Chill'n at the Pond

I almost got run over by a 300 lb man riding a 3 wheeled recumbent thingy on the gb the other day. That was nice. Guy was riding down the wrong side of the path so he could ogle the misspent youth laying like beached whales around Bob Rice/Quinns/Clocktower pond.

It probably would have been ok if I weren’t weaving through the tattooed, pot smoking, tapout hat wearing hoodlums who hang out there at the same time.

And actually I probably could have managed that as well if gb racer guy wasn’t on my wheel trying to pass me as I cautiously made my way through the schmuckfest.

As it were, I am afraid I may have used a potty word, and maybe an inappropriate gesture. Maybe in combination. Maybe even multiple times in combination directed at all of the parties involved. That may have happened.

I brought an extra tube and patches with me today.

Double GC GB Duty

A rare set of circumstances allowed me to commute through Garden City twice this morning. Normally that would be a stressful experience, but not anymore. Yes, normally I would have to be on the lookout for Larry Craig, and try not to look like I am tapping my toes while I pedal my bike across Plantation Island. It is hard to look like you are not tapping your toes when you pedal a bicycle.

Yeah, anyway, I don’t have to worry anymore because the Garden City Police had a little sting-a-ling and arrested some old ‘alternative lifestyle men. Yup, I feel safer now. Way to go Garden City.

I wonder though. I wonder why I was never solicited on Plantation Island. Spandex not tight enough in all the right places? Spandex too tight in all the wrong places? Or maybe its that I didn’t act like I was looking to be solicited. It could be that. It could be that if you act like you are looking for man love you might accidentally find it.

I am glad that Garden City is focusing their resources so well on Plantation Island. I love Plantation Island. I love the rickety bridges on both ends. I love that bumpy ass bike path in the middle. I love the garden of goat heads on the sides of the bumpy ass bike path. I love that it is in bike friendly Garden City. I mean, what’s not to love.

I have an idea – maybe the undercover cops could dress up like construction workers, and work on the freak’n path while they wait to be solicited. You know, they could wear hard hats, tool belts – like that guy from the Village People. I mean, it worked for him didn’t it? I’m just saying…

I’m also glad to know that Boise PD is out on the GB hassling cyclists to make me safer. I am not exactly sure how harassing people on bikes is going to help idiot drivers respect space I take up on the road, but I am sure that Chief Masterson does. Maybe I will ask BPD when they stop me and make me safer. It’s only a matter of time.

Happy Monday.

Dude.

You may recall, that a while back I was forced to violate the bathroom ‘omerta’ or, ‘code of silence’ for you non-bicycling folks. I was reluctant to do so, crossing the line in the sand is never an easy thing to do, but the freestyle pee’r just pushed me over the edge. I am pleased to report that I haven’t felt any negative repercussions for my whistle-blowing. Yes, I am still allowed to use the public restroom.

You can see why I thought this chapter in my life was over, and well, it was, until yesterday. I have seen some new freestyle pee’ing since the original article, but I have refrained from sharing the observations out loud, in my writing voice. That is, until today. You see, I was pushed over the edge again yesterday.

So since the last article I have discovered the ‘stage fright pee’r’, the guy that is pee’ing happily along until someone steps up to the next urinal – then he stops, and resumes pee’ing after the second pee’r leaves. I think the ‘stage fright pee’r’ might also be the toilet pee’r, who retreats into the stall to pee – even when there is a urinal available. I guess that’s all good, if you need to have the right mood to pee, so it goes.

I discovered another freestyle pee’r in my very own house. He is ‘pee everywhere but in the pot pee’r’. Floor, baseboards, wall, you name it – my 6 year old can hit it. Except the pot. He has trouble with the pot. I think he will improve his aim with age, but I could be wrong. I have been some places where grown men apparently haven’t mastered the art of the aim.

I guess that brings me to yesterday. There I was. Minding my own business. Slaying a pee. Guy in the next urinal is peeing too. Then it happens. Dude rips one. A nasty long wet one. A ‘I gotta go wipe’ one.

What the hell is that? How do you respond to that? I mean really, do you ignore it? Do you tell the guy to grab a stall? Do you make a joke about wiping? I really don’t need this. There I am, minding my own business and this guy decides to launch nuclear winter right next to me.

So I hold my breath. It prevents me from breathing. It prevents me from saying something I shouldn’t. My mind races. OMG! WTF! LOL! LMAO! What do I do? Ugh. This is why some people don’t use public restrooms.

I went with my old standby. The thing I always say when I don’t know what to say. It works in any situation and could mean anything…

‘Dude’.

Excellent Adventure?

There was a mountain bike race in Idaho City this weekend, The Idaho City Excellent Adventure. Now I am no mountain bike racer, or even mountain biker – but this event drew my attention because it features a LeMans style start.

I didn’t know what that meant either. I do now though. Everyone lays their bikes on the ground then lines up on foot some distance away. When the race starts everyone runs like hell to their bike then hops on and starts racing. To make it better all the categories start at once, yep, yellow jacket guy lines up next to skinsuit guy. I bet skinsuit guy loves that.

It may just be me, but this seems like a bad idea on many levels. First and foremost – the Lemans start makes it almost a certainty that someone will be running and wearing spandex at the same time, which just shouldn’t be done. I have heebeegeebees just thinking about it. Ugh.

One the other hand, it could be an opportunity. I could go and lay down the piece of crap Fuji that I ran into the garage door 20 years ago, and at the start pick up some ones else’s sweet new bike. Then I could hop on and ride like I stole it – because I did. That couldn’t be an original thought. Surely they have some sort of security. Nah, probably not.

I am really not sure why you would want to have a start like that. It’s like steeplechase, it just doesn’t make sense. It’s like eating raw onions at the office. I mean really, why?

Stroking My Ego

You may recall that a while back I hooked up a blog tracky thingy to my blog so I could answer people when they asked me how many people read my blog. Well actually I hooked up several. The code behind my blog is littered with trashy little tracky thingies.

I know, you don’t care. Honestly, I don’t either – that’s why it is all still there. Well I do care a little bit – that’s why I am going to delete the little red map thingy down to the right. It pretty much sucks ass.

So anyway, I have these tracking tools. Don’t worry, I don’t know who you are. In fact, I still can’t answer the question that I set out to investigate at the beginning – you know, the one about how many people read my random thoughts. One day there were over a hundred. Another day there were none. I think the real number is somewhere in the middle.

I have discovered a few things that do stroke me ego a bit. Like I need it. I am great. I am fit. Share the road.

First, that if you google ‘Sexy Cyclist’ apparently somehow you can get to my blog. It’s probably down on page 32 of the results or something, but apparently it can be done. It worked for someone. I am going to take this as an indicator that yes, I am indeed sexy. Google said so. Google knows everything.

Second, and more importantly, if you google ‘Do Cyclists Wear Underwear’ – my blog comes up on the first page. Well, the first page for me anyway. Google does know everything. Probably enough to custom tailor my search results for me, and yours for you. Anyhow, I think this is indicative that I am now a worldwide expert on cycling and underwear – and that kind of cracks me up. Yup, when people seek knowledge of bikes and underwear they get me. How nice is that?

Wednesdays tool – the little red map thingy. Over there -> and maybe down a bit. Enjoy it now because I will soon be liberated of its suckiness.

All About the Speed

I rode my bike to work today for the first time in about two weeks. I was hoping that something classic would happen because I have been having trouble coming up with stuff to blog about.

I new today would be a rich one when I found a cd in the first quarter mile. Sweet. This one will complete my second box set.

So I stop to pick up the cd, and then continue rolling to work. Rolling to work with a little bit of anticipation for what I might discover on the latest addition to my box set.

The cd was good, but it didn't prepare me for what I came accross next. A new sign. Here it is in all its glory...

I have to admit, I have never seen a 'Speed Hump' sign before. It made me think of rabbits. I don't know why, but it made me think of rabbits.

I'm not sure if the sign is a recommendation (speed hump here), an advertisement (speed humps available), or a warning (speed humps are dangerous). I would like to think it is a recommendation, but there are like three of them on the street - thats a lot of speed humps in a mile. I'm not sure if I could do that.

Since I was confused and didn't see anyone else around I just took the picture and kept going. I hope I didn't violate a law or something.

In all seriousness, I am sure that there is an engineer somewhere that has the design specifications that would tell me when a speed bump turns into a speed hump. Not having an engineer around I am guessing about 3 minutes. Yeah, after 3 minutes a speed bump turns into a speed hump.

Anyway, when I got to work I put the cd in and discovered the musical stylings of 'Swolen Member'. Jeez, I guess.

Really, I didn't make that up.

Life is much more rich when I ride my bike to work.

North Korea Shooting Dongs

My bicycle related life has been somewhat less than funny lately, so I have had to resort to other things (like fishing) to fill my blog. I am sure that something funny and bike related will happen soon, maybe when I actually start riding my bike again, but for now there is various other stupidity.

I found this link on my google homepage. No, I don’t make a habit of reading the Christian Science Monitor. Obviously.

So apparently North Korea is going to shoot some missiles at Hawaii soon. Not to worry, it is just a test. You know, a test to see if they can actually hit something they are aiming at. Huh, that’s a little disturbing. Especially if you live in Hawaii, you know, the place where that Pearl Harbor thing happened. I bet they still remember that one.

Here is my favorite part of the article “Analysts say North Korea has little to gain from shooting test missiles at the United States”. Um, ok. You think? Ugh, I mean really – no shit. It’s kind of like mixing dancing with the stars and the biggest loser, nothing good can come of it.

I also liked the fact that ‘dong’ is included in the name of the missiles. An article about Korea shooting dongs at Hawaii, now that is something I want to read. The CSM should work a little on their headline writing.

Apparently news of the test “is making some people edgy”. More expert analysis. Of course having dongs shot at you is going to make you edgy.

Don’t worry, I am going to start riding my bike again soon. Happy Friday.

Wires Not Included

I have this cycling jacket. It was advertised as being ‘wired’ for an iPod. Yes, wired.

I ordered the jacket from REI on clearance. I ordered it because it was a good jacket, not because it was ‘wired’. Wired was just a strange bonus.

In case you were wondering – no, the jacket is not yellow.

So I get my wired jacket. It doesn’t have wires, but it does have a hole in the back pocket and a loopy at the neck. If you have your own wires you can run them through the hole and loopy thing to your dome where you can plug them into your ears.

So yeah. My wired jacket comes without wires. WTF.

I have a Nike woobie. Same thing. Not advertised as wired, but it does have hole in the pocket and a loopy thingy at the neck.

I always thought a hole in the pocket was a problem. Come to find out it is a feature.

Goin Fish'n

Once when I was about 10 years old they filled the parking lot of the Cherry Plaza in Meridian with water and put trout in it. Then they let kids run around in the water like maniacs and try to catch fish with their hands. That was awesome. Awesome for me. Probably not so awesome for the fish.

I really like cycling, but fishing – that’s good stuff. I am hoping to squeeze in some fishing on fathers day. You know just me, my son, and my dad out for some man time. I am going to use worms. Maybe even a bobber. If that doesn’t work, powerbait.

I used to fly fish a lot. I thought it was cool. I guess it was cool for my purposes, see I like to fish – but I hate to eat them. When I would fly fish it was way easier to let the fish go, some places you were even required to let the fish go – and when I did it (fly fish) people would think I was a trendy hipster. If there is one thing that trendy hipsters do it ride fixed gear bicycles. If there are two things trendy hipsters do they are ride fixed gear bicycles and fly fish. You would be really cool if you rode your fixed gear bicycle to the fishing hole.

I started fly fishing when I discovered that I didn’t like to eat fish. I discovered that I didn’t like to eat fish when my dad made the ‘you catch them, you clean them’ fishing rule. It was about the same time that my dad figured out that rules don’t always have the effect you intended.
So I fly fished for several years, until I figured out that I like to eat fish. I discovered that I liked to eat fish about the same time that I discovered it is easier to eat fish than to convince a 4 year old to release a fish he just caught.

So yeah, now I fish with worms, powerbait, and a beverage. A lawn chair is good too.

Fly fishing is stupid anyway. I mean really. Think, what gifts does a fish have – well, it can swim and decide what to eat. That’s about it. Swim. Eat. You on the other hand, you have the ability to reason, and opposable thumbs. So rather than play to his strengths, the fly fisherman tries to beat the fish at the fishes game – spending hours making fake insects and determining the exact time and location to fling that fake insect into the water. The fish already knows all that crap. The fly fisherman wastes days figuring it out.

Dude. Use that ability to reason – fish eat fish food, like worms, or real bugs. Use them thumbs and slap some of that on a treble hook. You’re golden.

Or you can try to be smarter than a fish. The fish you passed on the evolutionary tree a few billion years ago. You may even catch a fish. Good job! You just outsmarted something with a brain the size of a pea. Something so smart it has sex once a year if it is lucky. Once in a lifetime if its not.

I think I will probably start fly fishing again after I tell my son about the ‘you catch em, you clean em’ rule.

Stand together everybody. Stand strong.

Idaho State Championship Road Race

This weekend was the Idaho State Championship Road Race out near Emmett. It was a very subdued atmosphere as we all mourned the loss of a friend and fellow competitor Kevin Pavlis. I was just grateful to be able to think about something else for a few hours.

My race (cat 3, master a 45+) started with the somewhat traditional flyer by Justin Harvey. Going with the Harvey express was Klaus Vandenbeld, and a little bit later followed by Milt Gillespie and Jon Engan. Having strategically lined up at the very back of the pack, my teammates and I were not in a position to see the breaks go, much less join them.

I have known Justin Harvey for a long time. I have seen the Harvey flyer many times. I have never seen it work. That said, one Harvey up the road is OK. Two Harvey’s up the road is questionable. Three Harvey’s up the road is probably bad. Here we were with the potential for 4 Harvey’s up the road. Four powerful riders that can really eat up a rolling course like this one. Four Harvey’s – that’s no good at all.

Fortunately, the second two Harvey’s never made it up to the first two Harvey’s. So we had two groups of two Harvey’s – which is much more manageable than one group of 4 Harvey's.

So anyway after that there was some attacking and some chasing, then chasing and attacking. I guess the most interesting part for me was looking at Cody Caldera’s tattoos, and wondering when we would start going fast – causing me to pop off the back.

Well, we caught the original Harvey on the only real hill in the race. Better luck next time Justin, I’m sure it will work one of these days. Even Jacky Durand won a tour stage. The remarkable thing was that I was still in the group at the top of the hill.

So there were some more attacks and more chasing, and finally we caught the other Harvey’s. Then Jake Turner had a nice roll off the front. It probably would have been nicer if Steve Parker, who was sitting on his wheel could pull through.

Jake and Steve got caught just before the last set of hills on the course. At the top of the steepest hill I looked around and thought ‘holly crap, I am still here!’. I never expected to be there. I attacked going into the final hill and amazed myself again when I found myself leading the group at the top of the final hill.

We ended in a sprint finish, with my teammate Nick taking second. I took eighth – losing to all the guys who sprinted, but beating the guys that sat up. Pretty good for me.

Steve Parker’s jersey won the state championship. Unfortunately Steve wasn’t in it. Tim Doelman was. Tim forgot his jersey at home and Steve let him borrow one of his old ones. It’s really kind of funny. Steve is probably a size XS. Tim could probably fill out a large. Tim would have been like a tube of biscuits, but he doesn’t have any biscuit on him – too skinny.

I think he was showing skin between his jersey and shorts the whole day though.

KP

Sadness

Sorrow

Depression

Anger

Vengence

Lament

Fear

Learn

Remember

Rest in Peace Kevin

Underwear!

My son likes to watch this show on tv with a bunch of sock puppet bunnies. The sock bunnies do little skits like on SNL. The best part of the show is that randomly throughout all the skits a little blue bunny pops out from the side (or top, or bottom) and says ‘Underwear!’, then disappears. That shit cracks me up. I also have a hard time not smiling whenever I hear someone say ‘beaver’. That’s a little bit awkward in my line of work.

I know, I have a very sophisticated sense of humor.

You can imagine my reaction when a few people I know had a protracted discussion about the use of underwear with cycling shorts. As I have discussed before, there is a steep learning curve for cyclists, and perhaps the steepest pitch is overcoming the fear of spandex. The fact that you are supposed to wear it without underwear just makes it worse.

So anyway, one of the people was a new cyclist, the other, a salty veteran – literally. When the salty veteran realized he was in the presence of a newbie he pounced like the proverbial fat kid on the donut. ‘You wear underwear with your cycling shorts, don’t you!’ Whoa, that came out of nowhere!

The vet launched into a diatribe on bacteria, chaffing, and yes, skid marks. A little too much about the skid marks. He proceeded on to the virtues of $200 bibs and matching $200 seats. Fortunately we didn’t get to DZ Nuts. It cracked me up. Note, the vet was right, but it still cracked me up.

I was a free baller from the start. I noticed that cyclists didn’t have panty lines in their spandex, so I wasn’t going to either damn it. No matter how awkward and uncomfortable it made me. That said, it did take me a while to embrace the spandex.

I used the padded underwear and baggy clothes that mail order catalogs developed to capitalize on my fear of spandex for at least a few months. It was another cycling right of passage – padded underwear, yellow jackets, and then gear with logos. Resistance is futile.

If a Tree Falls...

I get asked a lot how many people read my blog. The honest answer is that I don’t really know. I imagine some days it is none. I imagine other days it is something more than that. I decided that I would try to find out.

I saw this hit mappy thingy on a friends blog once and I thought it was kind of groovy. I went to google and found a number of varieties. Most of them are free if you agree to let them pimp their blog on your blog – that is kind of lame, but I guess it is better than paying right?

So I choose one and sign up. I install the secret code into my blog. I get a pretty map. A pretty map with no hits. Wow, I’m a loser. If you write a blog and no one reads it, do you really exist? I’m not sure.

I am pretty sure some people read my blog though, because we talked about the content. So I go to look into my hitty mappy thingy and why I am not getting any hits. Turns out that it only compiles your data and displays it when it feels like it. It is supposed to update once a day, but sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes it’s a few days. Sometimes it updates a few days at once. Sometimes it just misses days. Now that is a nice system. I guess you get what you pay for.

I installed another one today. That’s why I have two mappy thingies. Someday I will take one of them away, but that day is not today. Wednesdays tool is one of the mappy thingys. You choose which.

Lyle Pearson 200

This will be a long one. Buckle up.

The Lyle Pearson 200 was this weekend. A 200 mile, 4-person team relay race from Boise to Ketchum. It isn’t really 200 miles, but Lyle Pearson 200 sounds a lot better than the Lyle Pearson 187.6 or whatever it is. That sounds like a triathlon, and nobody wants that. So anyway it is divided up into all these sections and you get to decide which person or persons get to ride which sections. You usually mess up somewhere in the section allocation process and someone ends up suffering like a dog. If you do it right it will be one of your team mates and not you.

I will us code names for my team, so they can remain virtually anonymous. I will call the first one ‘The Fury’. Because saying ‘140 pounds of fury’ cracks me up. To be fair, I have to admit, he doesn’t weigh 140 pounds – its actually much less I am sure. Also, calling him The Fury is like calling that Three Stooges Guy Curly. So yeah, anyway – THE FURY.

The next one I will call ‘G-MAN’. I could call him MG, but that would remind me of those little cars. This guy has a much bigger engine than those, and can probably go faster too. So he will be the THE G-MAN.

Third I will call C- Squared. Mostly because I can’t think of anything better. I would call him C.C., but that reminds me of C.C. Deville – that dude from Poison. Come to think of it, that is kind of funny, I changed my mind. I will call him DEVILLE, in the same sort of way THE FURY is THE FURY.

The Fourth member of our team was the support vehicle driver. I would call her MRS. ANGRY CYCLIST, but that is too long, and it abbreviates to MAC. I have done some dumb things, but I am not going to add calling my wife MAC to that list. So I will go with Sonya.
Last was me. Why am I always last?

We haven’t even started racing yet. Told you this was going to be long.

Stage 1.

I don’t know what ever made me think I could climb on a bicycle. I am definitely not a little climby guy. THE FURY is. OMG, THE FURY is. I am more of a middle middling guy. For some reason I thought me riding with him on the first stage was a good idea. I was a little nervous that he was going to put the screws to me for making fun of fixed gear riders (he is one) – but he didn’t. He actually slowed down each of the about ten times I asked him to on the road to hilltop. Time: 53:38.

Stage 2.

The transition went smooth and G-MAN and DEVILLE rolled on. Sonya navigated the winding road admirably while THE FURY, and myself wrung the water out of our rain drenched clothes. We rolled past G-MAN and DEVILLE and they looked good. G-MAN was driving and they were closing on the ICO team. Somewhere along the course, two of the ‘Eight Balls of Fury’ passed our guys. At least I think was two of the eight balls. I honestly don’t know. I really don’t want to know. What I do know is that Jake Turner is fast. Our guys stayed close to him and hit transition 2 at the same time. Time: 40:43.

Stage 3.

THE FURY went solo for the climb to Mores Creek Summit. Well sort of solo. He and Shane Litzenberger battled back and forth the entire stage. It would have been a thing of beauty to watch those two duel up the mountain, but alas we had to get to the next transition. Sonya (and the rest of us) about went road rage when we got caught behind someone driving ridiculously slow who refused to pass one of the racers. I thought THE FURY was going to catch us from behind. Curse you little black Subaru driver! Shlitz and THE FURY rocked to the summit at the same time to end stage 3. Time: 48:14.

Stage 4.

The G-MAN got the draw for stage 4, a small climb with a bunch of downhill. He started at the same time as Matt Beeter, our competitor from the ‘8 Balls of Fury’ team but lost a little time and jammed into the finish about a minute after beets. It makes sense, the G-MAN has a wife and a kid. Beets, to my knowledge, has a dog. Everyone knows that wives and kids make you slower on downhills. Time: 49:19.

Stage 5.

DEVILLE and I rocked the flat stage 5. By flat I mean we only gained 1000 feet over 22 miles. We passed several teams, and it made me feel like a rock star. DEVILLE is a rock star. He probably didn’t feel any different. We even had some fans cheering beside the road, that was nice. The highlight was when I almost ran over a western tanager, missed it by an inch – stupid bird. Sitting in the road. I wonder if a tanager can give you a flat? Or make you crash? So I almost got tanagered. Time: 56:26.

Stage 6.

THE FURY rolled with the iPod on stage 6. For some reason I thought he would be a Depeche Mode – REM kind of guy, but I was totally wrong. He told me he was rocking to some Chili Peppers and Metallica. Nice. That’s what is great about this race, you get a chance to meet some of your friends. Anyhow, whatever was on the iPod, THE FURY didn’t get to listen to many tracks. He is what they call an ‘Angel of the Mountains’ and was just flying. Time: 43:52.

Stage 7.

The G-MAN and DEVILLE rode the mostly downhill stage from Banner Summit into Stanley. Apparently the G-MAN stopped to pee during the stage. WTF? What is with my teammates stopping to pee this year? At least this time we were a long ways from the finish. Damn, we could have lost by one less minute, and had a sweat story to tell for a lifetime if he would have just pee’d himself. Losing by one less minute? Who cares. The story? Now that is an opportunity lost. Time: 1:01:25.

Stage 8.

Returning to the scene of the crime. The site of my epic bonk from 2008. I was determined not to let that happen again. I ate till my stomach hurt and drank till I was sloshy in preparation for this stage. I jumped in with the G-MAN, and DEVILLE dropped off. The G-MAN yelled at me to slow down in the first few hundred yards – a good sign for me. G-MAN ran out of gas halfway through but rode tough to the finish. He accused me of laughing while I was pulling and he was suffering. I wasn’t laughing. Smiling? – probably. Smirking? – definitely. But not laughing, I didn’t feel that good. Time: 1:08:36.

Stage 9.

If this were a stage race, this would be the Queen Stage. Over Galena and down the other side. THE FURY flew again, barely giving Sonya time to get us over the pass ahead of him. Unbelievable. Time: 33:24.

Stage 10.

Who ordered the headwind? This is the best stage ever – when there isn’t a headwind. When there is, it is still pretty good. The entire team rolled on this one. Had a hard time getting together at the start because THE FURY got there so fast, but we eventually got it together. We went back and forth with a few teams including a Reel Theatre Team with LAC guy Tom Witzke, but eventually found our rhythm and rocked to the finish. Time: 48:27. Total Time: 8:23:55 (Officially).

So that was it, the LP200, 2009. I don’t know if it was epic, but it was good. Epic maybe in common terms, but maybe not in LP200 terms.

Just Writing Out Loud

Bowling for Soup and perfect days like today make me dangerously close to non-angry. Thank god for messed up spoke tension and a loose hub on my race wheels – keeps me grounded.

I Am Fit. I Am Great.

All of the funniest stuff is true. The really best stuff is when you can relate to the object of humor through personal experience. It’s like the old axiom ‘He who smelt it dealt it’. Yes, to truly realize some things you have to have dealt it.

A friend sent me this the yesterday. I thought it was funny yesterday. I think it is funnier today.
I was driving to work this morning and I see the car in front of me has vanity plates. I hate vanity plates, but you know, I have to play the game. I get a little closer and read ’42 mpg’. Who the hell puts there gas mileage on their license plate? If you do, do you use the city or highway mileage? Or maybe you split the difference? Does that guys car really only get 41 mpg, but that plate was taken?


So I change lanes and pull up alongside. I wanted to see who the hell puts their cars gas mileage on their license plate. As I do so, I think ‘you want mpg, get a bike dude’, yup, that’s what I am thinking.

I get up alongside and look over. I am thinking… ‘I am fit’. Then ‘You are fat’. Then ‘You are lazy’. I keep driving ‘share the road’.

Hmm. Who is the tool here? I am afraid I know the answer.

Nashbar Liberation

If you have ever owned a bike, borrowed a bike, looked at a bike or even looked at a girl on a bike, NASHBAR knows about it. If you own anything made of spandex, lycra, micropolyester, or engineered fabric, NASHBAR probably knows your address. If you have ever added accessories to your bicycle, NASHBAR probably has your email address.

They know more about you than the government. Almost as much about you as Google. Ok, well actually nowhere near as much as Google – but they do know a lot. They send you junk all the time in the mails, both E, and snail. NASHBAR has good deals sometimes, but most of the time you are better off going to the bike shop. NASHBAR wants you to be yellow jacket guy. Don’t be that guy. Once they get you, there is no getting out. NASHBAR is the bicycle mafia.
Anyhow, wasn’t going to blog today, but go home and saw this…

I said to myself, ‘self what the eff is that?’ Of course if was in this weeks NASHBAR catalog. So I did a little research. It is a Titec H-Bar Handlebar. It’s good for people that have like eight arms. I made that up. Actually the add says ‘Allows for multiple hand and body positions for greater handling and comfort’. That makes me feel dirty. It’s like the liberator for your bike – you know the triangular shaped pillow you buy out of the back of magazines – the one from meet the fockers.

I was going to put a link to the liberator site so you could see it if you had know idea what I meant. When I went to the site I saw some things I shouldn’t have – OMG! You wouldn’t believe the things you can do with those things. I didn’t want to be responsible for someone navigating there, I will leave that to google.

OK, didn’t mean to blog today, just saw the bar and had to say something. Gotta go, web surfing to do…

Pat the Goose

Have you ever been sitting on a bar stool and felt like you were moving? Not wobbling side to side, but actually moving forward, like the thing was on wheels or something? Yeah me neither, but I bet it happens.

Well Friday on my bike ride home from work I saw someone riding a bar stool, and they were moving forward. It was the damndest thing. Pedaling along minding my own business looking for money and what not, I look up and I see someone large coming towards my on the sidewalk.

I say someone, because I am not sure if it was a dude, or a chick. I do know they were large, probably code 2-5-0. Really frizzy, almost afro orange hair, and eyeglasses. T-shirt and jeans. Pretty much the prototypical Pat. This person is the reason that you need an ‘unknown’ option in the sex field of a database.

So anyway, Pat is coming at me. Flapping it’s arms all around and swerving side to side like a wounded goose. I would say duck, but Pat was much too big to be a duck – probably big enough to be a swan, but without the grace and beauty – so I went with goose. So yeah, flopping towards me like a wounded goose. A wounded goose on a bar stool. A bar stool with wheels.

So the bar stool gets closer and I see that it has one 10” wheel aligned directly under the seat. There are cranks and pedals attached by a short chain to the wheel. Pat the goose is pedaling like a mad (pat)? So it’s like a unicycle right? Well, not exactly. This one is like a unicycle with training wheels.

There is like a little plate attached somehow. It comes out about a foot in front of the 10” wheel and has a couple little wheels attached. Like skateboard wheels except not that nice. More like casters.

So there it is, Pat the goose riding a unicycle with training wheels. I realize it sounds farfetched, but I really couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.

As I lamented my lack of recording devices I decided that I would spend all of the money I find on the road on a new helmet camera. I am only about $80 away. I should have enough in about a year and a half.