Holy crap.. No, seriously.. Holy crap....

Matt Wilhelm is a machine.

I am proud to present the cover art from my soon to be released album of smooth jazz hits;

As the sun begins to set on yet another week, am pleased to kick off today's post with an email sent to me from Carlos Alberto Del CAstillo Cabeza De Vaca of The Cycling Inquisition;

"My brother's friend just took this picture in Queens the other day. I knew Glenn was short...but this is ridiculous."

Everything about that shot screams 'right place, right time'.

As I mentioned on Wednesday, cross season would appear to nearly be upon us. All winter people bitch about the fact that it is, and then all summer people have bitched about it not being summery enough, until (at least in these parts), it gets hot, and then it's 'too hot'. Finally, for weeks people have been eagerly anticipating winter again.

This leads me to one conclusion, and that is that in general human beings are incapable of being happy with the now, and bike people seem to follow in lock step with that line of reasoning. Whatever the case, it's fall now, cross is around the corner and as usual people will soon be lamenting the fact that the dog days of summer are once again a distant memory. Luckily individuals like Murphy Mack have events no matter what the season, and this one coming up in a couple of weeks promises to make the transition a little more bearable.

Speaking of which, you may or may not recall an event flyer I posted last week for a throwdown that occurred in Minneapolis West which went by the name of 'Holeshot'. Well as it turns out, the event had nothing to do with holes or shooting, as is clarified by none other than DPow! himself;

"Olson threw this together, I think it captures both the nonsense of the event, as well as an idea of the potential of the new PDW space. The bowl is already there, we just need to find a way to keep it."

Please take note of Murph's rapid fire clinic from 31 seconds to 41 seconds on how to get the holeshot, and then how to immediately lose it..

Good lookin' out.

For more action than you can shake a stick at, feel free to breeze though Jose's Flickr set;

Apparently not a shin was spared in the debacle.

The only thing the following clip has to do with any of what we were just discussing is that it was sent to me from another person named Jose;

"Yo Stevil.

Can't stop watching this:

Hope you enjoy,

-- J."

I do enjoy it whole heartedly and I love Oakland. It's things like this that makes 'The O' an endlessly magical place to me. It's a down trodden and sometimes hopeless city, with an occasionally justified reputation of being a violent place that's best left avoided. I know it in an entirely different light however. My mom was born there, as was my grandmother, and both of her parents before her. Had Colorado not gotten involved in my conception and birth, I would have been a fifth generation Oaklander. It sometimes seems like no accident that I should have ended up there.

Another city that has long existed under a cloud of economic depression and turmoil is Detroit. I have no connection to the Motor City, short of a number of friends who hail from there, though it does my heart good to see that they are experiencing a bit of a renaissance themselves;

Much like Brooklyn, West Oakland, lower downtown Denver, the warehouse district of Minneapolis, and so fourth, it would seem that artists, musicians and the like are moving in in droves. This of course means that eventually, areas that were once mired in urban decay will be developed and the gentrification process will happen all over again to the point that the people moving in now, as well as the people residing there currently will eventually be unable to financially do so. It's a double edged sword, but at least in Detroit's case, it's a sword that might just lead to its own eventual success.

The lovely and talented Heather sent me this clip some time ago, and though it may or may not have anything to do with Detroit, I will post it here for your edification now;

"Horror struck, huh.. Army truck.. I'm gaaaay."

It's like that baby took the words right out of my mouth.

From Jon, I was recently sent a shot of AHTBM goods in action, that might very well be one of my favorites thus far;

Jon and his shirt certainly have bigger balls than I do.

Alright mens and womens... I am pulling up stakes and set to get the hell out of Dodge. I will be spending the next many days in the Oregon wilds with a group of miscreants the likes of which has not been witnessed before.

I will resume a regular posting schedule again on the 15th of September. For those of you residing in Portland, our paths will cross soon, and for the rest of you, have happy and healthy times in my absence.

I will return with hairy babies for all.

Like clockwork, the calendar has once again blessed us with a mid-week Friday, and as we sometimes do, let's hunker down in the fox hole, otherwise known as today's post and get to business.

Photo courtesy Kelly Meets World.

As I am a long time proponent of the tails which are hard, the following clip from Colin is just what the doctor ordered;

"Just drop the saddle on your lightweight hardtail and you'll downhill just like this guy.

Well maybe it helps that he is ninja.

skills

C"

No doubt. Taking a pencil to a gun fight and annihilating all comers. A man after my own heart if there ever was one.

Hey, not that you care, but recently drjOn conducted an interview with yours truly that appears in the newest issue of The Outcast.

If you have a wild hair and are curious about anything from my short stay in prison, to when Amerikuh's ignorance of the bicycle will end, snatch a copy for yourself.

One out of one my moms agree.. It's a great read.

In news of the Bicycle Film Festival, Eric got ahold of me with some information concerning the upcoming freak out in the country of Los Angeles;

"Stevil,

I'm helping the BFF folks with the festival down here in LA. Friday night's first screening is The Birth of Big Air, about Matt Hoffman;

Matt's gonna be there for the show. My short - 'Countywide' - is one of the opening films. I know you've got a bunch of readers down here so hopefully you could get the word out for Friday's 7:30 show.

And for tix.

thx

Eric"

Eric also mentioned that legends such as Scott Breithaupt, Stu Thompson, and Perry Kramer are slated to be present as well. As I told him, my twelve year old self would be shitting his pants to meet those guys, but then again, so would my thirty nine year old self.

While we are on the topic of soiling one's drawers, it's only appropriate that I now include a recent correspondence from Andy of Fyxomacallit fame;

"Stevil-

Takes me back to working in gumboots in Vancouver. This cunt ripped the mud pit at 40kph when everyone else struggled to do 20;

Dan was there in high 'spirits'.

xx"

It would certainly appear as though cross season is upon us (though from my corner, every season is cross season) and nowhere is this more evident than at this past weekend's Langtown Classic;

*Editor's note* I don't know if the 'classic' is an official part of this event's title, but it should be.

Photos by Jeff Thrasher.

I have no good reason why I wasn't in attendance again this year with the exception that the money gods have me in their crushing grip, but I will see to it that I worm out of between their fingers next year.

6'7" certainly is on my same page when it comes to a cross bike being suitable for year round jackassery, as we partook in a recent round of skinny tired rad gettingness, and as usual, I had my camera at the ready;

The route we took was the site of the previous 'J.P.H.N.H. wrote a book ride'. It's one of my favorite loops due to the fact that in 30 miles we saw all of two cars, and were able to partake in a bleeding sublime stretch of double secret single track. I've long entertained the idea of organizing a race along this route, but that would entail actually putting the proverbial bong down long enough to get my act together, neither of which I am very much adept at. Certainly if there are parties who are interested in engaging in such a bicycle related athletic endeavor, send up a flair, and I might see my way to making it happen.

For any interested in local bike team fancy pantedness, The California Giant team is having their coming out soiree on Thursday night.

Photo taken from their Flickr page.

As I understand it, any who are interested in coming are welcome. I'm going to see if the Giant Strawberry rider who told me that I was ruining the race for everyone will also acknowledge the fact that I will be doing so for the party as well.

At the very least swing by to see if Justin Robinson is actually taller than he was last year.

It came to my attention early Tuesday morning that cycling superstar, skullet wearer and all around cry baby, Laurent Fignon passed from this mortal coil.

God speed Laurent. You were a truly gifted individual;

Now for no reason in particular, I am going to post a blast from the past. Many moons ago (by the way, exactly how long is a moon?), The Snakehawk sent me this email, along with the following video clip, and after it nestled down into the recesses of my heart, it stayed there as one of my all time favorite correspondences;

"When I saw this today, mind you, on Drunkcyclist, I was not prepared. I was thinking it would be some sort of video about how to be a MAN, or some kind of super ultra MAN sort of advice or inspiration, because that's exclusively what I find on DC. Well, lo and behold, I was kicked squarely in my estrogen gland, and boy did it secrete. It was like driving over a ketchup packet. I started sobbing and reaching for kleenex in the way that I normally reach for my steak knife, shoe shine, or bullwhip. I was all asob (made that word up), and had to just pack it in for the afternoon. Emotions must be dealt with immediately or they will turn into big spiritual pimples and when you finally pop them, you will make a very big scene, and a painful mess right in the middle of your girlfriend's birthday dinner.

god dammit,
hawk."

I'm not a 'cat person' or a 'dog person' or anything like that. I don't subscribe to such trite nonsense. I am an animal person. I like possums and birds and snakes, and lizards.. Of course the kind of animal that cuddles I am most partial to, but I tend to not make any sweeping judgements one way or the other.

If there is one thing that I would very much like to do before I die, it would be to go to a big cat refuge and rub my face on some of their gigantic noses.

Arybody got they own kind of to do list.

We've covered just about all that I suspect your attention spans can handle. I would like to mention that the new order of kits arrived on Monday afternoon, so for those of you who placed an order, keep your eyes peeled to your mail box. The goods have been shipped should start trickling in directly;

Fist pumps and air humps.

When engaging in the process of assembling new posts from day to day, I might start out with a phrase, or a single image and build from there. Due to a varied array of topics and correspondences from which to choose, the first thing that jumped into my gray matter were the words 'random array'. Upon plugging that into an image search, I came across the following photo of an assortment of Juggalos;

Photo by Chris Victorio.

Those of you who might not be aware of the curiousness that are the Juggalos, you're not missing out on anything.

Speaking of birth control, TinaB sent me a link to an article that had me throwing up in my boots;

Arybaby got 'they own kind of pacifier.

I'm not much on legal retribution, but I suspect that if were to happen to me, I might not be so quick to turn the other cheek and see to it that I eventually owned that particular hotel.

Shortly after my acquisition, I would burn the place down.

In other news, Murphy Mack, the man behind the Two Wheeled Locust races and Goldsprints of every color has got some doings occurring in conjunction with the upcoming Interbike trade show extravaganza;

Of course you will have to make some sort of decision between this event and the the other thing happening that night. The former promises glory, the latter promises nothing.

Funny thing about the trade show, is every year shortly after registration, I get inundated with emails notifying me of bike light clinics, to product launches from companies who have reinvented the fender and everything in between.

I have nothing against companies using the Interbike database to try and spread their word, except for everything. I suppose some folks in my position might find this information interesting, but I think it's a pain in the ass. Case in point, I got two emails from a fellow regarding folding bikes and clothing recently, and I asked him to please unsubscribe me from their list.

He responded in kind;

"You're not subscribed, you're on the Interbike media registration list. Do you write about bike and bike parts, gear, clothing, etc?"

To which I replied "Yeah, but I don't really need the mass emails before the show. I was hoping to avoid that this year."

Instead of walking away quietly, he then wrote;

"Do you write about cycling apparel? Electrolyte replacement drinks? Bike saddles?"

Oh my god man. What are we doing here? Yes I do. Indian headdresses, beer and only the ones I sniff. I simply asked for you to leave me alone. Are you trying to convince me of something? My patience was being tested, so I simply told him that I do write about those things but generally just the ones I've already bought.

After that there was radio silence, so I can either assume that he got the hint, or simply looked at the site and immediately noticed that day's post title and opted to go bother someone else.

Nobody messes with my tight sack.

Digging into the mail bag from almost a month ago, I got this email from Jay;

"Stevil,

My buddy Kenny is making the journey to raise awareness for fat kids in school eating shitty lunches and sitting on their asses all day. He's also raising some cash for cancer research...his dad was taken way too early by the bitch.

He left Hermosa Pier, CA a few days ago and is now in Parker AZ. His landing spot is Kitty Hawk Pier, NC.

Just spoke to him after a day going uphill, into the wind, with semi's blowing by. He's in the pool drinking vodka tonics.

Kenny is not your tap shoes, tight shorts kina guy. Far removed from "our" thing but is true to the core and someone you want in your foxhole.

I'm shocked to even see him wearing a helmet and proper sneakers, albeit toe clips. It's an effing beach cruiser.

How abouts throwing up some luv on the site?"

Kenny obviously has a better relationship with his knees than I do, though there's no telling how long that will last. I have a candle lit during his trip for him though, and I wish him the best of luck.

Around the same time that I got that from Jay, Christian emailed me concerning what some might consider a brush with greatness;

"Jag Panzer. Being a former Coloradan, you might recognize the name, with them originally hailing from Security/Widefield, CO. I have an interesting story about the lead singer, Harry "The Tyrant" Conklin. In my former days as a store manager for a big grocery chain, my donut fryer, Harry Conklin (yes, one in the same) comes to me and says he needs 3 weeks off in July but at this point I don't know he's a singer in a band, much less the mighty Jag Panzer. I say I don't think so, busy time of the year, no vacation coming to him, blah, blah, blah, laying down the typical corporate prick line.

He proceeds to tell me that he is in a band and they are headlining a 100,000+ person stadium gig in Germany. Since I don't know of his alter ego, I think yeah, right, but it is such a good story, and no one has ever "lied" to me with such creativity, so I say go for it. He comes back with pictures and the works from his shows and I nearly shit myself. Pictures of him (and the band) all leathered, metal studded, and denimed up, getting more Germans wound up than David Hasslehoff and Jan Ullrich combined.

They can't make it here, so he works in the bakery. Kinda like Batman, huh?

Teamfubar

Oh yeah, fairly sure the video was filmed on top of one of many Colorado peaks (Pikes, perhaps?)"

All hail the heavy metal vibrato.

At some dirty event or another in Minneapolis West, Murph from Showers Pass was able to snap a quick shot of one who might be considered by some to be the lieutenant Don of the bicycle industry mafia as a whole, covered up in some new darkness;

He may look kind, but that cold, steely gaze is the last thing many people see before the big sleep.

While we're on the topic of cold and steely gazes, photographer extraordinaire, (as well as one of nearly 700 people in all of Florida who regularly visit this site) Bob Croslin sent this quick shot that inspires me to make a bumper sticker that says "my other car is this truck".

"Spotted in North Florida.";

Ahh, a redneck with a taste for the whimsical.

Back to the bike side of things (because sometimes I write about such things.. Like cycling apparel, electrolyte replacement drinks and bike saddles), Marin Bicycles super honch Yuri, got in touch concerning an expedition he is currently embroiled in with none other than Bobo The Clown;

"Somewhat akin to Bill and Ted's, I give you Austin and Yuri's Bay Area Ridge Trail Adventure;

If you feel it appropriate, any help in getting the word out there about what we are doing would be greatly appreciated.

Keep spewing the gospel!

Yuri"

There was an interesting article in the Marin Independent Journal on this feat as well, but strangely it has since been taken down. I would liked to have included that link in here simply for you to read the barrage of comments from various shades of trail nazi, leading me to believe that there might be a move afoot to rename Marin 'The Land of the Falsely Entitled'.
*Update* Yuri got in touch to let me know the article had been moved to here.

Good on you Yuri and Bobo. Way to walk the walk. I had intended to meet up with them for a leg of it, but as the saying goes, the road to Hell is paved with dead car batteries. We will have to wait to get some sort of report or another from one or both of them before we truly know what transpired while they were away.

In closing, Ray sent me a clip of how a real man makes a salad.

One man's random array of various vegetable things is another man's random array of bad assery.

It is with that, that I bid you a fondu.

I do love me some Neely Comics.

I walked to the edge of the rabbit hole, and immediately fell down into it.

For some reason or another, my better half brought home an application on her telephone recently that goes by the name of 'Plants Versus Zombies'. Now knowing that my OCD can at times reach unparalleled proportions, this wasn't a wise move on her part, as it has devoured my attention for the better part of two days. That being said, if today's post is a little more disjointed than usual, it's because I'm in a rush to get back to the madness.

With games like these it's a wonder that anyone who ever crossed their cursed paths gets much more than a stitch of work done, let alone remember to eat, sleep, or make brown.

Do yourself a favor and steer a wide birth around this game. It will lead to your ruin.

I was however able to pull myself away from the slaughter of the undead to go a bicycle ride which resulted in an entire day of bewilderment and disappointment, that I will tell you about now.

I left home aboard my prized new bicycle, as I have many times this past week. Ascending the first hill away from my house, I was stuck in a stare down with my shoes. I can't tell you why I was so transfixed, but as I watched my feet go around in squares, I rode through the biggest, freshest pile of vomit this side of my freshmen year of college. Stopping immediately so as to minimize any unwanted spray, I emptied both of my water bottles on my bike to rid it of it's unholy cargo.

Stopping a short time later to make a secondary inspection, I was sitting at an intersection, as a man on a scooter made an oncoming left in front of me and high sided the turn, sending him rag dolling across the pavement where he came to rest at my feet. He sat and we stared at one another for a moment before he stood up, remounted his steed, and rode away.

A few hours later near the conclusion of my ride along newly cut and super secret single track, pictured here;

A redwood branch bounced up into my rear wheel, relieving me of two spokes and one derailleur hanger.

As I mentioned last week, two things I dislike on my bikes are mismatched brakes and mismatched wheels, but one thing that sends me into a seething pit of despair is when my tire rubs on the chain stay every rotation for the ten mile ride of shame home.

Maybe I should have just stuck with killing zombies.

Thank you for letting me get that off my chest. I feel 15% better.

Now then, let's move onto the mail bag. Or, as was pointed out to me recently, the 'male sack'.

From J.B.O.D. we get a note letting us know that no matter how swollen your face, while wearing a kit, you'll still look snazzy;

"Sported the duds last night at the ER. Hit a huge mutant wasp on my ride to the trailhead, and about 5 minutes later in the parking lot I was a collapsing, wheezing, twitching, and unable-to-coherently-speak blob. Luckily my riding buddies realized the non-Radness of this event and remembered that we had not yet ridden, and therefore not yet partaken in the post-ride cold-ones which usually put me in this state and dialed me up a 911 ride to the ER. So I'm allergic to insect stings. Who knew? Not me.

Anyway, it's not a central park picture, but just wanted to pass along the representation and note that I could totally feel the duds earning me some street cred at the ER. The full-zip option saved them from the medic's shears, thankfully.

Pic after some of the meds had take effect:

Ride Boldly Ride,

Joey Bagadonuts"

I have had several run-ins with wasps of various temperaments this past year, and I can say with authority, that it is an extremely unpleasant experience. Fortunately, I discovered a remedy to getting stung by the flying menace, and that is simply to never leave on a ride without my Snazzy Napper;

All it took was a slight adjustment in the positioning so that I could see out of the nose hole and I was good to go.

Certainly for the extra protection I would have paid the additional ten dollars for the larger one, but I thought it would be problematic to ride with. However, shortly after the arrival of mine, I have learned that there are actually bicycles designed to accommodate just such an accessory.

Anyway, after parting with my hard earned cash, I see that there are people out there who are far more resourceful than I am, and as such, still have fifteen dollars in their pocket.

In other news, what may or may not have been a mass email found its way into my inbox recently, but because I like the cut of the sender's jib, I will present it to you now;

"Greetings from the Black Rose!

We are a worker owned collective specializing in custom handmade bike bags made from recovered materials (dumpstered). We are commuters, randoneers, tourers and cargo carriers. We live on our bikes and we know what details a bag needs to do its job. We recognize our work as both political and trans formative. We recover that which others deem to be trash, redeem it, and make it into something beautiful, useful, special, and uniquely suited to our "customers" needs and dreams.

From an old broken sewing machine to dumpsters filled with material, we seek to redeem everything and create everywhere.

It would be great for us if you checked out our bags. Our photos are on flickr here.

And our homepage is here.

Love, Peace, -n- Bicycle Grease,
The Black Rose"

People making something out of nothing. That's what I like to hear.

Finally from DPow! of esteemed advertisers, Portland Design Works I got the following video clip;

I forwarded this on to one New Yorker in particular, and made note that it was like being in the Sistine Chapel. Everywhere you look, there is something amazing to behold.

Not unlike this upcoming e-vent that you might want to mark on your calendars;

I'm going to 2 for 2 and see if I can't lose my camera this year as well.

It is with that, that I announce the time has come to pull up stakes and get back to business.

After all, the zombies aren't gonna kill themselves.

A tight mail sack, that is. Why, what were you thinking I was referring to?

Without further hesitation, why don't we jump headlong into said 'sack'?

One of my favorite correspondednces recently comes from Zac, in which he describes the kind of interaction my soul desperately longs for;

"Stevil-
I was standing in a Ramada in lobby in San Diego last weekend wearing my AHTBM World Champ hat, and a woman told me that god blesses me always and that she is praying for me.
I figured the only reason she was saying this is because of the hat. Thought you would appreciate the exchange.

Cheers,
Zac"

If at any point I should question whether or not this path I'm on is the correct one for me, I needn't look any further than that single exchange.

From master web logger Carlos Alberto Del CAstillo Cabeza De Vaca of Cycling Inquisition fame, I got a correspondence regarding last Friday's 'Music Minute';

"Hey,
Saw your mention of Afghan Whigs, which reminded me of this:

I went to high school in Cincinnati, and a girl named Amanda in my school was being heavily courted by one of the dudes in the band, who was probably twice her age by then. can you really call it "courting" when the girl is half your age, or is it "luring". whatever, let's not get caught up in semantics. in any case, she once asked my girlfriend and i to accompany her on a date with him, because she was creeped out by him. i forget which guy it was. anyway, we sat there awkwardly in a suburban Ponderosa steak house for like an hour listening to his sweet lady-getting game. weird stuff."

I've said it many times. If I could go back in time, I would have a sit down with my dad and my younger self. I would explain that it was imperative that I continue playing guitar, but not only that, I should take a second, and possibly third language, and finally I should also learn how to Salsa dance.

I would have hated my dad and my future me until I grew up and realized that the result of all of that hard work just quintupled my chances of getting laid.

Of course I made up for my lack of linguistic, dance and musical abilities by making a bunch of stuff and while it hasn't made a marked difference in my love life, it's guaranteed to make you at least 29% tougher, which is always an appealing quality to whomever it is you are trying to bed.

Case in point? Jon knows;

"Dearest Stevil,

I want to thank you for the comfort your socks afford. Rolling a tubular and crashing out of a crit caused me to misplace some of my skin but I smiled afterward knowing your socks made me look awesome, even in miserable failure.

-Jon"

Besides, from what I hear, if you can't get lucky in Chico, you can't get lucky anywhere.

If mismatched socks worked for Mike Kluge, then by god, they will work for you;

From Amanda, I received word of a forthcoming bicycle related athletic endeavor that is set to take place this weekend in Minneapolis West;

It promises to be a good time. Any place Cheever, Captain Dave and DPow! are all present generally does.

Though none of the last few points have much to do with the making of babies, upon hearing of the new addition to the family Bike Snob, (pictured here at the recent Rapha Cycle Club event) I did something I've never done before.

I bought some baby clothes.

Now upon the little one's arrival, he was too small to fit in said item of clothing, but as babies sometimes do, he has gotten bigger, and has now grown into his present;

Along with accidentally soiling my pants recently, buying baby clothing is something I never thought I'd do, but I can now safely scratch both activities off my list.

Ascending deep from within today's collection of detritus comes this advertisement for Atomic Cycles, though I can't remember who sent it to me. Or when. Or to which address;

Paul's got tens of bikes.

Now before I take my leave, I would like to publicly acknowledge that yesterday, Tuesday August the 24th was AHTBM's one year anniversary.

What a crazy thing indeed.

I want to thank all of the good people who have supported me these last 12 months. I want to thank the advertisers, whose funding has helped keep my lights on, I want to thank Cobra Commander whose tireless efforts have made this website a reality, and I want to thank the committed readership, and the good people who have traded me their hard earned money for various bits of paraphernalia, for without you coming back here day after day, I would still be sitting in the corner talking to myself.

I am still amazed that I have been able to make a go of this, and never take for granted the fact that I have. It means a tremendous amount to me that all of you have been so incredibly supportive of this project, and I hope that this is the beginning of a new, and equally successful year.

Thank you for yesterday, and here is looking towards tomorrow.

The mail sack may be a little lighter, but my sack of gratitude is nearly bursting.

Monday's are no good. Wakeman is the opposite of Mondays.

Now some of you may know Wakeman, and some of you may not. A good number of you might just recognize the name from the innocuous little banner ad over there to the right.

"You want him to design something for you?"... What the hell does that even mean?

Posing this question to myself recently I thought I should step up my game and try and explain who some of these people are and what it is that they do.. After all, they are one ones who pay me excessive sums of money so that I can continue to dine on edible gold leaf and the lightly barbecued offspring of endangered species.

So who is Wakeman and what does he do? Is a 'crap ton' a quantifiable measurement? For well over a decade he's had his fingers in everybody's pies from TRP to Jagwire, and possibly most notably was the egghead behind Surly Bikes conception, as well as their foundation of initial designs.

He is a master of many trades from 2D design and metal fabrication to classic car restoration and dirt jumping radtardation.

The thing that I personally find frustrating is that companies aren't absolutely suffocating him under freelance design and fab jobs. I'm not saying this because he helps support this site or because he is a friend. I'm saying it because I see the bike industry as an incredibly transitory place. With the exception of a small number people there is a constant flow of personnel, always changing the face of the trade.

It could very well be the same thing in other industries, but I wouldn't necessarily know. At 15 years deep, I am still a rookie in the biz in comparison to people like Sky Yeager, Steve Boehmke, and so forth, but as I said, folks like that are a rarity.

My point is, that with a constant ebb and flow of new faces, new products, and new companies, it is easy to get lost in the shuffle if you're not constantly throwing your hat in the ring, and rattling everyone's cages about it. Unfortunately it's not always about what you have done, but what you are doing, and how constantly vocal you can be on the matter.

Wakeman isn't a talker. He's a doer, and anyone who has ever had the good fortune of working with him knows this to be true. Should any folks who cross the site's path ever find themselves in the market for the magic that he makes, or even if you want to talk about Mopar, overseas manufacturing, 80's punk rock, metallurgy, child rearing, backpacking or riding bikes in Fruita, don't be hesitant to make contact;

Moving on to the mail bag, Amigo #4 wrote in with an astute observation.

"Re: That just happened.

The straw broke the camels back. My neighbour just asked if he could check out my road bike then proceeded to lift it off the ground with one finger. How many times has this happened to you? My guess would be thousands. I decided to prove that unless your road bike is an incredibly heavy piece of shit any idiot with at least one finger attached to his hand can lift it. Notice that although I'm wearing sandals and obviously spend a lot of time in the weight room, I am lifting the 25 lb weight with the greatest of ease;

So there you have it. The next time someone tells you about "his friends bike that is so light he can lift it with one finger" you can reply BFD I saw a picture of a guy lifting a 25 lb weight with one finger while wearing sandals. You can thank me later."

Obviously the flip flops give you power where you need it.

In other news, If you aren't familiar with the FBM Bike Company, then I would like to invite you from beneath the rock you have been residing. Before they re-wrote the rule book, they took the previously existing one, took a dump on it and then set it on fire.
Well, last week I came across the following trailer that brilliantly illustrates the history of the little company who could;

To get the full shibang, roll through FBM for the skinny.

Yuri the Marin Bikes super honch just got back from a trip to the Great White North where he ran into none other than H.N.H;

"Stevil,

I just returned from Crankworx, which is really a bacchanalian 20 something party disguised as a bike event, where I rode with none other than "pretty hair" himself. Being that you are more creative and smarter than I, probably better looking too, I thought you might want this photo."

'Joe Parkin Has Nice Helmet', or if you wish, 'Joe Parkin Hucks New Hardware'.

Either way, the guy can ride a bike pretty good for a roadie. I wonder how many flat brimmed ball caps and lifted Ford F350s were utilized in their ascent to the top.

All joking aside, this does look pretty sublime;

Years ago while working on the NORBA circuit, the promoter at the National's race in Crystal Mountain, Washington did all of the working mechanics a solid one day and turned the lifts on early, so that we could get a ride in before the day started. The journey up consisted of two very long lift trips, resulting in absolutely breath taking vistas of the Cascades, and at least a forty five minute descent.

It was the only time I have ever 'free ridden', and as conflicted as I felt, it was an awesome experience.
Should I ever get the chance to do such a thing again, I wouldn't think twice.

As I sit here on the brink of middled agedness, it's the least I could do for myself.

The time has come to pull the plug on today's installment, though before I go I would like to reintroduce an old friend, and a new advertiser. Terry from Doma Coffee and I have been backing and fourthing concerning the possibility of bringing them on as a new addition to the list of Maximo Supremo. My consistent pleas, and sweet talking finally did the trick, and they, in all of their free trade goodness have finally agreed to join the party.

Welcome aboard Doma. I'm pleased to have you along and I thank you for helping fuel the machine.

It's Monday. Go do what you do.

America Needs A War On Stupid.

"Idiocracy. See it. It's not a comedy. It's a prophecy."

You might be curious what Caddyshack has to do with anything (other than being the greatest movie of all time, ever.)

The salad days, when cocaine fueled the movie industry.

You see, I've been thinking about polo shirts lately, and the fact that not many folks wore a polo better than Mr. Ty Webb. I myself have never been much of a polo shirt wearer, but as of last Tuesday, am about to start.

As I do from time to time, I stopped by to see The Skipper and AndywhoIhaveyettogiveanicknameto at the warehouse. My first order of business was to steal some candy and do some work on the tuna sandwich and can of beer that were in my backpack.

The second order of business was to grab one of their new Campy polo shirts;

According to their website, this is made of a proprietary blend known as 'lightweight e²-tech fabric'.

"During the early 1940s scientists working in Swobo's secret underground lab had been recklessly pushing the envelope of evaporative efficiency (e²) in an effort to produce a material capable of cooling a soldier (or rider) before he even got hot. During what might otherwise have been a serious accident, these scientists also discovered that their miracle fiber could also evaporate spilled beer nearly instantaneously, effectively protecting the wearer from spill-based embarrassment. What they produced was e²-tech fabric, a material designed to maximize coolness in every situation. Recognizing the humanitarian potential of their discovery, Swobo's scientists published the process of manufacturing this super-material. Today it is used around the world and is now known as polyester."

Plus it's got a little loop from the front from which you can hang an emergency snack;

Shot in black and white to retain artistic integrity.

In the short time I've had it in my possession I've already tested it in both its cooling properties as well as beer repellence.

The next tests will be the 'spend several days in a row, and also sleep in the same shirt' assessment.
Results will be forthcoming, but for now, I am a believer.

In other news, not totally unrelated to black shirts, Captain Dave sent an email to let us know that despite the Ironclad team being comprised of a bunch of dirtbags, they still can ride the hell out of their bikes;

"Dig it.

Rapha Ride - 120 miles, 6300 feet of climb, 96 degrees.

Ironclad men place best time on the day, winning all the beer, 27 cases to be exact, for each team in the race. Top notch. Winners.

This after winning the Twilight Crit in downtown Portland Friday night, and before placing a champion in Sunday's state hill climb championship race.

Thank you for your support!

CD"

For power, I would like to take that jersey and scrape some of its seasoning onto an avocado. Gods would bow before me.

As we steer away from black things to black names, Andrew from Blackbook stencils (the creator of the new AHTBM stencil set donchaknow?) emailed me with an image suitable for framing;

Chewing on raw sausage links can ease the pain of incoming baby teeth.

In an additional thought regarding all that is black, Chopper of BIKE Magazine fame, as well as Smith Optics sent me an email depicting what he simply refers to as the 'black tambourine';

Damn the luck. Wouldn't you know that this had to happen just before the annual Left handed High Five World Championships. That guy just can't get a break.

No pun intended.

Keeping with the theme, from the previously mentioned bicycle utopia that is Portlandia East, where black is the color of their souls, I received this event flyer for a bicycle related event that was drawn up custom by the mighty pen of Mr. Roger Lootine;

There is sure to be politeness, civility, and reserved imbibement the whole day through.

With what little time we have left here today, I have a request. It occurred to me recently that it might not be a bad idea to begin collecting random imagery of AHTBM goods caught in the wild. If it's a shot of you posing, that's fine. If it's a shot of you winning;

Even better. If it's a candid shot of some fetching creature standing across a crowded room wearing a cap, or a homeless guy in a cardboard box wearing a t-shirt, all of my dreams would be answered.

If you're still confused, this might clear things up.

If you have already emailed me a photo, then do it again. My inbox and photo files are a complete disaster. Starting from scratch is my middle name.

I thank you for you time and consideration on this matter.

So with the conclusion of today's post, all is right with the world, and you know exactly what you need to.

Black is black, and the weekend is upon us.

If there are any questions left unanswered, just remember the following;

"Be the ball, Danny."

As we launch into today's post, Dustin thankfully made contact with the following video;

"Dear Stevil,

This has become my most favorite video ever. The description was "Two cops that have gotten a little too close to each other."

Even if you have no use for this video, you may enjoy it. The ending is glorious.

Sincerly,

Dschlong"

Have no use for it? This is exactly what my life was like before I became a profhessianal bhlogger. Though the parallels between my life as an ambiguously gay cop and what I do now are distant, my roots in the mean (albeit fabulous) streets run deep.

Not that DPow! from esteemed advertisers Portland Design Works knows anything about ambiguously gay police officers, but he does know a thing or two about lights. I mentioned last week that PDW had a new product available called the Fenderbot which I had hoped to post a photo of, but sometimes happy hour gets in the way of progress, so it had to wait. In the meantime not only did I receive two photos of said item, but they very graciously sent me one of my own;

Aside from the light's blinding brightness, there's nothing earth shaking about this number, but I do like the fact that you can mount it right on your fender, and needn't worry about Hobo Joe happening along to liberate your light from your possession.

My townie just got a lot more handsome.

Truth be told, in recent weeks my stable has gotten all kinds of various new bells and whistles. I am woefully neglectful when it comes to diligent replacement of chains, which generally results in entirely new drive trains. Just last month alone the proverbial shit hit the fan on nearly every one of my bikes simultaneously.

Five cassettes, five chains, two chainrings, one bottom bracket, and two pulleys. I then broke one of my frames, and upon repair, opted to get a rear disk mount installed which meant a new brake. I hate mismatched brakes however, so a new set was procured, which of course meant a new wheel, but even more than mismatched brakes, I hate mismatched wheels, so throw a new wheel set in there as well. The new brakes weren't compatible with the old rotor so on top of everything, chalk up a new set of those. Retail for all of that would ordinarily run in the neighborhood of a million dollars, but thankfully (and I can't impress upon you exactly how thankful I am), I racked up a laundry list of people I now owe (more) favors to in procuring new parts to replace all of the old battle worn ones.

Now if I can just remember to periodically get new chains every now and again, I hopefully won't have to go down this road again.

Like my old friend Blintz used to say, "bikes are like friends. You can't have too many nice ones."

The contradiction to this rule is that nice friends don't usually break down and need prohibitively expensive replacement parts to get going again.

That is of course unless they pop an implant or something, but luckily I don't have any of those in my life anyway.

But one thing I do have a lot of is nice friends, and a good portion of them happen to reside in the Twin Cities, which as we all know is in constant contention for 'America's Bikeiest Place', or something.

Well, Brother Yam has a word on the matter from the 612 itself;

(A generically suitable accompanying image of the MPLS, taken from my archives.)

"Another reason why Mpls has dethroned Portlandia as the bike capital of the US of A:

After consuming with the other two-wheeled wonders of our great burg, I, and a small collection of other Minneapolitans, decided to take Zappa's advice of "America Drinks and Goes Home." Some of us took a little longer to take heed of that second part and ended up deciding to lock up and cab it (a couple of run-ins with the curb too many).

When awaking the next day and finding our beloved Big Dummy missing, we did a couple of things simultaneously: cry, panic, call the cops and let the 612 know that beloved bike was missing. Short story: Angry Catfish got a call from a concerned citizen that a bike that didn't belong to them was sleeping in their yard. AC's special agent checked out Minneapolis Bike Love's stolen bike section which I had enough sense to post to and they notified me of said homeowner's discovery. Bike found, mostly intact and owner happy as a something that's really, really happy.

Just a shout out to the good breeding, manners and wonderful sense of community of my neighbors and friends in the 612. Love y'all...

Brother Yam"

Friendly competition aside, there are a number of similarities that Portlandia and Mini Apple Sauce have in common. The first and most obviously being an unconditional love for all things two wheeled, the second is an unquenchable thirst for the sauce, and the third being Cheever, though I'm not sure that's such a good thing.

It's kinda like, "Oh, no way.. You have herpes too? Alright, high five!"

For today's post, I'm going to close with a new segment we will call 'Wednesday's Music Minute', and only unless it happens to occur on a Monday or a Friday will it be referred to as something different. The band we will discuss is a long time favorite of mine from Cincinnati called The Afghan Whigs, and their seminal release 'Up In It';

You may recall some months ago I discussed a band called The Gutter Twins. Aside from Mark Lanigan (formerly of The Screaming Trees), the second half of their vocalists is the Afghan Whigs' previous frontman, Greg Dulli. 'Up In It' was a staple for my younger self, and though I never embarked on a journey of hard drugs, alcohol and illicit sex (at least not all at once), I always imagined this to be the perfect soundtrack for such a lifestyle.

The relentless rhythms of drummer Steve Earle and bassist John Curley provide the foundation for the dueling ethereal guitar attacks of Rick McCollum and Dulli, as the vocals stray back and fourth between a sexually charged crooning and an agonizingly pained scream.

There are a small handful of albums I would count as imperative should I ever be banished to a deserted island and 'Up In It' is most certainly one.

Though I would be lying if I said since viewing the video at the top of today's post, including Grum on that list isn't necessarily out of the question.

It is with that, that I will sign off and bid you a fond 'happy hump day, dump day, shake your rump day'.

As my parents used to be fond of saying to me, "now get out of there and go do something."

I will kick today's post off with an additional reminder that the AHTBM/Pushbike bag making machine is poised at the ready. You want one? Yes you do.

As I mentioned previously, I would like to limit the runs of bags to smaller batches so as to not overwhelm Ian, the individual who lovingly crafts each of them by hand.
Place your order now, and I can almost guarantee that your bag's thread will be spun from the beard hair of the man himself;

Also, if anyone can tell me what kind of bike Ian is riding in the above photo, you win the distinct honor of knowing your ass from a hole in the ground.

As long as we have broached the topic of holes in the ground, and how they may or may not relate to one's ass, Michael 'Tweeted' me the following link that is one part dumb, and two parts dumberer.

If yu think yu kan handl it, the ful story iz hear.

Did you catch that footnote in there? The person who is concerned with his baby's well being also happens to be a twice convicted child molester.

I've said it before and I'm sure I will say it again- The fact that it's more difficult to get a driver's license than it is to create an entirely new life form becomes increasingly shocking to me. Then again, every time an inbred hillbilly has a child, Walmart gets a new customer, and that's good for the economy, right?

Speaking commerce, as I'm sure most of you are aware, the disaster in the desert otherwise known at Interbike (or 'Innerbike' for those of us with lazy tongues) is just around the corner, and as usual, I have been furiously searching for something to wear that will allow me to present myself in the most appropriate light possible. After finding the following item, I think it's safe to say that my search might very well be over;

But aside from an undersized tuxedo, what would possibly do such a thing justice? Luckily Chris from Electra Bicycle Company had my back and sent me this sharp little number.

I can already hear my dance card filling up.

An individual who wouldn't be afraid to wear a rubber prosthetic in Las vegas is the enigmatic Jordi, pictured here engaged in some rad getting;

If I remember correctly, he used to be employed doing something along those lines anyway.

Now back over to the mail bag, from Ken I got this short and sweet one;

"Thanks for the SF Weekly link, and never forget...

-"Your ass backwards if you chase hoes, chase the cheese they come with the shit."

I think that's funny, but funny in an uneasy sort of way. Laughing at Laurence Koolaid Maroney is not a lot unlike laughing at a retarded kid, and as you and I both know, that's just not nice.

Sean sent me a shout for an event that warms my heart and is exactly the sort of throwdown for which my fantasy road trip is tailor made;

The Durango Gay Mountain Fest.

A beavy of fat tire loving homos and homettes, all coming together in a beautiful mountain setting to engage in their mutual love of the fat tire?

Awesome.

And for those of you who might think I'm being facetious, let me assure you, I am not.

Two things I like just about more than anything are riding mountain bikes in Colorado, and partying... No... raging until my face falls off, and very few people in my life know how to tear the holy hell out of a celebration better than the gays.

Though if I had my way, the BBQ/pool party would have been scheduled for an entire day.

Alright, before I go I have to show off a pet project of mine. You see, two years ago I decided to place an order for a 29er with my pal Rick Hunter. Upon receiving the request, he flatly questioned "don't you already have enough bikes?"

That's good business practices right there.

Anyhow, as I chipped away at my debt to him with anything from bribes to beer and everything in between, I began amassing a collection of parts. Friends from all corners of the industry very graciously provided me with whatever odds or ends they might have had stashed away in their desks, closets or garages.

As I mentioned to someone recently, 'for a 40th birthday present to myself, I ordered a custom frame and started collecting parts when I was 37.'

After all is said and done, I have turned the final set screw, and crimped the last cable on the newest addition to my stable;

New bike wood is in full effect around here, and I finally see what all the hubbub about 29ers is.

On that note, it's Monday. The sound of clocks being punched is ringing out across the land and the nation's work force are filing into their respective cubicles.

Though from my perspective, today seems as good a day as any to call in sick.

If you need me, you know where I'll be.

Euro trash, air humps and saxophone solos for everybody!

Regarding Wednesday's trivia corner, sometimes the Googles are too much of a good thing, as every bit of information one could hope to know can be found there, but alas, I like to think that the correct answer (which was finally provided for me by Jesse Englert) as well as all of the other attempts were bits of pre-existing information tucked away in the dark corners of the reader's minds.

(Also, I'm going to get a second run out of the following graphic, on account of cause it's sweet and it took me a long time to make.)

So yes, yes... The correct answer was Roland Liboton;

'The Rolandinator'.. 'The Beast from Belglandia'. J.P.H.N.H.'s former teammate and a monster of a bike racer who was the last world Champion to win a 'Cross Worlds aboard a Guerciotti;

... And who apparently laughs like Ernie from 'Sesame Street'.

Here is Roland in recent days, looking particularly De Niro-esque;

So to Jesse who wins the booty, and to Ghost Rider who came in second, congratulations on your big brains, but as we all know, second place is the first loser, so Jesse, shoot me an email with your address and I'll send you your box of crap. Er... I mean Prizes..

In news of other greats from a time mostly forgotten, Furryknuckle sent me this piece of information concerning a recent passing;

"Re: To raise a toast in his honor may be inappropriate.

Radomir "skids" Simunek, cirrhosis of the liver at age 48. normally I'd raise a toast to the passing of a champion, but the irony in this case is too hard to bear.

That, and the fact that he was, even by eastern european standards, something of a cunt, makes me wonder instead if this is a more noble way to go down than having your heart burst while still in your twenties..."

That being said, this video tribute is reallyfuckingweird;

Anyway Radomir, rest in peace. Here's to the demons not cursing you in the afterlife that so obviously did while you were here.

I seems suitable that I should take the chance to post the following trailer, which you might remember seeing here previously, for Brian Vernor's latest offering, 'The Cyclocross Meeting'.

From making films with a very specific and unique flavor, to growing the hell out of a beard in a matter of minutes, Brian half steps nothing, and I'm quite looking forward to seeing this in its entirety.

Back to the standard rigamarole, we've got some mailbag to get into.

Concerned that we might be curious as to B-Rad's whereabouts, Huber sent in a heads up. (Pun obviously intended);

"Stevil,

While on the topic of B-rad, here is another helping for you, and an update of sorts. Hurl sent out a call to a couple of Burleigh county residents last week to give us the heads up that B-rad was going to be passing through on a some what meandering cross country adventure to Florida. He was in town for only one night, and it was spent at Bismarck's dirtiest of dirty karaoke bars ripping filters of cigs and burning them down. The next morning I heard he split, but I guess this warm North Dakota weather we've been experiencing must have got to the guy because when I showed up the next day at my buddy Lancescaping's castle for a little BBQ, B-rad was still in Bismarck.

Apparently he made it to the world's largest holstein before overheating and being rescued by Lancescaping via automobile. Anyway, he's doing fine, we had some shots of tequila and beers that night to re-hydrate him, and I also got this photo of B-rad laughing in whiskey dick's face.

-Huber"

From Malcolm T, I received a shout concerning an event, ala this past spring's Gravel Metric Invitation;

"Dearest Stevil, I just wanted to write to make sure that you have seen this video:

If not, you must get with the times mon frere, it 'totally dropped back in the day' (which at the time of writing this email was 18 hours ago). Anyway, just wanted to shamefully plug this shit, should be tuns-o-fun, for details, checked out:

Pirate Cycling League(dot)com

Bring you bike, ride you bike, why not on gravel?

Yours truly,
Malcolm

PS, I haven't throw up on my kit yet, what am I doing wrong?"

So there you go. If you find yourself in or around Lincoln, you know what to do.

As far as throwing up on your kit, if at first you don't succeed, try and try again.

So there you have it... Hard men of the past and hard men of the present all joined together in a single post. With the exception of drinking yourself or anyone around you to death, do as they say and do as they do.

As we jump from over there, all the hell the way to over here, I have a bit of a plea. You see, my old and very dear friend Heavy Metal Cookiehead (don't hold her name against her. She was born to psychotics) has a young son struggling in the throes of Autism. After I read this article recently, I of course immediately thought of her.

So my plea is this, if any of the Black Market readership have an iPad that they are thinking of selling, giving away, or trading for any number of delightful vegetarian recipes, then get in touch with me and I will connect you.

In her words, "this might give my son a voice!"

From where I stand, that's kinda hard to deny.

So it's with that, and in the name of making the weekend ours, let's hoist a clenched fist in the air and shout to the gods in unison, "All Hail."

Before I get into anything, I should take the opportunity to apologize for my late arrival on Monday. Over the weekend Cobra Commander was making some adjustments under the hood, (none of which I'm smart enough to understand), resulting in my inability to throw a new post up in a timely fashion.

In an attempt to remedy this, I have a new feature for AHTBM called J.P.H.N.H's trivia corner;

This was the second take, as the first just occurred in casual conversation as a young man happened by atop the aforementioned bike brand.

Also, in the name of fairness and since Joe refused a second round of Ernie's laugh, here you go.

The first person to guess correctly gets a highly coveted AHTBM prize pack, which may or may not include any one, or number of the following;

Stickers
Cüzies
AHTBM socks
Various detritus
Inner tubes
Photographs
Toys
Empty beer cans
Full beer cans
Forged autograph picture of Ernest Borgnine

A winner will be picked when a winner wins, so leave your answer in the comments section.
Get cracking, and god speed.

An item cut from a different cloth that has been sitting on my back burner for a couple of weeks is the following article that was written for BIKE Magazine by Brian Vernor about Lincoln, Nebraska's pride and joy, as well as one of my esteemed advertisers, Monkey Wrench Bicycles;

Well, it's come to my attention that the little shop that doubles as a museum (ala San Diego's Velo Cult) has recently relocated to a much bigger and far more suitable space;

Photo courtesy of Steve Andel

If random bits of mountain bike history is what suits your fancy, or you perchance need to find a mate for your single WTB Roller Cam brake, you need look no further than Monkey Wrench.

In the world of art, there is a fair amount that sucks. I am by no means an authority on what is and what is not quality art work, but I have been involved in this particular culture long enough to have developed a keen sense of what I like, hence the random 'art that doesn't suck' segments that have appeared here from time to time. I still get giddy when something crosses my plate that simply brings a smile to my face while acting as a comparison telling me that my obsessive compulsive disorder really isn't all that big of a deal. The following example that I got from the Sticker Robot does just that;

All hail Dalton Ghetti;

Now I realize that it's unfair for me to transition away from something so sublime to a topic as crass as the following, but recently I have become acquainted with a delightful individual in Florida (of all places) who goes by the name of Andrew Black. Besides being a derelict who apparently has been boiled in the same broth as myself, he runs an interesting business called Blackbook Stencils.

After some recent ham and egging on the phone recently, we have joined forces in what the kids call a 'collabo', and I have just taken delivery of my very own run of All Hail The Black Market stencils;

As I've stated in the description in the store, I don't condone graffiti or civil dissent in any form, however if these are to be used in such a fashion, I can't stop you.

I have a small run of these to start off with, so if you would like to procure a set of your own, get on it.

My fingers are already dirtied;

I should also note that the previously mentioned AHTBM/Pushbike messenger bag is also now available in the store;

Since there is one man and one machine behind the creation of each of these, I am going to sell them on a pre-order, 20 bag maximum basis. This means, I will open the order window now, and close it in two weeks, or 20 bags, which ever happens first. Ian's turn around on these is impressively fast, so I would expect that I should take delivery of them within a week or so of the order window closing.

If you want one of these, which I'm sure you do, place your order by the 24th of August, so that I can hopefully get them shipped out by the end of the first week of September.

From the mail bag, Parker just sent me this short and sweet correspondence;

"Dear Stevil,

My girlfriend sent this clip to me today and I instantly thought of you.
You may have posted it months or years ago for all I know but you'll still get a kick out of it.

I hope the life of a big wig corporate success is treating you well.
Don't forget about us little guys when you sell everything to Google.

Yours,
Parker"

Responding to him, I thanked him for the clip, offered him this one in return, and told him the day Google buys me out, I will forget everything that happened up until that point.

No offense to my family, friends, and loyal readers, but being handed a check for a brazillion dollars can sometimes adversely effect a man.

Josh sent me an email for a party I only wish I was in attendance at, but when the Google check clears, I doubt I'll miss another;

"Caught in the wild..

Ninth picture down. Missed the ride, so I thought I'd catch up on the blog.

Fun was had, as always."

Hear ye, hear ye. The Fucking Bike Club has more fun than you do.

In closing, I got a heads up from DPow! of esteemed advertisers Portland Design Works with varying degrees of information exchange;

"New light Wednesday! The Fenderbot has arrived.

Also, here is one for you. Funny, she looks EXACTLY like every woman who has done time as far as I can tell."

Indeed the Fenderbot has arrived. I wanted to include a large, and inviting image of the newest item to roll off of PDW's assembly line, but I don't yet have one of my own to shoot, and DPow! was too busy swimming in his Scrooge McDuck pool of gold coins to forward me one, so for now you'll just have to rely on their website.

Secondly, my concern for 'The Jersey Shore' ended the day I let my cable expire, though in retrospect, it should have occurred several weeks earlier.

It is with that, that I now conclude with a clever reference to the top of the post.

If anybody has any ideas, shoot them my way at;

usuallyiknowhowtofinishoffapostexceptsometimesidont@allhailtheblackmarket.com

Suckit, suckas.

Illustration courtesy of Rob Dobi.

I've done my best to push the following video down as many throats as it would fit via other media channels, but I realize the best thing for me to do is to post it here, where a far broader spectrum of people can enjoy it.

You see, when Danny B. originally turned me on to this clip, I was cringing, and attempting to wriggle away like a child avoiding a plate full of steamed vegetables. However Danny encouraged me to sit through it, and I'm glad I did, because after suffering though the nonsense that Attack!Attack delivers by the shovel full, something magical and hilarious happens, and no, you shouldn't just fast forward, because you'll miss out on the impact that this video has to offer.

As I've said a few times last week, it's like receiving two minutes and forty seven seconds of stomach punches, only to be followed up by a rainbow enema.

Sit back and drink it in;

I have to be honest with you though.. The synchronized guitar flip, and "WOOOO!" at one minute in is pretty sweet.

After the aggravation of the music has long faded however, what sticks most deeply in my craw is their hair;

You see, for my entire life, I've been cursed with a head of unmanageable, curly hair. In the 70s when all I wanted was to be able to feather it? Nope. Assfro. In the early 80s when all I wanted was a spikey punk cut? Nope. Assfro. In the mid 80s, when all I wanted fins, liberty spikes, or at the very least a pirate cut? Nope. Assfro. Eventually I just gave up and grew it long, but still never felt satisfied. I mean, look at the guy on the left in the above picture? Do you think anybody takes him seriously?

Of course they don't.

Did anyone ever really embrace Googy as The Misfit's drummer?

I realize he doesn't have curly hair, but you get my point. While he may not have had an afro on the outside, he certainly had one internally.

As far as I'm concerned, the few non-metal bands who have done the mop headed among us any justice these last two decades are R.E.M., At The Drive In, and Questlove from The Roots;

Curiously the key to documenting such a phenomenon is to apparently do so in black and white.

You know who knows what I'm talking about? J.P.H.N.H. knows what I'm talking about;

Now that I've gotten all of that off of my chest, I will dive head long into an array of notifications. The first being a product review for a little number that was made for me by my friend Randi Jo. I emailed her and asked for a run down of who she is and what she does, and this is what she responded with;

"A bio of sorts-
It all started with a cross-country trip in 2004 and a need for knickers and caps that looked great on and off the bike. Those first articles of clothing lead to more caps and somehow a bike shop, Rainy Peak Cyclery. The sewing continued as the bike shop grew, but in February of 2010, we sold our bike shop of four years to focus entirely on Randi Jo Fabrications and the production of fine cycling soft goods. I hand sew each and every apron, cap, jersey, saddle cover and M.U.T. myself. I've been operating a sewing machine since I was nine, after all. I've made custom cycling soft goods for shops, teams and scrupulous individuals from Portland to Japan.

All about our lovable M.U.T. (Multi-Use Tote)
Cordura covers the outside of this tote and nylon lines the inside for easy ins and outs. A thin layer of foam insulates and protects your load too. It boasts an outer pocket that fits just so over the bottle cage lip and a roll top to customize the fit according to your load. Two extra loops in the back give you more options for mounting as an under-seat bag, frame bag or in a non-standard bottle cage."

So now that you've read what she's got to say, I will lay out a few photos from my most recent product test;

I stashed the man can within the safe confines of my M.U.T and traveled over hill and dale, doing my best to pay no mind to the carbonated goodness that was contained inside. At no point did it shake loose, puncture, or look ugly. Finally after arriving at my destination, I pulled the can from its swaddling to find that it was indeed still chilled. I slowly opened it to avoid any unnecessary waste, and rewarded myself for a job well done.

Unfortunately, I got curious and turned my M.U.T. inside out just to see what made it tick. In doing this, I screwed up the liner and now am unable to fully utilize the insulative properties;

If I were to have turned the camera around, you would have seen me making a sad face.

As I stated yesterday while reflecting on what had gone wrong, "I was fussing with it, and like anything new and cool, my curiosity ended up fucking it up.
Remote controls.
Kittens.
Relationships.
Etc."

Fortunately, Randi Jo has taken pity on me and said that she would take it back to fix that which I have undone. Should you desire to procure one of these for yourself, learn from my mistake. While it may seem tempting to put your hand into it, it's just best to steer clear.

This lesson is applicable for all aspects of life.

Not only was I on the hill for some sunshine and lung dust, but it was my mission to fix up some of what I fixed up trail-wise, last winter. As it turned out, a majority of the log work I laid down across a swampy stretch of trail didn't form the foundation that I had hoped, and ultimately has since scattered all over the place;

Because ultimately I was the one responsible for the debris, I took it upon myself to clear the trail and return it to its natural state, stacking all of the logs aside to hopefully be used again next winter;

No good deed goes unpunished. Or something.

If you don't want to dirty your hands and keeping your karmic slate clean is what you are aiming for however, then does Marko from esteemed advertisers Planet Bike have a deal for you;

"Stevil san,

So aparently Pepsi has some sort of thing going on where they give over a million dollars away each month to "fund great ideas". Well, Ripon College in my neck of the woods is currently in the running to get funded for 25K to build a rad mtb trail system. Ripon has a full-on mtb collegiate team and they also give a mountain bike to any incoming student that pledges to leave their car at home. Anyways, what I'm getting at is that they're currently around 25th and need to be top ten to get the funding. It would be very gentlemanly of you to post this link to drum up some more votes for them.

Refresh Everything.

P.S. Ripon is also home to rippin good cookies. Genius name.

Thanks.

Marko"

As I started reading the email I began getting itchy palms thinking that Marko was indicating that I should apply for the grant, but seeing as the last good idea I had was my first day of kindergarten when I asked my mom when I could drop out, I probably am not in the running.

So get on there and cast your vote. It only takes a second and it gives THE MAN the chance to throw some cash in our general direction.

As long as we are discussing the fine state of Wisconsin, I should include this link that was sent to me from Jim at Vecchio's Cyclery in Boulder where they take cyclocross seriously, concerning teachers struggling for their right to boners;

"Teachers union fights for Viagra drug coverage over hiring more teachers. I knew funky shit went on in those teachers lounges!!!"

Finally, and to conclude the topic of penis related humor, I would like to include the best headline of the week;

Ball could hold link to Armstrong probe.

Now, while I may never have the kind of hair that is necessary for a style popular with sixteen year old boys, I can run circles around them when it comes to finding humor in an article title having nothing to do with testicle(s).