their brother found reasons not to ride. BJS and I were the only takers. Secretly, I hoped that the mass inclusion of the Forbidden Forest, would swing the beating stick back in my favor, but no such luck. I never really felt like I had my game on, as I bounced from root to root. I still kept the pressure on myself, to a least not hold BJS up. By the end, I was gassed. we had a 2:10 roll time, and a huge chunk of that was technical singletrack, in the dark. My neck, back, arms, legs, shoulder, face, chest, and neck areas, all hurt.

This weekend, I intend to do a little slow rolling. Hopefully, my legs will loosen, and my ankle will stop aching. In the meantime, lest Big Jim Slade forget, especially given his latest blog entry, I included the little reminder at the top of the page.

Unreal!

2010-11-16T23:01:00.000-05:00

This kid's talent is an absolute gift. Right out of the gate, my head was spinning.

Appreciate

2010-11-13T08:22:00.000-05:00

I'm gonna get preachy for just a second, and I almost apologized for it, but never mind that. I saw a comment from Wrecking Ball the other day, on Big Jim Slade's site. He mentions not understanding those who can ride, but don't. Then this morning, I saw this video. It's long Marcus, and you'll have to read, Lil Ronnie, but watch it anyway. 10 minutes out of your life is not that big of a deal. I promise you, in a day, hell, an hour, you won't miss that 10 minutes.

I'm not one of those straight, white guys who feels guilty for not being one of the persecuted minorities, but sometimes I do feel guilty for taking what I have for granted. I charge all 3 of you folks who read this little blip on the web radar with a task for this weekend. Do something because you can, and others can't. Ignore excuses like "I gotta water my yard." or "My left pinky nail hurts.", and ride your bike. Wear a short skirt, kiss your girl in public, eat meat or drink a beer, because you don't have to worry about some authority figure's interpretation of a religious doctrine. Read any book you want, because it's not on a banned list. Eat your favorite food, because it's available. Sleep well tonight, because your neighborhood is not being shelled hourly. More than anything else, take a deep breath, and be thankful for what you have. No matter how much you think your life sucks right now, someone, somewhere, would give anything to be in your shoes.

Man What A Week!

2010-11-12T14:57:00.003-05:00

Between piecing together my continuing education, piecing together New Steve's new Niner, and piecing together a ride for a visiting old friend, this week felt like it may never end! All in all, it's been a good week.

Tuesday night found us back in territory of questionable legality and moral turpitude. Civil disobedience has never been quite so fun! Luckily for me, it was Big Jim Slade's turn on the crash rotation, and he took his turn to the hilt. I kept mine rubber side down, and enjoyed every minute of it. 2 hours of primarily singletrack riding, and room to grow. With any luck, I'll have over 2 hours of pure singletrack worked out by the end of the winter.

Thursday brought a blast from the past. Yet Another Steve was in town, and he predates even Big Jim, and I believe he wandered into the pack before Lil Ronnie found us, too. Yet Another Steve was visiting from Charlotte. Imagine that, leaving NC, to ride with folks in T-town! Not really, he was here for foolsball, but did bring his bike this time. What a blast! 2 minutes into the ride, The Red Dragon jumped on the crash merry-go-round, and by the end of the ride, he'd pulled his full 8 seconds. Steve came in mumbling about having not been riding much, but I believe there may have been some fallacy in those sentiments. We've seen this pattern before, back in early 2008. Sound familiar?

"Now, on to another subject. Liars. For the record, Big Jim Slade is a liar. Not a liar in the evil sense, but a liar in the classic mountain biker sense."Oh, I'm too slow to ride with you guys.", he croons. "Are you sure you don't mind waiting for me?" he whines. "BIG FAT LIAR", I say! Up the first hill of the night, Ice Berg is trying to teach the Newbie a lesson. I'm sitting on, just a little more out of breath than I'd like, when I hear BIG FAT LIAR, back in the back talking to Marcus as if it's nothing. He's back there reciting the Lincoln Address, extoling the virtues of Evangelical Christianity, and pontificating on the whereabouts, both physically and metaphysically, of Osama Bin Laden. We've all experienced it. "I'm gonna take it easy today." LIAR. "This is my off week." LIAR. "I have not ridden with you guys in years, so I know there is no way I can keep up." LIAR. But damn, this guy has been out of the loop for years! I never saw it coming! Anyway, its good to have him back. And I assume the multiple emails I received regarding a new light system, means he feels like he's back, too. Welcome back, liar."

That was just after Big Jim's return to the fold. It was really cool to see Steve, and I look forward to visiting him up in NC.

This weekend, I need to spend some quality time with the Dirty Ron course. I guess I'll head to Monticello, and ride some of the new roads I selected, to be sure they are the proper mix of prime and misery. I feel Tupelo's Bakery and Cafe in my near future. I also need to finish New Steve's new Niner. Between visitations and continuing ed, I have had minimal time for wrench turning. Somehow I need to get caught up, as I have a blown rear shock on my Titus, Ice Berg is clamoring for a headset swap, and there is a box of parts sitting on my couch, which will soon grow into Lil Ronnie's new CX wheelset. Anybody find that day stretcher I had lying around? I sure could use a few extra hours here and there!

Post Spaghetti Balancing Act

2010-11-07T20:43:00.000-05:00

Not sure what happened, but after the spaghetti, my motivation waned quicker than a geriatric man without Viagra. It's just frustrating. My ankle has been giving me grief, so that's slowing me down a little, but that's not the whole story. Silk calls it looming event motivation. I need some of that. I suppose the Dirty Ron will have to suffice for my looming event.

I need to get to work on some recon of the route, but responsibility is thwarting my every attempt. My semi-annual continuing education is coming due, and as usual, I procrastinated like a champ. For now, it looks like the Dirty Ron will go down on the 2nd weekend in December. Pencil it in for now, and I'll keep bringing the updates here. Mingo has graciously offered the use of the family sheep farm, for pre and post ride festivities. Right now, I still plan to start and finish in downtown Monticello, but since the farm has showers, sheep and space, the crew will likely roll the 4 miles up the road, pop some tops and kick off the grill. Sheeps beware!

I also booked myself tight with labor and delivery. Not that kind of labor and delivery. I still enjoy turning wrenches, so I still do work for friends. Newest Steve came to me with 42 boxes of shiny new bike bits, and soon he'll take delivery of a built and tweeked Niner dually. Aside from the ridiculous stack of cardboard and plastic that needs to be recycled, it's nice to build with all new parts. Usually folks bring me 2 or 3 old throwback whips, and a new gizmo, and ask me to meld and mingle the mismatched souls until everything sings like the angels. The challenge fuels me, but these clean parts, built to coexist, could spoil a brotha'!

Night rides with actual lights, kicked off last week. I had a blast, and as a bonus, managed to entertain the new guys with my over the bars antics. I knew the section was there, and was mentally gearing up to execute the string of motions that send you flowing seamlessly across the knotted root ball. I guess that since I hadn't ridden there since last year, the root ball had other ideas. It invited me to stop and visit, in fact, just lie down right here. Don't even worry about the usual rituals, like stopping and putting a foot down first. Just keep cruising, and we'll lay you out right where we want you. The last visual I had was looking beneath my armpit, through my feet, past my pedals, at Jason, who looked quite concerned that he was going to be expected to repeat this maneuver in order to clear this section. He seemed thankful that I came up laughing and limping, and no repeat was necessary.

The weather is beautiful, and with the time change, night rides are basically mandatory. Hopefully the Flying Wallenda show is not...unless of course, someone else wishes to perform.

After Dinner Report

2010-11-01T14:07:00.000-04:00

Dirty Spaghetti is in the bag, and there's nothing left except the greasy stains where the sauce seeped through.

Saturday morning was text book Tallahassee fall weather. 40's in the morning, followed by a mid-70's finish. After a quick debate regarding the political correctness of signing out, or just rolling out, we rolled. This greatly chafed against Big Jim Slade's incessant desire to follow all things rule-like, lest we descend into anarchy and chaos. Mingo quietly asked BJS if he intended to bitch if he got lost. If so, he better go sign in. Otherwise, get quiet and get in line.

There was much shivering and chattering of teeth, as we coasted the paved downhills that open this ride. Our first stop came quickly, as BJS lost his map sheet from his pocket. The rest of us gathered in the sun, as he retrieved his cargo. This delay could not have been any more opportune. The sun was just cresting the treeline, and its rays brought much needed warmth, and the chance to score the shot above.

After we'd ridden awhile, and seen absolutely nobody on the roads, we realized that we had jumped the gun, and rolled out about 10 minutes early. We finally rolled up on some folks who had jumped the gun even more than us. They tagged along, and as our groups' paces ebbed and flowed, so did our togetherness. For the most part, it was like any other crew ride. Just us and the route.

We hit Boston, GA for the lunch stop, right on schedule. The 85 Mile Worlds competitors showed within minutes of our arrival. I downed a turkey sandwich and mixed 2 more bottles of go-go juice, and started looking for our gang to roll out again. Lunch was getting crowded, and I didn't want to stand around too long. Silk was on the same page, so we hit the road. All the 85 mile folks were keying off of him, so we soon had about 30 people rolling out the small town roads, headed for the return leg of our journeys. It was nice to sit in the big group and chatter with some other folks, but when we hit the dirt again, and Silk decided to "see if anybody was paying attention", the pace ramped beyond what I wanted. Soon, it was back to just our gang, again.

Early in the ride, in fact at the very first opportunity, I kicked off the yellow sign game in Wrecking Ball's honor. He may not be there in person, but we carried his spirit. Derwood took to this damn game with an enthusiasm that I was sure he'd pay for dearly, later in the ride. No such luck! He contested every sprint imaginable. Best I can tell, he got both county lines, and about 52 yellow signs, yellow reflectors, and he may have even sprinted for a kid wearing a yellow hat. Most of us got at least 1 or 2, so we didn't get shut out. I even managed to get the Boston city limit sign, just before lunch.

Our band of 6 held tight until the last 10 miles. And honestly, probably would have held tight longer if I hadn't decided it was time to take Derwood to task for all of those yellow sign sprints. I turned up the juice, and soon it was just Derwood, BJS, and myself. At this point, those 2 took turns kicking me in the taint, taking my lunch money, and laughing out loud as I limped and whimpered along behind them. In the rides leading up to this, Derwood had lost a little of his usual expertness. Apparently he found it.

When we finished, it was nothing but crickets around the community center. Apparently, aside from Ms. Kristine Freier, we were about the only other folks to have finished the longer dirt routes. We returned to the trucks to change from our monkey suits, eat cookies and drink beer, before descending on the Spaghetti free for all, that is the ride's namesake. The 85 milers showed up a little later, albeit whittled down to smaller groups. We swapped stories, filled our gullets, and talked of the upcoming, Dirty Ron. This day was truly a good time, and it's even cooler to know that there is another one, of our own making, on the horizon.

Stay tuned around here if you want in on the Dirty Ron. The current rough draft is about 69 miles, starting and ending in Monticello. There will likely be some fine tuning, but regardless, it should be a good time. At the very least, it will be fodder for story telling in the future.

Dirty Spaghetti

2010-10-29T14:16:00.000-04:00

Silk's been singing their praises for years, but I just kept changing the channel. I'm a dumbass! This is the first year I've taken Silk up on his tours of old plantation roads. Been riding in this town for 20 years, had this in my lap the whole time, and blew it. Oh well, time to make up for lost miles.

Spaghetti 100 is a long time century put on by the local road club. Some of the dirt folks within the ranks began tinkering with a dirt version, a few years ago. Participation grew each time it was offered. This year, they actually have 3 versions. A 42 mile out and back to Thomasville, GA. We rode that a month or so ago, when Lil' Ronnie was in town. Pretty roads, and worth the trip. The big dog is the version you see above. 85 miles and primarily dirt roads. Silk wants to leave nothing on the table, in his run at the 85. That has been translated into, he's racing the 85. He'll be the first to tell you, 85 miles of clay roads will reach up and bite you on the ass, if you don't pay attention. The incessant buzz in the saddle and bar are hardly noticeable when you're fresh, camouflaged by the newness of the scenery, and the idea that you're running skinny tires on dirt. But as the miles and hours pile on, so does fatigue. It's all on roads, but clay road is not like that seamless black ribbon, that glides the miles away. These miles take their toll, whether you realize it or not. To hear Silk say it's no joke, I'm paying attention.

I opted for the middle version. This version is 60-65 miles, and shares roads with the 85. I think I could finish the big one, but would be miserable. This is to be a social event for me. No big mind games or death struggles, just a beautiful day, enjoying what I've ignored for all of these years. Beautiful southeastern canopy clay roads, and a big group of fiends.

Rain!

2010-10-28T16:01:00.003-04:00

Dirty Spaghetti is looming near, and finally the weather has blessed us. We bitched and moaned for months, about the hated steam bath that is a Tallahassee summertime. But then the sky cleared, and the dirt turned to silt. The clay roads of North Florida and South Georgia have been soft and dusty, leaving drive-trains dry and crusty.

It's nice to look out the window and see life giving moisture streaming down the windows, this cloudy afternoon. The local trails need it bad. It's gonna put one more nail in the coffin for the Joe's Rides for this year, but that's alright. Tonight is an easy evening of rest. Tomorrow, stretch the legs on a lunchtime spin, and then Dirty Spaghetti on Saturday.

I'm excited; little kid at Christmas excited! We have a big crew rolling together, and hopefully I'll see some of those folks who only pop up on my radar at special events; icing on the cake.

Twilight

2010-10-27T09:22:00.003-04:00

"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

Those of you who know me, know that I rage at the end of every summer. I protest, barter, and just plain deny, the need for lights. Even when the fight's over, I'll still be the last to ignite my torch. Maybe there's Riddick in my blood. Maybe I have more in common with my favorite of all birds, the owls. Either way, I see better in twilight, without man made lumens.

Despite all of that, I broke out my light systems, and began my ritual recharge and burn down tests, to be sure my lights would not let me down in the inky blackness of the trails. Despite my love for natural light, I found myself excited about the coming season. By the end, I'll be so sick of keeping lights charged. My neck will be sore from the extra weight on my helmet. But right now, like the first bite of an apple, I'm excited about the first forays into the darkness. The eerie, foggy loops of Munson and Twilight, the spotlight technicality of trails of questionable legality, the subway tunnels of speed runs along Upper Caddilac, all wait to be played out, hopefully to the degree that my memories preserve new snapshots to recharge my own night riding batteries, for the seasons to follow.

The Rules

2010-10-08T07:56:00.003-04:00

I've been quoting a few of The Rules lately, to those in violation of a few of my favorites. Like any good enforcer, I pick and choose my enforcement. After all, I'm in violation of about 10, myself, most notably, #7! For Marcus and Big Mark, I'd like to refer you to #42. To Big Jim Slade, due to his fear of people violating #59, I offer #64 and #5. B.J.S., you may also want to make Ms. B.J.S. aware of #33.

Check them out, and cite violators as needed or wanted.

Gentlemen?

2010-10-06T22:14:00.003-04:00

Good Food, Good Times

2010-10-06T08:29:00.003-04:00

Damn it! This is all Silk's fault. Knowing full well that I have a sweet tooth bigger than my head, he shows me a pic of that tasty grub above. Not that one specifically, that was my breakfast this morning, but a pic of the prototype. I think the original text that came with the prototype was, "750 calories of nom nom nom!" That's tech speak for "damn good"!

Following the food trend, I'm sooo glad that Lil' Ronnie has returned home to his native North Cuba. While in town, he and I set out on a mission to eat all of the cows in Knotts Dairy Farm. After a rousing success, there will now be a shortage of milk and cheese in your local grocery stores, and for that, I apologize. I ate more cheeseburgers and various other beef products in the past weekend, than I did all last month....and every last bite was absolutely delicious! I actually gained about 6 pounds over the weekend, thanks to his beer drinking, beef eating bad influence.

The weather was amazing for Ron's visit, and remains so, even now. I managed to get in on 3 good rides with the crew over the weekend. Fern/Tom Brown/Caddy, Overstreet, Rootbug, and the clay roads of North Florida/South Georgia, all fell beneath our wheels. I had more fun riding this past weekend, than I have in quite awhile. Fall does this to me. I'm bouncing around on my bike like Joe's old dog, Hannah, now that weather is turning more crisp. While the cotton and peanut farmers are hating this dry weather, I'm selfishly enjoying not being rained on every ride, and not having to constantly clean mud wracked drivetrains. The trails are a little dusty, and the dry leaves that are starting to fall keep traction to a minimum. I constantly wonder if my tire and suspension pressures are somehow out of whack, as I slip slide through the turns. But so far, it's just been Mother Nature's way of keeping me on my toes, or on my head when judgment is miscalculated.

Spring and Fall are Tallahassee's crown jewels, so get out and enjoy the time while it's here. If you see a wandering cow, keep it to yourself. I'm shifting gears to chicken and turkey, until milk supplies return to normal.

I Love The Interwebs!

2010-09-29T09:43:00.002-04:00

Just when you think the people who wind up in the news are entertaining enough, the bright young minds of the web world turn it up a notch.

Hope this lightens your hump-day.

New Game for Friday

2010-09-10T09:20:00.007-04:00

My bug doesn't look like a wevil, but it def looks might evil. My bug warns its prey with a rust colored display that says HEY. My bug doesnt sing but man can he sting. My bug prefer not walk hints the name tarantula hawk. The end

1:48am, and this is what I get?! I can't decide if there was alcohol involved, as the time stamp would likely indicate, or simply a sleepless author who was engrossed in an insect.

This is exactly how it came to me, spelling errors, punctuation errors, and all. Is this some sort of damn the man, I ain't gotta pay no tension to your rules writing style? Or just some drunken, fat fingered, textual slurring?

I like the line, "My bug prefer not walk hints the name tarantula hawk." At first glance, I thought our entertainer misspelled hence and left out a comma, but then I realized that his way works, too. True genius, or what my favorite photography instructor called a "happy accident"?

Either way, take your enjoyment where you can find it. Life's short, and if you can find a smile in an aggravating, sleep interrupting text, then so be it.

I hope everyone has a great Friday, leading into an even better weekend.

There's a bike race in town this weekend, out at Tom Brown. Come see the monkeys in their funny clothing. Your's truly will likely don his Apebike team gear and do a few laps.

Tell you what, let me know who you think authored this piece of texting brilliance, and the 1st few to get it right, come find me with the Bikechain boys at the race on Sunday. I'll hook you up with a sausage dog off the grill, and if you're of legal age, I'll throw in a Fat Tire Ale.

Rollercoaster

2010-08-27T07:43:00.003-04:00

Man what a week. White out rain conditions trying to thwart all of our ride plans at every step. I go down like a ton o' bricks at Root Bug, and turn my knee the cutest shade of green(Yep, you missed it again, Silk). Bikechain guys actually showed up at the Joe's Ride! And, I'm hitting a restaurant Grand Opening tonight. Lah Tee Dah! That's a first for me. Like I said, what a week.

I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm tired of this El Rain Yo weather pattern we've been hanging with for awhile. More gullies have been whomped this summer, than I care to remember. The trails are a wet, steamy, mass of drag you down, jungle muck. However, I have been seen venturing out with knobbies again, though I swore them off about a month ago. And I've had fun. Well, right up until I did that gainer over the bars, into a Red Bug root tangle. Oh well, It entertained Stormingnormin, as he had front row seats to the air show. Check the weather pattern for next week. After Monday, it looks like our rain chances drop below 20% for the rest of the week, and the temperature plummets to the low 90's! I'll see ya out there!

Now, on a little heavier note. After Wrecking Ball found yet another way to get out of the Tom Brown race, I've fielded a million questions about WB's health. He keeps apologizing to me, as if having to answer these things stresses me out. Quite the contrary, my friend, quite the contrary. I'm actually glad to be part of this process, almost honored. You see, I expected the boys to to look out for our boy, but I was a little surprised at how many other people came to me. People I didn't even realize knew WB. All night on the Joe's Ride, "How's WB?", "When's he coming back?", "What's his next step?", "Is he alright?". This gives me faith in my fellow man, and I'm thankful to have had the chance to witness it firsthand. There's a whole lot of good people in this community, and I'm proud to be part of it. Big ups to the folks at Subaru, ground zero for Wrecking Ball's vascular brain check. Good looking out! Thanks to all the folks who asked about his health. Our boy is all choked up by the show of support.

Now, let's lighten this a little. It seems that Wrecking Ball's brother has opened another restaurant here in T-town, in the old Club Park Avenue space. The whole clan, of the Clan Wrecking Ball, is here, so I just can't miss an opportunity to see WB in his family element. He's the youngest of about a million siblings, so this should be good. Besides, I get to eat good food, observe WB in the wild, and imagine a day gone by, where Red Cotton Candy Dragon strutted his stuff, with no shirt, his pants pulled down, his thumbs tucked in his bikini brief waistline, while all the lights come on, the music stops, and the pa system calls for security to the dance floor. Good times!

My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys...

2010-07-28T11:29:00.002-04:00

Not really, but I have always had a soft spot for Josey Wales and Barbarosa.

This past week, Little Ball and Ice Berg enjoyed a road trip to West Virginia and Pennsylvania. They rode as much as possible, but not quite as much as they'd have liked. Apparently they joined one of the big road groups, and participated in the destruction of said group. I never got the whole story, but it seems that ride dwindled down to Berg, Ball, and a couple on a tandem. It seems these tandem pilots were national champs. When Little Ball recounts this story, he mentions the captain's name is Gunnar. That set the gears a' turning. I asked if this particular tandem pilot had little round glasses. He hesitantly tells me yes, but you can tell he's wondering how the hell I may have this little piece of info. After a quick Google image search, it's confirmed that the boys were riding with none other than Gunnar Shogren.

Now Gunnar may not be the most obvious icon of early 90's mountain bike racing, but he was in the show. He wrote a column for Dirt Rag called, Wazzupwiddat? While he may not have been a top of the podium, media darling, he was making his living racing bikes, and I always looked forward to reading of his cross country travels in his old van, telling the tales of a fiendracer.

I faded away from Dirt Rag, and big name racing in general, and Gunnar sort of slipped off my radar. A couple of years ago, Silk talked me into joining him in Dahlonega for the Fools Gold 100. Hanging out in the N. GA mountains, I stumble across a blast from the past. It seems that Gunnar has not dried up and blown away, but is still frequenting the bike race scene. He's taken to longer distances, doing the 100 mile races instead of the 2 hour suffer-fests of the past. The dude has to be close to 50, by now. The next day we're watching the race from our bikes, riding parts of the course. Gunnar comes by in the top 5-6 of the 100 mile class, and he's riding a singlespeed!

That may not qualify for hero status on the level of say, NYFD or NYPD, but that's still impressive in my book. I hope I have that kind of spring in my step, when I hit 50.

Out of Control

2010-06-19T11:10:00.003-04:00

I was gonna ease up on borrowing videos, but this just needs to be out there.

The Death of the Easter Bunny

2010-06-08T14:39:00.005-04:00

Imagine my surprise, when I perused the modern day flea market, commonly referred to as eBay, lookin' at the latest FM3's and cheap gold by the inch, when I tripped over this little gem.

And there it is. another let down in the long list of broken dreams and leaky water beds. The Red Cotton Candy Butcher Dragon is selling his latest bike. The bike that was turning the tide; brought him to the next level of P90X, is now on the chopping block in the name of air conditioning. I suppose the fresh breath of a cool breeze, blowing through his.....bald head, was not enough....air conditioning?!

I suppose it's his upbringing. The boy doesn't live anywhere near the Woodville Mall any longer, so he recreates it in his garage, and on his computer. Deep down, I think there is gypsy in that boy's blood!

Oh well, I suppose I'll go cry the cathartic lonely crying that accompanied the unveiling of the tooth fairy, and the death of the Easter Bunny.

For Lil' Ronnie

2010-06-06T09:26:00.003-04:00

To hell with hardcore. This is the soundtrack I hear when I ride my 'cross bike.

cyclocross ride from Jed Zilla on Vimeo.

If that was little too soft, maybe this will toughen things up.

surly and spooky cyclocross bikes on mount elden, flagstaff, az from Rocky Chrysler on Vimeo.

Nightmares

2010-05-29T18:42:00.007-04:00

A few nights back I awoke in a cold sweat. I'd had a nightmare that Juancho had kidnapped Big Jim Slade, Lil' Ronnie, and Cliffy, and forced them to join his boy band. My fears were allayed as I realized it was only a dream, and then I found this...

If I find out that Wrecking Ball is managing those guys, he may be stripped of his BC jersey!

Observations

2010-05-27T23:51:00.005-04:00

Shralping from jake garrett on Vimeo.

Not sure what the hell schralping is, but best I can tell, it has something to do with a leprechaun, dressed as a fairy, chasing a lumber jack. Being that they are on bikes, though, I'm cool with that. Trail looks fun, but probably not passable for an old guy like me. Then again, that's probably why I'm clueless on schralping.

Palm trees! That's what they went with, palm trees?! Awhile back, I walked down memory lane, regarding an old Kmart, turned Albertson's, that was demolished to make way for a new Publix. They uprooted all of the oaks that had stood for years, and are repaving the lot to fit Publix standards. Today I roll up and see great big, giant palm trees. That's what they brought back?! What the hell? Are we to think of Publix as a relaxing island oasis, filled with cat litter, grape soda, and the latest in microwaveable, frozen, gourmet diet food? Or, did one more super brilliant VP of Parking Lots, over at Publix headquarters, decide that since we live in Florida, and since the entire state is a giant beach, and palm trees are the state bird, that clearly, palm trees will make the locals feel more at home? After all, isn't Publix just an extended member of the family?

Enough mockery, I'm moving the furniture around a little. Since WB had a mid-blog crisis, and erased all of the links I used on a 50 times daily basis, I had to add some more links up in here. Then I found that it was kinda nice seeing the titles, so I could tell who was talking, who was sleeping, and who was dead. Unfortunately, that's making things a little visually busy, and I'm not sure it will last. Whoever posted most recently will rise to the top, like sweet cream. The dead guys will sink to the bottom. Let me know what ya think. Or don't.

Failure

2010-05-25T12:07:00.004-04:00

So my girl gets home last night, and looks completely aggravated. I ask what was up, expecting the usual hassles we all see when dealing with people at work. Not tonight, she'd escaped the confines of the office with only minor battle wounds, only to be completely let down by the foolish actions of people at large.

As she drove home along Old Bainbridge Road, just south of Fred George Road, she notices a couple of baseball caps lying in the road. Shortly after that, a small boy pushing his bmx bike against traffic, a bag split open on his back, with its contents overflowing. Now, this is a sketchy piece of canopy road, even for an experienced cyclist! Minimal shoulder, no sidewalk, and no streetlights make for minimal options. She makes a u-turn, picks up his caps, and catches back up to him, and pulls over with her flashers on. She asks if he needs help or a ride.

"Yes ma'am."

"Where are you headed?"

"I have to go to my Auntie's."

"Can you show me how to get there from here?"

"Yes ma'am"

She loads the scared kid, looking like he's about to cry, and his bike, and drives him to his destination; the corner of High Road and Hartsfield Road. This is what, about 2 miles from where she picks him up? She pulls in the driveway indicated by the boy, and sees a woman and a man standing in the yard. They stare her down as she gets out and tells them that she has picked up the nephew on Old Bainbridge, because she was concerned for his safety. They continued to stare, said not a word to the boy or her, and eventually went back to talking with a neighbor.

WHAT IN THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE??!!!

There was what appeared to be a perfectly functional, newer car in the driveway! Why would you send your middle school aged boy out on that route, at 6:30 in the evening, without the skills to navigate such passage. Why would you not at least ask questions when a stranger shows up on your doorstep, to deliver your nephew?

My first thought was to go back to the Auntie's house and slap somebody so hard that maybe the ringing in their ears would wake them from their fog! But the reality is, if I go up there and call them out, it will likely only make things worse for the boy. So what is the perfect answer? I'm still stewing over this. Do you call the law? Child Services? Or do you just leave it be? My heart goes out to this kid. He may be a royal pain in the ass, and have issues I can't fathom, but sending a kid into harm's way like that, definitely, is not the answer.

Envy

2010-05-17T14:03:00.002-04:00

Local trails ala cx from Andy Wardman on Vimeo.

This made me smile. And with that, I'll likely be on the cross bike tomorrow. I may not have skills as polished as this guy, but then again why should I? After all, he has a video. I haven't been on tv since 1990 something, when I told people to bend there back legs. If you were there, you know what I'm talking about. If you weren't you don't need to know.

I'm Still Here

2010-05-12T10:15:00.003-04:00

Been MIA for awhile. So what? Like you've never gone on hiatus or just got distracted by life or some pretty butterfly.

Speaking of butterflies, chatter about the 2010 Bump-n-Grind has popped up on the radar. Imagine my surprise to see that Spanish Mackerel is on the bubble in regards to attendance. No shiite! That boy spends half his life on the bubble. He's like a bubble on the bubble. One of those anomaly bubbles that comes out when your bubble blower is all jacked up or your bubble production fluid has some sort of stagnant flaw in its chemistry. No offense though. The Mackerel has much less self induced stress by remaining a bubble tumor, so be it.

When I'm not wracked by some form of lunger cough, I've found my bike again. Our trip to N. Georgia and North Carolina, via North Tallahassee and North Thomasville, North Macon, etc, was a blast until such time as the hack returned, cutting the trip short. I can't tell you how crappy I felt that my crew elected to return early, 'cause I was sick. I argued to get them to stay. After all, sick in a hotel bed, or sick in my bed, what's the difference? We're 8 hours from home! They need to be riding! Again, so be it. I enjoyed the rides I got, in any case.

After another week and a half off with the croup, I'm riding....again. As usual, the ability to lay heat, is only luke warm at best. Last night's ride had Little Ball heckling me every 30 seconds, about my glacial pace. I rose to the bait, and eventually blew myself sky high, ala The Buthcherous Red Boot Camp Butterfly Dragon. I realize the error in my ways. Next time the youngun gets all arrogant on me, 20 years of experience says he gets gut checked to the poison ivy seats, despite his apparent immunity to the devil weed!

My legs are stiff and spent, thanks to the crew's insistent beat downs on Saturday, and again last night. Regardless, it's good to be back.

(BTW, if you ever do travel with the crew, be wary of Big Jim Slade's sumo prowess. Wrecking Ball says it's a might stingy.)

Borrowed

2010-04-10T15:41:00.003-04:00

Here’s the thing that makes life so interesting,
the theory of evolution claims only the strong shall survive.

Maybe so,
maybe so.

But, the theory of competition says,
just because they are the strong doesn’t mean they can’t get their asses kicked.

That’s right.

See, what every long shot, come from behind, underdog will tell you is this;
the other guy may in fact be the favorite,
the odds may be stacked against you, fair enough.

But, what the odds don’t know is this isn’t a math test.
This is a completely different kind of test.
One where passion has a funny way of trumping logic.

So, before you step up to the starting line,
before the whistle blows and the clock starts ticking,
just remember out here,
the results don’t always add up.

No matter what the stats may say,
and the experts may think,
and the commentators may have predicted,
when the race is on all bets are off.
Don’t be surprised if somebody decides to flip the scrip,
and take a pass on yelling uncle.

And then suddenly,
as the old saying goes,
we got ourselves a game.

Captionator! Take 569,784,689

2010-02-02T15:40:00.002-05:00

Hmmmm....

Finally, I'm Back!

2010-01-23T17:16:00.003-05:00

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

2010-01-21T15:47:00.004-05:00

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!!

2010-01-13T17:43:00.009-05:00

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!!

A Few Images from Recent Rides

2009-12-30T19:53:00.002-05:00

Inspired by Friends

2009-12-16T06:32:00.005-05:00

Last night, I rode Munson for the millionth time this month.

I was on a completely different page than my riding buddies.
The lack of synchronicity was stressful.

The sweat dripping from my helmet was rancid, both in smell and taste.

When I was finally alone in the woods, I noticed the sky was the most beautiful, mottled, black and orange.

I wiped my face, and the woods smelled like Christmas.

Thomaston Race Revisited

2009-11-13T09:23:00.010-05:00

I got an email from the promoters of the Camp Thunderbolt Race, in Thomaston, GA. They sent a link to pictures from this years event, and they simply must be shared!

Apparently yours truly got hungry mid race, and decided to run down a tasty junior!

This must be when the poor fella realized he was on the menu.

We all know Phil's reputation as a playa, so I guess the photographer was kind of cute. Clearly he was swooping in for a little smooch.

I can't decide if he had some luck with the first kiss attempt, and was coming back for a little tongue, or he was just showing his war face to intimidate the poor girl into submission.

Regardless, by the last trip through, it looks like he was just ready to be finished.

I can understand that, because I look pretty done, too!

Even Ricky Silk looked human!

If you guys want to see this race included as part of the GA State Series, send an email to info@goneriding.com, and let 'em know what you think.

Watching the Passage of Time

2009-11-11T10:07:00.005-05:00

It's a gray, foggy day, as the remnants of Ida finish their tour of the Tallahassee area. I get to work, look out my window, and see two large mechanical dinosaurs begin the destruction of another landmark of my history. This landmark is not terribly important in the grand scheme of things, but I have my attachments. They're tearing down the old Kmart building on Thomasville Road.

For those of you much younger than I, it was most recently an Albertson's grocery store, but all my memories are of the big red K. I remember my brothers and I saving our yard raking money to buy Stomper 4x4's and Dukes of Hazard model cars. The General Lee never quite looked like it did on TV, or the box cover for that matter, when I was done with it. When I was old enough to recognize that girls were not yucky, I bought my first cheesecake poster. I remember my brothers being mortified that I'd waste my $4 on a paper thing that hung on the wall, instead of another AA battery operated device of delight. This particular Kmart even had the auto service center. I'd sit outside with my Granddad and eat stale Kmart popcorn, while they installed a new set of tires on the Grand Torino or the El Camino.

My Granddad's house is gone now. It too fell victim to progress. When I would get sick in school, as a kid, my Mom would take me to Wendy's for lunch, and drop me off with my Grandparents, until she finished work. The day they tore down my Granddad's house was tough. I went to Wendy's for my dinner, and sat in his old yard and looked at all the rubble. The smell of 50+ years of his family life, the smell of holidays and family time, permeated the entire lot. I knew the smell would be gone the next day, so I sat in the yard, ate my burger, and enjoyed my memories.

I know the passage of time is irrefutable, and I look forward to the supposed Publix Greenwise that is taking over this real estate. But, it is still tough to watch the demolition of yet another of my childhood icons.

Another Beautiful Disaster

2009-11-01T18:58:00.006-05:00

All road trips begin with a fair amount of distress for me, where I roam laps around the house, looking around for things I may need, not yet stuffed into the proper travel bags. This time it followed a bit of a stressful morning where I coaxed Spanish Mackerel and Wrecking Ball's bikes into compliance, and spending a modicum of time readying my own mount. Bolts tightened, derailleurs adjusted, brakes bled, and an A/C unit serviced, not by me, but by the technician I met down in Crawfordville, things look like they are coming together. I pack two bags, and feel good about the start. My wife and I had a nice Friday evening together before I was to be gone for the weekend. She even got up Saturday morning and hooked me up with a stellar breakfast burrito. My girl is one of the good ones, No doubt. She rattles off a list of items she's heard me forget in the past 20 years, and all were accounted for and packed. One last kiss, and I'm out the door.

We wrapped all of our gear bags in garbage bags, as the weather is being slightly less than cooperative. Rain chances for the Macon area were changing hourly for the two days prior. Last minute I even throw in a clip on rear fender. We head for Thomaston's Camp Thunder, the site of the most grueling XC race I've ever participated in. The rain starts falling about an hour out from the trail, but it's mostly spitting rain, nothing too heavy.

We arrive on site, and the rain has diminished to more of a mist. The road along the river is holding quite a bit of water, but the truth is, all the rain that has fallen on that side of the ridge is heading for the river, so the wet road is to be expected. I lead out the first big climb. Everyone has thoughts of cleaning this beast, but wet roots and switchbacks this steep don't mix well. I blow the 1st, and actually hardest, switchback and settle in for the best I can do, the pressure of perfection having already been lost. The competitive side of me was happy to see nobody else cleaned that 1st one either. The "I'm my brother's keeper" side, was disappointed to see their hopes dashed, too. I let Big Jim and Mackerel go around on a switchback and passed Mackerel back when he flopped over one switchback later. It went like this all the way to the top. We swapped places a few times as we overheated and stopped to peel clothes or fogged glasses. Aside from two dabs, I rode the entire climb. Not bad for a clydesdale and a quarter. After this we bombed the new downhill that was cut in for the last race. This thing is even scarier in the rainy weather. Everything is just that much more slippery, and that hill creates instant speed beyond the trails capabilities. I know, maybe it's my capabilities that should be in question, right? Go ride it. You'll see what I'm talking about.

At the marshy bottom, you begin a wet mattress climb that equals the first in length and difficulty, without the technical features. I'm immediately back in the granny gear, and as I finally shifted into that last big cog in the back, I heard a funny snap noise. I just assumed I'd gotten a twig in my spokes, but a little further up, the trail levels slightly, and I shifted to a bigger gear. No reaction from the drivetrain. I shifted another gear, and still nothing. Oh well. This hurts too bad to stop now, so I continue the climb. It sucks not being able to get bigger gears when I want them, but at least I'm stuck in a functional ratio. On the way up, I had plenty of time to ponder this annoyance. My one worry was a snapped return spring. I hoped for a stick crammed somewhere it shouldn't be. At the top, my fears were confirmed. The return spring had indeed broken, so I had only the big cog and my three front chainrings.

Honestly, I was thankful the problem was not worse. I could have snapped a cable, and been stuck in way too big of a gear. With my limited three speed, I could no longer go all that fast on the flats. Downhill was fine. Just turn the brakes loose, and let gravity and experience do the work. Uphill was doable, as long as I settled in and accepted that my max speed in my climbing gear was about 2 mph.

With only one minor "lost" moment, we finished out the loop with tired looks of satisfaction all around. This trail is tough. Old school tough. But, it's still one of my favorite systems in the southeast. I relish the difficulty of those types of climbs and am rewarded with fast long, difficult descents.

From here, the clock was ticking to find a replacement derailleur before all of the middle GA bike shops closed for the weekend. Apparently, no shops in Macon stock Sram parts. What the hell? These are found on a ton of bikes. Is the economy causing shops to reduce overhead in the form of inventory. This is a dangerous gamble. In this day and age of mail order and internet ordering, anybody can get anything faster and cheaper than a shop can. Without parts on site, you lose the impulse buyer, and the guys like me who are just plain in need. A guy down in Warner Robbins had a derailleur that would work, though not one I really wanted. He was super cool, and agreed to stay late so I could come get it. Within seconds of getting on I-475 south, one of the Macon shops called us back. A shop employee had a used unit, in the model that I really wanted anyway, that he was willing to part with. Another call to thank the Warner Robbins guy for trying to help, but tell him he could go ahead and head home to his family, and we were in mid u-turn.

That night, bike repaired, and a belly full of entirely too much Mexican food, I marveled at the fact that the minor crisis had not dampened my spirits. All I could think about was the trails we would be riding the next day.

Morning came early by default. Despite the Daylight Savings time change, my body is still programmed. I was wide awake at 5:30, now 4:30. I managed to doze off again for another hour, but that was all I could coax. I threw in the towel and headed to breakfast. I walked out to be greeted by blue skies and 46 degree weather. Stoked does not do my mood justice. I love fall weather.

At Dauset, everyone suits up, and I decided to use that fender, since this trail is prone to holding a little more water than Camp Thunder. Sure enough, the trail is slick, but in a fun way. Corners were an adventure, and I settled into seeing how far I could push my luck and pull it off. We stopped to make multiple attempts at sections not cleaned first try, and stopped to allow photo sessions for those so inclined. This vacation style of riding is quite enjoyable, I must say. It reminds me more of our early days of mountain biking, where we would dare each other to try things until our skills progressed to a point where it was just expected that we ride everything. This was refreshing. Sections that were normally a given became quite a bit more of an exercise in patience and control. Too fun!

About 45 minutes into this ride, I got taken out by GA black ice, style mud, all hidden beneath the pretty fall foliage that had fallen in yesterdays weather. In a complete flook of luck, I missed my first attempt at catching myself before I landed on a pile of logs next to the trail. My second attempt, being substantially more desperate, and equally less coordinated, I landed entirely too much weight on the nose of my saddle, and snapped both seat rails right in front of the seat clamp! I looked down in horror, and could not believe my bad luck. Two mechanicals in two days of an out of town trip, and neither of them in any way predictable or preventable. I rigged the seat as best I could, and rolled out to lead the remainder of the ride. It was working fine until I went down again. This round completely broke the plastic frame of the saddle, so now seated riding was like sitting on a padded baseball bat tip. Less than stellar, I assure you.

I lead the boys to a point of reference, where I knew that tougher trail began, and certainly more than I wanted to tackle with a failing bike. I handed over the map, showed them where they were and where they wanted to go, and split from the group. That was bitter sweet. I was bummed to not be riding with the guys, but no longer stressed about keeping up with a broken bike. I still thoroughly enjoyed the remainder of the trail that I did get to ride, en route to the truck. After all, there were still Dunkin Donuts leftovers in that truck!

I took full notice of the fact that I was still extremely happy with the trip. Something is going on in my head these days. It was good to see that my spirit was not to be broken like my derailleur and saddle. Despite the expensive tally of broken bike parts, the more important experience aspects of the trip reigned supreme, and I, for one, am thankful for yet another beautiful disaster.

When the boys arrived, Wrecking Ball looked like he was toast. Apparently the last few miles found a bonk he wasn't so much looking to find. Mackerel looked like his usual playful puppy self. He always looks like he just got into something he shouldn't have. Big Jim was all smiles, mostly I think, about Wrecking Ball's distress. I was bummed to have missed out on that small chapter, but glad I was there to see the final page.

Traveling with friends always leads to more stories and experiences that outweigh the cost of doing business. All the way home, we broke down previously held assumptions about each other, as we required each in turn to play the most embarrassing songs on their ipods through the truck's system. Wow! It's funny what you can learn about someone in their musical selections. I have a sneaking suspicion that playlists may be padded with embarrassing material for the next trip. Even in embarrassing ourselves, we're competitive, or maybe just a little off balance. I'll have to get back with you on that.

The New Bikechain Theme Song

2009-10-16T10:22:00.000-04:00

What are the odds?!

Captionator #3

2009-10-15T17:26:00.002-04:00

Let me kick this off:

Human Wrecking Ball warms up furiously, for the FSCS #4 race, that he's definitely not doing.

Kent and Marcus argue over next year's Bikechain kit.

Big Jim Slade and Neil decide to settle it once and for all with a "Dance Off, Pants Off" special edition.

This Should Change Your Perspective...Well Maybe One of Them, Anyway

2009-10-10T17:28:00.002-04:00

This is complete madness!! I thought Shin's Cadillac Time Trial on a slick tired fixie was ridiculous enough, but damn!

Burning Frustration

2009-09-16T19:05:00.005-04:00

I've been riding for just shy of 20 years, and you'd think I'd be immune to such foolish blunders. I guess not.

The rain and family responsibilities have stymied a lot of my riding lately. Mrs. 'Worm had a ton of homework for tonight, so I decided to go ride, so I wouldn't distract her. I have not ridden since Sunday, so I'm amped. Plans are made, gear is loaded, and all is good, except it started raining cats and dogs at lunch time.

I watched in frustration as my bike got soaked in the back of the truck. Oh well, it's early, and the scattered showers of our area may well clear by evening. Again, all is well. My bike has finally dried. And at 5pm, the bottom drops again. You've got to be kidding me! I check the radar, and it's still clear down south. Plans are revamped to meet at Munson. That place should be stellar with all the rain, and even if it's still raining, it will be fun!

Sure enough, as I get farther south after work, the roads dry out, and the sky looks a little more clear. I show up, check out Little Ball's new ride, joke about the glue smell in my truck from a just replaced windshield, and proceed to get dressed. Oh man, I can't wait to pedal away some aggravation. All set except for air in my tires and my shoes. Houston, we have a problem. Where are my F@#king shoes?! 20 years, and still capable of the stupidest of mistakes! Pack up and drive the 10 miles through rush hour traffic home. It's getting dark quickly, due the overcast skies, and the rain is more concentrated up north, near home. No ride tonight.

So be it, it is what it is, and all that. I'll tell you what it is! It's damned frustrating! That's what it is!

One Day or Series?

2009-09-07T13:47:00.002-04:00

A couple of weeks back, Silk and I had an animated debate over the method in which the Florida State Champion is selected. Ever since, I've felt I'd air this debate over the interwebs, so we could hear a few more viewpoints. Speak up if you have an opinion. There is no wrong answer. This is no Bigworm versus Ricky Silk tug of war. Everybody knows I have the utmost respect for that guy. We just have a difference of opinion, and I wonder how others feel on the subject. Besides, reader participation is always more interesting to me.

So it goes like this; currently, our state champion is selected based on series of races in which points are awarded for your placing at each race. At the end of the series, high score wins. Aside from a few curve balls like dropped races, make up races, and bonus point time trials, it's a pretty straight forward system. The National Champion, and many other state's champions are selected by a one race, winner take all, format.

In a nutshell, Silk is a fan of the one day format, while I argue that the series system is more indicative of a champion. I'll lay out my arguments below, and hopefully, I can get Silk to write his here. I can remember a few of his points, but I don't wish to short change his view on the matter.

Ever since I started racing, I always had more respect for the NORBA National Championship Series, or Grundig World Cup, winners, as opposed to the one day National and World Champions. I always felt that the one day guys were lurkers, biding there time while the series guys worked to balance an entire season, on a myriad of courses, in varying weather elements. One day guys were good that day, and that's the only time they had to be good. I don't mean to imply that it's easy to be THAT good on the prescribed day, but it seems a lot easier than trying to master the whole season. Usually, the one day wonders were in the top 20 of the series races anyway, but still, do you really want a guy who consistently finishes 18th, to be your top of the pyramid guy?

Specifically, the Florida Series was the basis for our debate. My same idealistic theories apply locally. However, it really is tough to stick it out in Florida. We race almost year 'round. If you race on the road, too, you start in February, and the Florida State Championship Series ends in December. It's just not realistic to stay competitively fast that long. So you have to focus on something. If you want to be Florida State Champion, you do the F.S.C. Series.

This series runs September to December. Again, its a long time, and I promise you that the travel will wear on you. But isn't that just part of it? I mean, should we really make it easier to say that you're the State Champ. That sounds a little like lowest common denominator stuff to me; dumbing down the process, so to speak. If they wish to wear the mantle as State Champion, I want to see how they do all over the state, against as many competitors as possible. I'll be impressed if you won the race at XYZ course, against whomever showed up that day, but Championship status? I need to be more impressed than that.

I don't think the series system is fool proof. We've had several series winners, who were not necessarily the fastest guys around(Your's truly can attest to that first hand). The faster guys may have burned out, and been unwilling to complete the series. They may have had injury. Again, I feel this is a good thing. If you wish to be king for a year, show me you can hold up under pressure for 4 months, at least. Mountain bike racing was born, and relied heavily on self sufficiency. You had to be able to take care of yourself in the back country. Racers often rode with spare derailleurs in their packs, just in case. Self sufficiency is going the way of the dinosaur in world and national level races, but is still intact at the local level. Surviving a series is simply a big picture version of surviving a single race. If you want to be the Big Dawg, respect your roots and succeed in the big picture.

Now, I know we have an opinionated following around here, so let's have it. Back me up, or expose the flaws, either way, just participate. Make sure you check in with Silk. At the very least, maybe this will get he and I 3 more viewers this month.

Captionator Round II

2009-08-20T07:30:00.002-04:00

Man! I really wonder who's getting thrown under the bus this time.

Where There's Rain, Beware of Thunder!

2009-07-09T21:49:00.003-04:00

Thor slammed his mighty hammer, Mjolnir, on the hopes and dreams of all those flyweights, who should have won that uphill sprint finish today. Let's hear it for the big men who still keep the tiny mites on their toes, in this sport of the slight.

Rains

2009-07-09T09:57:00.005-04:00

This relentless, summertime rain has dampened my riding exploits. In a way, it's a good thing. We need the rain, and it gave me a little more forced rest. I'm tired from the riding, traveling, and the curve balls that life sends over the corner of the plate. It has been nice to let the rainy days wash away some of the stress.

Now I'm getting antsy, though. I'm gone so much on the weekends, I have not done any of the longer Tallahassee loops in a while. I'd like to get out and ride the vineyard loop on my mountain bike. No record setting pace or anything, I just want to turn the pedals, revisit some old scenery, and sweat. No point in fighting that last one. North Florida humidity is legendary, and we're in the thick of it. May as well embrace it.

Tour viewing has lit my road bike fire, too. I see a Bikechain team time trial around the Food Lion loop in our near future. Maybe we'll make the Joe's ride tonight. It's my favorite weekday ride, and I've missed it too many times due to family issues and rain. Anybody down for rain or shine tonight?

Anybody interested in a big mountain bike ride, or two, this weekend. if we roll early, we should beat the weather.

Captionator

2009-06-26T08:56:00.004-04:00

This pic was sent to me with a joke already attached. Since I hang out with a bunch of wise asses, let's see what you can come up with on your own. Let the captioning begin. Your prize will be a big fat plate of wet grass from the neighbor's freshly mowed yard, so please don't expect anything special if you're the funniest. Just revel in your awe inspiring ability to carry the funny stick. Just be sure it never touches the ground, otherwise you bring bad luck on the entire squad.

Easy Bake Oven

2009-06-22T07:30:00.007-04:00

I said in my last post that the Dauset course suited my strengths, and that I hoped to do well. What I should have said was, "Stay tuned for tales of Bigworm's tour of Dauset's Outdoor Easy Bake Oven!".

Notice the bright shiny exterior with large, easy to read control knobs.

As usual, I was having a blast preriding the course. The familiar lines were there, as a large part of the course was run in my preferred direction. It was a little dry, but certainly not out of control dusty. I drank a ton of water on the way up, and more during my ride, and still more afterwards and into the night. This little heat wave of ours is pervasive, and I didn't want to blow it.

This year's easy bake oven is the easiest to operate, yet.

Come race morning, I lined up and noticed just two other guys on the line with me. One of which I beat at Yargo, earlier this year. The other was my buddy Junkman, who dropped me as I imploded on the 2nd lap at Yargo. I couldn't wait for the rematch. I was completely blasted going into Yargo, so I knew I had a better chance against him this time.

Just combine all of the easy to find ingredients, per your recipes directions, set the timer and temp, and you're all set.

The whistle blew, and I made a quick decision to lead this one out. I usually sit in and stick to my plan, but my excitement at a true shot at the top step, sent me on a New Plan. I wanted to be able to flow the singletrack at my pace, so I grabbed the hole shot, and started to settle in. On the downhills, the gap would open. On the climbs I would try to chill a little, and they would come back. I went too easy at BUMP, so I decided to push a little this time. I wanted to be alone, so I could relax.

Keep an eye on your cooking, to be sure all is going well. Smell that tasty goodness, as your Easy Bake Oven does all the work for you! Peek through the Easy View Window, to see your treats turn a delectable golden brown!

About halfway through the lap, Krystal(A guy in my class is riding for Team Krystal Burger. A clydesdale. Quite apropos, huh.) asks how I'm doing. Now I've spent this whole race so far, trying to figure out how to unload these guys, without blowing sky high. I've been running a little harder than I should, but if I can just break their resolve... Now how broken is this guy asking if I'm alright. I let him by, and he assures me he's not going any harder, just get on his wheel. Yeah, you can imagine my surprise when that didn't work out. I kept telling myself that the last time we raced, he cracked and I caught him, so just keep it steady, and hopefully history will repeat itself.

Please don't allow children to use the Easy Bake Oven unsupervised. Items left in the Easy bake Oven for too long could cause a fire hazard.

Now it's just me and Junkman. He's slowly gaining, as I try to keep my pace under control. No sweat, well, actually a lot of sweat. It was hot out there. At the exit of the Huff-n-Puff section of the trail, the promoter has provided a couple of guys with coolers to pour cold water on your back. That water was welcome, but freezing! Eventually, Junkman passes me on a downhill. This worries me a little. Like I mentioned in the Yargo post, he's got skill, so I don't want to let him get away. I sit on his wheel, and we carried on a conversation, while I secretly plotted my 2nd lap tactics. Did I tell you it was hot out here. Somewhere in the last couple of miles of that lap, Junkman got a small gap. How the hell did that happen?

Seriously folks, we here at Dauset's Easy Bake Oven are deadly serious about keeping children and idiots from using the Easy Bake Oven unsupervised. Otherwise there will be a big ass fire, and all your culinary hopes and dreams will go up in smoke.

As Junkman and I started the last lap, he had about 10 seconds on me, but by the time we got a mile in, I'm pretty sure he had over a minute. The heat became suffocating. About ten minutes later, I took a sip from my bottle, and downed nearly half the bottle easily. Oh oh, that's not a good sign. When you can drink half of a 24 ounce bottle in one gulp, and still feel parched, the damage is done! I began to worry about having enough water to finish the last 6 miles. I just hoped that the water dousers at Huff-n-Puff were still there. My water bottle had been completely dry for 10 minutes by the time I reached the piece of trail where they had been earlier. Nobody was in sight, though. I was stoked to see the cooler was still there! I opened the 1st, and there was 3 bags of ice and a little water in the bottom. I hoisted the cooler to the table and let the trickle fill my bottle. I went to another cooler, and there was about 2 inches of ice and water in the bottom. I grabbed a cup off the ground, cleaned it on my jersey, and scooped and drank until the freezing temps were cramping my throat and stomach. Oh well, my race is over, but I am riding Dauset. I've got a full bottle so let's just finish this out. All power was gone. I rode slowly, but I rode. The heat was just out of control. My internal temps were through the roof. At least the fresh water had gotten rid of the chill bumps that had covered most of my body earlier.

We warned you there would be a fire. All warranty claims must be filed in triplicate with our service department and attorney's office. Expect a reply within 1-2 years.

I blew it. Derwood and Big Jim Slade were about a 1/4 mile from the finish on the trail, walking back to look for me. I was glad to see them, and trust me, they had jokes! I lost nearly 20 minutes on that 2nd lap, all because I had to push too hard. In that heat, I should have backed it down a notch, not pushed it up a notch. The carrot of the W was just too much for my weak ass willpower. So be it. I'm 39 and still learning my lessons.

I was sad to hear that Mingo didn't enjoy the trail. I have not taken anyone there yet, that didn't like it. I guess it just didn't fit his style. Or, maybe he just had a rough day. Son of Mingo did his 1st Big Guy race. He's 10 with a racing age of 11, so he did the 11-14 juniors race. That meant a full lap of the 9 mile course. No kiddie loop this time. I talked to him before the race, and he was nervous. I asked what worried him the most, and he just shrugged. I know what he means. I've done a million of these, and I still get so anxious before the start. Once the whistle sounds, it all blows away, and you get to work. But the anticipation, that's the killer. He finished the race, and he says he was glad to not be last. I heard his Mom was a nervous wreck, as Mom's tend to be when their offspring jump to the next level. He said he didn't want to ever do that again, and he may stick by that claim. Either way, it was a big accomplishment, and I hope he hangs on to that, more than the hurt and fear.

What a trip. We had a great time hanging with all the family members who made the journey this time. Usually it's just the guys who are racing. This trip we had Mingo's entire family, Derwood's family, my Better Half, and my little brother. Everyone seemed to be smiling alot, so I guess I wasn't the only one enjoying the vibe. I even saw a big grin on Big Jim Slade's mug. Honey, Greatness is Home!

Light and Dark

2009-06-18T08:00:00.006-04:00

After Bump-n-Grind, I kind of floated on a wave of disappointment, more like post partem depression.

There was so much hype and build up, as we got ready for this race. Marcus was trying to make a serious shot at his move up to expert. The first couple of races produced doubt in his mind. Truth be told, he did really well, it's just tough when you've been competitive in Sport for so long. Unfortunately, the fickle hand of fate dealt him an evil series of blows that culminated with him backing out of the trip the night before we left. It had to be frustrating to put in all those months of work, and not even get to participate in the race the whole season was planned around.

The trip was still fun. The ride up had everyone in tears, as did the trip home, but maybe for slightly different reasons. We had a huge crew riding together again, on Saturday. The trail was in great shape, but I do think the downhill after Blood Rock is getting rougher every year. I'm riding a 5" travel bike, and I swear it beats me up, now, more than when I rode hardtails here, years ago. Maybe I'm just going faster, and the smoother ride is negated. Maybe it's just getting rockier.

My preride went well. I felt great, and for the 1st time ever, I didn't go too hard on Saturday. The race rolled around, and all was good. I started in the middle of the group. I was in sight of the leaders, but rolling more my own pace. I kept a close eye on my heart rate numbers, so I didn't let the adrenaline kick me into overdrive too soon. That's really become a big deal as I've gotten older. About 4 miles in, I had the dreadful feeling that my rear tire was low. A second or two later, I felt the rim bottom out on a rock, and my worst fears were confirmed. I stopped at the beginning of the road to the climb, pulled my wheel, pulled out my flat gear, and made a snap decision to give it a shot of co2 and roll. I was down to about 20psi, but it had been that way for 10 minutes. Maybe the Stan's sealant would seal the problem, and I wouldn't need a full fledged tube install.

The increased tire pressure felt great. It felt like I was flying again. The climb gave me less trouble that it ever has. Ice Berg passed me right before the top, and JC caught me just as we crested. I went straight to the big ring, to carry some steam over the next few rollers. In past years, I wasn't even close to rolling the big gear, I would be so blown from going way too hard by now. JC and I caught Berg on top of the 1st roller. I asked if he was alright, and he almost puked a gel all over me. Apparently he REALLY doesn't like that flavor. We started to roll out, and I felt the rim bottom again. DAMN, this is so frustrating. I stopped and gassed it again, and struck out on a wing and a prayer. She held pretty well until about the last 3 miles. By then, I was really protecting the back wheel. I couldn't corner very hard, or the tire would try to roll off the rim. Don caught me in the last few miles, and I tried to ride with him, but the bike just wouldn't cooperate. My finish time was less than stellar.

I'm happy about the fact that I stuck to my plan for maintaining a reasonable effort at the beginning. I felt great on the climb, for the 1st time ever. I rode the majority of the singletrack after the descent off of Blood Rock in the big ring. In the past, I'd hit those rollers and wind up in the granny gear, fighting off cramps. None of that this year. Despite these positives, I feel like it was a missed opportunity. Looking at my numbers later, I realized my average HR was 155. It should have been closer to 161-163. I think that going slow, trying to protect my back wheel, for so much of the course, kept me from achieving my potential. I feel let down. Like I let myself down? Not sure. Like fate was dicking with me. Maybe. Either way, it was very anticlimactic.

After returning home, I just didn't really want to talk about it, and I have not had much else to say, so it's been nothing but crickets around here. I decided to skip the Farmington, GA race, so I could get a little done around the house. Dauset is this weekend. I know, it's Father's Day, but the Ol' Man's got other responsibilities on Sunday, so we're taking him to breakfast Saturday, and leaving for the race around lunch time. My little brother has been wanting to go see one of these races, so he's coming up this weekend, as is Mrs. Worm. I'm really looking forward to it. I like it when my wife comes to the races. A few of the other guys are bringing spouses, so they'll have each other to talk to, while we race. I love this course, the climbs are tough, but nothing as sustained as Birmingham or Thomaston. Plenty of fast flowing singletrack, with just enough rock thrown in to keep you on your toes. It's honestly the course that most caters to my strengths, of the entire GA series. Hopefully there is still enough juice in the tank, left over from that infernal Plan that trained me to perfectly protect a flat tire while maintaining a low HR.

Around home, things are always the same, but a few things are bubbling up here and there. I rode with Juancho and Cupcake at Munson. That was a blast. It really is nice to see some other faces, and mix up the your riding crew vocabulary. I'm a little worried abut my buddy, Wrecking Ball. He really does seem to be having a hard time with his physicalities. He rides with us, and rides way stronger than he has any right to. Yet, he feels like he's crawling. I don't know how much pain he has after the ride, but if his depression is based on his performance during the ride, he's got nothing to be worried about. But when you get home, the endorphins wear off, and things start to ache. If that's the problem, that's a little tougher. Regardless, I think the crew just needs to try to hang out without the bikes a little. That would help the injured avoid some of the left out feeling. We've all been on the injured/reserve list, and it does get a little lonely, when the only time you see your friends, is on the bike. Hell, during Marcus' longest bout with the broken body, he was driven to take up RC cars, and we just can't let that sort of thing happen again.

First, Last, and Everything

2009-05-19T14:56:00.003-04:00

This past weekend, Big Jim Slade, Derwood, Silk, and I made the journey to Thomaston for the Thunderbolt Classic. Even Little Bro' Phil made the trip down from the ATL.

This was a trip back in time. Thomaston had long been my favorite mountain bike race in the Southeast. She offers up heavy duty old school mountain biking. Raw, as Silk put it. The trails are a far cry from the IMBA handbook. There were fall line trails, both up and down, and trails that followed the topo lines, but were never bench cut, so you are constantly off camber. Add in plenty of rocks and you're good to go.

The promoters decided we needed a little extra this year, so they added in new trail, to connect two more hard climbs per lap. The website claims 2100 feet of altitude gain per lap. Now, I'm from FL, so I have a very minimal grasp of what it means to climb "X" number of feet. For us, we go uphill and we go downhill, but there is never enough of either to bother calling out numeric values. I know that at 8,000 feet, I get a headache on the 2nd day. I know that at 10,000 feet, if I stand up to fast, I'll sit back down even faster, whether I want to or not. But knowing I was going to climb 2100 feet per lap, it just didn't register what I was in for. I've raced Camp Thunder many times and the last couple were two lap races, so I went in confident. Nevermind that it has been 10+ years since they last raced there.

We arrive on Saturday and looking around, the rider count is sparce. The promoters broke tradition and ran the beginners and juniors on Saturday. i only saw about 15 or so people line up for the beginner starts. This is not a good sign. We register, grab our campsite, and head out for the preride. The course is marked for the beginners, so we get some sketchy directions from an official, and head out to see how the course looks. This trail follows the Flint River for about a half mile, and then turns to singletrack. Immediately she goes up. It's nothing but switchbacks for the next mile. This climb always takes me about 15 minutes. It's just me, the granny gear, and my inner demons. The fast guys check out, and Jim, Phil and I are at the top together. We try to find the sport/expert course based on verbal instructions, but somehow we blow it. We just finished the 2nd long climb, when Darien and Silk catch up to us and inform us that we missed a long sketchy downhill, with and equally long climb back out. This does not bode well. Oh, well, I'm not going back to see what I missed. I can't keep my heartrate down on these climbs anyway, and I don't want to blow myself apart on a preride. I'll deal with it race day. We finish the preride in about 1 1/2 hours. This race is promising to be much longer that typical XC races.

That night, at dinner, my legs feel toasted. I decide that the race will consist of survival for me. I'm way more concerned about finishing than I am about going fast. I have not felt that in a while. We stay up exchanging old stories around the campsite. The first race we ever took Phil to, as a 14 year old junior, was Thunderbolt. I remember his Mom giving me a mimeographed list of things to watch for, and what to do in case his diabetes gave him trouble. I almost had a heart attack worrying about him. At that race, I forgot my shoes, so I did the preride in Doc Martens on my clipless pedals(A friend brought my shoes up that night.). Even without my shoes, I was waiting for Phil at the tops of all the climbs. It's just not like that anymore. So racing at this venue, with Phil back on a mountain bike, brought back a lot of memories. Even though it was a little warmer than ideal, we had blast hanging out, and catching up.

Race day rolled around, and thankfully, a few more people showed up. It was still a small turnout. Probably around 20 experts and 20-25 sport riders showed up, total. The starts were rolled together, with all the experts starting at 9:30ish, and all of us sport folk starting at 10. I settled in towards the back, determined not to blow on the 1st climb. As soon as we hit the climb, I see Big Jim, two riders up from me, crash in the 1st switchback. Poor bastard. I start telling him to calm down, get on his bike, and take his time getting rolling. I want him in front of me, so I don't hold him up, and I'm trying top make him understand that there is a large gap behind me, so he has plenty of time. He gets going, and promptly drops me. Good enough. Only, two switchbacks later, he's off his bike, standing there as I climb by. I'm not sure what's going on with him, but I'm already hurting too much to worry about it right now. About 2/3's of the climb is done, but my HR is through the roof and climbing. I finally bail off my bike so that I can get it under control. Climbs this long don't forgive oversized efforts, and I can't afford to blow on the 1st climb, when there are three more just as hard on this lap, and a 2nd lap is still in the cards!

After I get going again, I start a game with myself. I decide I have to clean every climb on the course at least once. I guess it worked, because I suffered up all the remaining climbs that lap, but I made them. Regardless, my 1st lap took 1:31, so I was starting to worry about finishing. My arms were shot, Everytime we hit a big downhill, they were so rough that my triceps and calves quaked. I honestly wondered if I would have to DNF because of upper body failure. That would be a first. Here's the catch. I was the only clydesdale in the race. How can I drop out, when I'm the only guy there?! I could just here the questions when I got back home.

How was your race? Did you win?

No.

Who did?

Nobody, I was the only guy there and I quit.

I just couldn't go out like that. So I start my 2nd/last lap and want to clean that 1st climb, since I blew it on the 1st lap. I groove the 1st switchback, and my hamstring promptly starts to cramp. Dammit!!!! I jump off my bike and walk it off before it gets bad. Again, this is the first of many climbs, and I can't afford to come apart completely. Disappointed that I won't clean this one, I remount and ride the next 1/2 mile of switchbacks, I get happy with the idea that I'll make the remainder, and that lack of focus was all it took. I hit a rock, my front wheel wandered over into tree, and I was off and walking again.

The rest of the race was pure, unadulterated torture. My entire body was wasted. My back hurt, my legs hurt, my glutes hurt, my arms hurt, my neck hurt. All I wanted to do was get this beast done. I rode along a small creek, and pondered lying in it to feel the cool water wash away my insanity. Fortunately for me, she was a little too shallow, or I would have tried. I promised myself that as soon as I finished, I'd go lay in the river. Every time the hurt got too heavy, I'd imagine that cold water washing away all the grime and sweat.

I rode as much of everything as I could. My granny gear and I got intimate. I measure progress in inches and feet. I dreaded the downhills for fear my triceps or calves would cramp. I stressed my hamstrings cramping at the base of every climb. Eventually it all started to run together. Just hurt a little longer, and it will end. The river's waiting.

On one of the longer new climbs that were added for this race, Phil finally caught up to me. He was on his third lap, and was tired. I can't tell you how stoked I was to see him still out there, and I told him so. He said he thought long and hard about quitting, but knew that if I was still out there, he might get a beating back at the campsite. How true, how true! We talked for a few more moments, and he rode off after another tired expert just in front of us. I saw him riding the downhill with his buddy, as I finished the climb. If only I'd been a little stronger, so he'd caught me nearer the top, I could've ridden that piece of trail with them. That would've been good.

At the top of the last climb, a feeling crept over me. The end was near. I'd wanted to stay under 2:45 for the race, but that had already passed, but I finally knew it was all good, though. I flew the last downhill at mach 6, and headed straight through the start/finish, to the river. Cold redemption awaited.

I was so demoralized during that race, that I was going to sell all my bikes. Then I was keeping them, but only racing flat courses like Fernandina Beach or Jacksonville. Maybe I should just get panniers and flags, and start doing centuries, I thought. Whatever! Not a chance! I may suck at these big climbing races, but I felt like I accomplished something. This course had one climb similar to the main climb at Bump & Grind. Then it had three more that were harder...every lap. B&G has always been tough for me, because of the climb. This year, I'm not so much worried. I'd much rather do two laps of B&G over two laps at this beast, so my one lap race won't seem near as hard as years past. Thomaston tore me down, mentally and physically, but we come through the other side stronger than ever. At least mentally, I feel ready for Bump & Grind, this year. In fact, I can hardly wait. I just hope the body backs me up.

By the way, Silk managed another 2nd behind controversial Andy J.. Darien finished 2nd in singlespeed. How he did two laps on a rigid bike with no gears, I don't understand. Big Jim is working through some demons, but I'm sure that as soon as he hashes it all out, he'll see he's going to be fine. Phil suffered the same fate as me. Being the only guys in our classes, we were first, last, and everything.

Documentation

2009-05-12T07:22:00.018-04:00

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so here's a 15,024 word post about this weekend in review. Top that Wrecking Ball!

Visitation

2009-05-06T12:58:00.004-04:00

The myth that is Lil Ronnie, will be gracing us with his presence this weekend. First up, watch him get pissed at the Joe's ride. Next, watch him get pissed at us for watching him get pissed.

Friday we should be headed for a big group dinner, at which point he'll likely get pissed. I'll of course egg it on, and he'll get pissed some more.

Saturday he'll bitch about how we made him pissed, and that will make more pissed. Saturday night Allan will draw on Lil' Ronnie, and the ouchy needle will make him pissed.

Sunday, he'll be pissed because he has to go home to North Cuba.

I for one, am amped to see the giant grouch. With any real luck, you'll catch a giant grin on his face as he aggravates the ever livin' hell out of one of his good friends.

I'll keep the ride schedules posted, so join the fun if you can.

Cracked

2009-04-27T18:57:00.003-04:00

I think I may be the butt of an evil joke, played by one super fast expert type who goes by the name of Silk. I'm not completely sure of this, because I'm too tired to think straight. Right now it kind of feels like the 2nd day back from the RAAM ordeal. It took me a week to feel normal after that sleep deprived journey, so this week is devoted to recovery. At least that's what Silk's evil plan calls for....or does it? Could this be another part of his insidious plot?

A few of us have decided to pursue the GA State Championship Series this year. The first race in East Macon Park was a real eye opener. The course had a lot more climbing than anyone really knew. I blew up hard! The last lap was about finishing, nothing more. After that, I quit skipping the interval workouts prescribed by Silk's plan. I decided to stay a little closer to The Plan, so as to maybe bring my game up a notch or two, before the next round. That's all well and good, but the next round came along during the hardest month of riding, according to The Plan. The Plan even said, "Do a C priority race, but don't expect to feel too sparky. You should be tired." Boy was that an understatement! I went all out at Columbus GA, for round 2. All out apparently meant I putted around the course on a Hoveround, like you see on those late night commercials. I looked at the trusty Garmin numbers later and discover that, yes, I was tired.

Stress will fool with your body as well as your your mind. I had a few things broiling in the stress oven the week prior, so hard riding, and hard thinking, with little rest equals, slow as all hell at the race. No problem, I'm not racing at round 3, the very next weekend. I am however, still going to Twilight. That race is so much fun to spectate. I already have my hotel booked and paid, it's nonrefundable, and my wife loves going to this event. Vacation week is in place. Relaxation, here I come!

It can't hurt to go ride the mountain bike course on Saturday, can it? I mean, I'm already up here, and Big Jim Slade and Marcus will be there. I'll just check out the course, and then we'll get on over to Athens to hang out for the evening. Ft. Yargo is a beautiful park, and the course is stellar. Lots of climbing, which doesn't really suit my style, but the super fast flowing singletrack that rewards those climbs, that more than suits my abilities.

By the time I finish the lap, it's after 2 or 3 pm, and I have not eaten real food since 9 that morning. Now, if I was racing, that would freak me out. Poor nutrition the day before a race is just dumb. But I'm just on vacation, so I'm not really freaked out. If you don't believe me, just ask my wife, who really loves it when I'm hungry.

We jet for Athens, check in to the hotel, get a shower, and head for downtown. The place is getting busy, and I'm super stoked to be at the races. I love watching these pro road crits. I've seen it so many times, and it still amazes me how hard they go. We head for a restaurant just off the course, and I try to control my twitching, as I'm afraid the race will start before I finish, or worse, even receive, my food. The timing all worked out in the end. I was out the door while Michelle covered our check, just in time to see the pro women's start.

I've got friends in this race, and I really want to see them do well. At the very least, I want to shout encouragement. It really does help to hear people screaming your name when you're in the hurt locker; like maybe your efforts were noticed and appreciated. When you're hurting so bad that it feels like you're breathing pure alcohol bred, blue fire. When every fiber of your body screams, "For the love of God, Please take that chainsaw out of my gut!". Having someone on the sideline yelling at you to ignore the very sound logic that your body is laying out in an effort to convince you otherwise, and just "GO, GO, GO!!!", somehow lets you know that the beating you hope to be bringing to your competitors, and most certainly are bringing to yourself, makes sense.

I was on my feet until the men's pro 1/2 race ended; around 11:30. Again, that would worry me if I was racing. Standing up all night, and not resting or sleeping, or drinking enough. That would be really foolish the night before a race. Luckily, I'm on vacation.

I crash back at the hotel and sleep the sleep of the dead. All the hard rides have really caught up with me. The back to back heavy duty workouts, the aggravations of life, and the long day on the road finally caught up to me. I'm wide awake at 7:30am. Maybe we should head over and check out the start of the mountain bike race. Marcus would appreciate the support. We load all the gear, hit Panera for breakfast, and return to Ft. Yargo.

It's a beautiful morning, the weather is great, and the park is overflowing with anxious mountain bikers. I watch Marcus settle into a modest start at the back. He still has a hard time realizing that he belongs in this class, and has every right to start closer to the front, rather than sitting in the back, only to wind up passing over half of the field. Once he was in the woods, I nonchalantly wandered over to the registration table and signed on the dotted line.

Now wasn't that stupid?! Oh well, The Plan calls for two hours at race pace today. What better way to get that workout than actually racing? I suit up, warm up, and line up. When the whistle blows, I settle in to one of those modest starts, too. I pass one guy, Junkman, before the singletrack. Once in the woods, the guy in front of me waves me around. The front three guys are lined up and leaving my time zone. No sweat, just settle in and ride my race. Junkman goes around, and actually starts giving me lessons in singletrack skill. I don't want to sound conceited, but I've been doing this a long time. I'm not used to guys just schooling me in the woods. I can go his pace if I'm on his wheel when the downhill starts, but otherwise, he gaps me. Luckily, he's slowing down on the climbs, and I'm actually bringing him back. Yes, clearly today is opposite day. As I reel Junkman in, I notice that one of the trio train up front has come unhitched, and we're catching him. We pass third place up, and send him out the back. Now I just have to hang on to Junkman, and try to unload him on the climbs during the 2nd lap. The thought of getting third has me pretty amped, and I'm riding hard to keep the dream alive. In reality, the thought of getting third was just an evil myth, more than likely propagated by The Man(Silk), designed to keep a brotha down!

I just kept telling myself that even though I was dying a thousand deaths, Junkman was dying a thousand and one. I just had to stay the course, and not let up. Never mind the fact that he was out of sight. He would be just around the next corner, begging for mercy. The only thing begging for mercy was my poor, depleted body. The adrenaline kept me up for a while, but in the end, it was all empty promises. I fell apart in epic proportions. The cramps found me around mile 15. I screamed to myself in the woods, as I tried to pedal through the twitching, malconforming, muscle mutiny. My common cramp is an inner thigh cramp, where the muscle tries to relocate my testicle down by my knee. Getting off the bike only makes it worse, so the only answer is to keep the cranks rolling over. It's truly ironic that the repetitive action that brought me to this painful state is also the only action that will pull apart the Celtic knot of muscle tissue.

I spent the remainder of the lap hoping that I wouldn't be caught by those behind me. I missed my downshift on a couple of the steep hills that sneak up on you after fast downhill sections. Twice I jumped out of the saddle to force the too big gear, only to have my legs fail me completely. Twice I wound up in a walk of shame up a short steep section. Oh how the mighty have fallen.

I sucked up what pride was left, and pushed as hard as I could through the last few fast sections to the finish line. No one else caught me, and I ended up with a fourth. Right after the finish line, I was getting a little dizzy, so I sat down and tried to catch my breath. Slowly, the sharper pains began to subside. I drank two more bottles of water and ate a granola bar while Big Jim Slade laughed at my predicament, all the while snapping away with his camera. I guess he wanted to remember that joke later. To add insult to injury, or injury to injury, when I stood up again, my inner thigh cramp returned with a vengeance. This time I was already off the bike, and couldn't find any way to make it release. I just winced and held myself up by bracing on a picnic table, until I'm pretty sure the muscle was just too tired to stay cramped any more.

I found a strange sense of pride in doing this race, when I could have just as easily headed for Dauset for a relaxing ride around one of my favorite trail systems, with my favorite Lady. I feel like I stayed the course, despite the all but guaranteed defeat due to bone weary fatigue. My wife said she was proud of me, which of course flatters the caveman in me.

Now I just want to rest. I may not ride at all this week. I'm gonna spend a little time pondering punch lines. If anyone sees Silk, tell him Bigworm's looking for him.

Lordy, Lordy, Not Quite 40

2009-04-14T18:04:00.002-04:00

That's right! Your's Truly had a birthday today, and I'm about as close to the Four Oh as you can get, without actually being there.

Strange, but I've noticed that I pay attention to age a little more than I did in the past. I'm not real sure where that's coming from. I have always been a strong believer in age as a state of mind. Perhaps that is a thought for the youthful; when age truly isn't a concern, unless you're wishing you were old enough to buy a beer.

I was never in any hurry to grow up, and if you ask my wife, she'll tell you I'm still on that path.

Oh well, another year to be me.... as long as old age let's me.

Where Did All the Green Stuff Go?

2009-04-03T09:18:00.004-04:00

After this past week's deluges, I'm getting a little stir crazy. I forced the issue and rode Tuesday night, and for the 2nd time in 48 hours, I trashed my new ride. We got caught in a nightmare thunderstorm in the last 1/2 hour of the ride. By we, I mean myself, Longshanks and Bikechain. Ice Berg and Little Ball were all cozy in their car while I raced Noah back to the ark! I actually had to slow down my life or death time trial because I was hitting so much stuff that I couldn't see, because it was under water, that I was worried I was gonna flat, and have to spend even more time in the monsoon. There were limbs the size of Micro and Wrecking Ball falling out of the pine trees along the trail, and I was just waiting for Mother Nature to get off that one lucky shot...

All's well that ends well. Longshanks was even waiting at my truck with a spare towel! Good friends are a good thing.

Looking at the map above, I think a few of us will run quickly into the woods this evening, for a lap or two of the Munson/Twilight area, before the sky starts falling again. Any takers?

Shoulda Been Here Yesterday!

2009-03-31T07:34:00.009-04:00

The old surf adage about getting burned on a surf trip, and then some local always points out, "You shoulda been here yesterday!", seems to have been a theme for the cycling part of our weekend trip. In reality, "yesterday" wouldn't have been any better. Four or five days ago, maybe, but not yesterday.

The rain that tore through the Eastern US reeked its havoc in North Georgia. We knew that Saturday's ride plans were a bust, before we left. 100% chance of rain left little doubt. But we hoped for a ride on Sunday, albeit a muddy one. We awoke early Sunday morning, ate a hotel breakfast, and drove the 40 minutes south from Dahlonega to Gainesville, to ride Chicopee. It took us long enough to get there, driving winding mountain roads, that I was already doing the math to see how much time we had to ride, and still get back in time for the wedding. When we rounded the corner to the parking lot, that problem was no longer an issue. A big red Closed! sign hung from the gate. There was a small crew of people in the lot so we swung in to find a work party heading out to clean up after the weeks storms. Now, I'd like to say we jumped out and played the Ambassadors of Tallahassee mountain biking, offering to drag limbs and shovel dirt as needed. But that wouldn't be true. Instead, like good travelers seeking a ride, we asked if anything would be open in the area. Not very noble, I know, but truthful. Anyway, one of the guys suggested driving further south, to Ft. Yargo. Since that was the plan for tomorrow, and the extra driving time just wouldn't allow us to get back in time for the wedding today, we returned slightly defeated, to Dahlonega.

On the way back, I just wasn't too keen on sitting in the hotel room, waiting to play dress up for the wedding. So we decided to drive up to Camp Wahsega, where Fool's Gold 50/100 is held in August. It gave me a chance to show Mrs. Worm around the mountain where Silk threw down last year(while Mingo, Micro and myself grabbed another hour and a half of shuteye). We drove about half of the 10 mile climb that starts that race. It's hard to convey, in words, a hill that goes up that long, this far south. She finally understood what I had been yammering about. We had a blast driving the mountain roads, even though knobbys had not yet touched dirt.

On the way back to the hotel, we swung through the Celtic Festival going on in downtown Dahlonega, and grabbed meat pies, bridies, and sausage rolls for lunch. Some Scottish shortbread for dessert, and we were in business!

Monday rolled around, and I was more than amped to be riding. We did another hotel breakfast, and were gone by 8am. We drove the same mountain roads as the day before, back through Gainesville, on our way to Winder, where we would ride the Ft Yargo trails. A couple of years ago, I went and watched Marcus look like he was drowning at an Xterra event here. While that partially cured his tri-geek phase, he raved about the trails, so I was looking forward to seeing what he saw. Besides, we're racing there in April, and I can see if maybe my new ride is a better choice for this trail, over the Titus. We pull in the lot, ready to work out the weekend kinks and, Closed! I'm getting a little tired of being mocked by this six letter word.

By now my frustration was boiling to the surface, and my demeanor was less than pleasant. My poor wife, I'm sure, was questioning her sanity for committing a lifetime to me. I was tired of long detours in search of trail, only to get skunked time and time again. We made a beeline for the Interstate, and headed south. Somewhere on I-675 I calmed downed, and decided to make one last ditch effort to ride. We jumped off I-75 and headed for Dauset. Finally luck was with us, and the gate was open. We peered tentatively at the kiosk, expecting another buzz kill, but all was good. The trails were definitely more muddy that I would've liked, but nowhere near as bad as the last time I came up with the crew. So we managed to get in and hour and a half of woods time, that salvaged the mountain bike portion of our trip.

Afterwards we hit JL's for BBQ, and then stopped at Stripling's for a late afternoon snack. It seemed that all was finally well with the world again.

Oh yeah, we did do the whole wedding thing on Sunday. Yours truly managed to forget his nice shirt, so a last minute trip was made to some hiking store in downtown Dahlonega, to find that the only long sleeve shirts they had were Patagonia. Ouch! It's a nice shirt, but damn! I hope I wear it more often, maybe next winter. Or, maybe it will find its way on eBay, to recoup some of the expense. On the way to the cheesy castle used for the wedding site, we passed a Wally World. Now I hate shopping at the big W, but I probably would have gotten a more usable shirt, for about a third of the price. Oh well, I'll chalk it up to supporting the N. GA economy. I'll call it, "Bigworm's Economic Stimulus Due to Poor Planning Plan".

Being in the mountains was great, and Mrs. Worm commented on moving there more than once. But as usual, it's still good to be home.

New Chicken for Big Jim

2009-03-27T08:41:00.005-04:00

This rain is much needed, but it's interfering with my fun! I guess I need to regroup, and learn to roll with the punches again. The reality is, the rain is only causing minor problems in my riding schedule, but when you get obsessed about every ride, as if it's the most important thing of the day, you lose perspective.

Now right about now, Markus is thinking I'm talking myself out of my focus on upcoming races, and the necessary riding it takes to do well. That couldn't be further from the truth. Racing bikes and riding bikes are both great fun for me, but it's a delicate tightrope walk, to keep the fun and the work in check. Silk possesses a single minded focus for training that, in and of itself, is impressive. But he never rides with anyone, unless it fits his training plan of the day. I'm too social for all that. Markus is giving it his big shot at the Expert Class this year, and with a certain event looming in his future, this is his best chance to shoot for the stars.

I don't have any driving force, other than my typical competitive streak. My wife was making fun of me last night, when a commercial for Rascals came on the TV. You know what I'm talking about, those little electric grocery getter carts for the elderly. I told her I'd be all for it, as long as my friends had them too. We'd pick who had the biggest house, set up a course, and have someone yell, GO! She commented on the big smile on the Old Man cruising around his house, and I assured her it was because he had the jump on his buddy, coming out of the dining room corner.

Anyway, I'm competitive and hate taking beatings like I did last weekend in Macon. Good God, that course hurt! But, I'm not going to add stress to my life... scratch that. I'm going to TRY not to add stress to my life, just to focus on feeling good at half a dozen races this year. I'll definitely ramp up the efforts, and put a little more hurt in the rides, but I can't afford mentally, to freak out every time the rain, or life, causes me to miss an interval day. Strangely, I look forward to the hurt and the efforts, but I have to control the obsession.

This weekend, I'm flying wingman for my wife. She feels obligated to go to the wedding of a long time male friend. However, as could be expected, his fiance is super jealous of their friendship. She doesn't know my Ol' Lady, and just makes things uncomfortable whenever, Mrs.Worm is around. So, I told her I'd go up as a support structure, so she didn't wind up isolated and miserable.

The upside to all of this is that the wedding is in Dahlonega, GA., mountain bike paradise! The wedding is Sunday afternoon, so we'll be taking a three day weekend. Unfortunately, the weather has reared its ugly head, and storms are scheduled through Saturday night. Lovely travel weather, huh? I've decided to ditch the I-75 torture fest, and take us up 19, all the way to Atlanta. Should be slower, but way less accident prone. I know we'll be stopping by Striplings, because, "You never sausage a place!" Anything else we need to see on our journey? If you know of anything just off the beaten path, let me know. Because with a whole day of rain, we'll be simply focused on getting to Dahlonega, as stress free as possible, and should have plenty of time for sightseeing.

If all goes well, we'll be riding at Chickopee and Ft. Yargo this weekend. Hopefully the deluge stops in time for the trails to dry a little. Bull Mountain is the ultimate trail system to ride in Dahlonega, but that beast tends to be an eye opener. I don't need it opening my Ol' Lady's eyes wide enough that she realizes who she's committed her life to, so we'll keep to easier trails.

I thought about leaving tonight, but then got a text about a possible group dinner. Now that sounds like fun, so I'll probably focus on packing the 4 Runner tonight, and hang out with the crew instead. We can always leave bright and early, and besides, it would save a little dough. Not to mention that chilling around the dinner table with the gang is a rare occasion these days, and will likely be well worth the wait. I think that fits perfectly with the Big Picture plan.

Enjoy the Chicken, Big Jim.

***

Tick Tock, Tick Tock...

2009-03-12T13:39:00.003-04:00

Just a few more hours, Big Jim...

Two Days and Counting

2009-03-10T14:15:00.003-04:00

Daylight Savings has arrived again, and it seems it brought Spring along for the ride. For some of us, that means time to change the routine.

Personally, I'm stoked! I always look forward to the changing of the season, both meterologically, and cycle-logically. When Fall rolls around, we charge our lights, dig out our cold weather gear, and begin the new season of night rides. It's usually a welcome relief from the same ol' same ol'. But by the time we spring our clocks forward again, I'm damn tired of keeping my lights charged, doing a full load of laundry after every ride, and having my neck be sore from that light on my helmet!

Tonight, we ride sans lights, and with the nice weather, sans cold weather gear.

But more importantly, we're just two days from this year's first JOE'S RIDE!! Time to dust off the skinny tired rigs, and climb into the midst of the whirring, twirling, ever amorphous, conglomeration of juniors, old folks, sketchers, mountain bikers, and loud mouths, that is the Joe's Ride. Can't wait! I chattered about it so much on last week's mountain bike rides, that Big Jim Slade's anxiety became palpable. So much for the confidence he gained by his first sport class win at the Red Bug Challenge. Now all he can think about is staying upright in the corners, or hoping none of the juniors are too mean to him. Don't worry, Big Jim, if they get too rowdy, we'll just send in Facebook to correct the issue. He seems to enjoy conflict within the confines of the Killearney trafficways. Old or young, he'll take on all comers.

I promise that as he reads this, Wrecking Ball is already thinking of other things to do on Thursdays. I'll let him get away with it a little, but there will be no shut outs, W.B.!

Micro will be on the sideline, as Spanish Mackerel says he should be, so that his little girl can cheer on the group, as we climb that damn hill in front of his home.

With any luck, Red Dragon will be on comeback #235,598,456 and will show up to show us the fastest 30 minutes in cycling.

Can't wait!

Two days and counting!

See ya Thursday!

Tough Guy(or Girl) Contest

2009-02-28T08:40:00.004-05:00

Well the face of the race may be changing. Our idyllic Florida weather is throwing a mean curve ball, and it's gonna take a home run swinger to knock it out of the park. I've already suggested we change the name to the Ice Man Cometh, the Deep South Version. According to yesterday's weather channel, it's gonna be cold, wintry and wet tomorrow. I'm sure this will hurt turn out, but those who make it should get one of those epic stories to tell. The ones that always come up at the end of any hard ride, or when your crew gets together at dinner and the drinks flow deep. "Remember that race at Redbug when Juancho got frostbite?"

Don't be a sissy and sit on your nice warm couch watching your favorite I Love Lucy reruns. Come out and suffer with a bunch of malcontents. Armageddon is coming, Obama or no Obama. It's time to harden up and be strong, or at least fake it until help arrives.

Besides, there should be more than enough food, now. So at least come sit under a tent and watch the dumbasses play in the mud, eat a burger, and support the foolish spirit that brings us all together.

I'm telling you now, Fat Lad would go! And he'd call us all out for being fair weather, Sissy Yanks!

Call Out!!

2009-02-25T07:54:00.004-05:00

I'm calling out all you margin guys! You know who you are. The guys who think about racing once and awhile. You're not obsessed, but you still have that competitive streak. Don't tell me you don't. Because you all tell the stories of how you made so and so suffer on the last ride at Munson, Tom Brown, Felasco, etc. This weekend is the perfect chance to dip your toe in the waters. Not too deep mind you. I don't want you to drown, or anything. The Red Bug Challenge is the ideal venue for you to experience low stress mountain bike racing on Tallahassee's northside trails.

Juancho, I'm calling you out! And I think it's about time you called out Sasquatch. To hell with where everybody else finishes, Just beat the giant through the woods. Sasquatch, I know it's Red Bug, but there are enough dirt roads on the old Phipp's land to equalize the pressure.

Cupcake, I'm calling you out! I think that Bushy has your number!

Cliffy, I'd love to see you show up on the start line, just once. Besides, if we could get Dogboy or Marino out there, I'm sure that would be a battle royale.

Personally, I'd like to see the battle of the long travel, heavy wheelers on Sunday. I have this vision of Shins and King Snake rolling their monster bikes around the loop, launching every little inclination they can find, all the time with a cigarette hanging from the corner of their respective lips. (Yet somehow, they are always going just as fast as everyone else.)

No need to call out Gillis, I know he'll be there, and his biggest demon will be keeping his bike between the trees. (Big Thanks for the shout out, too T)

Maybe some old timers could dust off their two wheeled wagons and give it a go. Perhaps Mingo and Aucilla Sinks? Mike McCue and Ed Miller?

There will be more besides just racing. We hope to have a friendly game of Bull Fight, commonly referred to as knock down. Mingo has a date with destiny, btw. There should be a wheelie contest. Between Shins, Ice Berg, and Pizza Steve, I don't know if we have enough real estate for that one, but we may just have to incorporate some obstacles to tone down the distance.

We're looking to include a track stand contest, flat changing, huffy toss, whatever. We just want people to have fun hanging out with other two wheeled degenerates.

Any other rivalries out there? Real or Imaginary, I don't care, let us hear about it in the comments.

Lantern Rouge!

2009-02-16T09:47:00.003-05:00

I've always had a soft spot in my heart for the Lantern Rouge riders of the big tours. These poor bastards suffer day in and day out, to be last. They could quit and go home, but they stick it out. Let's hear it for perseverance.

Now I have the distinct pleasure to know one of these guys personally. Everybody knows that Phil Southerland is my adopted little brother. He wandered into the shop at age 12-13, and we raised him to be the little derelict that he is today. He's one over achieving little derelict, too, He and a friend started to Team Type 1 as a school project, and now they have a team in the Tour of California, our country's biggest stage race. Little Bro Phil is suffering a trial by fire, as he learns what it's like to step up to the next level. The boy works his ass off, and my heart swells with pride when I see his achievements. I used to push him up the longer hills as a kid, and now I find strength in his never say die attitude.

Let's pump big love to the West Coast for Phil and his boys on Team Type 1. After 5 hours of sub 47 degree, rainy weather on yesterday's stage, they need all the love they can get.

Red Bug Challenge

2009-02-10T08:16:00.002-05:00

Motley Crew

2009-01-31T23:21:00.003-05:00

I just got around to getting these shots off my camera's memory card. If anyone wants the bigger versions, let me know and I'll email them.

Seven

2009-01-27T12:21:00.003-05:00

Seven days in the week.

Seven continents on the earth.

Seven deadly sins.

And per Bikediet, seven hours on my bike this weekend.

Whatever. I got this. 'Cross bike and dirt road love, here I come!