Entertainment

Yeah, it's like that around here. 

But since Memorial Day weekend is rolling in faster than all these thunderstorms, it would seem no one is really hanging around town to figure if Coleman could use those guns to also make the Rivanna trail stop.  And that's probably OK.  The world will have to wonder. 

It's Thursday.  Chances are that if you read this blog at work, you're currently dreaming of victory at the Burn, Giro D'Ville Glory, or some kind of long, slog of a road ride before the heat sets in on Saturday and summer is finally, yet unofficially, here. 

Some meantime entertainment:

"Strength in numbers" will fire up on the Trek website at about 3 PM:

http://www.trekbikes.com/us/en/strength_in_numbers?dl=video&type=movie&id=strength_in_numbers

Those of you familiar with Incredibox, there is now incredibox 2.0. 

Those unfamiliar, prepare to re-prioritize a significant portion of your otherwise outdoorsy weekend in favor of finding your own, perfect jam. 

www.incredibox.fr

In summary, work is cancelled today due to dreams of racing grandeur and hours of entertainment.

Make it a hot one.  Make it a good one. 

Burn the house down if you have to. 

That is, if you still remember how. 

Up, up, up.

  

Dreams

On the subject of me poo-pooing your dreams of one day racing pro, the mailbag brimmed with fervor and righteous indignation  Most of it was illiterate garbage.  But, in every pile of garbage, there is a snippet of brilliance, and this time that snippet was Dan:
www.thedanplan.com

I stand corrected.  Despite the fact that you are in your thirties, have never raced before, don't even know the rules, and, in the big picture, are without any meaningful amount of natural talent, you can still score a Nike sponsorship if you hate your job enough to just quit and give your dream a try.

A Dream, some hate, 10,000 hours to kill, and the Internet; apparently, the right combination thereof can take you a long, long way.  Most 30-something men in America have at least 3 of the 4.  Perhaps it's time you started figuring out what you're missing. 

thought provoking

Conveniently, the next 4 days will be of the sort of surreal, beautiful, introspective variety that you might just find yourself wondering about that anyway.  As your attorney, I advise you to rent a very fast car with no top.  And of course you'll need to track down Danny Flow, whose local popularity, van, and limited time make seeing him feel sort of like seeing Bigfoot:  unusual, fleeting, and with creepy, gigantic feet.

Naturally, I'll have to go with you, which blows my whole weekend.  But that's my commitment to you. 

I used to have a van...

Maybe your dreams are a tad smaller.  For example, Kev29er wants to be able to survive the SM100 and still be the righteous dad that he is.  So he's making time for it, and that time is very, very early.  Shawn has a notion to ride the Southern Traverse in the dark so we can't see the looming thunderstorms.  These are stellar ideas, albeit less of a stretch than beating Tiger Woods at his game, but for those of us without 10,000 hours to burn, they're at least a little closer to home. 

What I'm saying is, I'm in. 
Charge your shit. 


Up, up, up. 

Batman vs The Joker

In anything you do, particularly racing bikes, you can be the Joker or you can be Batman.  Batman has his shit together, the right gear, double checks his PSI, monitors his heart rate, sucks wheels, obsesses about tire selection, shows up with a clean bike, generally behaves like a roadie, and, on most days, he wins.  Preparation and training will do that for you. 


This XX gripshift stuff is my jam. 

Then it rains one day, and the race rolls anyway, and the Joker, who embraces the chaos of that sort of thing, drops Batman up the first steep, dirty climb, laughing the whole way, puts a minute and a half into him on the first downhill, and, cackling,  never looks back. 
Batman DNF's, catches a sag back to the start/finish, only to find the Joker won, and he drank all the beer and ate all the scud fries, then he drank the ketchup, and he left already, probably riding home. 

Batman wins more races.  The Joker has more fun. 
Good vs Evil.  Plastic vs Soul.  Or, if you're a fan of Point Break, Patrick Swayze vs Keanu Reaves.

"he's a searcher, maaaaan, just looking for the ultimate ride."   

Regardless of how you feel about those two character types and which one you think you identify with, it matters very little because you can't be either one of them, you can only be you.  And you, placed on a conitnuum between Batman Anal and Joker Whim, fall somewhere between the two ends.    Thus, self discovery, not self-improvement, will allow you to reach your maximum potential as an amateur. 

If you're going pro, however, it stands to reason that - no matter who you really are as a person - you'd better start dieting, stop having fun, and buy yourself a Batmobile.  That's the safe bet. 

Just don't be surprised when you hear that awful laugh, deep in the rainy mountains one race day, and you've flatted for the third time and you're out of ultra-lite, latex race tubes.  Somewhere in the fog out there, the Joker you suppressed out of yourself is a little tipsy, shirtless, ripping down Kaylor's, or Black Mountain, or Tussey,  or Torrey, or whatever badass ridgeline you don't like subjecting your $2800 race wheels to, and that throaty cackle you're hearing is your own. 

Why so serious?

Be who you are.  It makes the tough decisions easier, like, for example, do I want to ride the Mach 4, or do I want to ride the Firebird. 
The answer is in there. 

Up, up, up. 

Foxfield traffic

Not such a bad place for a quick spin on the TT bike.

Wolfpack goes to Douthat

"You guys might not know this, but I consider myself a bit of a loner. I tend to think of myself as a one-man wolf pack. But when I met Chris at BRS, I knew he was one of my own. And my wolf pack... it grew by one. So there... there were two of us in the wolf pack... I was alone first in the pack, and then Dave joined in later. And six months ago, when Dave introduced me to you guys, I thought, "Wait a second, could it be?" And now I know for sure, I just added two more guys to my wolf pack. Four of us wolves, running around the desert together, in Las Vegas, looking for strippers and cocaine. So tonight, I make a toast!"

The word for the day...

Springletrack.


Use it in a sentence.
Get 22 points in scrabble, knowledge I would not have easy access to without this handy tool.  Not an App, better, a Module.  And, as long as you're judging me and my reference to Scrabble technology, "Geek" gets me 9 points.


Ride it while it's short.
Ride it while it's cool.












Unearth yourselves, good people of Fooftown, skyward.

Up, up, buttercup. 

6WC results and other outdated news tidbits

Some folks spring into spring, energetic, well-prepared, and sometimes even victorious in their efforts. Hats off and mad congrats to Zach Morrey and Gordon Wadsworth for early season victories here, there, and everywhere.  


Officially the unofficial official team shorts.  Sunscreen not included. 

At BRC racing headquarters, we pride ourselves on finding and roping in such talent and vigor early in their careers, signing them to tawdry contracts, claiming their results as our own and garnishing their winnings while offering little to no financial support, and then cutting them loose on the backside of their career when tendinitis and assrash set in and no one else will have them.  At least I do.  So, don't fall in love with these two titans of the east coast amateur circuit anytime soon, lest you be faced with the same sort of broken heart that befalls farm girls around these parts when they finally come to the awful, truthful conclusion about why Bessie the cow is missing and why they've been having burgers every night recently. 

In short, enjoy the ride while it lasts.  But the minute Qwadsworth falters, we're eating him.  Get used to the idea. 

Rather than spring into anything these days, I tend to plod, somehow lazy, frantic, and distracted all at once.  Simultaneously caring for twins, taking a new job, and building a house will do that, apparently.  But, if riding the dragon were a podium worthy feat, I'd be the next big thing.  It's not.  Nor should it be.  But 25 dragon rides into the year at this point, which I'll unapologetically brag about to anyone who will listen, feels like a real accomplishment, and what the hell, one must celebrate ones triumphs regardless of how little fanfare might be paid by the world at large.  It's mountain biking after all.  Big picture, there's just not that much fanfare to go around anyway. 

And, call me nuts, I just love how this thing rides.

As a follow up to a previously undisclosed thought that I never finished or started to write about herein anyway, people who link to their blog within their own blog should be dragged out into the streets, admonished heavily, and eaten.  Especially when linking to the blogpost immediately prior to the current frame of reference.  I'll try harder. I promise.  No promises. 

It's Friday, 4/20, and the sun is shining and the flowers are blooming.  Might be about time to put the doobie down and go ride your bike.  Or maybe sit tight and then do BOTH tomorrow. 

Your call. 

Up, up, up.