Where Did All the Anger Go?

I still ain’t feeling it. Blogging that is. Maybe it will get better when I can ride my bike outside more.

I commuted to work today. First time outside on a bike in 2 weeks. I saw one dude on the greenbelt, and guess what – he wanted to race. Now there is a surprise. Everyone on the greenbelt wants to race me, what’s up with that.

So it is yellow jacket guy. Everyone knows yellow jacket guy. Most cyclists have been yellow jacket guy – I think that they issue yellow jackets with tights at some places. I have a yellow jacket… But anyway. This is yellow jacket camelback guy. He sees me coming when I am 100 yards back or so and drops the hammer.

What the hell, I just want to get to work without falling off. I seem to have mis-judged the icy-ness this morning and this dude is defending the greenbelt like his jacket is the freaking yellow jersey.

Despite his narrow ‘I like to go fast on my mountain bike’ tires, and his hunkered over rocking back and fourth effort I catch him without changing speed. Passing is another matter though, as he digs for another gear as I approach – not to mention the miscellaneous icy patches that I have to go over and around while I pass…

I say good morning as I pass. He grunts. Happy New Year indeed. Effer.

There, I feel better now.

Head Spinning

So I went to a spin class the other day. The instructor said she wanted us to ride at 75%. After a while she said to give her a 5% increase…

I’m thinking, ok, does she want me to go 75% + another 5% = 80%. OR does she want me to increase by 5% ((75x.05)+75) = 78.75%.

Yeah, I know, that’s messed up. That’s how my head works…

Sucking My Will to Blog

I was thinking the other day that it has been a year since I started this blog. I guess it was a new years resolution to find a new outlet, try something new, and stick it out for the year. I know lots of people think that resolutions are cliché, but I believe that people who think that are just too weak minded to commit to something and follow through with it. There’s an Elmerism for you.

It started out as my training blog. I was going to write about things like how many hours I rode, how many intervals, how many miles, power output – you know, all those numbers that bike racers throw around when they want to feel good about themselves. Yep, that’s what it was supposed to be. Then I read some other dudes blog that was like that. It sucked. I didn’t care how much or when or where someone else was riding – hell, I don’t even care how much, where or when I ride why would anyone else.

So before I even really got started ‘Melmers Training Blog’ transmogrified into ‘The Angry Cyclist’. Now being angry – that is something I care about, and I am good at it. So I tried to write about stuff that happened while I was riding, but I am afraid that mostly I have just written about being angry.

It has been amusing. I make myself laugh sometimes. I think I made some other people laugh sometimes. I have written stuff down for everyone to see that I wouldn’t say out loud - which is a little disturbing.

Anyhow, something is sucking my will to blog. I don’t particularly know what it is, but I am thinking it may be Ronald Reagan. So the blogging has been sporadic. I think it will continue to be so. Until the fury that burns inside re-ignites, or I just quit. Just quitting is not my style though, so sporadic it is.

Cyclist Dysfunction Rule #1

I have come to find that ‘organized’ group rides are a lot like communism – it’s a good idea in theory, but gets all messed up in application.

So I came up with this idea a few weeks ago for the race team that I belong too. I called it ‘Riding Johnny Style’ but in all practicality it should be called the ‘No Rider Left Behind’ rule. You know, like ‘No Child Left Behind’, but with bikes – come to think of it 'No Child Left Behind' is a lot like communism too.

Anyhow, the idea was that our group would divide into subgroups, when a person in the subgroup had a problem the entire subgroup would stop to help while the rest of everyone would slow down a bit to let them catch up – that way everyone wouldn’t have to stand around watching someone try to change a flat.

In reality when someone flatted a bunch of people went to the front and started hammering along at 25 mph in a pace line.

I guess I should have known it would happen. It’s like Cyclist Dysfunction Rule #1 that when you have more than one person riding bikes at the same time in the same place that a race will break out. The only exception I have seen is in a Master’s B category race – where club rides occasionally break out.

I really like vanilla pudding. I was just thinking that.

The Club Ride

The club ride comes second only to spandex in bike culture. In case you are unfamiliar, a ‘club ride’ is when a bunch of like minded people get together in clothing of similar spandexivity, and ride their bicycles together.

Just like any other group of people it is mainly social. You roll along and chat about things you have in common – mostly bikes, the stupid things you have done on bikes, and the stupid things you plan to do on bikes, other peoples bikes, stupid things you saw other people do on bikes, and sometimes beer.

In addition to the social aspect there is also the safety aspect. You see, a redneck in a truck is a lot less likely to take on a whole pack of spandex clad cycling freaks (SCCF) than just one. I heard once that in a typical group of people in Boise that 1 of 4 had a concealed weapons permit, and of those usually about half were packing. So that’s one gun per 8 people. If you have a pack of say 30 SCCF that means there is an arsenal of 4 guns. Chew on that for a minute.

A variation of the club ride is called a ‘race team ride’. These rides are usually a little bit faster, and the participants get to act a little more arrogant and assholish. These are ‘training’ rides. Training is when you subject yourself to varying levels of discomfort in the hope of preparing yourself for the extreme discomfort of a race. This time of year they are usually ‘base training’ – that means you spend ridiculously long periods of time on your bike at a moderately uncomfortable pace in hopes that your butt will be molded to the shape of your bike seat so you will be more comfortable during race season (I just used butt and mold in the same sentence – ooooooghhh!). You subject yourself to discomfort because it is fun – ruminate on that one.

So the team I am on had its first race team ride a few weeks back. There were 32 people there (4 guns) – that is a lot. We had so many people (and by implication were so well armed) that we had few problems with traffic. Somehow I got assigned to ride at the front and try to keep everyone together. I know I was doing good, because I felt moderately uncomfortable the whole time.

I made sure to try and make it look like I was not uncomfortable, or only slightly uncomfortable – because that’s what bike racers do. Don’t want anyone to smell weakness. I also tried to talk like a bike racer – that is where you lie about how much you have been training, usually underestimating by about 40%. So if you rode say 100 miles you would say you only rode 60. You do this so if you get crushed during the training ride you have an excuse, or conversely, if you crush during the training ride everyone thinks you are beasty because you did it with so little prior training.

The ride went pretty well, 2 hours on our standard route around the golf course on the Emmett Highway. I think some people exceeded the moderately uncomfortable level, but so it goes. Some others extended their period of discomfort by continuing for a ‘long ride’. I’ll address that subject another day.

So I guess we were a group of armed(?) liars that like to hurt themselves for fun, out for a little bike ride. Think twice before you honk at that group of cyclists on Hill Rd.

The Triplewide

I used to have a job where I worked in a triple wide trailer. As an employee there I felt it was important to live up to the standards that working environment exemplified. Apparently so did everyone else that worked there – It was probably the only place I have ever been where everyone else approached my level of sarcasm, bad attitude, and general buttonpushingness (I made that one up).

So anyway we were a bunch of hooligans working in a trailer. One day one of my co-workers received a phone call from a fax machine. We have all been there, you pick up the phone to a whining, beeping, screaming, angry machine. Said co-worker slams down the phone with a curse – he is letting it all hang out as the boss is gone.

Co-workers phone rings again. Fax machine again. More anger this time with a double expletive and a phone super slam. Dude was wound a bit tight sometimes – he was a retired marine after all.

Smelling opportunity three of us start taking turns faxing the guys phone from the office fax machine – there was a perfect delay so that you could dial the fax and be back in a choice viewing location before his phone rang. Dude lost his marbles, turning red and screaming, pounding the phone – the rest of us were rolling on the floor laughing and crying.

Finally I make the suggestion he should try and speak fax to it. He tried it. At the top of his lungs – wirrrrrrrrr, beeeep, beeeep, beeeep, Ioouuuuggahhh, Ioooouuugggaahhh, screeeeaaacccchhhh. Everyone else in the triple wide had caught on and was dying laughing. We stopped calling. Dude thought he had actually talked to a fax machine.

The best part was that the boss had called someone in the office during his fax imitation and heard the whole thing.

His name was Joe. Joe died last week. He was riding his motorcycle and got hit by someone who crossed the centerline.

What I wouldn’t give to fax him one more time.

Hold your friends and family close. Do it now.

My New Look

I have a friend, Johnny Atmos who is a graphic designer. No, ‘Atmos’ isn’t his real name, and he probably doesn’t like to be called ‘Johnny’ either – but that is what I call him. He is a graphic designer though, and has designed some sweet signs and such for several local businesses.

John reminds me of ‘Sergei Belov’ from the movie ‘American Flyers’. You can see Sergi in this clip at the very beginning, about 30 seconds in, and then the classic scene about 1 minute in…


John used to role with a big beard like that and sported a very similar brain bucket. Also note the upper body muscles which are somewhat counterproductive in a bike race – I think John has some of those too.

Anyhow, John reads my blog and apparently likes it. I’ll admit that I am pretty flattered about that, but the fact that he also really likes the movie ‘Cannonball Run’ helps keep me grounded.

So on our really big race team ride John and I chatted briefly about my forthcoming book, and my need for a logo. John put a few together for me…







I am pretty stoked about it. As you can see I incorporated it into my blog design, and switched backgrounds to make the entire thing look a little more angry. Very, very nice in an angry sort of way if I do say so myself.

If you don’t like the logo maybe you should read John’s story about it here…

http://cperspective.blogspot.com/

If you still don’t like it maybe you should look at it a bit longer…

Merry Thanksgiving Everybody.

The Wedgois

I have been riding long enough that most of my ‘first time on a bike’ moments are long since past. You know, the first time I fell off, the first time I got hit by a car, the first time I flipped a driver off…

You get the idea. Anyhow, last Friday I had my first ‘first time on a bike’ in a long, long, long time. So there I was stopped at a stop light with one foot clipped in and the other foot out – the pose that 'winter camouflage spandex guy' and other big time cyclist use to pee from. Anyway, so there I am when something incredibly embarrassing happens…

You’re thinking I fell over right? Well you’re wrong – I did that one years ago. No, this was worse. You see, somehow my chamois went wvoooop! Up my butt – a most unprecedented chamois wedgie.

In case you don’t know what a chamois is, it is the pad in bike shorts. It is pronounced ‘sham – E’. Don’t ask me why. I live in a state where Dubois is pronounced ‘Do – boys’, Kamiah is pronounced ‘Kam – E-I’, and perhaps most puzzling Pend Oreille is pronounced ‘ponderay’.

So there I am with a wedgois. I don’t know how it got there for sure, but I speculate it was the result of northward pressures from the bibs, lack of southward friction from the seat, and the torquing action of the one foot in, one foot out position. All combined to create the ‘Perfect Storm’ resulting in a tectonic chamois shift to the north.

I do the first thing anyone would do. I looked around to see if anyone noticed. No one seemed to notice, not even ‘sidewinder guy’ – the bike commuter behind me. Sidewinder guy is a story for another day...

So that’s good – no one notices the monumental wedgois I seem to have developed. It was so bad I think the IMT on the butt of my shorts had turned into IT, or at the very least INT. So now what? Do I dig it out there in public like a teenage girl pulling her underwear out, do I leave it, do I learn to love it?

I had gloves on so pulling it our wasn’t a real option – I wouldn’t have the tactile sensitivity or precision that this extraction would require. Besides I wouldn’t do something like that in public?

It was like 4 more miles home. Four miles of the bike seat shuffle. If you have ridden very much you know the bike seat shuffle – right cheek for a little bit, shift to the left cheek a little bit, slide back on the seat, slide forward on the seat, out of the saddle for a bit, and repeat as needed.

When I got home I waddled strait to the bathroom and performed the requisite extraction. I threw away the shorts. Then I had to take a shower because I felt dirty.

Correcting for the School Bus...

Took this beauty on the way home last night. It's blurry because the sick wind was blowing me around - but why worry?

Signs, Signs, and a Freak’n School Bus

Riding home from work the other day I see this sign…

It says 'No Waiting' on the part you can't see. I was just thinking to myself, ‘Self, you know what we need? We need more impatient drivers around here’. Apparently someone else thought so too. Interestingly, a pedestrian got hit by a car at the same intersection this morning just before I rolled through. Go figure.

It’s ok though, further into my commute I saw this sign…

Yeah, the one right behind the school bus. Stupid school bus. You will have to trust me on this – there is a sign on the other side of the bus that says…

“Why worry when you can pray”

Yep, why worry about your finances, your health, your responsibilities when you could just pray. I hope that works out for you. If it doesn’t maybe you can get in on that bailout thing.

Since we are one sign short of a Tesla song, I will throw this one in too…

I’m not sure what a DOMN is, but apparently there is a slow one near the Park Center Bridge. That’s what the greenbelt sign said anyway.

…everywhere there’s signs…

5 Miles of Fame: My Greenbelt Commute

The past few weeks I have made an effort to get back into the bike commuting thing. Finally yesterday it started paying off in a big way - more greenbelt tom foolery.

So I’m rolling home yesterday and role up behind none other than Kordell Stewart. Well, at least I think it was Kordell Stewart – that’s what his jersey said anyway. Didn’t look like slash from his Steelers days though, skin a bit pastier, hair was a bit stringier, and I didn’t think Kordell would roll on a Road Master. It made me feel a little down seeing him in such bad shape – I am a big Steelers fan. He did compliment me on The Red Sled though, but then that might be indicative of his situation – it has been a long time since someone complimented that bike.

Anyhow, not long after Kordell, I saw none other than Mario Cipollini urinating on the green belt. I am sure that it was Mario, he is the only one I could think of that would wear a winter camo bike kit. I never would have thought it, but winter camo has a spandexivity of about 9.5. To give the dude credit though, he did look like a real bike racer and could most likely kick my butt on the bike. But really, I mean who wears camouflage spandex – I guess maybe if someone gave it to you…
Besides, who pees on the greenbelt, I mean really. Feel free to mix in a bathroom, or in the very least dismount the bike and step into the bushes – it is the greenbelt, not the Tour de France – you won’t lose any time. Whatever.

So while I am cogitating that one I role into Garden City. I come around a corner and a few guys are coming right at me in both lanes – the one that is going to collide with me is Jeff Gordon. Yep, Jeff Gordon in the DuPont jacket riding the #24 Huffy. Couldn’t see me cause his Foster Grants were looking the other way. Reacting on instinct I called heads up and shot the gap between Jeff and his buddy. I put Jeff in the wall and his buddy off the other side – it was probably the coolest thing I ever did on a bike. That’s rac’n Jeff.

It was pretty tame after that though. I did see Kenny Chesney fishing for steelhead down by the Glenwood bridge though. I could be wrong though, he may have been after bass.

Dog Days of November

I’m honestly not sure why they call the August the ‘dog days’, but I am pretty sure that it isn’t because they are dogs favorite days of the year. Actually, I am pretty positive that my dogs favorite days of the year come in November.

I have two dogs. I call one ‘big yellow dog’ (byd), and the other one ‘little black dog’ (lbd). They used to have real names, but I try not to use them. Every time I say one of their real names both dogs come running expecting something great to be in the offing. The same thing happens when I make eye contact – that’s why I wear sunglasses so often.

Anyhow, both dogs love November. There is bird hunting, time with family, rotten fruit falling from the apple tree, and best of all doody minesweeper. Most of the time a person can navigate my backyard without stepping in doody. In November that changes. I have a maple tree that drops red leaves, an apple tree that drops yellow-green ones, a willow tree that drops yellow ones, an oak tree that drops brown ones and a handful of bushes that drop purplish ones. It makes for a nice looking carpet if you don’t know what lies below.

So I go out to do doody duty yesterday. Naturally the dogs go with me, but they stop and watch at the end of the patio – they know what lurks beneath. I make it like three steps, the fourth step is a soft one, the fifth one slides a little bit then stops – argh – the old double doody. I look at the dogs. The dogs are smiling. My dogs love November best.

The Double Eagle

Driving to work this morning I get behind a car all but parked in the middle lane of a three lane road. Cars are streaming past on the left and right, but you can guess where I am – yup, right behind the idiot.

It’s an old dude and he obviously wants to make a left at the next street that is like 10 feet ahead. Rather than take responsibility for his own driving ineptness and go ‘around the horn’ to the next cross street and back track – he decides he will make everyone else pay for his bad driving decision – so he stops in the middle of the freak’n road waiting for a gap to move his car over. Of course the gap will never come because people just keep veering into the other lanes to go around him. I guess I shouldn’t be angry, it is the American way – making others pay for your bad decisions.

Anyhow, I sit behind the guy. I scratch my bum. I fidget with the radio, and defrost controls. I run my hand through my hairs (both of them). I notice that the guys license plate says DBL EGL.

Is it a sign from God? I do have a double eagle coming – should I use it here? I cocked my fingers and got ready to unleash the double eagle, but pulled back at the last second. A double eagle in a car is like a tattoo on your ass – no one will see it. Double eagles (and tattoos) are meant to be shared.

Yup my double eagle is going to be something to see. It’s going to come while on the bike. I might even throw in an iron cross. Oh yes, arms crossed on my chest and both birds flying – the rare Double Eagle Iron Cross. It will be spectacular.

No Where To Go

There is nothing worse than when you get all dressed up in your sexy bike clothes only to go into the garage and find your bike with a flat tire. That’s what happened to me this morning when I went out to go to work. Eff, all dressed up and no where to go. So I fixed the flat and rode to work.

In the big picture, that makes 7 flats to only 4 birds, in my flats to birds ratio. The way I see it I have scientifically proven that there is a relationship between birds and flats soooo – I have got a big double eagle coming. It’s like a pair of free bird coupons. I could probably throw in a bonus eff you – and still be golden. Look out everybody!

Maybe if I tried to fit in a little better I would get fewer flat tires. Maybe I could get one of those hipster fixed gear bicycles. I could role with no brakes and no helmet because – well it’s cool. I could get some deep dish velocity rims – because it is important to go fast when your gear is fixed and you have no brake. It would give me room to post special anti-establishment, or anti everything messages like “You Haters Suck My Balls” or simply “Fuck You”. Now that would make me cool and hip.

(http://bikesnobnyc.blogspot.com/ is the best bike blog on the planet btw)

I could even throw in a spoke card from an alley cat. It doesn’t matter that I don’t really know what an alley cat is – or that even If I did know that there are like 2 bike messengers in Boise (and they are both unemployed dudes that just like to ride fixies around town). Yep, then I would never get a flat. I could even throw on some bull horn handle bars, or those nice curved track handle bars – because you know, we will have a velodrome here soon – well we will if it doesn’t fill up with water before the concrete is poured. It would be a nice pond.

I think I will just buy a few more tubes.

Liberation

So I voted yesterday. I went to my local polling location and was greeted by a line out the door and general disorganization.

Turns out there are two precincts at my polling location. Never has been in the past – this must be one of those new improvements they have been talking about. Yup, add a precinct, but have them vote at the same place – good idea. That way you can get to the polling location, wait in a really long line, only to find out that there are really two lines – one really long, and one really short. Precinct 133 had a long line. Precinct 134 had a short line. Turns out most people don’t know what a precinct is, much less which one they live in. I know which precinct I live in – you can probably guess which one.

So I get to the front of the long line. There is a stop sign to wait to get into one of two more lines – based on your last name. One line is A-L, the other M-Z, one is long, the other is short. I shouldn’t have to tell you which one was long.

At the front of line 2 they ask me my name. I give it. They ask my address. I give it. Insurmountable security, couldn’t work around that. They give me a ballot folder. I open it – empty.

Line 3 is the ballot line. I see people in front of me that showed up after me and had to register. The registration line was shorter than line 1. You can skip from registration straight to line 3. Anyhow, I get to the front of line 3 – there is an old lady there with a pad of ballots and a rubber stamp. Each person walks up, she peels a ballot off, stamps it, and puts it in the folder. Couldn’t have done that stuff before hand. Couldn’t have found someone without arthritis to perform that task either.

On to line 4. This is where you get to wait for an opening in one of the origami cardboard voting booths. They remind me of those temporary trash cans that they use at events – hmm. I wonder if these things say BFI on the side?

So the little old lady at the front of line 4 holds you there and points out when a voting booth opens up. It might have helped if they chose someone for this task that had a little better eyesight. I guess she did have to make sure that everyone was using the official voting pens – the ones that someone spent hours taping a fake leaf to.

Finally I get to vote. Rubbing shoulders with the big dude on the left and the smelly chick on the right I eagerly grab the pen and start filling in bubbles. It took all my concentration to stay in the lines, and to avoid just drawing pictures with the filled in dots like I did in high school.

As I try to figure out what a trustee for the College of Western Idaho is, and why I am voting on them I reflect on the new style ballot. Another new improvement. Apparently moron proof – and it only takes 5 times longer to count than the old ballots. Nice improvement?

So I make my choices, then proceed to the longest line of the day, yes line 5. With my ballot secured in the security folder and the folder firmly in my hand I wait. After a while I give up and engage in small talk with my fellow voters – mostly about the speed of the line, and the fact that Chuck Winder didn’t have an opponent in the election and how bad that sucked. Did I mention Chuck Winder was two people ahead of me in line?

Still in line five.

Still in line five. Dude has to look up your name and call it out, then you can put your ballot in the box and collect the all important ‘I voted’ sticker. Dude has a nice call out voice, very good in fact, but his alphabet skills need some work – hence the delay.

Finally at the front of line five I say my name, toss the security envelope, and jam my ballot into the slot – like a fat kid on a donut. After a little scolding for dropping the ballot in the box before he read my name off the list I get my sticker and am liberated.

The Man Filter

A guy at work told me that my ‘man filter’ is broken. I think I disagree. See, saying it is broken implies that it worked (or worked better) at some point, which, in my case is not true.

A man filter is something between your brain and your mouth that prevents you from saying what you really think. Like when a girl asks if these pants make her but look big, or when your boss asks your opinion of some of their work. Your man filter prevents you from saying stuff like ‘no, not big – HUGE is more like it’ or ‘I can’t believe you did this, it fundamentally sucks’.

Some guys man filters are like those kitchen sieves – really fine meshed wires that only let the smoothest of smooth through. Guys with filters like that are politicians and Casanovas or political Casanovas. Most guys filters are like those little fishing nets that fly fisherman use – they catch most stuff, but little things get through. Others are like a volleyball net, or a soccer goal – that’s the stinky guy with greasy hair and no friends. My man filter is like one of those big salmon fishing nets – just the right size to catch the monster salmon, but often struggles to contain the simple hatchery rainbow trout.

Man filters can break too. Like when you are riding your bike and someone in a car almost kills you that f-bomb and bird might break right through the mesh. You can patch up the break, but it is never quite the same again. That’s why when you get older your man filter gets weaker – with the cumulative effect of previous breaks and all the crap backed up behind it. That’s why old dudes say so much stuff that a younger guy wouldn’t. At some point an old guy could have a complete blowout and let out all the penned up angry thoughts accumulated over the years – look out for that! I guess that is better than choking on the accumulated angry thoughts and keeling over.

I won’t have to worry about that.

So what about women filters? Whew, the man filter caught that one (sometimes the man filter catches things that shouldn’t be typed too).

The Prodigal Son

I went to get my five year old out of bed this morning. When I opened the door and walked in he opened one eye and groaned ‘Not you again’. Nothing like a little disrespect to get the day rolling.

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Last Friday he came home from school and told me he wanted to have a triangle lovers party.

Me – ‘A triangle lovers party?’

Son – ‘Yeah, it will be at night time.’

Me – ‘Um, Ok’

Son – ‘There’s no adults aloud’

Me – ‘Yeah it’s probably better that way’

There was more but it was less entertaining after that. It turns out it is a party for kids who like triangles – the kind from geometry. Yeah – not what I was thinking either.

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Earlier last week I was helping him get ready for bed. I gave him some pajamas, they had sports balls with flames around them. Trying to get him excited about anything related to bed time I said ‘Sweet, FLAMING BALLS’.

In the other room my wife was talking to her parents on the video messenger on the computer. My son jumped up on a chair in front of the camera and said ‘Do you want to see my flaming balls’. The look on the in-laws face was priceless.

Roadside Lost and Found Episode 6: I Lost My Head!

I always thought that I loved the fall, but this year I have come to the conclusion that fall really sucks. It starts getting cold, it starts getting dark, and the ‘pretty’ fall leaves only make it impossible to find the dog poo in my back yard (unless I use my shoe).

Maybe I am just bitter because I had to spray poo residue off my shoes twice yesterday during my yardwork. Freak’n fall! But really, I think there is more to it than that. Every year it makes me feel a little down – this year has been especially bad since I haven’t been riding and all. Normally cycling and killing innocent animals makes my fall tolerable, but this year I didn’t ride and killing stuff didn’t take very long. I have been very turtle like lately, I just want to tuck my head in and sleep.

So anyhow I decided a new moto to drive me through the remainder of fall and winter. I call it Toughen The Fuck Up (TTFU) – I actually stole from Stuart O’Grady, the professional cyclist. I like it, I think it fits.

So under TTFU I started riding again. And started seeing weird stuff again…

I was out over the weekend and found Ken’s head laying on the side of the road. I also saw his leg, and arm, but I wasn’t fast enough to stop for them, his head though – how could I not stop for that? I imagine there was some kid tearing Ken apart in the back of the car, throwing body parts at cyclists while his sister cried.

I have had many things thrown at me, but never a head. That would suck.

Back to Ken. After I took the picture I told him to TTFU and get himself together…

Just Angry

My retirement from cycling has made it harder for me to be an angry cyclist. Angry, yes, I can still do that – but cycling not so much. As such my blogging hasn’t been very blogtastic lately, but what do you do?

For over a week I have been meaning to write about my first 5K fun run. The obvious point to start is the oxymoron ‘fun run’ – but that is so lame I couldn’t bring myself to write it.

I have always thought that running was a survival skill, not a sport. Running is what you do when confronted with danger, not when you need a pleasurable past time. Anything that can make your body ache like that can not be good for you – and should probably be avoided except for emergencies. I guess that retiring from cycling is an emergency.

I have been running for a few weeks now. I decided to try a 5K – the Vandal 5K because I heard that 99% of people would never run a 5K. If I could do something that 99% of other people couldn’t (or wouldn’t) do that would be good! Good for my man ego at least, I always need a reason to think I am better than other people?

So I did the Vandal 5K run to raise money for Vandal athletic scholarships. Vandal athletes are obviously not very athletic this year, maybe a little scholarship will at least help them be scholarly. Probably not.

So I did the fun run. I finished in 23:57. It was kind of fun. Actually more funny than fun because I finished in the top 10 out of 100 or so – and I suck. Of course it is a Vandal athletic event. I’ll take what I can get.

The best part? There was a beer ticket attached to the race number. Go Vandals!

Trouble with Tribulus

Yep, that time of year again. The days are shorter, the weather is cooling, the goatheads are goatheading.

Or at least that’s what I thought until I saw this…

The official Idaho Noxious Weed Guide. It lists all of the misplaced plants in and around Idaho. When a plant grows somewhere you don’t want it, it is called a weed. If a plant is particularly good at growing where you don’t want it I guess it is a noxious weed.

Anyhow, I turned to the goathead page (aka puncture vine, Tribulus terrestris, monkeyfist, bikers bane, the weed of doom, effing goathead) and was pleasantly surprised to see that there are not goatheads in Ada County. Note the infestation map.

That is most excellent news. Can you imagine if we had that stuff here, boy that would suck. Imagine if it grew along the side of popular bike routes like Hill Rd, or the Greenbelt – what a pain in the ass that would be.

Well I guess we narrowly averted that disaster. There are apparently goatheads in Canyon County though – sucks for them, Elmore County too, Valley County – bummer, significantly below average. I will try to stay here in good old Ada.

So if you think you got a flat recently from a goathead you are most decidedly mistaken. You must have been out of Ada County. Or ran over some glass. Or imagined it all-together.

Open Letter to Phone Book Guy

Dear Phonebook Guy,

Thank you for delivering the latest version of the Phonebook Guy Phonebook. I really needed something to put under the front tire of my bicycle while I ride on my bicycle trainer this winter. However, I don’t really need the Canyon County edition as well as the Ada County edition. Thank you in advance for retrieving it from my doorstep.

You see, I really don’t like Canyon County and I don’t intend to go there seeking services. In particular, I don’t intend to seek services in Canyon County using a phone book. As a matter of fact, I don’t really intend to use the phone book to seek services in Ada County either, but I do need a good wheel holder upper – so thank you again. In case you were wondering, the Ada County edition makes the best wheel holder upper when you open it to the legal section. Last year I sweated on Holzer & Edwards all winter and it worked quite well for me.

I guess the reason I don’t use your phone book to seek services is because of this new invention I discovered recently. You may have heard of it. It is called the internet. Al Gore invented it. It actually pretty much makes your business model obsolete – like the post office. Sorry about that. You see, the way I figure it, if a business hasn’t embraced technology enough to have a web page (even a bad one), they probably don’t embrace other technology either - you know? I mean I could end up with a doctor that thinks using lasers for surgery is a fad and prefers butcher knives – that would be bad.

So now that I think of it, I probably don’t need the Ada County edition either. I will gladly use it as a wheel holder upper this year, but I don’t need another next year. I will just buy one of those plastic wheel holder uppers – that way I won’t risk offending someone by sweating on their add either.

Thanks in advance for not delivering next years phone book. By the way, could you please tell your friends Phone Book Dude and Phone Book Man that I don’t need their phone books either – Yes, even if it has a glossy BSU football cover. Thanks.

Sincerely,

Mike

Chicks Dig It

Finally, my last cycling event of the season. After a long year of downs with a few ups here and there I am very much ready to quit cycling forever, or at least until next week – whichever comes first.

The last event is the Bogus Basin Hill Climb. Optimistically it is a short 13 mile ride with only one hill. Pessimistically it is a 15 mile 3,500 vertical foot bitch with a few short sections of respite. Realistically it is just a hill, not that steep, but kind of long.

Usually I know that things are going to go bad from the beginning. Saturday was different. I lined up reasonably close to the front – there were probably only 100 riders in front of me. I felt pretty good for the first couple miles. Then reality hit. The reality is that I am fat, and out of shape, and have a chronic hip injury. Reality really kind of sucked.

So there I am about half way up Bogus basking in the suckiness. So much suckiness that I got passed by a BYRDS kid in baggy spandex – I think he might have been 10. Anyhow, basking in the suckiness – and I think, 'God, this sucks…'

God – ‘Well, yeah, what did you expect?’

Me – ‘I expected a little less suckiness, a little help please?’

God – ‘I think you need a new hobby’

Me – ‘Like?’

God – ‘Like something that doesn’t require leg shaving to start with’

Me – ‘But chicks dig shaved legs’

God – ‘Really?’

Me – ‘No, not really – but I kind of like it’

God – ‘Elmer, there is no hope for you’

Me – ‘Barrack says there is hope’

God – ‘Barrack doesn’t know you’

Me – ‘Maybe you could arrange…’

God – ‘Shut up and ride’

And then things got better. Much better. My legs loosened up, my head cleared up, and I felt pretty good. I started catching people.

That chat with God really helped. It was either that or shifting to my small chainring after for the 4 miles in the big one – oops. You would think you would notice something like that.

I caught and passed the baggy spandex BYRDS kid on the last corner – now that is something to carry me over to next year. It is going to be a hard winter.

I think I am going to take Gods advice an try a new hobby for a while. I’m thinking alcoholic – I think I can do that. I am still going to shave my legs though.

Snidely Electric

I new it would happen. It had to happen. What with $4 gas it was only a matter of time. Given the scootermania and the fact you can buy motorized bicycles on Craigslist it was probably downright inevitable.

So I am on my way home yesterday afternoon on the greenbelt when I come up behind a guy on a mountain bike with funny looking panniers. As he goes around a curve in front of me he looks back with a Snidely Wiplash look on his face. Eeeeeffffffff! Now what?

I had already dueled speed racer girl earlier in the commute when some chick was determined not to let me pass her, and then was equally determined to stay right behind me for a mile afterward. Now Snidely here has some devilish plan to unleash on me when I pass him.

Resigned to subject myself to some devious plan I pass Snidely. Snidely looks over at me (still looking Snidely) and I hear the whine of the electric motor kicking in…

De Ja Vu – I flashback to the last time some electric bike smuck raced me. Yes this has happened to me twice now. I am guessing no one else has raced electric bike guy even once. I guess I am just lucky. Anyhow, last time I raced electric bike guy I got a similarly Snidely look, and a similarly whiney whine. Last time I actually had to shift and go about 20 mph to get around electric bike moron…

Flashback to the present. Electric bike guy guns it. Electric bike guy accelerates. Electric bike guy tops out at maybe 15 mph. Electric bike guys’ electric bike sucks. Electric bike guy might want to try pedaling – it may be faster.

Actually, it would be faster. I slow down while passing electric bike guy to tell him so.

My Mailbox

So I added a new feature to my e-mail box the other day. I call it the ‘blackmail’ folder. I am going to use it to store e-mails that I can forward in order to make the sender and other recipients look bad. I will forward those e-mails for my own personal gain, the detraction of other people, and to make myself feel powerful and intelligent. Yes, that is the type of e-mails I will put in the ‘blackmail’ folder, and that is what I will do with them.

Does this make me a bad person?

Well only if you consider a total lack of class, integrity, and respect for others a bad thing. Or maybe if other people thinking of me as a POS because of it makes me a bad person.

On second thought maybe a ‘blackmail’ folder isn’t such a good idea. At least mine is empty… is yours?

Olympic Recap

So the Olympics have been over for a week and I have had time to reflect about the games and what they mean to me…

-I still think that if you are over 12 and ride a BMX bike you might be a loser. If the most marketed thing about your sport in Olympic coverage is crashes – that’s a bad thing.

-Synchronized diving, and rhythmic gymnastics are for people that weren’t quite good enough to compete in the real events. Also see Ice Dancing in the winter Olympics.

-The Chinese cheated. Well duh! I think that the important thing to remember is that our athletes got beat by 12 year olds. That should put things in perspective.

-Sports with subjective scoring systems suck.

-Have Jamaicans always been that fast? Hmmm…

-The rules about what country you can compete for seem a little loosy goosy. So if you aren’t good enough at a sport in your own country you can switch to another to compete at the Olympics. Maybe next Olympics I can be a cyclist from Djibouti.

-They say the Olympics are about the essence of sport. I call BS. If you are sponsored by VISA the only thing you are the essence of is capitalism. If you want to see the essence of sport go to grade school at recess and watch the kids play ball. Don’t stay long, someone will think you are a pedophile.

-Thank you Kristen Armstrong for making it a little more acceptable to be a spandex wearing biker fag in Boise, Idaho. Now that is a legacy.

-The only thing that would make women’s beach volleyball better is Bacardi Mojito commercials.

-Michael Phelps needs some braces, but he’s so fast you probably didn’t notice.

Wow, I love the Olympics.

Proud Moments

Yesterday my 5 year old son told me that he wanted to go ride his bike - because he was going to 'race his red hotwheels bike in the olympics' - and needed to practice.

A little later he told me he wanted to have a 'Teenager' party with Brianna, Caliope, and Anna. He wants to have it at nanners house so they can swim in the hot tub and nanners can make them strawberry smoothies.

I am a little disturbed.

The Equine Ghetto

So I was so excited about the prospect of carnies on my commute that I forgot to mention something that I have been meaning to bitch about for a while. I remembered this morning when I was discussing carnies with a friend at work.

I hate horses. I am pretty sure I hate horses. They are big, they are dumb, and they are very much horse like. That’s why it shouldn't bother me when I ride my bike past the horse ghetto by the race track – but it does bother me to ride past the horse ghetto.

By the fairgrounds there are these buildings (I use the term loosely) where the race horses live when they are not, umm, racing. The poor horses have plywood ‘buildings’ and some of the middle class horses have concrete buildings, I think the rich horses just drive in for the races in hummers then go back to Eagle after they are done.

The poor horses are so poor they chew on their ‘buildings’ – so around the edges the ‘buildings’ look all dry and raw and rough – much like the wood you might choose if you wanted to start a fire.

They must eat the buildings when they get done eating the nice dry hay that hangs in baskets by their doors. The hay looks much like something that you might use as kindling is you, say, wanted to start a fire.

The poor horses don’t have it all bad though. There is always a monster pile of saw dust/wood chip stuff at the end of the 'buildings' – you know, like the stuff some places use to burn to generate power and heat. I think the floors of the poor horse houses are covered with this so it is nice and soft and absorbs their urine. A nice touch I think.

Also, so the poor horses don’t suffer so bad that their performance suffers they have big electric fans. Which require electricity. Which requires wires (sometimes exposed). Which run all over the wood ‘building’.

Now I am know expert, but I think there might be a fire hazard (or two) there…

On the other hand, I think the middle class and rich horses should be ok.

Now I am no fan of horses, but I think I would like cooked horses even less.

The Carnies are Coming! The Carnies are Coming!

I must say, I have been mired in a bit of a malaise lately. The summer is ending, my son started kindergarten, my body is broken, AND I haven’t commuted on my bike to work much lately. When I have biked to work I haven’t seen anything bizarre – or maybe I am just not ‘feeling it’ and seeing the bizarrity (I made that up) in mundane things.

So Tuesday I rode my bike to work. I was determined to see something bizarre. On my way to work I was disappointed – either there was nothing bizarre going on or it was too damn dark to see anything bizarre. Thats ok, I was optimistic for the ride home as there would be a ton of people out. But alas – nothing strange.

There was the BMX guy going ‘no hands’ with his hands out to his sides and making airplane noises – that’s a bit different. And I guess the drunken pirate guy was kind of neat – he had a sweet pirate bandana, no shirt, and funky ripped pants. The smell of alcohol as I went past inspired me to say ‘AAARRRGGGHHH’. I don’t think he liked that – next time I will try “Ahoy there me hardy”.

I guess that stuff was ok. They are building a new structure along the green belt where all the bums live. I am not sure what it is supposed to be – but I know what it will turn into – bum housing. That will be nice. I also know that it gives me a chance to play cyclocross racer for 100 yards a day where the paved green belt is closed.

There was Lance Armstrong look alike guy too (not to be confused with Lance Armstrong wannabe guy). LALAG actually looks like LA. He always rides in a button up shirt and khaki shorts – clearly a commuter. His face looks like LA. LA in the tour in 2003. The year he suffered. Specifically he looks like LA on that stage to Luz Ardiden where LA crashed, go back up, and won – and looked vaguely like an unhealthy pasty skeleton doing it. That’s what LALAG looks like on the green belt. I am pretty sure dude is going to rupture something. Dude, take it easy.



I saw that the carnies have moved into the campground by the fairgrounds. That is a promising development. Surely I will see something odd next week.

Voo Doo and Mt. Doom

Did you ever see that movie with the Hobbits that had to climb the gnarly mountain and throw the evil ring in the cracks of doom? That was me on Saturday – I was the hobbit that had to carry the ring – you know, the one that it sucked the most for. The mountain was Mt. Harrison down by Albion, it is just like Mt Doom from the movie only a little bit steeper – especially at the top. There wasn’t a ring, or a crack of doom – but the part about it sucking, that part was definitely there.

The ride was only like 17 miles, and there was only one hill, so how hard could it be, right? Pomerelle Ski resort (which is on Mt. Doom) is probably the flattest, lamest ski resort in America so how hard could it be to ride a bike to the top, right?

It may have been ok if I hadn’t gone to the Voodoo doctor the day before. Definitely shouldn’t go to a Voodoo doctor for the first time ever the day before a race. The Voodoo guy made my body go all Rice Crispies, made me feel all loosey goosey, and told me to take it easy for a few days. Well I am a specialist at taking it easy during bike races – so I thought it would be no problem. Little did I know that you can’t take it easy on Mt. Doom.

I was good for the first mile. After that it was all downhill (figuratively) and all up hill (literally). After a nice chat with a friend in the pack I dropped off the back and settled in to take it easy. A few miles later random body parts were hurting. A few miles after that someone put a belt around my chest and cinched it up as tight as it would go – oh, nevermind that was just the heartrate monitor. Speaking of, – 180 – that’s not good. A few miles after that all my body parts hurt. A few miles after that I was halfway there (oh oh living on a prayer).

Someone told me that the last few miles were the worst, so I knew when I was feeling the suckiest ever that I must be getting close to the top. Just around the next corner, dough! The next corner for sure, dough! A couple miles worth of dough! And then I saw the two miles to go sign. WTF, there isn’t anywhere up to go – just that cliff. So two nasty switchbacks up the cliff. I think the grade was about 100% give or take a few %. It is hard to ride straight when your head is spinning. If only I could turn the pedals as fast as my head.

So like 8 hours later I made it to the top. Eff, nice view – but it wasn’t worth it. 3 days out and random body parts still hurt. Never, ever again, at least until next year.

In Dirty Underwear

I am not sure, but I think my 5 year old son is a smart-ass. I have no idea where he got it, I mean I’m not a smart ass am I?

He has been watching a lot of Veggie Tales lately. A cartoon about religious vegetables. I don’t particularly care for religion, and I don’t like vegetables either – but Veggie Tales seems ok. Good lessons, some corny humor (no pun intended). Not bad for tv anyway.

One of my sons favorites is about standing up for what you believe in – good right? Actually not so much.

The other day my wife calls…

Wife - “I can’t get your son to change his clothes”

Me – “Umm, OK”

Wife – “Any idea’s”

Me – “Nope”

So I role home later and find my son wearing the same clothes he was wearing the day before. He didn’t want to change them because they were his favorite color – red.

Me – “Hi little dude, why don’t you go change your clothes”

Son – “OK”

Goes away and comes back in his dirty underwear, carrying new clean clothes…

Me – “Change your underwear too”

Son – “No, I can not”

Me – “What?”

Son – “Sorry dad, I have to stand up for what I believe in”

My son wore dirty underwear the rest of the day.

He believes in it. Dirty Underwear.

Roadside Lost and Found: Episode 5, A Missunderstanding

OK, so I am on my way home yesterday. I get to my neighborhood and what do I find laying in the gutter? Three beers - unopened.

The only explaination is that you read my blog yesterday and misunderstood. See, you are supposed to drink the beers first - then huck the can out the window. Ahhhhhhh...

So anyway, I have your beers. Whats left of your beers. There was a little bit of leakage.

Roadside Lost ant Found Episode 4: Vodka

Roadsides are for stuff that you enjoy but are too embarrassed to come home with. Fast food wrappers, cigarette butts, pornography, beer cans/bottles, and apparently vodka. Most people like fast food every now and then, but God forbid you should admit it or be caught with it – solution – throw the evidence out the window. Lots of people smoke but don’t want to live with the embarrassment of dealing with the mess caused by their filthy little habit (is that opinionated?) – solution - throw it out the window. EVERYONE enjoys a little nakedness now and then – don’t admit it, throw it out the window! Some law breakers like a beer in the car – this is illegal, not to mention your spouse (or mom) won’t like it – solution – throw it out the freaking window!

There is an alcoholic in my neighborhood who drinks a little shot bottle of Smirnoff everyday in the car. I am speculating he/she doesn’t want their spouse/parent to know – solution – throw it out the window!

“Honey, your breath smells funny?”

“Oh, that’s just mouthwash – I wanted to be fresh for you when I got home…”

At least I think the person is an alcoholic. Does drinking a Smirnoff a day make you an alchy?

I’m more of a Mike’s Hard Lemonade guy – I know that is like drinking wine coolers and makes me weak. Admitting that you like girly alcohol is like admitting you like Bon Jovi, but hey, ‘Dead or Alive’ is a good song right???

…errr, I mean Metallica ROCKS!! – pass the Jack Daniels!!

Random Thoughts With Melmer

I miss the Tour de France. I miss the countless hours of cycling on tv. I miss guessing which Frenchy will go on a suicide break each day. I miss guessing which doper will get caught, and which doper will win and not get caught. I miss the Bacardi mojito commercial, I really miss the Bacardi mojito commercial. I don’t miss the repetitive SAAB commercial – like playing the damn thing every 5 minutes wasn’t enough, they have to repeat themselves 3 times within every commercial. Excruciating – born from jets indeed.

I flipped a guy off yesterday. I got a flat tire within 10 minutes. Five birds, five flats.

Also on my ride home yesterday the greenbelt ugliness achieved an all new level. Minding my own business, roll around a corner and there is a hippo in the middle of the greenbelt – oops, my bad – it’s a fat dude – in the middle of the trail – bent over messing with his shoe – a full 6 inches of hairy ass crack exposed. Aargh, that’s just wrong. I held my breath and squeezed around on the side. Oh the horror. Why me?

I wonder how beer tastes out of a water bottle. I think I need some.

After all the trauma yesterday, and a little stomach uneasiness over night I drove to work today. It was an interesting change. When I drove past Fred Meyer I noticed a single wide trailer in the parking lot with a sign on it that said ‘Pharmacy Open’. Nice. In Garden City too. Perfect.

Speaking of perfect, I also noticed the St. Lukes hospital downtown has the biggest smoking area in town. It’s disturbing how many doc’s and nurses there are out there. It’s like a lung cancer staging area.

Umm, OK?

So I saw this commercial the other day – well actually I saw this commercial several times the other day (thank you VS network for mind numbing repetitive marketing). The commercial is for something called the ‘Gold Kit’. You call a special number, someone sends you a big puffy envelope, you stuff all your gold into it, and then they send you money.

Umm, OK. Voluntary robbery by mail. I know, why don’t I send you my bank account information too so you can direct deposit my windfall. What? You need my credit card info to charge a small processing fee – OK. I have some silver too – do you take that? Diamonds? OK.

Unbelievable. You know even if it were legitimate, I’m thinking it might not be a good idea to stuff my heirlooms in a big ass envelope labeled GOLD KIT and then put it in the mailbox. Wonder if any of those get lost.

Got to give them some credit though – if I were going to advertise something that ludicrous on tv it would be on VS, the Ultimate Fighting/Bull Riding network. They got their target audience nailed.

Two Wrongs Don’t Make a Right and The Eight Turn Circle

I ride criterium races like I ride mountain bikes. Not very well.

Its not that crits scare me a whole lot - I think that my lack of aggressiveness and my ‘whatever’ attitude are incompatible with the criterium race format. I’m not into fighting with guys for position, I’m not into going around corners really fast, and when I ride my bike I usually prefer to turn both left AND right.

So given that, I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to race both the Masters B crit and the Cat 3 crit one right after the other at the state championships on Sunday. It was either commitment or stupidity – or a stupid commitment – or a commitment to stupidity.

You get the idea. Here’s the race recap…

Masters B. Riding along, ho hum, turning left, riding some more, turning left again, was that a right turn? – no just kind of a right veer, that guy wants in front of me – ok. Turning left, ride a little bit, turn left again (was that a brick crosswalk – not good), whoa what is that up there – a chicane? Yup, I think they call that a chicane – I think I call it a cluster fuck and a bad idea, ride straight some more, turn left (whoops, drug a pedal – whatever). Repeat for 45 minutes. Is this the last lap – good. These guys are nuts, they can have their medal – I will buy my own.

Cat 3. That last race was harder than I thought. Turn left, ride a little bit, turn left, veer right. These guys are faster than the other ones. Turn left, turn left, chicane go strait, left, left veer right, straight, left, left, chicane, who’s bike is making that sound, left, left, veer right,left,left,chicane,left.left – repeat for about 20 minutes until – well this sucks I am getting pulled – thank God.

All in all not a bad day of crit-ing. Didn’t fall off, that’s always good. They said the course had eight turns, but it was essentially a circle – I don’t know how that works. Maybe that is why I am lousy at crits. Whatever…

Success at any Cost

I have been struggling this year to meet my cycling goals. I don’t think I have achieved one yet. The best I have finished in a Cat 3 race is 12th. I was first loser in a Master’s B race that I should have won. I even went origami during the LP 200 – completely folded.

A month or so ago I decided that I needed to make some changes in order to start meeting some goals. I had a few choices. I could cheat, I could quit, or I could change the rues. I decided to change the rules, it is the American way after all.

I developed a new system that ensures success. Introducing – Multiple Choice Goal setting. I borrowed the multiple guess system of standardized testing from the American educational system and bent it to meet my own goal setting needs.

All you need to do is set about 4 goals at a time and hope you meet at least one of them. It helps if one is ridiculously easy. Here is an example…

Melmer’s Summer Goal 2008

A. Place top 10 in a Cat 3 bike race.
B. Climb Bogus Basin in 1:05:59 or less.
C. Buy a new bike.
D. Buy my wife a new bike.
E. None of the above.

Notice each one gets easier.

This is how it works - Only tell your friends and teammates about the first one. Later when they ask if you met your goal, just tell them yes. The only one you are lying to is yourself, and who cares about that.

By the way, in case you were wondering – I already met my summer goal. That Bogus Basin is a tough climb…

The Truth About Spandex

INTRODUCTION

To test the Melmer Theory of Spandexivity I needed to measure peoples social acceptance to varying levels of spandex tightness and brightness.

METHODS

I devised a scheme (experimental design) where I would wear different types of clothes on different days. To measure social acceptance I would say ‘Good Morning’ to everyone I came across and quantify the number of responses. Here are the clothes...

I call them 'Baggies', 'Performance Guy', and 'Tight n' Bright' respectively. I compiled some data then I did some ill advised statistical tests.

RESULTS

Here is the data I collected...

Here are the ill advised statisical results...

mean1 eq: 0.308 (sd=0.462) (se=0.0646)
mean2 eq: 0.476 (sd=0.499) (se=0.0634)

difference between means:
-0.1685 (sd=0.9479) (se=0.0898)
95% CI: -0.3444
t-value of difference: -1.877; df-t: 111
probability: 0.031263 (left tail pr: 0.96874)
doublesided p-value: 0.0625

mean1 eq: 0.308 (sd=0.462) (se=0.0646)
mean2 eq: 0.556 (sd=0.497) (se=0.0749)

difference between means:
-0.2479 (sd=0.932) (se=0.0979)
95% CI: -0.4397

CONCLUSIONS

Ultimately, the results indicate that if you wear not bright spandex you are less socially acceptable than if you wear baggies - and if you wear tight n' bright spandex you are way less socially acceptable.

SUMMARY

Except for a brief period in the 80's, it is not socially acceptable to wear spandex. God forbid your spandex is tight n' bright or you will be a real social leper. No wonder professional cyclists do drugs.

The Theory of Spandexivity

June made me re-think spandex. I got made fun of by a CODE 300 women in a bikini, and a 20-something chick on a bmx bike. People that have thighs that weigh more than me shouldn’t point and laugh as I go by. People older than 12 who ride bmx bikes shouldn’t make fun of anyone. If you are older than 12 and your primary mode of transportation is a bmx bike you might be a loser – I don’t care how much gas costs.

Anyhow, I decided that people don’t like me because of my spandex.

I have a new theory. I call it Melmer’s Theory of Spandexivity. It goes something like this…

As the tightness and brightness of your spandex increases, your social acceptance approaches zero.

I figure that spandexivity is measured on a scale of 1 to 10. One is not so tight and not so bright, 10 is obnoxiously bright, and inappropriately tight. It is a subjective measure but here are some guidelines.

1. If the color of your spandex can be described as fluorescent, bright, or God forbid neon you are automatically at spandexivity 8.
2. If your spandex has sponsors you are at least spandexivity 5.
3. If the base color of your spandex shorts is anything other than black – spandexivity 7.
4. If your spandex is so tight that passersby can see unfortunate ass features – spandexivity 11.

Keep in mind spandexivity is somewhat additive so reaching 10 (complete lack of social acceptance) is not that hard for the average bike geek. To give you an idea – those old school lost river kits (orange AND green) – 10. The old school LAC grey and green kits – 10. Current LAC kit – 7, current lost river kit – 8. Performance catalog guy kit – 3-5. Spandex under baggies – 1. Just baggies – 0.

Ultimately, the take home message is that the higher your spandexivity, the more likely you are to get hassled. Don’t believe me? Wait for the results of my spandexivity experiments…

The Tour de Pants

We all have them. Or at least I think we do. Well, maybe it’s just me.

I have a closet. The closet is full of pants. A lot of pants. A khaki rainbow of pants. Probably over 20 pairs of pants. I wear about 5 or 6 of them. Over and over again until they break. The rest live in the closet.

In order to make my closet a better place I decided that I needed to get rid of a few pairs of pants. To decide which pants to get rid of I decided to start at one side of the closet and wear a different pair of pants every day until I wore them all – at which point I would throw out the pants I liked least.

Believe it or not I have already done this a few times in the last year. I used to have about 30 pairs of pants…

So this is the 3rd ever Tour de Pants. One pair each day (stage) for twenty or so days – work days that is. I don’t wear pants on days I don’t go to work?

Its Tour de Pants time everybody!

It's Not Unusual...

I rode my bike about 5 hours over the weekend and didn't see anything unusual. That is, unless you consider a teenager riding an electric bmx bike while wearing rollerblades unusual. I learned two things. First, electric bikes don't go uphill very well. Second, it is hard to pedal while wearing rollerblades.

Yup nothing unusual at all...

Roadside Lost and Found: Episode 3, The Angry Little Man

Another day, another roadside treasure. Today I found an angry little man. I actually saw him first a few days ago, but didn’t pick him up till today.

I thought to myself – ‘Self, how did this angry little man get here – and why did he stay here so long’. Deep down we all know the truth, it goes something like this…

In the back seat of the family truckster –

Billy – Oooh look, another one of those tight and bright cycling guys, what can I throw at him? Ahhh, Angry Little Man!

Angry Little Man – Yes my Liege! (Bastogne-Liege)

Billy – I must throw you out the window at the offensive spandex guy. I want you to split his skull with your mighty battle axe.

Angry Little Man – I will relish it Master Billy.

Billy hucks Angry Little Man –

Billy – Yes! I hit that bike freak!

Angry Little Man – AHHHHHHHHHHH, smack!

Mom – Billy, did you just throw Angry Little Man at that loser biker?!?! He cost $ 0.50!

Billy – But mom, it was so tight and bright!

Meanwhile on the road –

Angry Little Man - Dooouuugghghhh, my mighty battle axe failed against his mighty helm.

Angry Little Man – Billy, Billy, Where are you! If only I could move, I would go find him.

Or something like that. Don’t be angry little man.

Roadside Lost and Found: Episode 2, Fredi the Tree Guy

Riding home yesterday and saw something shiny and blue on the road. OK, I’ll bite. Slow down, go back and pick this up…





Ummm, OK. Fredi? Pink Hardhat? Wow! ‘All 4 you contracting’. I am speachless.

It would be one thing if it were Freddy, and the hat were some color other than pink, but to use an ‘I’, and pink. Nuts man.

So it is one of those business card magnets. I took it to work today – we had a pool about whether it was real or a joke. Someone called Fredi. He is real. His hardhat is pink. He asked for his business card back.

Um no, I don’t think I am ready to meet Fredi.

Roadside Lost and Found: Episode 1, the Receiver Hitch Pin

When you spend a lot of time on the road, you find a lot of things on the road. My favorite thing to find is tools. A friend of mine from college really enjoyed finding porn – he was really good at it too.

It is pretty unbelievable how much crap there is out there – but probably even more interesting are the hidden mysteries associated with each item. For example, how did that shoe end up there, why is that cell phone smashed here, and recently for me – why the hell is there a receiver hitch pin on the side of the road…

In case you don’t recognize it, this little piece of metal is almost all that holds that huge boat, camper, or horse trailer onto the back of that huge (gas sucking) SUV or (diesel chugging)Ford F-350 that just roared past you. Every time I see one of these on the side of the road (twice now) I imagine there had to be a phone call like this…

(insurance guy) Hello, Joe’s Insurance…

(lost pin guy) Hi Joe, this is Richard, Richard Payne – I need to make a claim.

(insurance guy) Tell me what happened Mr. Payne…

(lost pin guy) Well, I was driving down Eagle Road and the boat just popped off the back of my truck…

(insurance guy) Weren’t you using safety chains?

(lost pin guy) Wwwhhhaaattt?

(insurance guy) Never mind, did the boat hit anything?

(lost pin guy) No, just bounced off some spandex freak bike guy. He left a smear down the side of the boat – but I am pretty sure it will buff out.

(insurance guy) Thank god it didn’t hit a mailbox or something, it may have damaged the fiberglass.

(lost pin guy) Yeah, no kidding.

(insurance guy) Thank God for small miracles…

The Best of Times, The Worst of Times

I think I might have stolen that phrase from someone. That’s ok, it wasn’t even a very good book – over rated. Not enough character development on Mr. Carton. Great Expectations was more my style. Anyhow…

The Tour of Eagle, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It was the best because my club supported the race, and almost all the people who volunteered showed up, better yet some people who didn’t volunteer showed up. Bonus!

It was the worst of times because my race SUCKED! I mean, it really SUCKED. It’s never good when a cat 3 loser like myself lines up behind someone from the local stud teams – BOB’s. Not good for the Cat 3 loser anyway. I think I got lapped maybe 10 laps in, probably not that many.

Now, I have never claimed to be a criterium rider, or even claimed to like them, but that was ridiculous. I do have 2 comforts though. The first is that a lot of other riders didn’t finish either. I even ran into a friend from another team before the end, we got dropped simultaneously and had a nice chat about it while we waited to get pulled.

One of my teammates even pulled me aside at the end and asked if anyone told me that this was a race, not a social ride? You know, sometimes you gotta take what you can get!

The second comfort is that I woke up the next day with a nasty cold. It must have impeded my performance the night before. That’s my excuse and I am sticking to it…

Climate Change

Someone told me yesterday it was Juneuary. That sounds about right.

Welcome to Juneuary everybody.

40 degree commute yesterday morning. I could see my breath. My nose was running. There was fresh snow in the foothills. Eff man.

Welcome to Juneuary indeed.

Stage 8: My Own Personal Hell

I wanted to pull over and cry. I would have but I didn’t have the energy. It was easier to keep pedaling.

About 66 miles into my 112 mile day the bonk hit. It hit hard. One minute I was ok, next BOOM!!! The shot heard ‘round my head. The first few times I got dropped I had the energy to yell. The next few I gasped. The next few I just grunted. Finally I decided screw it, they will notice I am not there in a while.

In retrospect I should have taken it easier on stage 7. In retrospect I should have eaten after stage 5 even though I felt like puking. In retrospect I should have chosen fat, slow team mates. In retrospect I shouldn’t have signed up in the first place. Ah, retrospect.

I ate all the gel in my jersey, I ate Milt’s energy food, I ate Chris’s gel. I drank all my water. I didn’t taste any of it. The only thing I tasted was pain.

My head didn’t start to spin till I was 5 miles from the transition. The hallucinations started a little bit after that. Do you see the size of that chicken? Oh, no – that’s just Milt – the legs looked like chicken. Sorry Milt. I hope hell isn’t like this.

We passed some people while I was in my own personal hell – it must have really sucked to be them.

Stage 8 finished. I hoped Darin rode slow – I had to ride stage 10. I ate a sandwich, I ate a banana, I drank a bottle of accelerade, I drank a bottle of water.

I got on my bike and rode in the 4 hole all the way to Ketchum behind Milt, Chris, and Darin averaging over 32 mph. Woo Hoo! What a ride.

I can’t wait till LP200 – 2009!

May in Myopia 5: Bike Surfing Guy

I often find myself wondering if I am the only guy that has weird crap happen to him.

On my way to work today I was crossing the Veterans Park Bridge, on my way to the Greenbelt on the north side of the river. There is a guy coming the other way on a bmx bike. Now if you are over like 12 and ride a bmx bike you might be a loser, but otherwise there wasn’t anything unusual – I was in Garden City after all.

As I approach the guy hops up with his feet on his top tube and stands up – a little bike surfing action. Bike surfing, on a sidewalk, next to traffic, a lot of traffic, with a spandex clad bike geek coming at you. You have got to be kidding me.

So do I play chicken with the surfer (he is in the middle of the sidewalk)? Do I pull over and watch the spectacle? Do I cheer the obvious display of skill? Do I yell at the guy? Nope, in my befuddled state I squeeze past wondering WTF.

I am sure this type of crap happens to other people all the time right?

May in Myopia 4: Spandex Guy

It continues, the hords are out saving the planet – somewhat nearsightedly, and only for a month, but saving the planet none the less. Again riding a bike to work is good, but could people be a little less annoying when they do it?

I can’t help but to notice a lot of people new to this bike thing wear non-cycling spandex gear. Specifically shorts or tights that clearly don’t have any pads. Ouch. Do these people think cyclists where cycling shorts because we think they look good? Yeah right. No padding? Ouch again.

I also enjoy it when people tuck their t-shirts in their ‘bike’ shorts – now that’s a nice look.

Only a few days left…

Going Back

So this weekend was the Treasure Valley Stage Race…

I took the big plunge and raced… Master’s B. I --- INSERT EXCUSE HERE --- so I thought I would race there for the weekend. I had a ton of excuses like ‘I don’t want to race 75 miles in Cat 3’, ‘I have a bumb hip’, ‘It would give me more family time’, ‘No team mates in Cat 3’, and ‘Those damn lost river guys are doing it’ – amongst others.

There is nothing wrong with racing master’s B – it is a happy place – but I have come to the realization that like many other things in life, you shouldn’t go back. Not that you can’t go back, you just shouldn’t.

Well I went back. The race was only 50 miles – the ‘only’ is a change in perspective that I have gained this year. Last year it was ‘Oh my god! It’s 50 freak’n miles!’. We started out on 1-2 mile climb pretty easy, then Dave Beck (who also shouldn’t have gone back) accelerated. Since Dave is an old man, and not in my category I let him go. I only followed after a few people in my category followed.

At the top of the hill, there were 8 of us left (including 5 people who should not have gone back). We road the rest of the first lap like most races – the Dobiacco guys worked, Chris Berry worked, I worked, and the lost river guys sat on back and talked about attacking.

The second time up the hill Chris Berry got gapped so I accelerated and pulled for a while towards the top of the hill. There were 5 of us left. No one worked with Dave so he took off solo. Eventually the other 4 of us started working together to chase Dave (and to gap Chris B). Three of us pulled more than the other. The other sprinted around us for the win at the end. Give you 1 guess which team.

Anyway, thought I would make it up in the TT. I didn’t – lost 5 more seconds. I knew I couldn’t make it up in the crit, but I tried anyway – I got a time prime, unfortunately Mike McDonald got 3.

So I got beat fair and square. Second place. First loser. Behind 1 (shouldn’t have gone back) and ahead of 1 (shouldn’t have gone back).

After the races we all sat back and discussed our excuses for racing masters b instead of 3 or masters a. I am guessing that if you feel like you have to justify racing in the category you race in – you may be racing the wrong category.

Back to pack fodder for me… at least until the next time I go back.

May in Myopia 3: Safety Guy

So I’m riding my bike home last night and come up behind a guy that is clearly commuting, but isn’t all that comfortable being on the road.

He is riding all the way to the right, in the gutter – so close to the curb I don’t know how his pedals were not hitting.

He has his bike lights on even though it is clear and sunny.

He is sporting one of those fluorescent vests.

He probably had one of those helmet rearview mirrors – but honestly I didn’t notice.

That’s all good. Safety first after all. The disturbing thing is that when we get to Eagle Road. 5 lane 75,000 cars a day Eagle Rd. 60 mph Eagle Rd. Heavy truck traffic Eagle Rd. Dude tries to cross against the signal.

I am guessing his flashing red light and cute vest are not going to help him when he roles out in front of a truck going 60 through his GREEN light.

Freak’n moron.

May in Myopia 2: Lance Armstrong Wannabe Guy

Again, riding your bike to work is a good thing. But sheeesh people, get a life.

I am commuting home yesterday on the greenbelt. Carrying my big commuter bag, spinning easy, calling out ‘on your left’ – basically doing my best to be Joe commuter. I come up behind a guy on one of those road bikes with flat handlebars. He is sporting the spandex under baggies look, along with the nice cycling t-shirt.

I call out to pass and as I am going by the guy gives me a speed racer look and shifts down – accelerating. You have got to be kidding me. WTF. Did the race start somewhere back there and I missed it? Is he afraid I am going to get to the library before him and check out that sweet new Jack Johnson CD; get to the coffee shop first and get my latte before him? You’re killing me moron.

I give the guy my best eyebrows raised, not amused look and accelerate a bit myself to finish the pass. Then the dude hops on my wheel. I don’t mind having people on my wheel – unless it is TG or Lance Armstrong Wannabe Guy (hmmm, maybe they are the same guy). What is this guy doing? Is he going to jump around me and take the win at the wooden bridge? or the fireman training place? or the place where the bums live under the bridge? Aargh…

So I proceeded to pick the worst lines on the greenbelt until the dude bounced off. Passive aggressive what?

May in Myopia: No Hands Guy

I hate May in Motion – the month that everyone is supposed to do the alternative transportation thing. I am all for fewer cars, saving the planet and all that; I just whish people could use their heads when they do it.

May in Myopia brings an all new cast of characters to my daily commute – the 4 or 5 miles on the green belt in particular. My favorite MIM character is No Hands Guy. Everyone has seen no hands guy, maybe some of us ARE no hands guy. He is the dude that rides his bike sitting bolt upright with his hands folded across his chest. The posture is usually accompanied by an air of superiority and vanity (maybe even a snooty look on his face) – as if he is displaying his superior cycling skill.

The really good (or bad) ones go no hands over tree roots, around corners, passing pedestrians, and sometimes even through greenbelt shortcuts. Every time I pass one it is all I can do not to tap their handlebars a bit on the way by. I am pretty impressed that they have the bike handling skills of a 10 year old – it just kills me. Riding with no hands is for getting stuff out of your pockets, not for commuting you moron.

Phew, I feel better now.

Since it is May now, and this is my training blog – I put in about 750 miles and 7 lovely hours on the trainer in April.

More on May in Myopia later…

Worlds Worst Mountain Biker

Yes, I am the worlds worst mountain biker. I went for my first mountain bike ride the other day and found out that I suck. I thought that I would be ok, but I wasn’t, I sucked. Going uphill – I sucked. Going downhill – I really sucked. On the flats – well there were no flats, but I would have sucked. On the pavement – I think I was OK.

As with most of my endeavors I started off on the wrong foot. I went out for a 40 mile road ride earlier in the day and did a bit of climbing. I figured I could get away with it because I was going on an ‘easy’ mountain bike ride later. I should have known better – no ride with Chris C. is ‘easy’ - and it was a mountain bike ride, a sport which I apparently suck at.

We started out going uphill (who knew that there were mountains in mountain biking). I thought to myself "Self, this isn't going to be 'easy'".

I was concerned about my back tire spinning out so I kept my weight back, and the front tire kept hopping off the ground – I know, I suck. So I tried to scoot forward, you can’t scoot a fat ass like mine on a hill that steep so I needed to stand and reposition my anterior end. I stood up and the front end was all mushy – I know, I suck. So I imagine there is a ‘sweet spot’ that you need to find for these situations. I further imagine that is sitting with the tip of the saddle penetrating my prostate.

So we get to the top of the hill. It wasn’t all bad there were some cool switchbacks, and gnarly steep sections that I was amazed you could ride a bike up. Anyhow, time to start going down – at least that would be easy right – nope.

I felt like Arlo Guthrie flying down the hill in the motorcycle song. I am pretty sure I hit 80 mph or more. There were rocks, and bushes, and other gnarly shit. There were turns, and jumps, and scary drop-offs. After I accepted the fact that I was going to die and just went with the flow it wasn’t so bad – but I still sucked.

I think it must be the shorts. If I would have worn baggy shorts, or at least less flashy spandex I would have been better?

Spin-o-rama

I knew I was in trouble from the start. I showed up early, but decided to line up in back by my teammates. I looked around and found that I was surrounded by sweet new bikes with aerodynamic tubing, integrated aerobars and fancy red shifters. Then I looked down at my steed – square tubing, a little metal half loop for aerobars, and a crappy shifter with exposed inner workings. Ahh nuts.

Oh well, I was feeling pretty good so I thought I could at least keep pace with the people next to me in the back, and maybe even catch the guys in front of me. We started pretty easy, but it quickly escalated as a skinny blonde chick in front kept jumping and going faster. Still feeling pretty good, I poured on the power to close on the people in front of me….

I pedaled harder – didn’t catch them. Shifted down and pedaled harder – still didn’t catch them. Must have been those damn aerodynamic bikes they had. Defeated, I resolved to just sit behind them the rest of the way. Depressed, it seemed like I wasn’t going anywhere. Just the same butts in front of me. When you sit on the same wheel for too long you notice things you would normally see – like I could see the tags of the guys shorts in front of me through the spandex. Now that is just wrong.

I guess that is just how fitness instructors and spin bike riders role. I hope I don’t see another spin bike (or short tags) again.

God's Country

God’s Country, God’s Gospel, God’s Classical, God’s Rock, God’s Pop, and even God’s Punk! Have you ever noticed that when you are on a roadie in rural anywhere that the only radio stations you can get are religious channels?

I just got back from a little work related roadie to the armpit of Idaho, Lewiston. I shouldn’t say armpit, it really is quite a nice place – especially if you like the smell of pulp mills.

Anyhow, when you drive to Lewiston you go through about 100 miles of ‘radio free Idaho’. Well almost radio free. There are those religious stations – you know, the religious country music channel, the religious pop music channel, the religious talk channel, and even the religious punk channel.

I decided to give it a chance on the way to Lewiston this time. It didn’t last too long.

I discovered whatever the beat, whatever the riff, the chorus was always the same. It was either ‘I love Jesus’ or ‘I’m not worthy’. Don’t get me wrong – there is nothing wrong with loving Jesus (there may be something wrong with feeling that you aren’t worthy though) – it just isn’t what I need to keep me awake on my way home.

Why aren’t there any normal stations out there anyway?

Thank You, ‘play my iPod through the car stereo inventor guy’. I couldn’t have made it without you.

Spring Sprung???

It only took 4 months and 6 races, but spring finally sprung on the local peloton on Sunday. At least spring as I know it in Idaho – hot temps, little wind, and no precipitation. It was warm enough that the pasties were out again – this time both arms and legs – but I must say, they weren’t as pasty as the last time.

Emmett-Roubaix is a polarizing event around here. You either can’t wait for it to get here or you can’t wait for it to be over. I am in the first group I love that race. But coming in off a less than stellar spring series with no real chance of sticking with the leaders, much less winning I just wanted to survive the two miles of gravel that I would have to ride.

Actually I wasn’t too concerned about the gravel going in because I was pretty sure I would be dropped by the time the race got there and I would get to traverse it as I pleased. I hate it when I am wrong. Somehow I was still with the lead pack when the gravel hit.

I survived an early bonus escapade into the gravel after being forced off the road by an Lost River rider about a dozen miles into the race. There I was feeling good about being with the leaders after the first climb when I guy comes over giving me the choice of my front wheel in his rear, or going off the road. Been to the first one before so I opted for number two. Ultimately my off-road adventure ended with me hopping off the bike and running back to the road – then chasing like hell to get back on. I did get back on, survived the second hill – but was in the back at the first gravel stretch.

The gravel was gravelly. Ultimately I went faster in it than quite a few – I knew that extra weight would come in handy some time. Of course I still got dropped. I spent the rest of the race chasing in a pretty good chase group, but ultimately gave up on the second trip through the gravel. Kevin Donovan, and Tim Doelman really just dragged 7 or 8 of us to the finish hill from there.

I finished 12th in cat 3 out of about 20. I felt pretty good most of the way. Somewhere along the way I crossed over into the second group of people that don’t love Emmett-Roubaix, they just want it to be over. I think my will to race got jarred out in the gravel the second time around.

Beer Me…

10 Reasons I Will Never Run Robie - EVER

10. My Left Ankle. I have given running a chance in the past. The first time may not have been fair though. I weighed about 210 and decided to start by running 3 miles a day. After the first day my ankle hurt. After the second day my knee AND ankle hurt. After the third day my hip AND knee AND ankle hurt. After the fourth day my back AND hip AND knee AND ankle hurt. On the fifth day I couldn’t get out of bed.

9. My Right Ankle. I actually gave running a second chance this year. I think I ran for like an entire week before I hurt something this time. I hurt a ligament in my ankle and the doctor told me no running for 12 weeks. I told him no problem.

8. My Left Knee. A few years back I had an enflamed plica in my left knee. That’s right, there was an angry little rodent living in there! – or something like that. I actually hurt it by playing Nintendo and riding my bike at the same time – long story. Anyway it is better now, but I don’t want it to come back.

7. Running Tank Tops. I am not a fan of dudes in tank tops. Especially skinny little runner dudes in tank tops. Just because you have 2% body fat and you can see every muscle in your body doesn’t mean you are buffed and should show it off. I mean really, being able to count someone’s ribs through the arm hole in their shirt is just not right. 13+ miles of that? I don’t think so.

6. My Left Hip. Everyone knows my left hip is angry. Just thought I would take the chance to share my pain one more time. If it doesn’t like riding a bike surely it would hate running.

5. No I-pods. The only thing that running had over cycling in my book is that you were aloud to listen to music while you were doing it. A little Rob Zombie, Kid, Rock, Eminem, Metallica – that will help get you going! But what? They banned it? Well I guess its back to humming Suzanne Vega – a littler Tom’s Diner for everyone!

4. ESS VAR Ski Bindings. Long, long ago right here in Boise I used to ski a lot. More accurately I used to ski all the time and do other stuff when I could fit it in. Anyhow, after a little accident at Snowbird a friend gave me some Atomic ski demos to replace a broken ski. I called them the Atomic bombs, man they sucked. I tell you this because I don’t want anyone to think I would pay for a pair of Atomics. Anyhow they had these crazy bindings ESS VAR Racing. Like any other bindings I cranked them all the way up – god forbid one should come off. I am pretty sure that those bindings were designed never to release – ever, even if they were set at 4 (much less 14). Well one time I had a ssslllloooowww twisting fall (how to tear ligaments) and the binding didn’t release. My knee hasn’t been the same since. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t do any lasting damage – my knee just hasn’t been the same since.

3. My Enormous Head. I have an enormous head. I mean it is huge. It is amazing that they make helmets that fit it. Its like the Jack in the Box guy. You can’t run with a head like that – it just flops around and might break your neck.

2. Running is a survival skill – not a sport. I think humans invented weapons so they wouldn’t have to run.

1. Running Shorts. I really shouldn’t have to explain this. But geeezzz, I know cycling clothes aren’t very attractive, but what could be worse than those running shorts with the built in undies. Split up the side to the waistband, flimsy nylon. Oh my god I am going to be sick. I have seen less revealing items in Victoria’s Secret. At least Victoria has a secret, anyone who wears those shorts certainly doesn’t. And do they really need to make them in size large or XL? Couldn’t they put an age limit on those things? I guess all the people at the start in those would be incentive to run – away – really fast.

13+ miles of that? No way. I need to go listen to some Tom’s Diner to get my mind off this.