Jive Turkeys and Crash Test Dummies.

The scratching chatter of knobs seeking purchase set off alarm bells. Something was all wrong, but the time for correction had passed. I jumped up and got sorted, before Lil Ball could catch me wallowing in the dust. I choked back the adrenalin shot, determined not to let the jitters steal what flow was left. This was mine. It felt good, and I deserved it, dammit.  I got back up to speed, and carried it through the last bit of trail, barely visible in the dusk.

Earlier in the ride, I'd listened as StorminNorman explained how he had been trying to improve his cornering, by trying to use his third eye, through his belly button. I get the principle, but the visual is much better.  I was trying to figure out how he was gonna get a belly mounted monocle to stay in place, as he ponch-pointed his way through the woods, like some kind of half blind, Star-Bellied-Sneech.  I guess my mental mocking earned me a stick in my belly eye, because I never saw that root, I cross rutted over.

Wrecking Ball had his moment too, but I missed the show. He caught back on, describing the  perfect wheelie over a root section. Followed by even more perfect placement of  the front wheel exactly where it needed to go....to stop dead. His body had its own ideas on inertia. He said the whole move felt so perfect, that he was quite certain that he could ride it out, even though his hands had already abandoned their posts at the grips. Luckily his sternum was there to take up the slack, and he chest pounded his bars and stem until they relented their ridiculous effort to keep him upright, and dropped him to the forest floor.  All I can say is, it's a good thing he has that Terr-ection stem that hit him way up on the chest. Otherwise, he might have gotten a black-belly-eye.

I've always heard that if you're not crashing, you're not pushing. And without the push, their is no improvement. Taking stock afterward, I'm not so sure I feel all that improved. Mostly, I just feel like I ran out of talent.  Personally, I think that belly eye StorminNorman was chattering on about sounds way easier, and maybe somewhat less painful than my alternative.

Palm Trees are Candles in the Murder Wind

Mayhem, Bedlam or Angry-Friends, it just doesn't matter.

Have bike. Will travel.

The world gets topsy-turvy, be it the big world, or just the little ones in our heads.  Relatively, it can all feel the same.  Lately, our duly elected politicians squabble like school children and hold our government hostage.  Everyone speculates at who is to blame.  Within the crew, tensions arise and poison the vibe.

He said / She said.....whatever.

I should probably be a whole lot more involved in the big picture, or at least aware of these sorts of things, but the truth is I struggle with it.  My OCD nature would dictate that if I start trying to follow or understand our political miasma, I must then try to fully follow and understand. I'm afraid that will take way more time and commitment than I am willing to give.

In my little world, I'll take care of business to the best of my ability. It can leave you feeling dingy at times.  In the interim, I'll wash away the dirty with a little sweat. I'll buff away the stubborn spots with trail grit and sand. And I'll do it all from the saddle of my bike.

During tonight's scrub down, this tune came bubbling up. Seemed fitting.

When the hills of los angeles are burning
Palm trees are candles in the murder wind
So many lives are on the breeze
Even the stars are ill at ease
And los angeles is burning

Anti-Monday Ride Stoke

As always happens when the races come through town, the local TB/Caddy race course gets ridden in, all the lines come clean, and it's just crazy fast/fun.  The weather had even cooperated, and it was just about to get down right dry out there.  I'd forgotten what that looked like.  I got a couple of good days out there, and now the rains have returned.  Get it while you can, right?  On the upside, this rain is actually a front trying to push through, and on the other side should be our first taste of Fall. 

To combat the Monday's, and just to keep the early week stoke rolling, check this out. Really makes me wanna be out on my mtb.  Rain should be clear later in the week, and temps dropping 10+ degrees....

Sexy Sucks!

Remember that title phrase. It may save you a lot of heart ache in your life. That's what was running through my head as I stood as patiently as possible, trying not to lose my cool with the 5,785, 862 gnats that continually stormed my eardrums, nostrils, and eye sockets. Their attempts at broaching my cranial orifices was unrelenting. Sexy sucks.

It was one of the first sunny days in a long time. I'd even snapped a pic half hour earlier, to prove to myself later that it wasn't just a dream.  I was actually riding a dry bike, in the sunshine!!! I suppose with the better weather, came upbeat spirits, and a general overtone of feeling good. Who doesn't feel good when the sun shines warmly on your face?  All these good feelings motivated my dumb ass right on into the A group ride, as it rolled from the parking lot. Now, I've not yet seen the end of this ride, while still WITH this ride. I take my beatings in stride, with a general understanding that these beatings should eventually lead to my seeing the end of the ride, at the same time as the rest of the ride, and not some mildly embarrassing moment in time later. The ride did it's usual, and I was redlining from time to time, but hanging on longer than I expected. Then sexy started sucking, and not in a good way.

PANG!!!!!! The front end shuddered, and I looked down to see the errant rock that had caused a lapse in my much needed concentration, were I still to be in contact at the top of this never ending hill. I see no rock, but notice, quite unhappily, that my front wheel is beginning the tell-tale wobble of one in which one of its spokes has suddenly become more passenger, than participant. It gets bad enough that I can feel the drag as the rim rubs the brakes with every revolution. I pull out of the group to assess the damage, and Mr Harvey stops alongside. I encourage him that I'm good, and that he should continue his campaign to hang with this bunch of skinny folk. He explains, through the same heavy breathing that I'm experiencing, that he's quite happy to see how my wheel is doing. I decide to disconnect my front brake cable to gain maximum brake clearance, and simply take it easy back the way we came, albeit with only a rear brake. Great plan, except that sexy really sucks!

It would seem that skimpy little 18 spoke wheels really do not like it when one spoke up and quits. The other 17 struggle to maintain a semblance of order but utterly fail .My rim was wedged tight against the fork blade, and would not roll. I accepted the evac offer of Mr Harvey, and watched as he rolled off to get his car.

I should know better. I DO know better. But the siren song of sexy has plagued men since the beginning of time, and I'm no desire free monk. I bought my first sexy wheels a long time ago. Dura Ace beauties, all low spoke count and deep rims. Spokes all in pretty little pairs, reaching from the hub to the opposite side of the rim. So much marketing mumbo-jumbo about lateral stiffness and low rotational weight.  My first sexy wheels made my old Ultegra hubs and Mavic CXP rims looks downright dull. I rode them happily, and tried to ignore the weak points as they arose. At first the black anodized rims faded to some obscure mint green. No sweat. Probably my fault for using some harsh cleaner. I wondered if the front end of my bike was getting soft in corners. Surely, it couldn't be all that sexy up front. Everyone knows sexy is intended to make things stiffer. Then I broke a spoke. Sexy would never use a standard spoke. That would be...well....not sexy.  So I head to the shop, and then another, and then  another. Nobody carries sexy spokes? Why the hell not? I NEED a sexy spoke!!

After waiting for 2-3 weeks, I finally got what I needed. During that off time, I noticed that those were some fugly green rims I was running, and my 32 spoke back up wheels sure did turn nice. Reality sets in, the sexy wheels were traded for my first hydraulic disc brakes, and I built some damn fine wheels with NORMAL, everyday, run of the mill, get 'em at any shop around, spokes. I was back where I belonged. I've been building wheels for a long time, and I know what works. Funny thing, I rarely ever have trouble, with MY wheels. So I was happy as a clam, and safe again.

 Hi! My name is Bigworm, and I am a sexy addict. Sexy just never lets up. First it's a stolen glance at the deep curve of a 40mm carbon rim. Then a friend gets a job at a sexy wheel manufacturer, and he tells you all the GREAT new ways that sexy can improve your life. But I do remember that sexy can bite, so I resist and resist, until I finally succumb to half-sexy. That's only half dangerous, right? These pre-built wheels have pretty bladed spokes, but at least they are not the DUMB aluminum ones. That's just silly-sexy!!! The rims are only a little deeper, AND they are aluminum, because carbon is just silly-sexy! My rationalization wins out, and I'm on a pre-built, wheel SYSTEM. Mavic takes us above and beyond simple wheels, into systems. How can you go wrong with a system?

Apparently you can go so wrong, that you end up on the side of the road, on the first sunny day in weeks, trying to see just how long you can go with 252 gnats in each ear, singing a rousing chorus of "We will eat your sanity!!!", without running screaming into the woods, clawing at bug filled nostrils and eyes!  Seriously!!! Sexy sucks!!

Flash and I joked about it the next day, after I'd finally convinced my brain that there were no more small winged bugs deep in my ear canals. He offered up his back up wheels; the ultimate in un-sexy. He's got Ultegra hubs, Open Pro rims, and all silver. Not even some black laced spokes. Those wheels are the true blue granny panties of the wheel world. Nothing sexy whatsoever, but they offer full coverage, and they get the job done. I was so fed up with sexy at that moment, I almost offered to buy the damn things off him. 

Like I said before, I'm Bigworm, and I'm a sexy addict. I'm not quite fully clean and sober, but I'm working on it. Hubs were ordered. Rims sit patiently in a corner. I'll be back on 32, gloriously traditional j-bend spokes, none too soon. I've learned my lesson again.....for now.

.

A Shout Out to Kevin

(This started as a comment on Big Jim Slade's piece about missing the Ride for Hope. As I recanted the story in the little comment box, I felt it deserved more. I know that words on this little piece of seldom visited internets isn't much, but it's what I have to offer. )


I had kind of lost touch with what this event was really about, this year. I was more worried about the logistics of herding cats, and getting myself and my crew on the same page.

I got to the event late, and missed the start with the century folks. I think that was a gift.

While I was chatting with everyone I know(Bigworm for Mayor!!), a guy on a trike smiles and waves. I just thought he was being friendly. Turns out, he was actually smiling at me, specifically. He rolled over and said, Hi. His smile was infectious, despite struggling to tell me who he was. I knew he was familiar, but I just couldn't quite place him. Turns out his name is Kevin, and he was a regular customer, from back in my shop days. At that point I remembered his smiling face, on top of a strong, 6' tall, healthy body. He told me he had been diagnosed with brain cancer, and that being able to ride this day was a gift from God.

Kevin was on my mind a lot that day. A couple of years ago, all I could think about as I cramped and suffered in the heat, was my mother in law, that I had watched wither under the scourge of cancer and the dreadfulness of what we consider treatment for this disease.

Kevin was right about that gift. Thanks for reminding folks, Big Jim.

Rain Day

This weather is kicking my ass. I tried to say it was kicking my "I wanna get faster" ass, but Big Jim Slade straight up called me out, and said he's pretty sure it's not the rain, kicking THAT ass.

That's why I don't really like Jim. I tolerate him, like you would tolerate a conjoined sibling growing outta your ass.

Anyway, I'll be sausage fest riding on Sunday. But, my legs have not had oppurtunity to turn a pedal more than once this week, as apparently, I have a whopping case of Norman's-Scared-of-the-Rain-itis.  I hate Norman's-Scared-of-the-Rain-itis, so I'll be seeking a cure tomorrow.

The doc says the best cure for this chronic 3rd placement, overbraking, slow turning, incessant whimpering malaise, is quite simple.  Wait 'til it's raining. Walk out to your bike. Climb aboard, and pedal off into the muck with your friends. Channel you inner little kid; the same one that still lets you make motorcycle noises when you hit that corner just right, or blast monstrous millimeters of air off that water bar.  Remember the unadulterated joy it was to take a HUGE FLYYYYYIIIIINNNNNG leap, into the nearest mud puddle. Then smile from mud filled ear, to mud filled ear, when you realize that you just wall of watered your closest buddy.

Mostly, just let go. It's why we do this anyway, right? We just wanna let go of all the day to day garbage that will suck your soul if you let it. Tomorrow, I'm gonna go play in the mud, and then I'm gonna wash it all off.

Just what the doctor ordered!

GA On My Mind.... and other stuff, too.

I think my t'aint may fall out Sunday afternoon.  I really don't want it to, but I'm not sure I'll have a choice in the matter. Sometimes t'aints just do what they want, regardless of their host's wishes.  I suppose it's like any relationship, though. If you ask too much of your partner, they may just decide enough is enough.

I've never been the cyclo-touring type. But, this year, the local TOSRV double century event has offered a clay road version. The thought of two days of new to me clay, sounded appealing, so I'm in. It looks like there are 35+ other like minded souls, who wish to anger their t'aints as well. Should be quite entertaining, by sometime Sunday afternoon. I wonder if Cairo, GA has a t'aint trauma center...

On another front, the 2 of you who actually read this, may have noticed that the Bikeposse Ride Info is stuck on 3/21 ride info. It's not that that was such an epic day, that it should never be changed, left to remind those who missed out, of their now clearly, purposeless lives. It was more a matter of nobody actually cares. I honestly have no idea whether or not folks actually referenced that little ride info tool, but I kept it up, so that it made an easy place to find out the plans. Now however, there is no need of plans, as Bikeposse is dead. Like most great tribes, it died from inside. No overthrow. No hostile takeover. No coup. Just quiet diminishment of interest until it withered and the wind blew the dust in many different directions. I know that diminishment may not be an actual word, and that some of you may not want to hear my whining. Whatever. It's my place, my rules. If you wish to read happy things, go here.   He does good things, and tells of them quite eloquently. Me, I'm just crabby, right now.

Not really crabby. Actually, I'm quite excited to get my tourist on. Very much looking forward to 2 days where my main focus is turning the pedals, and eating food. No mowing the grass. No dishes or laundry. Just pedal, shower, eat, sleep, pedal home. And of course eat, shower, and sleep again. Then Monday comes and my soul goes back into hiding. Though the bikeposse regulars think that they belong in a Kansas video, there are still a few old friends and a couple of the new faces doing this ride, so I look forward to the weekend.

Maybe if my t'aint actually dies, I'll change that Bikeposse Ride Info tool, to some kind of T'aint Memorial.  I wrote this blog in loving memory of...