Seasonal Smells

It’s starting to warm up in b-town and that means it is starting to smell like butt. I think last Friday was the worst, probably the buttiest smelling day in the history of Boise. I mean, it was just rank. Don’t get me wrong, it was no Pocatello – and definitely couldn’t match the aroma of Lewiston, but it was pretty stanky. Maybe right about even with Nampa. Actually, maybe it was Nampa just stinking over into Boise.

This morning rocking the gb on the way to work I noticed that poop island down by the Shilo Inn was starting to wreak of well, you know, poop. Probably because that’s where the bums go to live, and poop. Some mornings it smells more like fried spam than poop, but these are hard economic times so there is no smellerific spam, just poop. I try to hold my breath when I ride through there.

That’s as close as I have come to training lately, holding my breath for a quarter mile on the gb. Unless you count velocache as training, then I have been training a bunch. And I think I am getting better. At velocache, not bike racing.

I thought for a while that the new seasonal smells may be my new baggies. That’s right, I got some new baggies for fathers day. They are rocking the spandexy inner liner, but without those undesirable cottage cheesy holes I talked about the other day. Much better.

They do have this little dippy downy part in the front of the liner by the zipper though – I assume that it is to make it easier to whip it out and take a leak. I hate it when people have to stop and take leaks during bike rides. I mean jesus dude, just because you can take a leak anywhere doesn't mean you should. And if you have to pee like every hour on a ride you aren't riding hard enough. Mix in some medication or something.

Yeah, they meant to make it easier to take a leak, but in reality they made it so you have to jam your bits all over to the side so you don’t get any rubbage from the zipper. I would gladly exchange a little difficulty in whizzing to prevent rubbage and having to go all Crying Game to get your bits out of trouble.

So anyhow, it wasn’t the shorts. The smell I mean, it wasn’t the shorts. I checked you know.

I gotta say that I have found the new baggy shorts liberating though. I got passed by a dude the other day and didn’t feel the need chase him down and pass him back. I even rode no hands for an entire mile the other day before I got embarrassed and used my hands. I also have to say I have found passing people wearing spandex while I am wearing baggies particularly enjoyable.

I decided that if wearing baggies was so good, that maybe I should try wearing regular clothes. Like without pads in the butt. Turns out, that wasn't so good. I can ride about 16.3 miles without padded britches before my taint turns to pancetta. Yeah, that was significantly below average. I am glad I have already met my kid quota.

So I am going to go make a velocache now.

Gun Locks for Bikes

Because where I come from people are more afraid of people on bikes than guns.

And you can get gun locks free from the sheriff.

Abnormal

So I saw today that Tour de France contender Alberto Contador will miss the Spanish National Championship as he has come down with the flu. Rrriiiggghhhttt. The flu in June. Yeah, in the world of professional cycling saying you have the flu (or the ever popular intestinal virus) is just code for "I have pending abnormal blood values".

Speaking of abnormal blood values I saw Franco Pellizotti at the shaved ice shack today. Yeah, that's him in his Liguigas polka dot jersey. Really. Well, maybe.



Yeah. Speaking of shaving I had my first Orangina the other day. I have to say it was pretty spectacular, like if you mixed orange juice and orange soda.



It made me feel pretty much all rocked up and animaltastic like this...



Of course I am pretty awesome like that all the time. Except for that hair, I don't have that. Then there is the bear head. Mine is pretty large but other than that pretty much normal (that's what she said)(there, I said it for you). So anyway, just like that picture except the hair, and the bear head. Then there are the muscles. I can definitely do that thing with the bottle though, and stick my tongue out too.

So yeah, I felt pretty much exactly like that bear thing and it feels good indeed to be the bear thing. Creepy, but good. I am pretty sure that there would have been voluptuous animals singing and dancing everywhere, but I never made it out after I drank the Orangina.

I will definitely have another one. Maybe right now...

Dr. Evil

A few years ago I went to my Optometrist and explained to him how when I was reading a book and then looked up at something else further away it would take a second for my eyes to refocus. He looked at me, laughed, and said 'it's only going to get worse'.

That was very reassuring for a guy who was pretty sure he was going blind. Turns out I was just getting old. Come to think of it, I'm not sure there is really a difference.

The next year I went to the optometrist and explained to him how I had spots in my vision - like little dark blotches that followed my eyes around. I was pretty sure I had a brain tumor or something. He laughed at me and told me to get used to it - I would probably only get more. Turns out floaters don't kill you, unless you get annoyed to death.

The next year when I went to the optometrist he dilated my eyes. I thought I was pretty much ok until I about passed out I my way out of the office. It seems that it happens sometimes to wimps like me. One of my friends suggested that I haven't done enough recreational drugs to get myself used to having pupils the size of pancakes.

So you may be able to understand why I was a little bit apprehensive about going back to the optometrist today.

I told him about how I about passed out last year. He gave me that look that you get from people when they know that you know that they got you by the balls. Yeah, that one. Perhaps in honor of my acknowledgment he decided not to turn my pupils into flying saucers today.

Nope, no flying saucer eyeballs today - but I did get the brain scramble. I get that pretty much every time. He makes me look at letters and lights and puffs of air until my head is just about to explode - then he stops.

I am pretty sure that he could make my head explode if he wanted to. Yeah, just the right combination of lights and letters and puffs then pop goes my head. I think they learn that in optometry 101. Head popping.

I only got 364 days to worry about next year.

Miscellaneous Asshattery

A while back I was talking to a friend who told me that he had decided to dress like a bike commuter when he was, you know, commuting - and dress like a bike racer when he was racing or training. Now its hard to argue with that logic, so I decided I would give it a try too.

Back in like 1995 when my parents found out that I was wearing spandex and shaving my legs they bought me a pair of baggie bike shorts. I think they were hoping I didn’t turn into a spandex clad biker fag. It must have been too late, because I have worn the shorts almost exactly once in the last fifteen years.

Well, until last week that is – when I decided to dress like a bike commuter. So yeah, the shorts have these cutesy little spandex mesh shorts inside the baggy outside shorts. I find them disturbingly similar to those running shorts with the built in underwear. Those are the worst item of clothing ever invented. Those or tube tops.

So yeah, I had thing major psychological barrier to get over from the start. I don’t want to be built-in underwear running shorts guy – that’s just wrong.
Eventually I did get the shorts on and rode to work. I was a little disturbed the entire time because the outer shorts kind of rode up my leg a little bit and exposed the meshy undershorts, and my pasty ass leg below. It was like squishing cottage cheese through a fish net. Not attractive.



I assure you that my leg looks decidedly fatter and cottage cheesier in real life, but you get the idea.

I’m not sure how this dressing like a commuter is going to work out.

Speaking of disturbing, I am sure you all saw the story about the 74 year old lady dumping mayonnaise in the book drop at one of the local libraries. You know, like the open jar of mayonnaise. It is suspected that the mayonnaise is just chaser for some other choice items that she dumped in there – corn syrup, honey, miscellaneous fluids. One of my friends thinks she is a school lunch lady, but I am pretty sure she is the bus driver from South Park.



Angrysaurus rex.

My favorite part is that she is packing heat on the passenger seat in her car – probably so she can bust a cap in the librarian if they catch her in the act. The man is everywhere you know.

The cops haven’t released a motive, but most people assume she has library fines or something. Not me, I think she is pissed because the library is distributing literature that is inconsistent with her moral and religious beliefs. I am almost positive she is the one who scratched all the potty words out of my copy of Catcher in the Rye.

Yep, we share the streets with this lady – and apparently the library too.

Asshat.

In regard to sharing the streets, local rumor has it that someone is spreading goatheads on Hill Rd in Boise. A rash of flat tires caused by a ridiculous number of goatheads (which, by the way don’t really start goatheading till August) has been reported by many.

Holy crap! The fact that someone wants to inflect suffering on cyclists on Hill Road doesn’t really surprise me, but I am having a hard time grasping that someone must have actually collected all of these goatheads in the first place. Hours toiling in the dusty, pokey vines to harvest your sinister little crop of evil goatheads – who who who haa haa haa who who who haa haa haa haa! That was an evil laugh by the way - try it out loud. No, really - try it out loud. Ok.

Tacks would have been easier.

And I thought the weather was making me crazy. This poor bastard has been sitting on his harvest since last fall, patiently waiting for the weather to warm up to bring out his prey.

Asshat.

Losing It

I about lost it on Saturday. Lost my marbles. Fell off my rocker. Came unhinged. Went postal. Certifiable. Mental. Gone bananas.

Yup, almost.

I was riding home all spandexed up in my LOOK!y kit. I stopped behind a car in the left turn lane from Main St in Eagle onto Eagle Rd – the light was green but the car in front of me was waiting for oncoming traffic. I was doing likewise.

The asshat on the bicycle behind me couldn’t be bothered to wait.

He zipped to my left, to the left of the car in front of me, cut off the oncoming car which was turning right, cut off the other oncoming car that was going straight, and nearly ran over a pedestrian in a cross walk. All that in one maneuver. While wearing white tube socks.

Considering where I was riding from, and the reason that I rode there I went berserk. Do you remember that game on the Atari? That was a good game – except for the part where the robots would walk into the walls by themselves. That was kind of odd.

Anyway, yeah, I was pretty much nuts. I waited for my turn through the intersection then chased like hell so I could lay into the jack ass. I am about to catch him at a red light and tell him about how he is making us all look bad by riding like a moron, and how you shouldn’t wear spandex knickers and white tube socks together – but the wanker runs the red light. Not like stops and looks both ways runs the light, like swerves over into the crosswalk and rides across the intersection without slowing down runs the red light. Yeah, like it is ok to run a red if you are in a crosswalk. Shitweasel.

I was more than a bit imbalanced when the light finally changed, and I took off like a rocket. I am just about to catch the bastard and tell him about red light laws, and that it is never ok to wear spandex bottoms with a t-shirt – especially a long sleeved t-shirt – then the ass-monkey runs another red light. Un-freaking believable.

At that point I think I was slobbering. I was rocking a minor case of derangement. When the light changed I probably went as fast as I ever had on a bike. I was about to catch the guy and punch him, and tell him that you can’t wear a camelback and ride a road bike – then he goes for the trifecta. Yes, three run red lights in a row. Stupid double up f-nut! I am pretty sure my eyes were bulging out of my head. Drivers were starting to notice.

Look at that slobbering, blathering, spandex clad biker with flames coming out his butt! I think he is going to kill that other guy!

So I am a couple hundred yards behind the knuckle dragger, he is going through another light – green this time! Of course he is riding up inside a car that is about to turn right in front of him, and has been signaling its intention to do so for a while. Luckily the driver had more sense than he did and waited for him.

The light is also at the intersection where I turn to go home. Should I keep chasing the butt ranger and explain to him about riding like a NYC bike messenger and its effect on others, or should I go home? I turned and went home to my family. I hope dickweed in the tube socks made it home to his.

VeloCache

Now that the all important LP200 is over I am left with a void. What should I do with all that time that I would normally train? I mean, I guess I could train more – but really, I’m sick of racing bikes so I think I am done doing that.

How lucky was I to stumble across this on someone else’s blog. VeloCache. Yeah, so you the idea is that you hide some crap, then you post some semi-obscure pictures of it on a webpage so other people can find it. Or you can just go out and find other peoples crap, but I imagine finding and not caching is the karmic equivalent of killing small woodland creatures or drinking coffee at the office without contributing to the coffee fund.

So I looked at the site and decided to give it a try, seems how I knew where like three of the caches were immediately by looking at the photos. It either means that I am way observant and have superior investigative skills, or that I ride my bike on the gb waaayyyy too much.

Yeah, anyway, I gave it a day then looked at the site again. A couple of the caches I had identified still hadn’t been found so I decided to check one out. I took a little nooner to pick it up.

I rode my racing bike to pick up the cache. I am sure that is more than a bit wankerish, but it is the only functional bike I have at the moment. Well, actually that’s not true. My tt bike still works, but I am guessing VeloCache on a TT bike would make me a superwanker, and despite my proclamations that I don’t care what other people think I don’t want to be labeled a superwanker on my first cache picking upping attempt.

So I found the cache, looked around, grabbed it, and stuffed it in my commuter bag. I don’t know why, but it felt vaguely like I was stealing something. It also felt vaguely like I was enjoying it.

Riding back to safety I was filled with anticipation. I was like a kid on Christmas. Or like a kid that just stole something and was anxious to get to safety and check it out. I mean, not that I would know what that felt like – because, you know, I was a good kid. Good as hell.

Anyway, finally I get to safety and open up the cache. Holy cool crap! I knew it would be good, but not this good! I mean right there on top was an un-used AOL cd, still in the cellophane wrapper! Right underneath that was bottle opener ring. That’s just bitch’n. Not to mention the PBR wristband – are you kidding me? I haven’t seen anything that cool since the natty lite bike. Damn. There was also a sweet carabiner cork screw, some chocolates, an energy drink, crystallize lemon, and a Boise Weekly sticker.

I just wanted to rock all that stuff right there. So I did…



Too bad I was at work or I would have tried out my various and sundry opening devices.

I immediately felt guilty, and needed make my own cache to make up for it. I made my own cache with stuff I scavenged in my office – including my much prized office yo-yo, little angry man action figure, and a partially used Barnes and Noble gift card - amongst other treasures. I know it isn’t as good as what I received, but I think it is a good start? I’ll let you know how it goes.

Maybe I will try again next week.

What Decade is it Anyway?

Coming back from a little noon time ride I saw this um, person, on the gb...



Of course the first thing I noticed was that she was roller skating. You know, like holy crap its 1970 and I am roller skating! As opposed to, well, holy crap its 1990 and I am roller blading.

I noticed because I am a very perceptive person. I usually notice when someone is zigzagging in front of me, sometimes even if they are not. There was the one time I hit this fence, but that is for another day.

So yeah, it's 1970 and someone is roller skating in front of me on the gb.

No, wait a minute, those colors - they are from the 1980's. It must be the day-glo 80's everybody. She has big hair too - must be the late 80's?

No, No, wait for it... That's not hair - it's dreadlocks! It's the 1990's everybody, is that Pearl Jam I hear? No, its Nirvana.

I could be wrong, she is rocking safety pads. That is very 2000's of her.

What decade is it anyway?

Whoa, that was weird.

Speaking of weird, my duck stalker is back. For a while I rationalized that it was just a duck nesting in my yard, but no, it's really a duck stalking me. He brought a friend today - you know to sneak up on me...



Fortunately I saw the little duck villains in time and hid behind my truck. I wasn't really that concerned until someone named Vacilando sent me this article the other day...

Tomorrow is Dead Duck Day

I think it means flapping in the wind in Spanish. Vacilando that is, not dead duck day.

Dead duck day is entirely different. Yes, it is the anniversary of the confirmation of homosexual necrophilia in ducks. I know you were wondering about that. I have the article if you want to read it. It's pretty much wrong on so many levels. Especially the part where the scientists debate whether necrophilia can be rape because of the whole consensual thing.

Uh huh,I'll save you the trouble and show you the highlight. Thats right, pictures...



Now that's something you don't see every day, and that's why I am now very concerned about my duck stalker(s). I don't want that to be me.

I think that's enough. Actually probably too much, but then it is what it is right?

A Damn Fine Lyle Pearson 200, err, 160something

I gotta admit that I was a more than a little disappointed with our early start time for the LP 200. See, the teams are all seeded and the teams expected to be slower start earlier. So there I was lining up to start, while in previous years I would have still been in bed.

So yeah, a little bummed, and a lot sleepy as we roll up to the start area. Ugh, don’t these people know how badass I am? I mean, just because I finished last in the spring series doesn’t mean I suck – I was just in a building phase, and had an injury, and my equipment was broken, and my coach told me to stay in zone 2, and I flatted, and I got boxed in, and I didn’t have any teammates, and I thought I would let some of the younger guys get some results. Yeah, that’s it. It had nothing to do with me being fat and out of shape, and, oh yeah, sucking.

Yup, that’s what I was thinking – but then I got there in the morning and realized that all of the most attractive people start early. That makes sense. I am a sexy bitch, why should I start with all those smelly, ugly dudes later? Why didn’t I figure this out earlier?

Uh hu, I rolled to the start line looking sexy and feeling good. Well, good for 6:30 anyway.

Stage 1.
My teammate Masi Johnny and I rode the first stage from Boise to Robie Creek. About 5 miles in, old Masi Johnny Atmos points out a giant flashing sign that says “ROAD CLOSED BETWEEN LOWMAN AND GRANDJEAN” or something like that. I figured that meant closed to everyone but us. I mean, this is the freak’n LP200 people. I was also thinking Masi wasn’t riding hard enough if he could still read and talk.
That’s pretty much it for that stage. We passed some other beautiful people and got passed by some beautiful people. It took us like an hour – 5 or 6 minutes slower than my team last year, but 5 or 6 minutes faster than Masi’s team last year. So we were good on time, and more important looking good in our LOOK!y LOOK!y kits.

Stage 2.
WC and Fonts took the second stage. I took a seat in the motor home. I gotta say, the motor home was by far the best LP200 rig I have ever been associated with. Our driver/manager, I’ll call him the Godfather, kept things rolling smoothly. The other member of our little mafia was the photographer who I will call legs.
Well legs likes to talk. That is bad for mafias, but good for road trips. The second stage passed quickly. I am not sure how long it took – it was roughly equivalent to the time it takes to eat two grape uncrustables and drink a bottle of water. Maybe 40 something minutes.

Stage 3.
So Fonts committed the cardinal sin of LP200 riding by going back to back with stage 2 and 3. Riding stages back to back almost never ends well. Especially not stages 7 and 8. I know it looks like a good idea, but trust me – it isn’t.

Anyway, I tried to talk him out of it – but that’s what he wanted to do. Besides, who am I to stop him – especially if it mean I don’t have to ride to Mores Creek Summit?

I talked to Jason at the transition about the road closed sign. He told me to check with him later as there was a mud slide and they were checking into that. There has always been something a little mischievous about Jason.

Fonts finished the stage in 57 minutes and some change, which was a little faster than he did it last year. I think that is a major victory, because when you are that old not getting slower is a good thing.

Stage 4.
I have always thought that someone without kids should be the one to race stage 4 from Mores Creek Summit to Lowman – you know, because guys without kids are much faster downhill than guys with kids. Well, all of us had kids this year – but we did have WC, who was partly raised in England – and everyone knows the British are a bit off. So yeah, he went on the downhill.

While he was downhilling the rest of us rode the motorhome down. One of the topics of conversation was how bad it would suck to have to race back up that hill…

Stage 5.
So we find out in Lowman that the road is indeed closed and that we are racing back to Boise. Major bummer, mostly because someone has to ride back up to Mores Creek Summit. That someone is me. Significantly below average.

I pretty much just zoned out after that. Masi Johnny rode stage 5 solo, giving me about an hour to learn how to climb. I wasted about half of it making collect calls from a pay phone in Lowman – trying to prevent my wife from meeting me in Ketchum, or not meeting me as the case may be. I got lucky and my answering machine at home accepted my collect call and my wife got the message I left. What good luck!

What bad luck, I only had about a halfy now to learn how to climb. I had seen it done once on tv, so, you know, I had an idea what to do.

Stage 6.
About 3 miles in to the climb back out of Lowman I figured out how to climb. Turns out you just pedal. Huh.

I wasn’t feeling to stellar. Good, but not stellar. I was a bit blury eyed, but I did look around a bit. For wolves. Because, well, I know they are there somewhere. I mean, I know they don’t attack people – but if they were ever going to make an exception it would most certainly be a cyclist. And there I was, looking good with tasty shaved legs and all. No annoying hairs to get stuck between wolf teeth. Honestly, it’s not like I would have been hard to catch either.

So I’ve watched some nature shows so I know that they try to pick off the ones that look weak. I pretend that I feel good. It must have worked because I didn’t get eaten.

I felt safer when I passed some people that looked weak. That was near the top though, about where the climb starts sucking your will to live.

I think it took like 3 hours. The Godfather said 1:18 or something like that, but I am pretty sure he is wrong. 3 hours sounds about right. But I looked good doing it.

Stage 7.
So WC took this one – it being kind of downhill, and him being kind of British. He probably could have beaten us to the next transition but he didn’t. He caught up to a cute bird and was so enamored with riding in her vicinity that he couldn’t ride away from her. At least that’s my version and I am sticking to it.

Stage 8.
Masi Johnny jumped in and rode with WC down to Robie. It took some time, but I don’t really know how much because everything kind of went out the window somewhere around Lowman.

Stage 9.
Fonts rode the short stage from Robie to Hilltop. It took some more time.

Stage 10.
We all rode stage 10 down to East Junior High.

We finished 43rd I think, which really isn’t too good. But you carry a lot of extra weight when you look as good as we all do, so I’ll take it.

So overall, Team Lumberjack finally won it after a few years of coming close. I’m not sure, but I think they care more about this race more than anyone else – which is really kind of ironic. So yeah, they care and are obviously kick ass riders so they won. Props to them.

As in all cycling however, the strongest team doesn’t always win. The fastest team was ICO Exergy – so without time bonus mumbo juhumbo they were the winners. I gotta know though, when you have an Exergy guy on the back of a tandem does that count as half a stage or a whole one? Anyway, good job fellas.

Ride of the day was Rob Deeble. Hands down. So dude rides up the back of Mores Creek Summit, and when he gets there finds out his team left him and he has to ride the next stage too. Apparently after a slight meltdown he does it. So then after that he rests like a halfy and rides the hilltop and final stages too. Nice. 4 out or 5 stages. I am guessing they made him ride Mores Creek the first time as well. Nails.

Excellent beer and pizza at the end. Had to get that in there.

So that was it. A Lyle Pearson 200 fail, but a damn fine Lyle Pearson 160something.

Getting My Crap Together w/ Motorized Doping?

Twas the night before LP200 and all through the house, not a creature was stirring – except for me trying to get my crap together. How much crap you may ask? Well, as much as will fit in my bag – duh. That’s how much stuff I take everywhere, regardless of where I am going and what I am doing.

I have a taking crap places problem. If it fits, it goes.

That’s why I am a terrible backpacker, which is somewhat surprising because I was a professional backpacker once. I think I was supposed to be counting fish in the wilderness area – but I was backpacking more than counting, so the way I figured it I was a pro backpacker and part time fish counter guy.

Those were the days. De-hydrated food, miscellaneous blisters and boils, bears, moose, and mountain lions – oh my. And of course the crew member who couldn’t read a map.

So yeah, it was the night before LP200, but now it is like two days after the LP160something. I have some stuff to say about that, but it’s gonna hafta wait – because I wanted to talk about this stuff last week but didn’t get around to it because, you know, I was jamming stuff in my bag for the LP200. Maybe tomorrow I will write about the LP160 something, or maybe the next day. Definitely before Friday.

Have you seen the recent bit about motorized doping in cycling? It is especially nice. The video is in bitter Italian, but there are English subtitles.



So, I don’t know about you, but the first thing I thought was “I gotta get me one of those”! I mean, I have seen motorized doping before – but it was nothing like that.

What I saw looked more like a weed eater engine strapped to a bike. Actually I think it was a weed eater engine strapped to a bike. I was rocking down the gb on my way home one day and come up behind this dude. I knew something wasn’t quite right because – you know, there was a weed eater engine strapped to this guys bike. When I passed him he gave me the look and gunned it. Yeah, I think I wrote about it when it happened. It is over there somewhere -> in my history of angryness.

Anyhow, this new version seems much better. It made me want to have one – which made me think it may be an advertisement, or maybe a precursor to an advertisement. You know, develop a product – find a bitter ex-racer, accuse a high profile rider of cheating – then sell your product on the internet.

By the way, did you hear Al Gore is getting divorced? Go figure. Apparently trying to save the world isn’t so good for your marriage.

Sorry. Yeah. The only questions I had about the video is why didn’t they use Greg LeMond, and where can I get one.

As far as Fabian Cancellara is concerned, well, the only thing I have to say about him is that I thought he was pretty good in ‘Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs’.




That's the same guy right?

The other thing is that he looks enormous next to other bike racers – but in real life he is only slightly larger than a supermodel podium girl with roaming eyes. He probably weighs like a buck sixty.



OK, Bye. I’ll work on that LP160something entry.

Betty on the Back

In anticipation of the many painful hours I may be spending on my time trial bike this weekend I got myself a new bike seat. It looks like this…



Yeah, I know it is a cheap nastybar brand seat, but really, I ride that bike like three times a year so why should I spend a fortune on a nice seat? Besides, honestly, the bike is sorta a piece of shit – I mean, don’t tell it – but it’s not even a real time trial bike. Just a road bike with funny handlebars.

Putting a sweet Fizik seat on it would be like dropping a racing bucket seat in a Plymouth Neon, or maybe even putting a whale tale on a Chevy Cavalier. I mean, you can do it but whats the point.

Its kind of long and has a big knob end on it. The new seat. The new seat is a little long and has some extra padding on the front to protect my delicate taint while sitting in the tt position. It actually kind or reminds me of the banana seat on my first Huffy. That was bad ass. In a way I have come full circle back to the banana seat.

Speaking of banana seat I saw this the other day…



Yeah and speaking of full circle check out the nice steering wheel handlebar the wheelie kid is rocking. Not to mention all the space for a Betty on the back. Those were the good old days - banana seats, wheelies, no helmets, and racing lawn mowers.

High School Afflictions

I realized about halfway through the A’s that I really need a data plan for my cell phone. Yes, high school graduations may very well be why God invented the mobile internets. Or was that Al Gore? Or maybe Google. I’m not sure who made what anymore.

It’s not that I find graduations boring, you know, they just make me feel listless.

Yeah, I figure I have about 4 years to get myself some mobile internets before the next time I go to a high school graduation – when my nephew graduates.

Not that high school graduation is the only time I would need mobile internets. I mean, what if sometime I was a sign wiggly guy for Vaughn Ward…



Yeah, a little mobile internets would be good then too. I would call this a sign wiggly guy fail, but relative to the rest of the campaign it may be a success.

Anyway, so there I am at graduation. Listless. I decide to read the program, you know, because I didn’t have a book. I surf through all the names and draw a blank on people that I might know. Other than my niece. I should mention that – it was my nieces graduation.

And actually, I kind of think that with the proper environment and support anyone can graduate from high school – so graduation is more for the environment providers and supporters than the students. So it was more like my brother-in-law's graduation.

I always knew my brother-in-law was a supporter. I just wasn’t sure he could graduate high school.

Yeah, so, anyway. I get to the faculty section of the program. Thinking my chances of knowing someone in that list are better than my chances of knowing someone in the student list – me being old as hell and all. I didn’t know anyone, but I did find this gem…



Yes ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Roc Cox. Who let the students edit the graduation program?

I thought that roc cox was an affliction that you had while in high school, not a teacher. I know I had it off and on for like three years.

I would have googled it (roc cox), but, you know, I didn’t have any mobile internets.