History

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

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

 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!

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

Appreciate

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!

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

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.