Lakota Brap

"I am always hoping that there will be some twins in the marriages which I perform. That would make me happy. You see, love is something that you can leave behind you when you die. It's that powerful. The nagi, the soul, it will roam and travel. If two people loved each other very much they come back again as twins. They had a great love, they're whirling around there, and the Great Spirit has pity and lets them come up again. Those little traveling souls come right back in again - twins, triplets, not only lovers but a brother and sister too who were especially fond of each other could come back like this. One reborn this way could carry a memory going way back. I used to know one, a man named Somebody, who remembered part of his former life over 200 years ago."
- Lame Deer of the Lakota Sioux

"Toph looks like Chris Horner. There I said it."

Those interested in how Betty White's farewell tour turned out will likely be disappointed to hear that, after a lot of talk about her toughness, Betty went to the bench early on Friday evening with a cut sidewall, among other age-related challenges, and she never bounced back. Sad, really; it felt a smidge like a bride getting shitfaced at her own rehearsal dinner, then failing to turn up for the rest of the weekend.

Is she dead? Did she just get cold feet? Hard to say. Maybe we'll see her again someday, maybe not.

Fortuitously, however, Betty's no-show left me a very brief moment on Friday eve aboard a Trek Scratch. Easy to ride, difficult to define. Think of it as an anti-depressant you can get over the counter, but you can also jump it over the counter. Convenient in all kinds of ways.

Speaking of going to the bench, Monday's stage at the Tour de Berg damn near killed me. The southern traverse, in particular, had something like 100 downed trees along its otherwise magnificent length. Braleys to road hollow to the breastworks and all the way down the southern traverse and back - 9 hours of riding and scrambling through the carnage left by our friend, derecho.

But I didn't get the worst of it - so I snapped a few photos to vouch for the necessary carnage when it's "the only race that matters".

100 degree temps and deadfall-gridlocked trails, seemed to me to be the perfect chance to sneak north.

This just in: New Hampshire kicks ass.

Up.
Downdowndowndowndown...

Weekend at Betty's

Condolences for the death of Betty White popped into the mailbag in a comforting, fast way after the grim announcement of her pending demise (and the photo of her crack) aired on this channel on Wednesday.  Aluminum mountain bike frames are dropping like, well, aluminum bike frames these days.  Maybe it's the heat.  But it would seem Old Betty touched a lot of lives in one way or another, and that's all well and good I suppose.  But something was missing, I reckoned, and one email really said it all.
From:  Dangeorus Dan
To:  BRC
RE:  Betty White
"What?  No kiss goodbye?" 

Indeed, Dan, that's a valid point.  Sometimes a man just needs to say goodbye the right way. 

And, given the fact that I've got the next 5 days off from work, the pending 100 degree temperatures that are about to infect the right coast, and the now-voiced demand from the masses (or just Dan) for Betty White to have a proper wake (a slightly dangerous proper wake) and I think I know what's coming: a farewell tour. 

I'm still brainstorming ideas for a slogan:
"Betty White to Black"
"The Golden Girls do Green County"
etcetera.

Big picture - it doesn't matter.  The Betty White Farewell Tour is happening this weekend, loosely defined as:

This Friday, which suddenly has become today, 8 PM: Wind down the Trek demo here at the rancho relaxo, then go see if Betty White can superfly the paranormal loop like the superfly can.  Chances are, probably not. 

Saturday:  A day of rest.  And probably some epoxy.  Even a dead superstar needs a rest day. 

Sunday Morning: Gravel Church.

View Gravel Church in a larger map

Although the route happens to pass adjacent to a few nice churches, I can't claim it's spiritual in the traditional sense of the word.  But there is a bakeshop along the way that might make you think about God, so that's something anyway.    

Monday, 10 AM:  The Tour De Berg rolls from Braley's pond at 10 AM.  Assuming Betty White is still alive and kicking, she'll be rolling Le Rocktown Tour with the best of them, though admittedly far, far behind the best of them. 

Tuesday:  Brokenback to the observatory.  At night, of course, a familiar route for the old girl which could be fortunate if the Tour De Berg has left her further debilitated than she started, which is almost certain. 

Wednesday: Likely crippled well beyond the point of safety by this point, both of us that is, a two-fer is in order.  Some kind of morning loop with the 31 year-old love of my life while our sitter chokes/entertains/chokes the tots, followed by an evening brownie crit that, if Betty ain't dead yet, is certain to finish her off. 

In my head, I liken this effort to a sort of rural, 100 degree, bike personification of Weekend at Bernies. 

Friends of Betty, you're all invited along.  RSVP's welcomed, but not required. 

Say your goodbyes.  Drink a 40 or two.  But, above all else, take the ride.
Like life itself, Betty won't stick around long. 

Up, up, up.

Betty White's Crack

Wouldn't it be nice if we lived in a world where Betty White could just die a peaceful, private death away from the prying eyes of the poporatzic media, without grainy pictures of her crack spread all across the Internet like some tramp?


Maybe. But that's not the world we live in.

And what fun would that be anyway?
Technically, Betty White has multiple cracks, that tarty little freakshow. And one of them has gotten obscenely loud, loud enough it has me worried. At this point, for multiple reasons, the Betty White metaphor should probably take a back seat for a moment so I can focus on the matter at hand; my bike is dying.

Handbuilt in Marin, CA in 1998, the original receipt was for a $1200 rigid hardtail with canti's that the buyer UPGRADED with a Mantiou elastomer fork. One of the first machined rear triangle bikes produced in CA for stiffness and weight savings.  100% dotcom, late 90's hot shotedness.  Final price tag was damn near $2k. Worth every penny.

The dotcoms imploded, CA was left for Colorado, and the bike was sold to me in 2001 for pennies on the dollar - renamed, as anyone who has ridden in Golden, CO can appreciate, the silver bullet, I guess you'd have to see a photo or two of the old gal in her finer days to really behold the glory that used to be. 

 



Countless trips to Utah.


A week of singletrack in Crested Butte.


Reconstructed for the 4th and final time.

Betty White and I have spent some great afternoons together, and in a way I think she's a part of me.  Even Sunday, creaking like a bad screen door at a haunted house, Betty set a personal record (for me, not Betty) around the local gravel loop here in Earallysville. 49:27. With the right kind of earplugs and a complete dismissal of ones own safety, it's like she's never been better.

But eventually you gotta get out while the gettins still good (and your nads are still intact). 

Mountain bikers and our bikes, we're sort of like lizards and their tails.  Yes, we're connected.  But fortunately the connection isn't permanent.  They break, we get another.   Betty White, I'll miss her, but she's heading to the big scrap pile in the sky and I've got my eye on the next 10 years.

Trek Demo. Friday, 5 - 8 PM at the BRC test track.
http://www.trekfactorydemo.com/region.php?region_id=1


Where one idol falls, erect another.
If you can, eradicate all traces of the first.
Keep moving.
-Wiggins

Thanks for your patience.  Dr. Crackframe will see you now.
Up, up, up. 

These boots were made for drinking.



A splendid surprise, but also maybe the best place to store a tire boot - INSIDE your tire.









The ByeKyle BeerBoot XL1.0.  As a tire boot, it's a thing of beauty.  Plus, if you find yourself trailside, sidewall slashed, and without a tube, at least you can walk home reckoning about a free beer that never expires.  Because it's Friday after all. 

ByeKyle Patent #54-123098-490.  All rights reserved.  Offer not valid without purchase.  Keep hands and feet inside the car at all times.  Beer sold separately.  Tire boot may not work.  Do not eat tire boot.  Helmets required.  Helmets not available in all stores.  Warranty not valid without proof of purchase.  Register your ByeKyle BeerBoot online to be notified of recalls.  Recall notice not an admission of guilt.  Batteries sold separately.  Call for details.  Don't eat yellow snow.  Offer expires without notice. 

It's Friday. 

Up, up, and so forth.



Never Fear...

Simple strap use #47,114.

Simple strap use #47,114.
Maybe I can use it to somehow affix Rowan's helmet to his head.