The Bikes of Walmart

You will never, ever, find me riding on something called the Thruster. Even if it is fixed.

That whole bike messenger thing? Yeah, officially not cool anymore. Move on to roller blades hipster.

Umm, yeah.

Just going through old e-mails looking for something and stumbled accross this...



Note, when parking the wheeler on the family truckster make sure to lower the tire pressure first.

Open Letter to the Groper

Dear Random Groping Lady,

I must say that when you reached out of the car you were riding in and made groping gestures in my direction that I was a bit flummoxed. I mean, no one has ever indicated a desire to grab my bum before while I was riding my bike. Seriously, how do you react to that? Should I be pissed? Should I be flattered? Was I confused?

By Default I normally deploy a finger when someone in a car gestures at me, but I didn’t want to, in case, you know, I was misinterpreting the gesture. Perhaps you were really excited by the little starbursts on my new Lactic Acid Cycling Club bib shorts and were rocking jazz fingers? I know I do jazz fingers every time I see them. They are pretty snazy. In fact I am doing jazz fingers right now thinking about them.



So yeah, if you were doing jazz fingers try it with your palm out next time - not with the palm up. And try not to leer when you do it.

Anyhow, I have consulted with my wife and family on the subject (of groping gestures, not jazz fingers) and come to the conclusion that it is in my best interest to be offended by your gesture.

How dare you make such a inappropriate and obscene gesture towards me! How rude! Don't you know when you grope at my outer shell that you discount my true inner beauty? Oh, I feel like such a piece of meat! A ribeye.

That should do it.

Right, umm, you would be disappointed anyway. I would say that my trunk ain't what it once was, but that would imply that it was once something better - which may not actually be the case. Yeah the old caboose feels something like a twinky actually.

That sounds pretty good I know, but you have to keep in mind that this twinky is nearly 40 years old. That creme filling dried out somewhere along the line and got kind of hard and stringy. Yeah, soft on the outside and kind of hard and stringy on the inside. Like a jerky flavored twinky. Sometimes things might look better than they are...

Were you drunk?

Well thanks for noticing me. I always feel better when people in cars see me as opposed to don't see me.

Have a nice day.

The Angry Cyclist

Kenny Killed Facebook

This kid named Kenny killed facebook for me in 1981. He used to go around from person to person at my elementary school and ask in a nasally voice "Will you be my fffrrriiieeennndd?" It was kind of creepy. In fact, Kenny was kind of creepy. Not the kind of kid you wanted to be friends with. Actually, I have goose bumps right now thinking about it.

Right, so now, when I look at the facebook 'add friend' button I hear Kenny's weasely voice saying "Will you be my fffrrriiieeennnddd?" and I'm like 'hell no dude, you can't be my friend'. And then I just can't pull the trigger. I don't want to be that guy you know?

Not that I have a lot of friends in real life anyway, but my friend request disorder has really hampered my facebookosity. I mean, how can I show everyone my smart funnyness if I hear Kenny every time I go to pull the trigger on a friend request? Seriously. Thats what facebook is all about right? Making people think you are smart and funny, or good looking, or interesting, or whatever your particular hang up is?

Well I think those google people solved my problem for me. Those google people are freaking brilliant. So they fired up Google+, it's like a facebook ripoff but you can stereotype people into your own little 'circles'. You can have people in your 'friends' circle or your 'acquaintance' circle or your own custom circle. You know, like your 'AssHat' circle.

Right now you have to be invited to join, like when gmail was rolled out. You have to be pretty freaking cool to have an account. Fortunately I know some really cool people so I have one. Yeah, when I signed up there were only like 10,000,000 members. I am pretty sure that means I am in the top 10,000,000 coolest people on the planet. Which, I guess, doesn't sound so good - but really 10,000,000th out of 6 or 7 billion isn't bad right?

Umm, anyway, with the circle things when I invite people to join they may hear 'will you be my fffrrriiieeennnddd', but at the same time I will be hearing 'would you like to join my circle of asshattery?' - thereby circumventing the curse Kenny burdened me with in 3rd grade.

Yeah right, so if you are out there Kenny - yes, yes I will be your friend. I apologize for the delay, I was waiting for technology to catch up. I figure if you get hooked up now you can be in the top 200,000,000 coolest people or so.

Tandems

I was running on the gb today and I saw these two dudes on one of those cruiser tandem bikes.

It is hard not to look gay when you are on a cruiser tandem with another dude. You know, in case you care about such things.

Every Time. Every Single Time.

Two years ago yesterday I lost a friend and teammate, Kevin Pavlis, from injuries he sustained when he was struck by a motor vehicle while he was riding his bicycle on Hill Rd here in Boise. I was lucky to know Kevin.

Over the past few years I have come to know that Kevin was lucky too. Lucky to have an incredible family and a stellar group of friends.

Yes, I just called you stellar. This is the first and last time you will ever see me use that word without a hint of sarcasm. I promise.

I am lucky to share many of those friends. Thanks for the ride everyone.

LP200 Strategy Guide

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Fredding Bogus Basin Road

So I decided to role out a little half bogus nooner today.

I noticed immediately that my legs were feeling a little bit of running and riding funkiness from the last few days. But that’s ok because, you know, I’m down with being funky.

Right so anyway I get to the bottom of the hill and start climbing. I see this dude like a half mile up the road and start closing slowly. My fred radar is going off, because the only people that I catch going up bogus are freds. Yeah, if I catch you going up bogus – you might be a fred.

Anyhow, I role up behind said fred. As I pass I say ‘hi, how you doing’ – because I am social as hell. Well that, and because there is nothing more annoying than getting passed going uphill by someone who still has the ability to speak.

Well, maybe because my talking to him, or maybe because he is a fred, after I pass the dude I hear the gear change.

Fuck. Seriously?

Right. Now I have this fred going all human centipede on me up bogus.

What is the protocol for that anyway? You know, when you pass someone riding down the road should they ask permission to sit on your wheel or is it acceptable to just do it? It seems to me that you should at least say something so you know that they are there. I mean when I get passed I usually just watch whoever ride away, but if I do want to sit on I will ask if they mind if I sit on.

However, when I pass people they all just try to hop on. Then I go a little faster. Then if they are still there I go a little bit faster. Then if they are still there I go a little faster. It is all somewhat tiring and disruptive. Especially when you are funky.

That’s what I thought about as fred sat on my wheel over the top of the first hill down towards the corrals.

I figured it wasn’t that big of a deal because the guy was going to drop off eventually anyway right? I mean if he could climb that fast I wouldn’t have caught him in the first place right?

Well with me being cool and funky, and fred being, well freddly – he stuck there for like 2 miles. Damn. Must have been a fast fred. Surely that was a carbon fiber pie plate he was rocking in his back wheel.

I hate it when that happens.

I Want to be a Runner

The other day riding my bike to the office seemed like a good idea, and it was going pretty well till I was rolling down the hallway and was about to attempt the tricky turn through the office door when the boss’s boss walked out into the hallway.

Talk about awkward silence. It was like the guy hadn’t seen someone riding a bike before. He finally said something about being pretty sure we had some kind of policy about that. I told him I hadn’t seen it yet.

Then there was the other day when I thought that riding through the flood water on the gb would be funner if I went faster. And I was right, except that I didn't know that fenders stop working at a certain level of fun-ness.

And of course there was the other other day when I thought that racing my bike might be a good idea, and well, it wasn't. Turns out that some of the other bike racers have been training. Huh.

Then there was the day I thought it might be fun to do the bike race with the mile long dirt section. That would have been ok if I didn't have to ride the dirt section twice - because apparently I only brought one dirt section worth of fitness and tires.

And today. Well today I was riding home and heard my bike making a new sound.

Now I am know stranger to bike sounds, but I hadn't heard this one before. It sounded like the top layer of my back tire had separated from the sidewalls and was rubbing against the frame and fender. It sounded a lot like that actually.

Did you know you can ride at least 4 miles with the top of your tire separated from the sides?

Yeah well, you can, but apparently at some point it causes your chain to bust.

Riding a bike without a chain is hard.

Shit like this makes a guy want to be a runner.

Who Are They Fracking Now?

Saw this in the news this morning.



Um, yeah. Horizontal fracking would be controversial to the governor and legislature - especially with an open door.

Normally they prefer their drilling bent over behind closed doors.

Behold, The End is Nigh...

Today while I was riding my bike to work I thought to myself, for the first time ever, that I would rather be running.

Recumbent Guy

When you pull up to a stop light on a bicycle nine of the ten things that can happen to you are bad. The tenth thing is nothing. Nothing happening is the only good thing that can happen to a guy on a bike at an intersection.

That’s why yesterday when I was waiting at a stop light and I heard something peculiar behind me I knew immediately it was bad. Yeah, so I hear something and I take the slow peak over my shoulder to see what devilry awaits.

It was worse than I thought. That’s right, recumbent guy had rolled up behind me on his tricycle. It was one of those jobs with two wheels in front and one in the back, with the big phallic shield in front – I guess to make it aero, but it mostly made it look like a penis with wheels to me.

But that’s just me.

So why does every guy that rocks a recumbent look like the ‘most interesting man in the world’ from the dos equis adds? That’s what I want to know. And why does every guy on a recumbent actually think he is the most interesting man in the world, and carry himself with an air of smugness? I guess the same reason bike racers carry an air of asshole-edness.

So I knew the guy was going to try and pass me. You don’t rock a phallic shield and not think you’re fast.

When the light changed I went the passive aggressive route and accelerated up to about 22. Not fast, but just fast enough the recumbent guy would have to work to get around me – which he eventually did.

The bike lane on Eagle Road is like 12 feet wide. I generally like to use the 3-4 feet farthest away from traffic – you know, so I don’t get hit by some wankers snowmobile trailer floating over the white line. Snowmobile trailers scare me.

Apparently recumbent guy has no such inhibitions. He placed his left wheel firmly on the wrong side of the white line and rocked down Eagle Road. I dug out my phone and took pictures…



I am sure dude thought he was being visible or something misguided like that. I am sure he thought the little bronco flag he was sporting on the fiberglass bike flag pole swaying behind him was making him visible too. Right, a blue and orange flag hardly blends in around this town does it?

I wonder why people in cars hate people on bikes.

So apparently it isn’t easy to ride a johnson with wheels faster than 22 mph for very long, because I caught the guy and passed him without changing my speed from the light. (This would be the aggressive part of passive aggressive).

When I passed the guy he was clearly exerting himself. I am all for exerting yourself while in a reclined position, I just don’t think it should involve a bike.

I kinda wanted to drop something on him when I went past – because it would have been so easy, but I gave him the schmirk with head nod instead.

Unstupider

In case you were wondering, the water in the tunnel at the Glenwood bridge is too deep to ride without getting your feet wet, or at least one foot wet depending on how you rock it.

Fenders keep your butt dry in deepish water though - thanks for that.



You might also be interested to know it is moderately uncomfortable riding 8 miles in 30 degree temperatures with one wet foot.

And that stuff about wool keeping you warm even when its wet? Well that's crap.

Actually I'm not sure about the last one, both my feet were freak'n cold when I got to work. It took a few minutes in the shower before I could feel them, and when I could feel them it was bad.

I wonder if submerging your hubs in water is a bad thing?

Oh, and the water under the Broadway bridge? You can rock that feet dry - just go around the sign, closed doesn't mean you. Just watch out for the falling column.

Right, anyway you may have noticed that we are witnessing the annual demonstration of ‘oh shit’ water management here in river city.

Over several years of observation and questioning I have come to understand that the whole process (water management) goes something like this…

So in the winter dudes go out with fancy scientific sticks and sample the snow pack in various places to measure the water content. They come back to the office and do some fancy math to estimate how much water there is in different drainages.

Since they didn't measure all the snow in the whole area they put confidence intervals around they're estimate. It looks like this...



It means if they did the whole process 100 times that the estimate would come out between A and B 95 times. Most of the time it would be around C.

Right so if you were a smart guy you would guess there was C amount of water in the hills and adjust the water flow out of the reservoirs accordingly.

If you were a safety conscious conservative guy you would guess there was B amount of water in the hills and adjust the water flow out of the reservoirs accordingly - minimizing the chance of a flood.

Now if you were a farmer you would assume there is only A amount of water in the hills. You would keep every damn drop of water in the reservoirs until you were positive they would be full plus some. Then, if by chance there was really more water in the hills than A - you would go 'oh shit' and raise the water flowing out of reservoirs until homes along rivers were at risk. If you are lucky you squeak by without flooding homes, but if something unusual happens - like rain or record high temperatures at the wrong time - well, then someone gets wet. Usually someone in Eagle.

Guess what system they use here. Guess who pressures politicians to make sure they use that system. Guess who the politicians pressure.

It's all rather stupid.

Don't get me wrong. I am all for the annual douching of Garden City. I'm not all against flooding the homes of people who were stupid enough to build homes in a flood plain in Eagle either.

It's just that having a house along the river is stupider than it has to be. It could be relatively unstupider. And that is annoying.

Emissions

A friend sent me this email today. It had a bunch of pictures of people exhibiting questionable parenting skills. They were all kind of funny, you know, in a shocking sort of way – but this one really jumped out at me. Duh, because there is a bike.

A sweet roadmaster I might add.



Right so when I saw the picture I had several thoughts…

Those people should wear helmets. It would be uncomfortable to have a helmet in your butt.

I bet it is more uncomfortable to be a thong than to wear a thong.

I wonder if that kid had the doll when she sat down there, or if, you know – she found it.

What exactly does that woman have in common with the butterfly tattooed on her ankle.

Oh god, is that an Idaho license plate on that car?

Yes, yes it is. Canyon County to be exact. Yeah, where they don’t want to test for emissions…

I’m gonna leave that one there.

Hey Look Its Sunny! Hurry!

It greatly embarrasses me to admit that sometimes I watch E.T.

No, not ‘turn out your heart light’ E.T., not Reeses pieces E.T., and not riding your bike in the nighttime sky E.T.

I mean that tv show Entertainment Tonight.

I know, it’s pretty repulsive. They go on and on about irrelevant stuff. Like who the hell cares if some inbred descendent of an archaic system of government is going to get married. I mean really. I am guessing thousands of people get married every day. Some of them have divorced parents or a mother that was killed in a car crash even. Why is it such a big deal if when this git gets married. And who cares if Obama was invited – if he wanted to go he would have been the only straight man on the planet who wanted to be there.

And what’s with the chipmunk dude on show that makes fun of the clothes all the famous people wear. Shake yourself Alvin, all those people you criticize look better than you on their worst day than you do on your best day.

Right, anyway. I did learn from that show that apparently Charlie Sheen is turning into Charlie Manson. That’s kind of weird, but not that surprising – I think dude is still bitter losing control of the regulators to his brother in Young Guns.

That movie kicks ass.

So yeah, Charlie is bringing the world together with his transmogrification. I mean everyone is watching – its not every day you see someone lose their mind live on tv you know.

A friend sent me this example…





Within a few blocks of each other on State St., The Lift Bar & Grill and the Riverwind Fellowship share a common message. Yeah, that’s right – Charlie bringing divergent groups together. Duh, winning...

See, he brought me in too.

Maybe we should send him to the middle east. That’s what we need there, some tiger blood. Kadafi and Sheen in the same room. Well, never mind. That’s kind of scary. Only slightly less scary than Sarah Palin and Kadafi in the same room.

But the honey badger don't care...



Screw tiger blood, how about some honey badger blood.

The Week in Crappy Pictures

I have seen that some legitimate journalistic endeavors have a week in pictures segment. Well, since I don't really have much to say, but do have some crappy pictures from my crappy phone I present to you 'The Week in Crappy Pictures'.

And by week I mean the past month or so.

I ride past the garden city post office every time I ride my bike to work. I have been seeing this for a while...



Every time I see it I think to myself that yes, if I wanted to rent a box garden city is where I would start looking. And yes, I know I didn't capitalize garden city - they don't deserve it.

I did notice that some people in garden city have a lot of balls though...



Have you ever heard the Jeff Foxworthy bit where he says you might be a redneck if your home is mobile but your car is not. Well garden city is the only place I can think of where most of the homes they sell are mobile, and most the cars they sell are not. Seriously, drive down Chinden sometime.

Anyway, most of my days have looked like this lately...



Yup, new snow in the mountains and dreary in the valley.

This is some dude playing hooky from work. Bastard.



A friend told me about a precariously perched column on the broadway bridge the other day. I checked it out while I was rocking through.



So someone put a chain around it so when whatever is holding it up gives the column doesn't fall straight down and hurt, well, the dirt. Yeah, instead the chain will catch it and swing it over the gb where inevitably it will come loose from the chain and take out a pesky cyclist or pedestrian. Triumphant.

I'm no engineer, but I think it may be bad when you can see the re-bar in your bridge supports. I think someone is carving out a living space. Literally.



Umm, go fast anywhere near the main street bridge. Come to think of it, go fast around them all.

Speaking of looking for living space, the angry duck is back.



Little pecker. Didn't get enough last year.

And um, I saw the wiener mobile parked in a random parking lot the other day.



That's not me standing by it - you know, in case you were wondering. Dangerously close to me, but not me.

Right. Peace out.

Biscuits and Gravy

If I am riding along and give you the bike rider wave, and then you pretend that you are riding so hard that you didn’t notice or couldn’t possibly reciprocate I am just going to assume that you are an arrogant bitch/bastard.

If you ride by and stare at me and my bike like I have two heads and my bike has 4 wheels, and I wave, and you fail to reciprocate I am just going to assume you are a full on wanker. Maybe even an asshat. And then after you are past I will give myself and the bike a once over to make sure everything is kosher.

I just wanted to get that straight.

You know what always surprises me about riding my bike? All the things I smell. Like on my way to work I can smell breakfasts in the houses I ride past. If I stop at a light I can smell peoples perfume or cologne from outside their car. I can smell a smoker when they drive past. Seriously, I might not detect them all – but definitely some of them. If I can smell you from outside your car (especially at 20 mph) I am guessing you stink.

And sometimes I swear that I am the only one in this town that doesn’t drive a F-350 deisel. You know, to power through the asphalt of the commute. I think I inhale about $4.00 worth of diesel fumes on each commute. Thanks for that. I might as well smoke.

When I ride past Centennial or Capital High I can smell the despair. It used to be the students, but now it is the teachers.

When I hop on the gb in Garden City in the morning I can smell Pastry Perfection. That sucks.

When I ride past the horse stalls by the fairgrounds I can smell the dankness that remains from the horses that used to live there. Soon I am sure I will be able to smell the poo from the bums that are hiding out there now. I can’t smell them there yet but definitely can smell them by the Shilo Inn.

The bum smell is worse than the wastewater treatment smell (also on the commute) and is a bit depressing, but I get over it quickly because soon after the Shilo I can smell biscuits and gravy at The Pantry.

Actually that isn’t true – I can’t smell The Pantry, but I do think about biscuits and gravy when I see it. Mmm, biscuits and gravy.

I love biscuits and gravy.

Speaking of biscuits and gravy, after that sometimes I can smell the Arid Club – no I don’t think the Arid Club ever serves biscuits and gravy, definitely not pretentious enough grindage for that joint – but I needed a segue.

The Arid Club smells crappy compared the to The Cottonwood Grill which always smells tasty, but I gotta say that The RAM in the afternoon smells better.

Sometimes there is some goodness to be smelled from the concessions at baseball games at Centennial on the way home, and if I time it right the fresh bread at the Albertsons smells good for a half mile. If I am really lucky my house smells good when I get home.

Glorious Skills

So there I was rocking down the gb and I see this guy riding a big blue cruiser bike. I use the term riding loosely, and, for that matter I use the term rocking loosely too. You see I was running – and by running I mean trundling which is my angry equivalent of running. Technically I don’t think I have been able to achieve an actual run yet, but I am way past waddling.

By the way, running? It still sucks, and it is still a survival skill – not a sport. For me anyway.

Right, so anyway, dude on the cruiser wasn’t really riding the bike. I’m actually not sure what he was doing. He had his feet on the pedals and the cranks in the horizontal position. He was standing up, and wait for it, wait for it – going no hands. In fact, not only was he going no hands he was doing some kind of yoga dance shit with his arms.

In the short time that our paths crossed he slowly put one arm out to the side and looked along it. Then he put it down and slowly put the other arm out to other side and looked along it. It was all kind of zen-ish, and I have to say – freaking glorious. It makes me all calm just thinking about it.

Yeah, those are the kinds of skills that make chicks want him and make dudes want to be like him.

I am totally going to try that the next time I am on my bike.

Umm,no I’m not.

I do want to see someone do it on rollers though.

Miscellaneous Baggery

So the local bike racing season started a week or so ago without me. I haven’t been able to get my collective crap together well enough to act like a bike racer yet this year. I’ve had a number of lame excuses, and some not so lame, but ultimately it doesn’t matter and I have been left observing the first few races from afar.

No, I didn’t go watch. For me watching bike races that I could be in is kinda like watching your kid get circumcised. Yeah, I stand there with my knees locked together holding my junk in my hands and my breath in my lungs. Right, so I have issues.

Well anyway, yeah, didn’t watch – I just looked at who signed up and checked the results afterwards.

One of the most interesting parts of spring racing is seeing what has changed from the prior year. There are all kinds of different guys in the first few races…

There is ‘oh thank god that guy cat’ed up guy’ – yup sometimes there is mercy in cycling and it comes when the guys that made your lungs and legs burn the previous year move to a new category. Of course there are all the other ‘oh thank god that guy cat’ed up guys’ that just moved up into your category to make your lungs bleed this year.

Then there is the ‘OMG that guy cat’ed up guy?’ – when someone cats up and it clearly will not end well. You know, unless they got a new doctor in the off-season.

And of course there is t‘sandbagger guy’ – you know, the guy that won three spring series races last year and looks o do the same thing in the same category this year. Yeah, mix in an upgrade bagger. Not that it particularly matters to me – I will finish 13th regardless who is racing – but If I were finishing like 2nd- 4th I might be hunting your pets. Just saying.

Of course there is also ‘OMG that guy cat’ed down guy’. Usually this is accompanied by an unfortunate turn in health or situation, either of which is sad to hear about. Sometimes however the move appears to be related to a shuffle in the racing groupings – which rings of miscellaneous baggery.

Oh yeah, and there is also the ‘that guy is racing for them now? guy’ when someone changes teams from the previous years. It is usually tied to one of the first two guys above, but can also sometimes be tied to miscellaneous baggery.

Anyway, it has been interesting to watch from the outside looking in this year. In the Jason Broome TT I was pleased to see that Kristo Jorgneson was ‘oh thank god that guy cat’ed up guy’ and has moved on to kicking other peoples asses. Actually I think I only raced against him once or twice last year, but I definitely remember him being ‘oh god that guy is on the front again guy’ during the Slammer last year.

And speaking of the Slammer, props to anyone who showed up to this years Slammer yesterday. I couldn’t even seem to get my bike out of the garage yesterday. It was a bit breezy. I am pretty sure if I were racing that the minute the race turned into the wind I would have flipped the u-turn and rocked that tailwind all the way home and come back for my car later. I have to admit that it cracks me up a little bit that we got an email earlier in the week pimping the forecasted good weather for the race. Yup, light wind, like I said I wasn’t there but I am guessing it was a light 40 mph, with an occasional kiss of 50 mph? Refreshing.

So I am planning on integrating into the racing seen sometime around the Chicken Dinner RR. Yeah, I think I am going to go for a solid DNF in that race and try to follow it up with another stellar 13th or so at Emmett-Roubaix. Of course I haven’t ruled out any miscellaneous baggery myself yet.

Above Grade Level Manipulation?

My 7 year old son has been trying to get me to buy him more Pokemon cards for the past week or so.

Today he came home and told me he wants a hamster.

I told him no.

He reiterated that he really wanted a hamster because they are cool.

I told him no.

He dejectedly told me that maybe he could just get some Pokemon cards instead.

I told him 'well played'.

He smiled.

Will I Always Be 10?

The cascading disasters in Japan are nothing short of a horrific tragedy.

I have to admit though, every time I see the word Fukushima the 10 year old boy english speaking boy in me giggles a bit - as in 'who is this shima guy and why do..." Um, never mind.

What? Like I am the only one.

Use the Force...

My wife's latest ebay purchase came in the mail yesterday...



Yeah, thats right. Over $8 in star wars stamps.

Well actually there are some boat stamps on there too.

I'm guessing if your ebay purchase comes postaged like this it's a not a good sign. You know, unless you ordered Star Wars underwear or something.

Bikes Are Smarter Than Trucks.

So normally when the time changes I just leave the clock in my car an hour off for several months. Not this year baby! Yeah at a stoplight I got an unforeseen surge in ambition and was able to correct the time before the light changed.

Yeah, I know. I rock.

But hey, how come my bike computer is smart enough to change the time for me - but my truck, which is like 10,000 times larger and 1,500 times more expensive is not? I'm just saying...

Oh, but daylight savings still sucks. I am leaving the lights on all day in protest. Those bastards.

That Was Close

Whew that was close! I didn't have anything to write about so I was going to write about the 'education reform' in Idaho.

Yeah, I was going to say how education reform was a thinly veiled opportunity for the legislature to go all BOHICA on the teachers union - the only organization in this backassward state with the strength to stand against the GOP for the last 20 years or so.

Then I was going to say that as disappointing as the performance by our legislators, governor, and education superintendent were - the performance by the teachers union was worse. I mean, this shouldn't have been a surprise - the only new idea presented this year was the trading teachers for laptops thing - and that was just a distraction. The other stuff has been lurking since Luna took office, what - 4 years ago?

And then I would spout for a while about while they should have been extolling the benefits of the teachers union and formulating their own plan to cut budgets the, teachers union goes all junior high girl and starts coordinating wardrobes, and having candlelight vigils. Seriously? Is that the best you could come up with? We know from past experience (term limits) that when the legislature has BOHICA on it's mind it doesn't matter if 95% of people are against it.

Right, then I would write a bit about how I am only an in-law of the teachers union and I am embarrassed. Yeah, someone was asleep at the wheel. Someone should be looking for ways to capitalize on this uproar and start shopping for new leadership too.

Damn, I was afraid I would have to go into all that until I saw this guy going Fabian Cancellara on the way home.



So I see this guy weaving through traffic behind me down Front St. I'm thinking the dude must be doped up like Contador to be passing all those cars on a mountain bike. I took the picture when he raced past me.

Bloody hell dude. If you are going to be boner and ride a motorized bike maybe you should rock it down the shoulder of the road. And if you must rock it in the middle of the road maybe you shouldn't weave between cars. In the rain. In low light. During rush hour. And if you must do all that the least you could do is wear a freak'n helmet so when you crash they don't have to spend as many of my tax dollars to put your uninsured ass back together.

Actually I don't know if he has insurance, but I am thinking there is probably an inverse relationship between motorized bicycle riding and insurance purchasing. I am just guessing.

I'm just guessing, but motorized bikes and 4 or 5 lane roads probably won't mix well for long. Maybe you should try the gb. Maybe we could race.

Anyhow, whew, glad I didn't have to write about that education thing.

Halfway There

The halfway point on my bike commute between home and work is on the Isle of Alternative Lifestyle in Garden City. Sometimes when I go past there - and by sometimes I mean every freaking time - I think to myself, ‘self, I’m halfway there’.

And then I think to myself - and by think to myself I mean singing out loud - ‘WHOA-O living on a prayer datta datta da da…’ I would sing more but I don’t know the words. Knowing the words of a Bon Jovi song is a violation of man law.

Freaking Bon Jovi.

I realize that singing Bon Jovi ballads while wearing spandex on the Isle of Alternative Lifestyle is probably a bad idea, but somehow I just can’t help it.

If you don’t believe me you could come down and loiter on Isle and wait for me to go past – but I think that might be a misdemeanor.

You should all try it. I mean singing out loud at the halfway point, not loitering on the Isle of Alternative Lifestyle. Unless, you know, that’s how you role.

Making Progress

I remembered this morning why I was going to buy fenders for my commuter bike. I don’t really know why I never did buy fenders, but I think it probably has something to do with me being a cheap bastard. And likely a vain bastard.

All wet diaper wearing aside though, it was a good commute. I only got buzzed by one school bus – Meridian #710 (yes, I was watching ass hole), and didn’t flip anyone off. Yeah, today was better than yesterday. See yesterday I found out that my favorite football player was going to be on dancing with the stars. Damn it! You better as hell win Hines Ward.

As bad as that is the day before was worse. Yeah, my son said that to be a man you have to be rocking a mustache. Someone pointed out that his dad didn’t have a mustache and his response was something like ‘oh, that’s too bad’.

Right, and the day before the day before was worse than that. Yup. My son reiterated that he wants to be a snowboarder next year. Ugh. All those years of calling snowboarders knuckle draggers and gays on trays is coming back to bite me in the ass.

Well at least things are headed the right direction.

Jesus Drives a Honda

Well the numbers all aligned for me today. After months of not riding my bike to work the numbers all combined to force me to start rocking the gb again.

Yup. First gas got expensive again. Then I got fat again. Either that or I got fat then gas got expensive – I’m not sure which happened first. I’m not sure if there is a relationship. Right, so I won’t bore you with the details, you care as much about my gas expenses and fatitude as I care about the watts you put out on your last training ride (that is somewhere between very little and not at all).

What is freaking awesome though is that I am now again sharing my commute with miscellaneous freaks and deviants in the bike lanes and bike paths of Boise. That pretty much rocks.

Yeah, my wife told me I should take a gun. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t considered it in the past, but guns are heavy and they just don’t go that well with spandex... “Is that a gun in your shorts or are you just happy to see me?”... Um, that would be a gun. Besides, ammunition is expensive so that would cancel out any financial benefit of not driving. I could take a knife or maybe throwing stars but my ninja skills are somewhat questionable.

So rocking to work today I noticed it had been a long freaking time since the last time I rode to work. So long in fact that there was a bridge today where there didn’t used to be one. It had a dirt path around it where I had to go all dirtbag dash. That was, um, dirty. Nice, a new bridge. I was just thinking I needed another way into Garden City.

Yeah, that was nice but not as nice as the new sections of smoothness near Ann Morrison and Julia Davis Parks. That significantly reduced the jigglosity of the ride. Which is good, because I am rolling with some serious bouncitude.

Not to mention my newly acquired male tenderness.


Um, I saw this car the other day. The license plate says IAMKING. The license plate holder says Jesus is the king of kings (you are gonna hafta trust me).



Well that answers that question. Jesus is back. And he drives a Honda. Well duh, what else would he drive, a Prius? I think not.

He goes to church on 36th. That’s where he turned off. Jesus. Not a Prius.

I have seen some vain vanity plates before, but wow, really? I am guessing that if Jesus came back he wouldn’t need vanity plates to tell you who he was – but then I am no religious expert.

Sorry. Had to change the subject from male tenderness. Not going there again.

Presidents Day Celebration

You know what I hate?

I hate it when I send someone an email which clearly requires a response – and I don’t get one. I mean if you want me to bugger off I am ok with that. Just say it. But not responding at all, well that’s just rude.

Maybe there should be a bugger off button in your email. Like right by the delete X. If you hit the bugger off button it would automatically send a response that says F U and then delete the original message. That would make the world a better place.

Speaking of making the world a better place I had a disturbing weekend. What with all the civil wars, demonstrations, flooding, earthquaking , magnetic pole swapping and sunspotting I almost went out and purchased ammunition. You know, for the end of the world. I was thinking that I would rather face the end of the world with ammunition than without. I decided that when I read ‘The Road’. Yup, don’t want to end up like that guy.

Right, so I did say almost. It was a strange, strange, Glenn Beck moment.

And then things got more disturbing.

So we have this gingerbread house that we built for the holidays. Well it is still sitting around our house because someone promised the 7 year old we would blow it up. It was either the chemistry teacher mother or the slightly imbalanced father.

Yeah, so I decided it had to go on Monday.

What better way to celebrate Presidents Day than to blow something up right?

Well I scoured the house for blowuppable materials and the best I could come up with was black powder. Yes, there is black powder at my house. I know, I know, that’s fucked up – but sometimes I like to play Daniel Boone.

Anyway, yeah, I took enough black powder to kill about 2.5 elk and put it under the gingerbread house and made a little black powder trail to where I was going to hide behind the barbeque.

I knew it was a moderately bad idea all along, but at the same time I was pretty sure I would escape mostly unharmed so I rolled with it. Besides, my son and the neighbor kid were there egging me on and there is no kind of peer pressure like the kind of pressure you get from your own kid. (Who ironically isn’t supposed to be your peer).

The neighbor kid recorded it on his iPhone. I may be on facebook or youtube as I write this.

Have you ever seen on tv when they make a long line of gun powder and they light it and it fizzes along until it hits the powder keg? Yeah, well, it doesn’t really work like that. Pretty much the all of the powder ignites at once.

Anyhow, there was this big flash, a foooooosh sound, and a crap load of smoke.

I learned two things. One, 2.5 dead elk worth of black powder isn’t enough to blow up a gingerbread house if you don’t seal everything up real well. Two, the combination of burning black powder and burning gingerbread smells a lot like ass. And continues to smell like ass two days later.

Oh, and burning black powder stains concrete.

Next time I think I will use fireworks. Or maybe just throw it away.

Stepping In

So I went to spin class today. There I was minding my own business, you know, hoping that no large smelly people chose a bike near mine – when this dude comes in and starts setting up on the bike in front of me.

It’s ok though, he wasn’t large or smelly. I had even seen him there before and talked to him – he seemed somewhat normal.

I say seemed, because I am pretty sure now that he isn’t normal. You see, after he got the bike set up he proceeded to put on his heart rate monitor...

Now, I am no expert, but I have seen a few heart rate chest straps put on in my day. You see that kind of stuff when you go to bike races. I have even strapped one on myself a few times. It normally consists of licking the little terminals, hiking up your shirt, wrapping the strap around yourself, then connecting the ends.

Yes, that’s right, I am a licker. I don’t have much time for heart rate monitor hygiene. The world is going to end in 2012 you know. I don’t want to waste any time wetting the terminals of my chest strap that I could use doing something else.

Honestly, I am not sure if dude licked the ends or not, but what I am sure of is that he ‘stepped in’ to his chest strap. I probably wouldn’t have even noticed but there was an awkward moment when it got caught up on his shorts.

Maybe it’s just me, but that’s a little like putting on your underwear over your head. Who the hell does that? I mean really.

Hell, I don’t know. Maybe everyone does it like that. But they do make the ends so they disconnect. There is that.

Anyway, thank you presidents for having birthdays and allowing for me to take a paid day off work to celebrate that. I hope you all can do the same.

Truly Educated?

My phone with the semi-crappy camera died and now I have a hand me down used phone with a fully crappy camera.

I'm not telling you this seeking crappy phone sympathy, rather, it is just an explanation of the photo provided of the craptacular bumper sticker I saw on my way home. Oh yeah, with hitler.



Right, so I realize you can't read it - that would be akin to finding a donut at a fat kid convention - so I will read it for you...

"The Truly Educated Never Graduate"

Now, I would like to think that means that the truly educated never stop learning - which I agree with. BUT,...

I live in a state where the state schools superintendent thinks that replacing teachers with laptops and paying for it by increasing class sizes will improve the quality of education.

A state where the house of representatives just voted to nullify the federal health care bill. You know, so that Idahoans still have the right to not buy insurance and continue pushing off their medical expenses on people that do buy insurance and pay taxes.

Not to mention dude driving looks like Uncle Jessie and I think the truck might belong to Cooter. You know me, not one to judge based on appearances. But there was some piece of metal dragging under the truck. Like from the last time he jumped a police car. And the other bumper sticker was for an on-line surplus store.

Anyhow, so yeah, I'm sure it means to never stop learning...

Rule #23

So I was driving home last night (with Hitler), and I saw this vanity plate. It said SEXYDEB.

Right. Um vanity plate rule number 23 – if your vanity plate implies that you are sexy, you probably are not. Further, if you are sexy you probably don’t need a vanity plate to advertise it.

There’s $25 you’ll never see again.

I just needed to say that.

It's Easy to Quit

So this weekend I rode my bike outside for the first time since, well, you know.

I started out and pretty much instantly realized that I was moderately uncomfortable. Since I was moderately uncomfortable I decided that I may as well ride with a group so I planned to intersect some folks I knew were out for a group ride.

I was successful at intersecting and rode moderately uncomfortably with them for a while until the ride notched up to fully uncomfortable at which point I turned around and went home. It’s easy to quit after you get kicked in the nuts.

Right, so I went home and rocked the low grade ‘I got kicked in the nuts’ feeling for the rest of the day. Of course, you know, I didn’t know if it was just a random ‘I got kicked in the nuts’ feeling or if it was a ‘I shouldn’t have ridden my bike; I got kicked in the nuts feeling’. Its hard to tell the difference between the two, except for one normally involves a bike ride.

Anyway, yeah, I wasn’t sure so I did it again on Sunday. This time without the group. I was just mildly uncomfortable all by myself. That was awesome. Except for that ‘I got kicked in the nuts’ feeling.

Did You Just Post That Out Loud?

Let me get this out of the way right up front. Pretty much everything you read after this point is going to be offensive. Maybe even nausea inducing. There will be potty words, inappropriate anatomical references, grotesque metaphors, and generally tmi.

Well, I mean, more of that stuff than there normally is. So if you are a person that is bothered by this type of thing you might stop here. Or you might get over yourself and keep reading. It’s up to you.

Right, so I had a vasectomy. I really hate that word. Pretty much anything that ends in ‘ectomy’ or ‘scopy’ is bad, and I try not to even say them. That said, ‘getting clipped’ doesn’t do it justice. ‘Getting fixed’ implies you were broken before, which I wasn’t – not there anyway. Sterilized might work, but sounds too soap and waterish. ‘Vas’ sounds euro. ‘The procedure’ sounds pretentious. Victimized might be accurate but isn’t specific enough. So yeah, I was vasectomized. Good times.

I had thought to tell you all about it, you know, do a service to all the other fools – but a little research indicated that many, many people have already done that. Turns out I am not the first smart ass to have ‘it’ done, – so I refer you here. Or reprinted below with my comments.

Gord's Guide to Vasectomy

First off, there are the drugs. You get two valium. You are supposed to pop them down your gullet about a half hour before the procedure. Apparently there was problem with guys clutching their privates and rocking back and forth in crazy-eyed terror in the waiting room.

So I only got one valium. Shit. From what my wife tells me most of the other guys in the waiting room looked stoned. I didn’t notice, I was too busy trying not to clutch my junk and rock back and forth.

The doctors don’t like that. It’s bad for business. So they give you a couple downers and hope that you don’t drool too much on their five-year-old copy of Field and Stream.

My doctors copy of Field and Stream was only 6 months old. But it’s not like I could read it.

Well, I’m a smallish person, so I only took one. I figured that one valium would be plenty to get me mellow (and I would have a little party-pill locked away afterward, should I ever want it.)

It would be good to have an emergency valium. Or eight.

Important Vasectomy Tip #1. Take both pills one hour prior to your appointment. I was sweating like a whore in church while I waited for them to call my name. The drugs didn’t kick in until after I had a hole in my sack.

Right. That would be a good tip if you had multiple valium. I rolled in with a little buzz on, but hardly what I needed to prevent teeth grinding, shaking and profuse sweating. I tried to act like I wasn’t worried, you know, because I am a guy – but I don’t think it was working. I am not really an advocate of medical marijuana, but if there was ever an application I think this might be the time.

The nurse led me to the operating room, and handed me a blanket. She said I could use it for “privacy” after I took off my clothes. Privacy? Wha? You’re going to shave my balls? What exactly am I going to keep private? I threw the blanket on a chair with my clothes and reclined in naked glory. When the nurse returned, she looked at me and smirked. She hefted my unit up onto my belly and covered the top..oh, 18 inches or so with the blanket “to keep everything out of the way.”

Yup, living large. They taped it out of the way and framed the boys with miscellaneous sheets. So there you are all covered up except for the one part of you that wants to be covered up – that’s exposed.

Then the doctor walked in, grabbed the razor, and got down to the business of shaving my trembling, wrinkled scrotum.

I clearly got ripped off. Only one valium, and I had to shave my own balls. Yeah, that was, um, weird. So whats the first thing you do when you have to do something you have never done before? That’s right, google it. Right, so yeah, if you google shaving your bits don’t dig too deep into the results, you might find yourself somewhere you didn’t mean to go. Turns out there are other reasons to remove the hair from your man parts than vasectomies. Go figure.

Anyhow, there I am with the clippers… Oh God. And then the razor… ugh. One slip and you don’t need the procedure right? Like woops! There are my bits on the floor. I gotta say all those years of leg shaving paid off nicely here. Finally I know the real reason cyclists do that. I only cut myself once, but when I came to the bleeding had stopped. I recommend you start practicing now.

Every time the nut-doctor went to shift anything, he’d give me a warning first. “I’m going to work on the other side now.” It cracked me up. Like I’m going to suddenly say, “Hold it, doc. You shave the left side, and that’s cool. But you shave over Mr. Right, and I might turn gay.” Once he was done shaving, he uttered the words every man dreads when a he’s spread eagle, naked, in front of a stranger – “Nurse, fetch the zucchini.” Just kidding. He said, “This is going to sting.” Sting is what a bee does when you step on it. Sting is how it feels to get shot with a BB gun. Sting is not the sensation of a needle boring into your scrotum. There should be another word for that sensation. A bigger, scarier word. A word like “strazoogalachalachowie.”


Shit yeah it hurts. The needle prick isn’t so bad, but then they inject magma from the river of death in the bowels of hell. I don’t know how they get magma from the river of death in the bowels of hell, but I know that’s what they use. So it was right about the time the magma hit that I realized that a man’s balls are connect to every other part of his body. Not by the nervous system mind you, something far less elegant – more like a series of fish hooks connected by string. That’s why my eyeballs almost sucked in and my toes curled in and locked up. Fortunately it only hurts for a few seconds before your left nut turns into one of those Styrofoam balls. Why is it always the left one?



But no. I got “stung.” Then the Doc cut a hole in my sack and started fishing around. My nuts wanted nothing to do with this. They retreated to the back of the room and tried hide. Vasectomy Tip #2 – It hurts. Don’t believe the guys who tell you otherwise. When the most sensitive area of your body is opened up and prodded, it hurts. Why there is even debate on this, is beyond me.

Yeah, did I mention it hurts. I am giving it a solid 7. Maybe some peaks of 8 or so, but averaging out to 7. You know what hurts the worst though? Yeah, remember when I told you they taped the member out of the way? Well right, they rip the tape off at the end. My man filter failed and colorful combination of f-bombs, s-words and even a JC came out at considerable volume. Tearing tape off the Johnson – that’s a 9.

At this time, I think I need to send a special shout out to the women who are reading this. Before you send me the “That’s nothing compared to what a woman goes through during birth / hysterectomy / gang-bang” email, let me just tell you to please shut your pie-holes. I know. Women are tougher than men and we all know it. I’m sure if you ladies had scrotums, you’d pound them with bricks and wouldn’t even flinch. I don’t want to hear about it.

Yeah, what he said.

Vasectomy Tip #3- Valium is your friend. Finally, mercifully, the valium kicked in. It was like being drunk – good drunk, riding the crest of the perfect ethyl wave. I was high. I was, in my opinion, a brilliant conversationalist. I was funny…no, I was hysterical. Shucking and jiving with the professionals attending to my crotch, I didn’t have a care in the world. A scotch and soda would be nice though. And maybe pants. Ya, pants… I was a riot. I was so busy laying down my drug-induced comedy routine that I barely noticed when the doctor picked up what must have been H.R. Giger’s crochet hook and stuck it into my sack-hole. It was funny, in a Jackass sort of way. I almost made a joke about him crocheting an afgan out of my vas deferens. But when he hooked Mr. Left’s delicate tether, and tugged it out the hole, nothing was funny. It was a baaaaaaaaaad feeling – sort of a cross between getting kicked in the ‘nads and pulling your intestines out your ass. The doctor cut the cord. He tied the ends into elaborate knots (either Botswain’s whistle knots or jug-sling hitches, its hard to recall), and he cauterized the whole mess with an industrial-grade soldering iron. Then he repeated the process with Mr. Right’s plumbing. When the whole thing was over, the doc crammed my wounded spaghetti back into the sack and stitched it up.

I clearly did not have enough valium. I mean, I did have to bite my tongue to prevent myself from laughing at the absurdity of the whole thing. And I did have to fight not to hum the ‘I’ve Got Big Balls’ song that was running in my head. Not to mention I wasn’t really phased by the sound and smell of burning man flesh, which likely was my own. Mostly I sat there worrying about the inevitable second injection of magma. Why in the hell do you have two nuts anyway?. Sometimes redundancy sucks.

Vasectomy Tip #4 – It’s not over until you say it’s over For what its worth, getting stitches in my bag wasn’t as bad as it sounds. It was already numb there. The bad part comes days later, when you get your stitches caught in your underwear just prior to taking a pee in a public restroom, and you nearly bite your tongue off trying not to squeal while the guy at the urinal next to you pretends like he doesn’t notice you gyrating and chewing on your tongue. They say that the recovery period is supposed to last two to three days. It took me about a week before I stopped trying to walk AROUND my ice-covered crotch. I spent the week trying to avoid (with marginal success) anything that might move, jar, strain, jiggle, or otherwise traumatize my junk. Some of the post ballbag-cutting activities one should steer clear of include: walking, running, driving a stick, sitting in any position that does not allow you to keep your legs spread like a Tijuana hooker during Fleet Week, and, of course, getting punched in the junk by a three-year-old child. Explaining to Junior that “we need to be gentle with Daddy” from a fetal position on the kitchen floor was not one of my better moments in parenting. There were a couple longer-term effects too. Effect #1 was the bruising. I won’t go into details here, but let’s just say “stuff turned black.” Effect #2 was that I carried around the low-grade got-whacked-in-the- cajones-half-an-hour-ago feeling for about a month. But it’s over now. And I thank the gods of modern medical science that the operation did not go south like the one on my foot. I don’t know if I could have dealt with packing an infected scrotum with sterile gauze. Am I glad I did it? Hell yes. They say that after the surgery, a married man can go from having sex once a month, to TWELVE TIMES a year!


I implied to my facebook friends that the boys swelled to basketballs – but that was a bald lie. Didn’t even make nectarines. Golf balls maybe. But smoother. There was a bit of smurfiness too, but I didn’t even notice till I built up the courage to lift up my bits and look at the incisions.

The first few days were below average, but not too bad. Never underestimate the effect of frozen vegetables on your junk. I may never eat another pea, but that is ok.

Here I am a week and a half out, the incisions are all but healed and the stitches all but dissolved and I am still concerned about blowing a stitch and having spaghetti in my pants. That would be bad. Spaghetti in the pants. Nothing good could come of that.

Against my better judgment I rode my bike this weekend. It was largely uneventful, but I have to say it is difficult to pedal around your nuts. I’m afraid I was rather duckish, and there is nothing I hate more than duckish bike riders.

I suppose this too shall pass. It will be a few more days before I am secure in the belief my insides will, you know, stay inside, but its rolling.

So now there is only one more hurdle. It seems you have to provide some samples over the next few months to confirm your hardly earned sterility. I gotta say I am a little nervous. Not about that part, I can do that part. Not sure about the cup, but I will work that out.

The part I am nervous about is the part where you do turn it in to the doctors office. I’m pretty sure It will go like this…

Me: “yeah, I have a sample to get analyzed”

Old lady receptionist: “A sample of what?”

Me: “um, sperm. Wel,l I mean hopefully not sperm. Hopefully the other stuff. I had a vasectomy.”

Old lady receptionist: “Semen, do you mean semen?”

Me: “um, yeah, ok”

Old lady receptionist: (through the PA system) “lab assistant to the front desk. Mr Angry is here with his semen sample”

At that point all the younger women will giggle and point, the old people in the waiting room will scowl, the new vasectomy patients will grab their junk and rock, and I will shrivel up just a little bit.

Yup. The gift that keeps on giving.