Monday, June 23, 2014

You don't know (Lumber)Jack Shit.

At the risk of appearing to be some kind of media outlet that is reporting actual news, I've waited two days to report the following:

Qwadsworth pretty much had his way with the Lumberjack 100 course on Saturday. 

In a real display of timeliness, I've beaten both Cyclingnews and Velonews to the punch with this, so I'm pretty proud of that.  I'm also proud of Qwadsworth, though that pride carries a certain amount of envy that I can only shake by photoshopping pictures of him into various cheerleader poses and posting them onto the big blue facehole in the sky.  So I'm waiting on Cyclingnews to get their shit together, post a podium shot that I can use as such, and feel better about myself for being such a fat, no-talent, bike blog jockey without actual bike talent to back it up.

100 miles in 6:45 on a singlespeed.  Damn.  1st SS, 3rd overall, and only 8 minutes from winning the whole damn thing which is funny because most of those guys are using these new inventions called "gears" when the race gets all steep and hurty.  What in the incredible fuck.

In a similar timespan on Saturday, I ate a sleeve of Oreos and washed most of my bike clothes.  Most of them.  I couldn't quite get the last ones onto the drying rack (my bike) before Qwadsworth crossed the finish line and I had to take a nap.  But I came pretty close.  So yeah, it was a pretty solid day for both of us, I guess.

Sunday, though, I got out with Lester and a crew for a few hours and lamented just how fast Qwadsworth has become together, and that made it better - the riding, I mean, not the lamenting - just like it makes most things better.

Then Lester took a shower with his bike and I took pictures of them.  Dirty.  But clean now.

Plus, we were out riding in amazing weather while Qwadsworth was driving the 187 hours back from Michigan.  With his gigantic ax-trophy and paycheck.  So yeah, it was a pretty solid day for all of us, I guess.
The only actual news I have for you is night ride news, like usual, except this week I'm putting two night rides into one notice.  Here we go:
1) Night ride this Thursday, 6/26.  Flee the oppressive heat, good people of the northside, and charge your shit.  We'll keep it pretty close to the epicenter of the Northside.  Probably a 2 hour ride.  Singlespeed friendly.  A one-beer-ride, I would imagine. 

2) But next week, the 3rd of July, if you're not racing the Tour De Berg (good luck Kurland, Kyle, and Frank) we'll do something a little more extravagant.  Big John and Hiser have both given their verbal commitments, and there might be fireworks to see from on high, so that's where we'll be. 

For both rides let's meet at 8 PM at my house. 

Pack a snack.  

Giddyup up up.  

Monday, June 16, 2014

She's out there...

She's out there:

And for $150 (with the tertiary benefit of amazing, illicit, barely ridden singletrack) I'm committed to finding her.
Up, up, up.

Thursday, June 12, 2014

Full June Moon

I think most of the things I like best about being a mountain biker at night are the ones you come across out there in the periphery.  Mountain bike trails, campgrounds, gravel roads, and the places you tend to end up at night on two fat tires are generally at the edge of reality, sometimes just over that edge.

A little such experience from a recent trip over the mountain.  Video Courtesy of the Giro Godfather himself.  To clarify, you're viewing a slightly unstable, intoxicated, shirtless, shoeless, toothless, Sherando local welding a roll cage for his go-cart in the middle of the night in his garage while rocking out to Bon Jovi.  The video is a little unclear because, as you might expect, we kept our distance - not necessarily out of fear, but certainly out of respect for the two different worlds that sometimes nudge up against each other out there where the trail ends.  It was a powerful experience for me.

Thematically, and while I'm lifting stuff off of YouTube, a little Mike Doughty to set the mood for what's next.
Tonight at about 12:30 AM or so is the Full June Moon.  Technically, it's the strawberry moon if you subscribe to such things.  And since it's the full moon closest to the Summer Solstice, it's the brightest night of the year (well, technically it's the brightest 24 hours of the year.)  Storms not withstanding, because this weather pattern we find ourselves in is admittedly a little dark, it'll be a good night to be out and about.

Departing from out here at the Rancho Relaxo at 8 PM if there are any takers for such action.  Pointing it West.  Seeking that edge.

Up, up, up.

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

No Ryder, you're not news.

Ryder Hesjedal, shut your big doping Canadian mouth.  

And I love Canadians, and Canada itself, and Whistler, and french fries with Gravy and so forth.  So it takes a lot for me to get so frothy and worked up about a neighbor and a cyclist and a pretty decent guy by most accounts except for some of the mistakes he's made.  But what in the fucking fuck, Ryder?  

"It’s not everyone’s right to know all the details in these types of matters." - Ryder Hesjedal

You can give his drivel a full read here if you're interested in throwing up in your mouth a little bit, which I suppose you are:

Thanks for comin' clean, Ryder.  And by clean, I mean, cutting a deal with the already very sketchy authoritative bodies in the matter so that you don't have to pay a dime or miss a single race or give credit to guys like Jeremiah Bishop whom you stole your entire career from.  TO SAVE PROFESSIONAL CYCLING.  Classy.

Presumably, we should feel confident in the great pillars of moral worthiness that make up the pro cycling ranks such as Ryder Hesjedal, the UCI, USA Cycling, Lance Armstrong, Slipstream Sports and other such impeccable do-gooders to sort all of this out in an appropriate way despite the lack of transparency.  Because they're trustworthy.  It's not for us to know.  

Here's what is our business: Sponsoring them.  Watching their races.  Buying their shit.  Your patronage, good fans of the professional road cycling world, is greatly appreciated.  But you can't handle the truth.  

You know who I feel bad for: Ben King.  To have to wear the same colors as that goon, to get his bottles for him, crash for him, risk your life for him...all because Pro Cycling won't do the right thing and get rid of him, is an abomination. Guys like Ben King deserve a sport and a future.  Somehow, and jump in here if this sounds crazy to you too, even though Ryder stole Jeremiah Bishop's chance, we're still allowing him to steal Ben King's chance too.

Fuck it.  Let's just give him the whole state of Virginia.  Adam Croft.  The Little kids.  Anybody with some talent.  Maybe we can keep this going for a few more generations.  But don't ask any questions about what actually happened.  It's not for us to know.

“I am proud of showing myself, younger riders, and the world that it’s possible to do it clean."

-Ryder Hesjedal

Are we even talking about the same guy?  Ryder Hesjedal?  The guy whose entire career is predicated on the simple, ugly fact that he cheated?  Look, I'm the first to admit that I have no idea if the PED's he took still have a lingering effect on his performance today.  But they certainly worked at the time.  And his entire existence in the Pro Peloton, his role as a grand tour leader at Garmin, and his very paycheck for the last 10 years are all highly unlikely if he didn't take the juice.  And somehow, he identifies himself as a role model for younger riders for how to do it clean.  Are you kidding me?  

No.  He's not kidding.  And that's OK, I guess, because he's an asshole, and most assholes tend to buy their own bullshit stories.  

But it's important, I believe, that if you're a kid trying to make it big, and you're wondering how to do that, that Ryder Hesjedal is not your example of how "to do it clean."  Since the only consequence he faces is that we all know, here's a collective reminder:

Hey Ryder, Fuck you.  

What you're missing, Ryder, what you've always been missing I guess, is the truth, the awful truth for those of us that really loved the sport that you helped destroy, that once you've cheated you don't count anymore.  

Ryder, you're not the news.  Get off my TV.  

Up, up, up.