Lil Ball's Dirty 30

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

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

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!

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!

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

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

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.