I talked to Steve Stickel yesterday about the new machine. He threw out some numbers, I listened to some numbers, and a general concurrence was had by all. I had asked him about whether or not I would get one of those cute CAD type drawings of my new frame to carry around like a fetal sonogram for the many weeks of waiting ahead, but he said he prefers to use a protractor, compass, piece of string, sextant, #2 pencil, and wooden yardstick to draw his frames.

He might not have said that exactly. His mouth was full of candy corn, so I could only catch every fifth word or so. Apparently when you're the bearded, eccentric frame builder in the neighborhood, parents steer their children away from your house at Halloween, and you end up eating leftover candy for months.

So I took it upon myself to head over to the Bicycle Forest and hop on the free version of BikeCAD and make my own drawing. I started with this stock bike...

and after fiddling for way toooo long with some numbers, colors, and whatnot, I came up with this:

My bike will look like that, as far as having two wheels, a saddle, and something tying it all together. Otherwise, it's a terrible representation of what's to come. What I did manage to do was waste about 1.5 hours making it, which is a small price to pay to carry a picture of my future bike baby in my wallet... assuming I carried a wallet, which I don't.

There are many details that are missing in the not-so-expert 2-D version of my frame. Things that were beyond my skill level to portray.

It will have some of this (not shown in my picture):

and this (also not shown in my picture):

and this (also, also not shown in my picture):

and most certainly one of these (also, also, also not shown in my picture):

I'm excited. Things are coming together. Parts will come from far and wide soon enough, and a bike will be assembled that will forever change the way people all over the world look at Mallomars.

I was going to take today off to celebrate the 7th best movie ever made, but Brado posted the Icycle photos yesterday.

Photos of me ripping...

and tearing...

and shredding...

and failing...

miserably.

There was a clean line to the left (my right). I did not see it. Neither did this kid.

Yet he did not touch the floor.

Beats me why I wrecked. It just happened, like the AMC Gremlin just happened. It was ugly and ill-conceived. Brado took like a million photos standing there, and several riders missed the smooth line and went over the rocks.

None of them wrecked...

except me.

At least I'm good at something.

Being me,

and showing my ass.

Thirty-six years later, the Gremlin seems pretty cool.

Maybe I can hope for the same results.

The Southeast Bike Expo is a little over three weeks away.

Did I even mention at any moment in time before now that there was a bike expo coming to the Southeast?

I can't remember, but it is coming regardless of my remembrance or lack thereof of its very existence. There are a shit ton of companies coming with bikes to ride, stuff to touch, and stickers to surreptitiously plunder before absconding to the surrounding woods. If you are thinking about plunking down some money on some cycling related goods this year, this could be your chance to play with it in person beforehand. Also worth mentioning is the fact that the event is being held in Conyers, historically significant to mountain bikers in that it happens to be the place where yours truly became World Champ in 2006.

Something else went on there in 1996,

but it paled in comparison to the moment that changed the cycling world forever. This would be your chance to ride someone else's bike around the trails that I personally made famous.

The URL for the Southeastern Bike Expo does bother me a little though.

http://sebikex.com/

I see bike.

I see sex.

I see a bike in sex.

I expect to see some porn, some bike related porn... something.

Oh well, admission is $20-25 depending on when you register, and the proceeds will benefit IMBA/SORBA.

This week's Wednesday Retro Dick Pic of the Week may be a little disappointing to some of you that are expecting a constant supply of mullets, acne, tinted glasses, jams, spandex, and cats.

That's a scan of a photo of a drawing that I created whilst in college. On the left is The Bush Man (Africanus Aboriginus) and on the right is the The Busch Light Man (Draftus Dependicus) also known as Eric Tupper, my roommate. Please disregard my geographical ignorance and my total disregard for cultural anthropology. I personally apologize to my entire Aboriginal readership (which I probably just doubly offended) for the ignorance of this once young, semi-uneducated man.

The first person to point out the cultural signifiance of Eric's shirt will get a big hug from me the next time I see you, maybe not in public, but a hug all the same.

Final score?
Pisgah: 111
You: 0

Well, it's officially official. The Pisgah 111K MTB Race is on.

The permits are no longer pending. The permits have been permitted. The registration is up (here or here). The numbers are limited. First come, first two hundred served.

This race will be hard. Achievable by those that consider themselves mortals, but definitely a ball buster of a race (ovary buster for the women's field). Am I stoked to be pumped about being pumped to be stoked for this race?

I guess so.

Training starts today.

I don't really know what that means, but I'm wearing my chamois 24-7 until the event.

It's my favorite shirt anyhoo.

Yes, there are other races in the Southeast scheduled for the same day. After many talks with Eric "111k Honcho" Wever, I have once again found a deeper understanding of race promotion. A lot of thinking, rules, calendars, organization, bureaucracies, agencies, and whatnot go into putting a race on the schedule. So many factors to consider when selecting a date for your event.

Eric said "Fuck that" and threw a dart at the wall.

I kid.

So race for 12 hours on buff trails or do yet another NUE race. That's fine, if that's your thing.

Just don't hate the waiter.

Hate the menu.

Remember, he can touch your food...

with his balls.

Another Icycle behind me, and I'm glad I went along for the ride. Although the "results" do not reflect a successful weekend of bike racing, everything in between was pretty sweet.

Zac and I arrived a little late to the party on Friday. 10:00PM shouldn't be considered too late, but when the party started at 2:00PM, there would be some catching up to do.

Party symmetry on the front porch at 27°.

There were some sad moments. A beer shortage occurred at some point that could only be solved by the arrival of Kurt and Gwyn. Jon Danger Evans lamented his temporarily empty coozie with a single face palm.

But then the evening went back on as planned and not.

Breck Epic shirt, Trans-Sylvania Epic hoodie, Epic evening.

There were two bathrooms in the three bedroom cabin. There were twenty bathrooms outside the three bedroom cabin.

photo cred: Jon Danger Evans

When I woke up, I could not find my keys or my cellphone. The keys were in a crack of the couch I sort of slept on, but after at least an hour of frantic searching, I could not find my phone. I looked in the coolers, the trash, the fridge, under and on top of everything, and several places I never went in the cabin. I had all but given up hope, and then miraculously it appeared...

in Kurt's pocket.

Registration hangover, lost valuables, lung butter from a cold that won't let me go, below freezing temps, an unorganized duffle that has been tossed and shuffled in multiple mad attempts to find my phone, farts that smelled like a burnt baby doll, a certain lack of desire to eat, the regrettable decision to preregister thus forcing my hand to race when I feel like three sacks of shit shoved into one proper shitbag.

I watched the first wave of racers go off around 11:00AM on an empty and very angry stomach.

photo cred: Eric Wever

In between the throbs in my head, I managed to spectate, cheer, get my shit together, eat something, and kit up for our 1:00PM start.

The race started LeMans style (running to the bikes)...well, at least the guys in front of me were running. I was dropped immediately by 90%+ of the field, and when I looked over my shoulder, I only saw two guys lollygagging behind me. Shit.

My nose felt like I had been snorting the corrosion off an old car battery and my throat was pinched down to a fourth its normal size and dry as the West Texas wind. My off the back start put me way further back then I wanted to be, so I put in a solid effort...

solid for something like ten minutes...

photo cred: Eric Wever

and then I dropped back into obscurity for the rest of the race.

I did manage a finish of sorts with some people in front of me and the rest behind me.

I immediately hopped on the next shuttle to the top of the DH course in my skinsuit of awesome. I don't remember anybody else wearing a skinsuit in the back of the U-Haul truck. Fools.

I took three practice runs and then headed back to the cabin, content in the knowledge that the course did indeed go in a downhill manner from top to bottom.

The night downhill race? Everything is different in the dark. I did not have a very clean run. I came unclipped in the air on the step-up root cluster jump and lost my shit once to the point of coming to almost a dead stop. Shit. The Extreme Tomato still crushed my time and he took the time to roll around in the dirt for 5-7 seconds. Shit once more.

But I lived.

At the awards, something got screwed up. They tried to give me third place in the XC race, and then called my name again for second place. I had to explain that not only was I not in third, I was most definitely not traveling with my clone who coulda taken second as well. I handed my schwag bag to Timmy and Zac and let them sort the placings out.

Then there was more beer, multiple fires, a drunk spectator that could no longer stand, a drunk person vomiting off a front porch, scissor fighting, a dance-off, wrestling, party searching, non-party finding, and movie reviews.

Later on, I did spend the rest of the night trying to sleep on the floor while hacking up a lung, but you'll have that.

Wake up to more frost and a mess to clean up,

and then the drive home wondering how many years it will be before I once again return to the Icycle.

One week into my "new" job.

Funny, but things don't seem that different than they were seven days ago. Then again, this never happened at my old job:

The Icycle is tomorrow. I am ready...

as far as Brocery shopping goes.

Word to the wise. Never buy beer and chips more than one day out from departure unless you buy twice as much beer and chips than you actually need.

I've been sick for the last week, not "I can't get outta bed" sick, not "walking dead" sick, just "coughing, sneezing, aching, stuffy-head so I can lay awake" sick. This should bode well for the upcoming festivities, and it certainly won't limit my ability to make great bike race.

I am signed up for the single speed class for the cross country race tomorrow afternoon, and as long as I can keep from straying down the dark path to destruction, I should be racing in the Hard-Ass class for the night downhill. I would love to blather on and on and on about the race, but since I spent last night fixing a steam cleaner, my morning is now dedicated to packing my riding clothes, lights, edible underwear, and tiara.

It will be that kinda race.

How motivated am I? Not very. Instead of my usual Rob Zombie get-angry shower music, I have been bathing to the tunes of none other than Billy Squier. Hardly the music to set me off into the freakin' outer space of anger, but that's the kinda mood I'm in.

Somebody please tell me why Billy Squier's 16 Strokes does not include Lonely is the Night?



Seriously? We get his later in life, weaksauce Love is a Hero and his self admitted, career-ending, sexually ambiguous, voted worst video of all time, Rock Me Tonite



but no Lonely is the Night?

Lonely is the night
When you find yourself alone...

Listening to Rock Me Tonite and enjoying it.

Last week I cheated you out of the Wednesday Retro Dick Pic of the Week on Wednesday. I promised to double up at the next opportunity.

Yesterday was that opportunity, and I failed. Like big time failed, like Peter failed.

With the recent spike in traffic after the gratuitous Dirt Rag link and the subsequent yet predictable fall in traffic, I now feel like it's just us again. I feel safe to share my past with you, and nobody else but you.

Spring Break 1989 (I think)

Those are spandex shorts. I wore them... in public... a lot... probably when my Jams were dirty. Also of note, that shirt is proof that I represented Youngstown State University at the Ohio Schick Super Hoops 3 on 3 tournament. Sure, my friends and I only got to "represent" because the guys who actually won the qualifier at YSU decided they didn't want to get up at 4:00AM to attend. Leave it to four quick thinkers sitting at a bar at 2:00AM to realize they could just stay up and make the drive to Columbus and show the rest of the world what the second string Atomic Dawgs could do.

Three white guys and a Filipino. We sucked. We only managed to score about ten points in two games, but I did get one tackle, so it was like a little victory for me.

This next one is just between you and me.

That's The Pie and I way before we finally made our love connection. Just to prove to you that I was into endurance events long before they were cool, we had been up late the night before attending a party at Sully's house. We got up early the next morning to be some of the first people in the gate for a once in a lifetime event. This picture was taken at the 12 Hours of Rock concert back in 1990 (if I had to guess). Foghat, Molly Hatchet, Steppenwolf, Bachman Turner Overdrive, Left End, Wicked Lester... good lord, I can't remember all the bands. If I looked hard enough, I'd probably be able to find the photo of the couple laying in the infield doing "it" about thirty feet away from us.

You wouldn't have wanted to see it anyways.

I wanted to look away, yet I was transfixed by its horrid glory.

I hope that fills the hole you had that needed a'filling.

BTW: Yesterday, Dirt Rag announced that they are THE presenting sponsors for the 2012 Trans Sylvania Epic.

L-R: Rich "Grape Ape" Straub, Josh "Dirt Rag Editor" Patterson, and myself.

This year I will not be so hungover on the day of the final stage that I can't participate in the final stage after the final stage (assuming I figure out a way to be in PA this June).



You know you wanna be there...

I've noticed something lately. The prolific use of smartphone-type camera devices have brought to my attention the fact that I wear my Twin Six long sleeve jerseys quite frequently. My Deluxe LS from days of yore seems to be the go-to most of the time.

photo cred: Eric Wever

I wear it at work, probably 2-3 days a week.

photo cred: Big Worm

I wear it on local rides and epic misadventures in the mountains.

photo cred: Big Worm

I save my fancy pants Metal long sleeve for impromptu trail work,

photo cred: Don Butler

social occasions,

photo cred: Colt McElwaine

and to impress the ladies.

I can definitely say that my Deluxe LS has seen more wear than any other piece of cycling garb that I own. I know that wool is the wonder material, but there's something to the non-sagging rear pockets, full zipper capability, fleecy fabric happy that my long sleeve T6 jerseys provide that my wool doesn't offer.

I went back through the archives trying to figure out just how long I've owned my Deluxe LS, but Indiana Jones, I ain't. I just know it has kept me happy for years and years now, and it's definitely one of those pieces of gear that I wonder what I was wearing before I got it (like my first Gore Tex coat).

If you want one, you won't get one that looks just like mine since Twin Six updates things every year, but you can get this newer version of the Deluxe:

or this more white, more blue, more Motor:


Regardless off the fact that I love my long sleeve Twin Six jerseys, I still have to give them my

SEAL OF SEMI-APPROVAL


Why? Because they managed to make a piece of gear that has become so critical to my wardrobe that when I either lose it or wear it out, it will feel like I lost a part of me. That, and there is no optional matching cape.

Will I be sporting Twin Six in 2012?

This should answer that question and many other mysteries:

Today's programming was brought to you by the number 6.

So, I finally get around to looking at all the awesome shots that Alex Hawn took at Sunday's short track race, and the only one I could find of me was taken during my "warm-up" lap...

with my puffy coat strapped to the bars, and apparently me trying to lick Alex as I flew through the air.

If you were racing, Alex probably got a shot of you, albeit with your tongue in your mouth and no puffy coats strapped to your bars. He didn't spend all day in the woods just beating on buckets, screaming, and ringing a cowbell. He took like a million pictures.

From Alex: "Pics of Race 2! Enjoy viewing them, consider purchasing them. For every purchase I will include Edited HQ versions. If you are a top 3 Finisher (in a class of more than 3) I will include a bonus images for you as well. Hope everyone enjoyed the World Cup Cheering Section I organized."

Day one at the new job is in the books. That is assuming someone keeps books on that sorta thing. That would be a boring collection of books.

I spent the whole day in training. Not just training... corporate training.

All the typical stuff, policies and procedures, computer stuff, confidentiality, dress codes, and a sexual harassment video.



Did you know that you should never touch a co-workers butt....

no matter what he's wearing?

Neither did I, but I got off with a warning.

Today I will have another coupla hours of benefits paperwork and such, and then I get to start working....

as a bike messenger.

It's a long story, but without getting into the boring details, I will be working directly for a client that I've been servicing for the past 14 years. There are some perks, some drawbacks, and some things that will just be the same old same old.

The important thing is that I'll still be doing a job that I love, a job that I think I was made to do, and a job that let's me wear a helmet and drop phat skids (not really). I'll have to shave more often, but if I cut myself while shaving, I think I get to take a sick day. I probably need to read the employee handbook a little closer.

One of the best things is that I won't have to go through the hassle of changing my header image.

With my training day behind me, I'll be retiring my training pants, or at least change their status to trail work pants.

So that's it. One door closed, another one opened, I walked in, I realized I was in the ladies room...

I can't believe they haven't fired me yet.

I rode out to the short track race yesterday. I jumped in the woods and did a quick lap when I got there. The what used to be a jump bump felt much better, but someone decided to move my rock next to the "gap" jump.

Apparently this rock was one too many. I guess there are only allowed to be so many rocks per lap, and this rock put the course over the legal limit. I looked all over for my rock in the surrounding area, even calling out for it.

"Here Rock, Rock, Rock!"

It was no use. The perpetrator had made sure that the rock could not be found. It might have been drowned in the nearby creek. Fortunately enough people enjoyed/preferred the "gap" line this week, regardless of the sanitized go-around, so I gave up my search.

I did "race" my bike, so to speak. I spent $28, mounted up a number plate...

photo cred: Mudman

and when someone said "Go!"... I did. I had a great time riding in circles, and the World Cup worthy fans made it interesting. A big thanks to Timmy for hanging back with me all day instead of mixing it up with the fasties.

photo cred: Don Butler

At one point, Tim and I realized that if we held up a little bit more, we would be lapped, thus reducing our lap count.

Genius.

With two laps to go (for us), Donnie and BC came by making it one lap to go. I'm so happy that they're so fast on their bikes.

photo cred: Lunchbox

So yep, going to my "new job" today.

Goodwill pants, Goodwill wool sweater (that I bought for working as a messenger), Backcountry Research belt, Back Forty strap to keep my pants outta the chain on the commute in, Bike29 wool Swiftwicks, Bass shoes that The Dude found in the street one day at work, and Goodwill shirt that was partially destroyed riding Big Wheels at the New Belgium Urban Assault Race...

They should put a warning on those things.

Anyways, it's too bad The Dude couldn't have found me some boxer briefs.

I'm ready. Corporate America shall know fjear today.

Maybe not, but I'll send them an email with a link.

One more thing.

If you're into the whole endurance cyclocross thing (everybody is), there's a new event in Missouri; The Cedar Cross.

Why mention it here?

The race is free, but the promoter is taking donations for a local animal shelter, and if you read my blog, you know how I fell about the whole "helpless animal" thing.

There are already 80+ registered riders, so it sounds like the events already has a good head of steam considering it isn't until May 6th. Sign up, enjoy, and remember... no douchebaggery.

Funny how some things can be overlooked by many, but the trained eye of The Original Big Ring misses nothing. I got this in an email from him yesterday.

Sorry ladies, I'm married.

Today will be my last day working for Mercury Messengers.

I'm sorry, I don't think I segued very gently into that topic.

After 14 years and 3 weeks of steady employment, I'll be moving on. To put that into perspective, that's 1/3 of my life, 81 times longer than my last job as a messenger, and 242 times longer than the job I had in between messenger gigs. It's safe to say that I don't think anyone has rounded the corner at 4th and College St more than I have at this point. I've gone through seven messenger bags, four bike locks, a shit ton of keys, and probably a dozen helmets. I'm old enough to have fathered some of the guys delivering for Jimmy John's (but then again, so are two of the other remaining messengers). In that time, I've only called off once, and that was the day I woke up in a pool of blood in the street with my front wheel missing. I was back at work the next day looking like a zombie who couldn't lift one arm.

photo cred: Big Worm

Before the raccoon eye effect and swelling had a chance to settle in for the week

Blame the economy? A little. There were as many as 16 messengers on the streets of Charlotte before the house of cards collapsed. Now the numbers are closer to where they were back in 1996 when I pulled my first job. Amazing. I've seen a lot of faces come and go, and Big Worm and I have talked about how we probably shoulda kept a log to keep track of them all. We didn't, so that history is lost. Niner rider Rebecca Tomaszewski (Tomma-wicki-wicki-wicki) was once amongst our ranks as well as Eric "PMBAR Honcho" Wever. Have a hundred riders passed through the "scene" since the era of modern messengering began in Charlotte back in 1995? Dunno. Sure seems like it.

One could say that I'm landing on my feet. Although I woulda liked to take a pleasant break in steady employment, I go back to work on Monday. While talking to my new manager, I was told that I would need to wear pants.

"I need to BUY pants?"

"You don't own pants?"

"Why would I?"

I now own pants (thank you, Goodwill). I'm pretty sure I'll have my shirt tucked in on Monday morning. I'll get over it.

Of course I'll tell you more about my new job next week.

I'm gonna do my damnedest to not be distracted by renegade trail work and beer, and make sure that I race the short track this weekend. Word on the street is that the what used to be a jump bump is now a jump once more.

This pleases me.

I look forward to rubbing elbows, trading paint, pointlessly jumping jumps, and mounting up a number plate for the first time in 2012. This should certainly stoke the fire for the what-is-called-a-race-but-is-just-a-big-party ICYCLE coming up on January 28th.

Let's leave out the fact that Dirt Rag did a little feature about worthy blogs on Tuesday and on Wednesday these new readers who clicked the link to Bad Idea Racing were treated to my poorly executed blackout.

Traffic comes and then it goes on to greener yards. Screw 'em, the fickle bastards. Steve Tilford can have them.

I've got bigger news....

Flashback to October 2011.

Project BS begins, and I test ride a By:Stickel. Not only was I in love with the bike, I had a manly crush on its Ardent front tire.

Now, a good tire on a front squish bike is not always a great tire on a rigid bike. I've ventured away from my tried and true front tire in the past and been disappointed, but once more I stepped into the void. I called George at Bike29, he had an Ardent 2.4 in stock, and he shipped it out toot sweet. It took me awhile to find the happy place pressure-wise, but after a few rides, I decided that I had found my new favorite front tire.

Now Mike Piazza (Bad Idea Racing manager, coach, attorney, directeur sportif, Dicky handler), being the good listener that he is, remembered that I am already a big fan of the MAXXIS Crossmark, Ikon, and Ignitor. He rapaciously decided he would step over the head of Admiral Ackbar (Sponsor Liaison and Equipment Acquisitions Director ) and contact MAXXIS regarding sponsorship for 2012, thinking that any money that we could save might be put towards the purchase of a Bad Idea Racing mini-cannon.



He told me about all this after he had all the paperwork taken care of and assured me it would be great for everybody (the sponsorship and the mini-cannon). So imagine my excitement when he called me some time back in December to tell me that something from MAXXIS showed up from the postman. I came home to this:

Which contained this:

Great, just what I needed, another sticker sponsor. I considered my options...



No, that would be the easy way out. I decided to wait awhile and see if something better panned out.

And on Wednesday, it did.

Tires.

Not just tires. My favorite kind of tires from MAXXIS, a company here in the Southeast US, so it's pretty cool. I'll be riding MAXXIS this year, and I have to admit that after years of mixing and matching, I'll be riding two tires, front and rear, that match and everything.

Aesthetically pleasing,

and I have stickers.

I am happy about all of this, but I did tell Mike Piazza to please go through the proper channels next time, or else I might have to take some kind of justifiable appropriate action. Remember what happened the last time someone tried to think outside the box around here?

I stole that image... or am I sharing it?

Read about SOPA on the only Wikilink that isn't blacked out today.

Help stop it here.

Saturday morning, I did all the work that needed to be done (and then some) to get the Misfit diSSent Brontoawesomeous Meatplow V.5 ready to race.

Wheel swap, tire sealed, cog swap to a short track friendly 17T, EBB flop, saddle lowered... computer mounted (why not?).

I packed up Sunday morning with full intentions to race. Everything I might need to participate but could still be stuffed into three jersey pockets; loaded Tülbag, entry fee, two gels (to supplement my 9:30AM spaghetti nutrition plan for a 1:50PM race), and my pro level number plate holder hardware jammed into an old, slightly larger prototype Tülbag.

I wanted to carry my puffy coat so I wouldn't freeze my butt of in the mid 40° temps standing around in the woods spectating. I dumped out my box and coffee can full of excess straps from a million different packs and messenger bags.

I wanted to use my PAC Designs tube holders to compress the coat, but I still needed to strap it to a pack, thus ruining my pack-free commute. I could only find one of the damn things anyways, so looking around my bike room for something else, the obvious hit me in the face. I still had two brand new Clutch straps that I never took the tags off of since I got them. Although I never thought I would have a use for them, I used them to do what they were designed to do.

Different widths messed with my aesthetic balance, but I managed to get over it. I felt all Tour Divide'esque (on my ten mile commute to the short track).

I got to the race, socialized, and went into the course between races to see how the work we did over the past few months rode.

photo cred: Kim Stecher

When I got to the spot where there used to be a jump, but now there is just an over-sized, awkward lump of dirt, I heard my name called. I stopped and chatted it up with Don B and some of the guys from Bike Source.

photo cred: Lunchbox

We stood around and watched people not getting air on the what used to be a jump bump, but after agreeing that the experience was like standing around an empty fire pit, we moved on to the feature I had helped put in a month or so ago.

Watching a few riders go by, it was apparent that while the new line "worked", but there was an unfortunate knife edged (and enormous) rock near the landing zone. We removed the rock (between races), but then the line around the jump was unfortunately dumbed down. Doh. So we did what we could to make the go-around very slightly more challenging and used the big removed rock (and others) to reinforce a nearby berm that was terribly blown out by a rider who overcooked it.

A lot of work with hands and crude implements to make for great bike race.

Photo cred: Tim Anderson

By the time we were done, the jump line was faster. I use the term "jump line" loosely, as many riders just rode over it, through it, whatever. Not everybody approved of the work. I stand behind what we did. Not only were there some exciting passes through that section, the work done on the berm helped keep any more riders from flying into the woods (not that anybody complained about that work or even noticed it).

The races were going off a little late, and by the time I figured out I'd be racing closer to 3:00PM, I decided to bail on my start. Geoffrey Bergmark was not able to make the trip down, and without my pasty white bearded adversary, some of the wind that was in my sails disappeared.

Daniel Lenis lining up for the "gap."

Photo cred: Tim Anderson

You can see the rock we added to the go-around line to make up for the rock we had to remove. There were still two clean lines through the rocks.

Even the women were "stepping up."

Photo cred: Tim Anderson

That is not a sexist statement (I don't think). About 75% of the women took this line and probably 90%+ of the expert men, including Captain Morgan on a VERY skinny tired cross bike.

Donnie Kirkwood, SS representative of the pasty white bearded hill people chose not to jump early on...

Photo cred: Tim Anderson

but eventually he was hitting it like a red headed Bike Source employee. There's video evidence out there, but unfortnately it's a facebook thing.

Maybe some trail fairies will get busy this week and tweak a few things. Hopefully the race photos will have more people in the air with shit-eating grins next week. Short track should be FUN, fast, FUN, challenging, FUN, painful, FUN, and FUN. Maybe that's just my opinion.

Then again...

My opinion is an asshole. I have one, and it needs a serious bleaching.

After Wednesday's highly controversial sock post, I was overwhelmed. Had I known I only needed to talk about socks for two days straight to get a massive peep out of the masses, I woulda started Sock Thursdays years ago.

There's some stuff going on here behind the scenes. Things that will be shared with the class at a later point. Stuff that is way bigger than a pair of socks. How bigger? Like two breadboxes bigger.

I'm sure that you've noticed that my new Oh-So-Smart Phone has really raised the bar around here, in a social media sense and as far as upping the quality of the images. I do miss some things about my old Not-So-Smart Phone...



Last night I fixed that problem... to the power of ten.

Nay, make that to the power of fucking twenty-two.



I feel complete once more. Friends, call me often if you would please, especially when I'm out in public with my family. They would like that.

Why should I even bother blogging today? My former editor, Karen "Killer B" Brooks (now editor of the esteemed Bicycle Times) wrote a very nice Dicky'esque type blog post, complete with Sponsor Liaison and Equipment Acquisitions Director Admiral Ackbar, David Lee Roth, and Montucky Miller references.

She ends up doing a better job explaining something I tried to explain before but failed. I'm assuming I failed because I did not get 43 comments telling me how awesome my explanation was.

This weekend, the Short Track racing begins here in Charlotte, NC. I wasn't planning on racing, but then I got called out by one of the (former?) pasty white bearded hill people.

Then I thought about it some more, and then even some more after that. I've been racing off and on in this series for close to ten years. The only thing keeping me from racing this weekend is deciding whether or not I'll spend $28 registering for the race or buying two sixers of Happy Ending and a small Domino's pizza.

I should have put a couple PAYPAL donate buttons on my sidebar, one for the short track entry fee and one for beer and pizza. Whichever one would hit $30 first would win for the weekend.

My hindsight is bionic.

Yesterday I posted about my new found love, my brown Swiftwick Seven Pursuits.

In my comments, I got this:

Anonymous said...

$19 for a pair of fucking socks?

Sadly, if the commenter had been less anonymous, I mighta sent him/her a pair of socks so he/she could try them out and see for him/herself. Swiftwick has been very, very good to me (thank you Garrett Morris), and honestly I don't keep all the socks that come my way. I've yet to wear-out a pair of them yet (even the ones I consider go-to's or the ones I wear to work in the winter), so I had some I coulda sent you, Mr/Ms Hater. Too late now, as I'm sure I'd get a lot of commenters claiming to be the $19 fucking sock hater.

I've been drinking a lot of this beer lately:

It costs almost $12 a six-pack. A $12 fucking six pack. I guess I could always buy this instead:

(I did my research last night)

Two, not one, but two twelvers of The Beast for $12. That's a bargain... if you like shitty tasting beer with half the alcohol content (4.5% VS 9.0%) and a third the pretentiousness. I'm too old and financially secure to drink The Beast, and I'm not gonna spend any of my money on what used to be my favorite beer when I was in college 20 years ago ($4.11 per twelve - tax included in 1991).

Why buy a $19 pair of fucking socks when you can get 18 pairs for the same price?

What's not to like? Moisture and odor control, machine washable, cotton blend, and made right here in China.

Although I have to give points to Kmart for selling a black athletic sock, I think I'll stick with made in the USA Swiftwicks. You can read all the techno-spiel over on the Swiftwick website, but I can assure you that I'd rather buy one pair of Merino wool Pursuits than a pack of Kmart cotton blend.

That's right, BUY.

If I had to buy my socks (and fortunately, I don't) I'd still own in the neighborhood of 2-3 pairs of Swiftwicks. Why?

I own a $140 helmet. My rigid crabon frok goes for @ $400 on the open market. My XTR pedals retail for more than a tricked out, top of the line (for Kmart) Mongoose full suspension bike.

I put my money into areas of my life where I can appreciate quality. I spend a lot of time on my bike, and I want that experience to be all that it can be. I want products that will last and give me top-notch service during their lifetime.

Things that are low in priority to me see little, if any, funding. I still have a tubed TV, I bundle my money/ID/credit cards together with a 13 year old binder clip, and I've got about $10 tied up in my office furniture.

I've seen how nice flat screen TV's are in the store, but I'm not upgrading my viewing experience until my shitty TV breaks. In areas where I see an extra dollar spent not making a lick of difference in my quality of life, I'll stick with what I got. Case in point: SRAM PC-1 chains... $8 retail.

And whether I pay for my socks or not, I still freak out when my favorite pair ends up separated on laundry day. As Dough says, "Two socks enter, one sock leaves."

Dryers are not an item I put on the luxury list.

Floor model

And as promised...

The Wednesday retro Dick pic of the week

1987

Senior year. Mullet (bleached), silk running shorts, Swatch, PV Lakers trucker hat, and de-sleeved t-shirt, Awesome in the making. My entire outfit (minus the Swatch) costs less than a pair of Swiftwicks. I had yet to taste The Beast... what a future I had laid out ahead of me.

I did ride on Saturday. My neighbor Todd, who lives less than .25 miles from my place of residence, invited me to join him and his people to ride at the "new and improved" Uwharrie.

Todd destroying all in his path

The "new and improved" Uwharrie is wide open and no longer rocky where rocks used to be. Much to like and much to be missed. The improved trail has drawn a huge amount of traffic, and thusly the increased two-way traffic has made me aware of the increased ignorance in proper trail etiquette regarding right-of-way. I didn't know what to think of this.

"Hmmmmmmmm....."

Without going into details, I'm just gonna say "Do unto others as you would have them get out of your way," or something like that. Common sense and courtesy. Don't harsh someone's gig, and be kind, rewind.



That's the movie version. In the politically correct edited for TV version, the old lady says "Outta my way, nigger."

Because that makes sense.

Great ride and afterwards... great (big) beer.

And I don't wanna forget to mention that I wore my new favoritist ever socks in the world... again.


Merino wool Pursuit Sevens in blazing brown... at least I think they are brown. I tried to get a photo that would show just what the color looks like, but I failed. Apparently I'm not the only that has troubles capturing this glorious earth tone.

My attempt:

and Swiftwick's lack thereof:

Out of all the socks that were in my latest shipment, these have been put into service the most.

I just don't get these socks for nothing. They are a gift in appreciation for all I do at......

whatever it is that I'm doing.

I gotta say I'm pleased. With a drawer full of black Sevens, it's nice to have options... like gray!

Daring!!

Not to mention some sexy SSUSA fours and a pair of twelves that let people know I like tall socks and loud colors.

The only thing that I don't like about having one pair of favorite go-to socks? Laundry time. We (me) have an issue with rogue socks in the house, and when one half of one pair goes missing, I lock down the house until the escapee is found. No one leaves, no one enters, and no one sleeps.

The Pie does not always like when I get a new shipment of socks. Something about the militant atmosphere that kills all the happiness in the house when I pull the laundry basket out of the closet. I think that's why gRant threw in the little pink pairs to appease the sock warden.

I rode Saturday (more on that later... tomorrow?).

I worked on some things on Sunday.

Given the opportunity and the noisy reminder that I needed to work on my bike, I got down to business on Sunday. I mighta (closely) watched the Women's National CX race first, but after that, I ran to the store and prepared for the task at hand before the men's race started.

Saturday's ride reminded me in an auditory manner that I had been ignoring my bike for quite awhile. I thought I'd be able continue to ignore it until the Meat Stickel arrived, but the cacophonic clamor was too much to bear. It's been resoundingly pinging, panging, clacking, ticking, and creaking all too long. I couldn't take it any longer.

I removed the MOOTSpost. All the little MOOTSbits were wiped down with a ProTowel, lubed, and reinserted properly. Seated climbing will no longer be ignored in favor of more peaceful standing. I can sit and be lazy once more.

The amount of black gobbled D gook in all the little tight places was bewildering. No more.

Fresh meat mounted up front. Old front meat now new back meat. Traction to improve ten-fold. Noise reduced? Naught.

XTR pedals were removed, disassembled and properly lubed/adjusted...

all while trying to keep a keen eye on Ryan Trebon's failed efforts to be totally awesome.

There was an annoying creaking coming from my brake levers. For the first time (honestly) I broke out the Luber Pen.

This device makes sense to me now. Lube in tiny places and not all over the place. Dick Bruceman wins. Pull back on the lever, and peaceful braking is within reach.

I had to swap a terribly worn-out ring with a less than worn-out ring. The Cracker Barrel puzzle of trying to get the ring off without removing the crank arm was a fail.

Damn it.

The last piece of maintenance? Gluing a multi-panel chamois back together.

All because I had some time, a place, some beer, and the impetus of riding around on a noisy bike all day Saturday...

Which I will get back to tomorrow.

The moral of the story? Work on your shit once and awhile. If you don't know how to, then learn. If you don't wanna learn, support your LBS with your money and brownies. Word on the street is that real mechanics prefer brownies over beer.

Glad I am not a real mechanic.