Megablog

2011-07-24T23:07:00.002-05:00

I took most of the month of June off from riding. It seemed like an excellent idea at the time, until my asthma started to flare up. I had no idea I still had asthma or that it could come back and ruin my life until a few months ago...plus I was turning into a huge tub of lard. When I was a kid I was prescribed cough medicine laced with codeine and alcohol to treat my breathing problems...doctors did things differently back then.

I have spent most of the month of July riding. About 200 miles a week. I'm breathing just fine. I'm in semi-decent shape. No codeine required.

Saturday was my off day, so I spent most of the day watching cartoons and the local car dealer program that runs from noon to one p.m. Dragonball Z Kai is currently broadcast in repeats on channel 11.1, but I missed a few episodes. Frieza transformed into something frightening and horrible...and his power level made it to one million. There's really nowhere else to go from here. Worlds will be destroyed.

I went for a ride fairly late in the afternoon. It was around one hundred degrees when I started, but, for whatever reason, I was feeling really motivated. At the halfway point I was swinging around a 21 mph average for a 70 mile ride...solo. After 50 miles, reality crushed down upon me like a shattering blow from the reptilian claw of Lord Frieza. I tried as hard as I could to maintain a 20 mph average, but I couldn't do it. I ended up with a 19.5 mph average for the ride.

I was pretty pleased with my effort for the ride.

On Tuesday, I rode up to Spanish Lake after work for a total of around sixty miles. It was a much less eventful than the previous ride. I never really tried that hard and ended up averaging around 18 mph. I discovered a filling station on an acropolis above highway 270 that was selling two Powerades for two bucks. I chose two bottles of White Cherry for my twenty mile ride home. I enjoyed one, and saved one for later.

Which brings us into the present. I was planning another lengthy ride for Wednesday since it was my day off. I was lying around the house and attempting to store up some energy when BVD called me. I swear I have not ridden with this guy since my last blog post. We decided that we would meet up somewhere in the vicinity of the McKinley Bridge.

I was averaging 19 mph when I met up with BVD. After latching onto the train, my average promptly dropped to around 16 mph. We rode over to Forest Park to check out what was going on over there. In one hundred degree heat, it wasn't much. Only the dumbest women were brave enough to jog and exercise around the park in skimpy clothing on such a hot day. Normally, I find stupid women really attractive, but not on this day.

It was a slow and painful ride, considering the heat and intensity of the sun. I wound up riding 80 miles in five hours for an average speed of 16 mph. I was mildly sunburned, probably because I don't usually start my rides so early in the day. I limped home the last 25 miles after parting ways with BVD at the Glen Carbon Casey's. It hurt a lot, but I was riding home to seven beers, a partially eaten tub of potato salad, and a couple of slices of pizza in my fridge. Yum!

2011-04-30T20:26:00.002-05:00

What about the voice of Geddy Lee? How did it get it so high? I wonder if he speaks like an ordinary guy?

I have been riding on the BVD express for the last week. Last Saturday I headed up to the Rister ranch for an 80 mile ride in Calhoun county that would almost certainly jerk numerous tears out of a weaker individual. The ride consisted of the perfect triumvirate of Bobby, me, and D4L. Tim and I continuously attacked each other while BVD would fly past us when we sat up. In a way it was my hardest ride of the year, since I haven't really been riding with other people. I also haven't been riding up hills that top out at a 26 percent grade and average in the 20's. I'm not even sure how they paved this particular road. My lowest gear is 39x23 and I was weaving from one side of the road (wall) to another. By the top (which was only around 21 percent according to Tim) my arms were quivering and I was fighting as hard as possible not to collapse on the road, break down into tears, and cry for my mommy.

No worries. We finished the ride. Bob complained the most, Tim was the strongest, and I was the most opportunistic...just because I'm not used to drafting people (this year). It was nice to grab a wheel, then attack...only to get attacked by the person on my wheel. It was nice to engage in healthy competition with a few friends. It was also nice to sit around, drink Milwaukee's Best Light, and reminisce about better (2006!) times.

This Saturday, Bob and I participated in a sequel to the Calhoun ride with McGibbs playing the roll of D4L. This time we started from Edwardsville and rode to Carlyle Lake. It was a perfect day, the sun was shining, and the wind was blowing. Things started out innocently enough with everyone spinning along in the small chain ring. But it wasn't long before Gibbs demonstrated his dominance. The guy rides way too much for my taste, so I decided not to attack him. I took a few strong pulls during the ride, but that was pretty much it. Gibbs laid it down and pretty much pulled Bobby and I the last fifty miles of a 105 mile ride. I'm not going to lie to you, I was glad to let somebody else do the work for once on a ride. Riding solo get's old after a very short period of time. Thank you McGibbs.

Back at Bob's house, we discussed the pros and cons of a funkiller like Gibbs. Pro: Gibbs is so strong we had no chance of dropping him. Con: Gibbs is so strong we had no chance of dropping him. If you can't beat him, join him.

2011-04-02T01:47:00.002-05:00

My cat, Cubby, died on Tuesday. When I got home I found her on the floor on her side. Her body was making noises but she was too tough to show any pain or acknowledge that she was dying. I picked her up and carried her to my bed. She had a few seizures, vomited a few times, and finally passed away. I could tell she was already dead, even though she kept breathing for several minutes.

I wish more people were like Cubby. Cubby never complained, was never sick (other than the kidney failure that ultimately killed her), and never showed any weakness...none whatsoever. Cubby never gave a flying fuck about anybody but herself and her source of food (me). I care about more things than Cubby and my next meal, but that makes me weak. I wish I could be as tough as Cubby.

2011-03-24T18:59:00.002-05:00

The mini-hearse finally made it on the evening news. Some gun-wielding nut was caught possessing a concealed weapon at my store several days ago. The police arrested him and took him into custody. He was attempting to make some kind of misguided point about the second amendment.

I would have had no idea any of that happened if I hadn't been watching the evening news. While I was watching the evening news, the mini-hearse popped out against a spartan, consumerist skyline in one of the stock shots...muscular, sexy, and far-beyond capable. Black steel...curved, and ready to pounce. American strength...indefatigable.

A mini-hearse would never step into a Walmart with a gun on it's belt. That might scare grandma while she is busy shopping on one of the store's scooters. A mini-hearse would stoop down to tie your shoelaces if they were flapping around helplessly. Grandpa would approve.

2011-03-23T22:34:00.002-05:00

My off days this week were Tuesday and Wednesday. Originally, I thought it was a bunch of crap not to get at least one weekend day off, but I was excited to get two whole days in a row off. That is a rarity. Then mother nature decided that my two off days were going to be the last nice days we are going to see for quite some time.

I took advantage of the situation and rode 110 miles on Tuesday in about six hours. I rode over to Illinois and took Fruit Road to the old Apple Pie road course. It was nostalgic to ride those roads again. The last time I rode there was with Bobby Van Daley, chasing Jack Daugherty on his motor scooter. I think it was 2007. I have never felt better on a long ride. Originally, I had planned to ride 80 or 90 miles, but things were going so well I tacked on twenty or thirty miles. I was somewhat disappointed that I only averaged 17 mph over my last 30 miles, but you can only do so much on a six hour ride.

The next day, I decided to take my mountain bike out to Greensfelder for several hours of riding. I ended up riding three hours and thirty miles in several laps of the park. My plan was to improve my skills, update my muscle memory, but most importantly, break in some new gear that I plan on using, on the Ozark trail in the next several months. Because...let's face it...it's mountain biking season. I'm primed and ready for a five or six hour mountain bike ride on the OT.

2011-03-17T23:33:00.003-05:00

I assume everyone has situations, sounds, circumstances, or random things that trigger memories of certain songs. Right now I can't help but think of "The Ghost of Tom Joad" covered by Rage Against the Machine, every time I ride by the homeless community near the beginning of the Riverfront trail. Bruce Springsteen did a bang up job of writing the song, but he didn't really do his own words the justice that Rage did them several years later. Maybe partial writing credit should go to John Steinbeck for writing the Grapes of Wrath. Tom Joad wouldn't exist otherwise. But how many living people have any clue who John Steinbeck is? I guess it's a bad idea to die.

I'm not homeless or dead yet, though sometimes, both prospects are very appealing. I stumbled into my first century of the year on St. Patrick's day, maybe because of lack of fear or a sufficient amount of stupidity. I had this memory from a few years ago of riding through Soulard in front of a bunch of revelers in my old green team kit on the holiday and I knew I had to do it again this year. I took it a step further by attempting to ride at least a hundred miles. The attempt was a success. I rode one hundred miles in five hours and forty minutes. I wrote the numbers as words to express how long this ride took. It took a long freaking time!

I don't know what the deal is with Soulard this year, but people have really decided that they are going to spend huge chunks of their lives partying, parading, and drinking themselves into oblivion. Maybe it just seems worse because Mardi Gras and St. Patrick's day were so close together this year. What's next? Hold a parade and perpetual party as an excuse to stay drunk until Easter is over? I think it's pretty sad that people need excuses to be alcoholics. In my opinion, no excuse is necessary.

I incorrectly assumed that my bike would be in perfect shape and ready to ride when I rolled out of bed at 10:30 am on Thursday morning. Nope! It was still dirty and had water dripping from it, from a sixty mile ride that I took a week ago in forty degree rain. On that ride, I came close to suffering the effects of hypothermia on that forgettable ride. I lost the use of my hands about fifteen miles from home. It's pretty tough to pull your brake levers at random stop signs when your hands don't work.

While I was attempting to degrease my chain and clean it, I noticed that one of the rollers at the quick-connect link was about to fall off. Astutely, I decided to measure for chain stretch and learned that it was at least 3/16 of an inch over 12 inches. Holy shit! I had a new chain ready, so I immediately decided to discard the old chain before it could do more damage to my drivetrain. With extreme wear and tear present, I decided to check the cassette as well. The 17 tooth cog was completely done. I guess I should pay more attention to my bike, but I really don't ride it that often. I ended up swapping my chain, cassette for a Dura Ace (lucky me), and tire.

How long does it take to partially overhaul a bike like that? Answer: a really long time. Somehow I made it out my front door at 1:15 pm and managed to ride until it got dark. I've never seen so many drunk people in green shirts in my entire life. I think America has become addicted to Bud Light.

Here's a piece of advice. When you hear or feel your tire thumping don't ignore it until you get warmed up and find a convenient place to pull over and check it. That one didn't work so well for me. By the time I finally pulled over to check my tire, about an hour into my ride, I could see the tube bulging out between the rim and bead of the tire. The bead of the tire didn't get hooked into the bead of the rim on the last little final section that's so hard to roll onto the rim because I was using an old tire with the beads cut off as a tire-liner. Damage had been done to my tire, but the extra tire helped everything stay together for the next 80 miles of my ride.

I feel pretty good on the bike lately, but I'm a little slower than I want to be. It sucks to get old. I can ride all day at a leisurely pace, but for what? To ride past a bunch of bums who refuse to work in fast food restaurants and live in somebody's basement? "Look in their eyes ma, you'll see me!"

2011-03-12T22:53:00.004-06:00

I feel really ripped off right now, because I'm about to lose an hour of sleep to daylight savings. I slept 13 hours last night because it was my day off...but you can never get enough sleep. I got so much sleep, that I had several dreams reoccur that I had a few years ago. I have to say, they were really good dreams. One of my best dreams ever was one where I own two cars and I'm still living at my mom's house. If only it were true. I moved out of mom's place in the mid-nineties. There are no more free rides or extra cars available for me in this lifetime.

I had another dream that I met the perfect girl in a motel room with tight white shorts painted onto her body, but lost her forever for some reason. I'm not sure if the reason she didn't want me was because of my total ineptness or what. I thought about this extremely stupid dream critically after waking up. You don't meet the perfect girl at a motel. She had a hot body, but unless you're a slave to your body, beauty is fleeting. I can just imagine how ridiculous she would look, running along the side of some rural highway with shake-weights in her hands, deep into her thirties, trying to break hearts and make lonely guys feel like losers. Sad.

I hate to admit it, but the only reason I got out of bed on Saturday morning was to watch Dragonball Z Kai on channel 11.1 at 10 a.m. Two episodes in a row. They were awesome! I followed that up with a few lesser doses of Yugioh (the original and five D's). Usually, I get out of bed because I'm hungry, but I guess that sometimes isn't enough.

As an aside...My nearest Schnuck's has begun to carry Murphy's Stout. They are selling four packs of pints for $6.49. I was pumped to try a four pack out until I did some research and learned that Murphy's only has an ABV of 4%. I avoided getting the fine beverage several times, until I came up with this solution: drink the entire four pack in an hour. I did that and it worked pretty well. It's a pretty good beer, other than the fact that it's too weak.

Which brings me to my point. Today, I rode 85 miles in just under five hours. Believe it or not, I'm somewhat disappointed. I wanted to ride my geared bike, but it was not ready for action, so I had to take my singlespeed. I had a pretty good ride on the singlespeed but I gave up at least a mile an hour by riding it.

After getting home from my ride and enjoying a few Murphy's Stouts I heard a dog yelping like it had just had its throat ripped out. Worried, I ran to my back door, opened it up, and listened. This is what I heard: "Mommy, he's bleeding everywhere. He's bleeding all over the place. I can't stop it. I can't stop the bleeding." It was really weird. I'm pretty sure it was an older dog attacking a puppy. most of my neighbors have dogs. I'm not going to lie to you, I don't like dogs. That's because they're wild animals and they tend to rip each other's throats out.

I'm a cat person...I feel like a girl, past her prime, in tight white shorts, running alongside a busy highway with shake-weights in her hands.

2011-03-06T21:00:00.002-06:00

I had a decent week, riding 170 miles in six rides. Most of the week consisted of boring and forgettable outings (to call them adventures would be a lie). I get off of work around four p.m. and there's not much daylight left for much riding unless it's the summer solstice and sunset occurs around nine p.m. So, I normally don't make it far from my home on an after-work ride.

Friday was on an off-day for me, so I rode 70 miles over to Illinois in four hours. I ran into Bobby Van Daley of all people. I will not insult his legend by using a nickname, since he has become (in my opinion) a fine...upstanding citizen...and otherwise, a thoroughly boring person. It's what we all strive for in our lives.

My other, somewhat, interesting ride was at Greensfelder. It was Saturday. It was a fairly overcast and wet day. It had already rained some, but I decided to ride off-road anyway. My philosophy about riding off road: you'll never be able to ride in mud, unless you ride in mud. In other words, I don't pay any attention to forecasts or the weather when it comes to riding off-road, since I'm looking to develop the best skills. Dry trails and perfect conditions are for dreamers and idiots. Life is difficult.

I tend to charge right into danger like a complete idiot. Once again, I came out unscathed. The trail was fine. I didn't do any damage or leave a significant trace. The worst parts of the trail were already pretty seriously damaged by equestrians. I did what I could to smooth over all of the hoof-prints left by our horse friends.

As usual, I got lost trying to find my way around the north side of the park. Most of Greensfelder used to be closed to mountain biking. Now everything's open. Thank you, Gorc.

2011-02-27T21:59:00.003-06:00

I rode 117 miles this week, capped off by a 50 mile ride up to Spanish Lake. I somehow managed to average 17 mph in my second week back on a bike in the last several months. Not bad for the 46x16 gear I'm running on my singlespeed road bike. I know I wouldn't have ridden any faster on a geared bike because it's early in the year and I'm not trying that hard yet.

I'm always amazed that the more rural part of Spanish Lake, north of Spanish Lake Park, with multi-acre farmsteads and cornfields never seems to change. The urbanized part of the city with the too-small two bedroom ranch homes and one car attached garages never seems to change either. I have a superfly, tennish mile loop that I ride after exiting the Riverfront Trail at the Chain of Rocks Bridge. I usually do it counterclockwise. As if that weren't enough, there's a road along the loop that is nine miles, out and back, that I can also ride along the loop. It takes you to the confluence of the Mississippi and Missouri rivers. It makes my ride a total of almost sixty miles.

If my power levels are off the charts, I ride over to Illinois. It hasn't happened yet this year, but I'm sure it will happen soon. My power levels are always at their maximum when nobody wants me and the only thing I have to do is ride a bicycle like a kid...or a loser under the jurisdiction of a DUI. Just today, I saw a full grown man riding a purple bike with a mixte toptube. My first thought...DUI! His primary thought: "I'm a winner!"

2011-02-20T23:15:00.002-06:00

After a two month break from riding, I had a pretty good week, riding 77 miles between Thursday and Saturday. I have not yet penetrated Illinois this year, but I know I will soon.

The week before, I took a ride with the Destroyers on the Karkaghne section of the Ozark Trail. It was 18 degrees and snowing at the time. We had to run up most of the hills. Dick, in all of his usual exuberance, was marking off the highest point he reached on every hill. Dick, Gibbs, and I rode together most of the day. Reed and Hall did their own thing, riding back and forth on a snow covered fire-road most of their day. I finally wised up, jumped ship, and took the short cut back to the truck with Reed and Hall. It was an extremely good choice for an out of shape, extremely exhausted, out of shape person to make. Not all of the hand and foot warmers in the world could keep me warm on such an extremely cold day.

I consulted my book after the ride and determined that we were all winners. Especially after checking into Colton's, a bar and grill that served up some incredibly tasty food and beer.

2011-02-13T01:04:00.002-06:00

It was Saturday. I went over to my mom's house, had Chicken Montreal, and watched "The American President" starring Michael Douglas. It's a critically acclaimed movie and very satisfying on a certain level but really disturbing in other ways. I consider myself a liberal democrat but portions of this movie were really creepy and strange. For instance, to think you could ever pry handguns out of the cold, dead hands of card carrying NRA members is about as likely as Charlton Heston coming back to life to make another crappy movie. Michael J. Fox is also really creepy.

My drive home from mom's house was going alright when someone in a Honda pulled in front of me on highway 270 and decreased their speed by at least twenty miles an hour. I was not prepared for this strange reaction and almost ran into the person's rear bumper since I like to maintain my momentum and save on gas. I really, really, don't like to use my brakes when it's not necessary. This person's displeasure seemed to increase as they continued to pump their brakes repeatedly when it was totally unnecessary. I almost ran into their rear bumper a few more times until I was finally able to get around them when we transitioned onto the next highway when there was finally somewhere safe I could pass them on the left side.

I think they just wanted to have control over somebody for one fleeting minute. Pretty sad. If it was an attractive girl, I think I would have been turned on, but I chose not to look at the person. It was probably my loss.

I pulled into my favorite liquor store on the way home and picked up a bomber of Lucky 13 by Lagunitas. I haven't had a bad beer by the company yet. They produce some pretty amazing products.

I made it home without slamming into the bumpers of any insane Honda Accord drivers, opened up an excellent bottle of Lucky 13, and put on a greatest hits record of Leonard Cohen. Leonard Cohen would never ride his brakes. I'm absolutely sure he would always have his foot on the accelerator, looking to the future.

Always look to the future. It's our only hope.

2011-01-25T19:06:00.002-06:00

A few days after I made my last post I noticed that my neighbor's truck had a huge dent in the middle of the right side...probably from jumping a curb and sliding into a trash can at the intersection near my house. It also had a fairly large dent on the left, rear side...probably from running into my other neighbor's delicately built Japanese car with his American built and forged pickup. American steel always wins.

The good neighbor had a for sale in front of his house and he and his car haven't been seen since the day after Christmas. I think he and his family have had enough of living in a neighborhood infested with alcoholic hoosiers. Who could blame the guy?

I also suspect my evil neighbor of stealing Transformer DVD's at my local Target. He probably needed an Optimus Prime fix. Optimus Prime is a 100% American built tractor trailer capable of smashing Japanese cars to bits in any and every collision that would ever occur between a Transformer and a normal car.

It's very disappointing that my new neighbor is a loser. My former neighbor was mr. perfect. He always mowed his lawn and never did anything interesting in his entire life. This new guy is more like me and I really don't like that.

2010-12-28T23:52:00.002-06:00

It's time for a post.

This is why.

It was the day after Christmas. Not a creature was stirring...not even a mouse. I was on my sixth beer and ready to turn in for the evening, when I heard tires screaching and a major collision. I peeped out through my mini-blinds and witnessed a truck drive down my street and fishtail into a neighbor's car at the end of my street.

I didn't know that the truck that fishtailed into my neighbor's car did serious damage until the next day when I was driving to work and I was forced to look at the damage. On the night of the crime It was cold outside and I didn't want to go outside into a world where drunk drivers were randomly running into people's cars.

I cased my street the next day and recreated the scene of the crime. First of all, the culprit ran into a trash can. I turned it around to face the dent in the direction of the original collision, I guess I have too much time on my hands. I pieced together the random pieces of broken taillight at the scene of the most serious crime. It was a pretty nice car, I think a late model Nissan Maxima...hit by a reddish short cab pick-up truck.

I've had my car randomly hit by a hit and run driver on my street. There are a lot of worthless people driving cars in the city. I'm glad it hasn't happened recently. I quess I'm pretty good at keeping my car tucked in between my neighbor's cars.

In additional news, I was watching the movie "Transformers" before working a night shift a few days ago. I wasn't able to see the end of the movie at the time because I had to go to work. Disappointed, I went to my local Target to buy the movie so I could watch it and see the end. My Target had two copies of the movie for thirteen dollars, both with the plastic broken open. I checked them and quickly learned that neither case had the original movie in it. I think I looked like a creep checking the DVD cases but I would have been an idiot to buy a DVD case with no movie in it. I think I am living in interesting times.

2010-11-24T20:30:00.003-06:00

On Sunday I raced at the Mount Pleasant Winery Cyclocross race. It was a brutal course to race on a singlespeed. I raced it last year, so I was prepared for the pain. There were a few sections where I was almost completely stalled out, but I somehow managed to keep moving throughout the race. I was somewhat disappointed that the race was about 90 percent similar to the course last year, but I liked the fact that some of the climbs were more gradual.

It ended up being the most competitive cyclocross race I've been in, in several years. I was several hundred feet from first place on the last lap. That's something I haven't experienced since I was the B race state champ several years ago. I won some money, which was kind of cool. I've won money in three different races this year and I haven't legitimately done that in four years. It feels very satisfying. This is my blog and I'll talk about boring shit that only concerns me!

My condolences to Laberta's bike.

The party during and after the race was extremely lame, for lack of a better term. Bringing in alcoholic beverages from outside sources was expressly forbidden by the winery. I knew from last year that booze could be smuggled into the parking lot and consumed there if necessary. I was running late and had somewhere to be sober after the race, so I didn't bother to load my cooler up.

My only chance to get a buzz on was buying some booze on the sight after my race. Wine and one brand of extremely uninteresting beer were offered for sale. I was not interested. I like good beer and I find myself increasingly uninterested in anything else. This ended up being a dry race for me. Last year it was a fairly wet race after consuming several drafts of pale ale courtesy of the Augusta Brewery. It's a shame these two awesome merchants had to part ways. I really do not like wine. I'm becoming less and less of an alcoholic every day.

2010-11-22T00:07:00.003-06:00

On Friday I received a call from Destroyer Central, a.k.a., Dick Racer. He told me that no Destroyer had ever completely, truly, and honestly destroyed the Middlefork. I'd like to say we chose the best guys to get the job done, but honestly, the guys who had nothing better to do showed up to give the "fullfork" a shot. Dick, Reed, Bobby, and yours truly.

A "fullfork" begins at the the official Council Bluff boat launch and follows the trail counterclockwise to the Telleck connector. From there, the South Trace Creek section of the Ozark Trail is used to get to the Middlefork. It's one of only two legitimate ways to ride the entire Middlfork out and back (the other way uses the North Trace). Riding the trail from the southern end is not allowed. Hillbillies have poisoned our nation with crystal meth and we don't need to get any closer to them than necessary.

We kitted out at the boat launch, filled our camelbacks, and mounted our bikes. Bobby took off first riding a steady pace. I took off next, riding at a steadier pace. Before I knew it, I caught up to the legendary "cheatin' Jesus" attempting to adjust his borrowed bike. Reed and Dick started in last place but soon caught both of us after several miles of "hammerheading" on their parts. Dick and Reed hammered the trail into submission. My chain was slipping, but I caught them somewhere around Barton Fen and never really lost sight of them after that on our way to the end of the trail. Bobby was never seen again by our Destroyer eyes until the end of the ride.

The axle nuts on my rig were a little bit too loose and I didn't have a thick enough wrench to remedy the situation. I was still able to cruise the trail and ride a pretty good pace, stopping every four or so miles to readjust my rear wheel. Dick and Reed were totally dropping me every time I had to do this. By the time I made it to the turn around point at "crawfish creek" they had already been resting for several minutes. First Dick took off, then Zach. I waited for a few more minutes after drinking an entire pint of energy drink.

I tried extra hard to tighten my axle bolts and began to ride back to the truck in last place. The first four miles were rough, as they are some of the most difficult miles the Middlefork has to offer. I had to walk my singlespeed up a super steep climb after a creek crossing. Soon after, the trail followed a ridge and things got much easier. Before I knew it, I caught up to Reed crawling up a climb. I rode with him and Dick for the next several miles, but decided that I needed to ride my own pace if I was going to make it back alive. I had them ridden off of my wheel until I took a wrong turn at a switchback. I had my head too far up.

Barton Fen is where things finally broke apart. After hitting the climb across from the creek crossing, I never saw Reed or Dick again. Legend has it, they saw a figure that looked like sasquatch grunting his way up a steep, forbidding hill in the extreme distance. That was me!

I decided not to wait for Reed or Dick since they were buddied up and I informed them that there were numerous bitch outs they could choose from to get back to the truck if they were too tired to complete the trail. I finally felt guilty and waited for them at the road crossing before Highway 32. When they didn't show for five minutes and my muscles began to get cold, I took off. From there, I rode the ride completely solo. Dick and Reed came in ten minutes behind me having to fix a broken a chain on Reed's bike.. All in all we were evenly matched. I could climb better, they could descend better.

2010-11-14T22:47:00.009-06:00

Day 8:

Thanks to Mike Dawson, I have photographic evidence that I was actually at one of these races I've been talking about.

I showed up at Concordia Seminary 45 minutes before the start of my race (like the chump that I them) and squeezed myself into the super-tight, hot clothing you see above. I really should have allotted more time for this procedure. I ran out of olive oil half way through the process but was able to get fully dressed thanks to good old fashioned vim and vigor.

At the start line, I bumped elbows with Bruns, Mayfield, Laberta, and a few other heavy hitters and was ready for some action. Buddy fired the pistol, we clipped into our pedals and spun them furiously but didn't go very far since we were limited by our stupid-freaking single speeds (the start of single speed races are like a slow-motion nightmare). I was happy that my bike was so slow as we headed into the first barrier, which was on a downhill slope. I came in a little too hot and have the scraped shin to prove it. My leg hit the first barrier as I hurdled over it like an epileptic, 17 year old, one-eyed, partially retarded Yorkshire Terrier. But it didn't matter, I let out a war whoop and continued to hold the wheel of my nearest rival, Mr. Burns.

Mr Burns, Laberta, and Mayfield flew away from me like the beautiful doves that they are. I settled in and battled it out for several laps with Dwayne from Maplewood. I eventually rolled in for a fourth place finish. I was a little disappointed after finishing in the money in both of my races last week. I wasn't completely surprised. I spent the week doing long, slow rides since the weather was so amazing and I was on vacation. The week before, I did five consecutive 20 mile rides from Monday to Friday. It kept me focused and forced to me keep my speed higher than I usually would on one of my normal rides. I'm definitely going back to that plan this week.

After the race I hooked up with the two Dans and we sipped on warm Busch Lights as we watched the B and A races. They filled our bellies with magic. Bruns had to jet, as he had an obligation to get totally wasted. The other Dan and I totally appreciated this and continued to sip on Busch Lights and eat hot dogs off of the grill as we cheered on the A racers. It was another awesome finish. I put my money on Butthead and he came through putting hardman Dan Miller away on a climb on the backside of the course. Age before beauty.

Day 9:

As you can see from the picture above, the race at Suson Park on Sunday was a much warmer race than the Concordia race. Thanks go to Mike Dawson and his super-expensive zoom lens that added muscle to my lily white body. Some people use P90X, some people hire talented photographers with top of the line equipment. The check's in the mail.

This awesome picture was pretty much the highlight of the race for me...other than crushing Masson Strom's bones into dust! That felt pretty awesome. Much less awesome, was the feeling of being water-boarded until my lungs exploded with a mysteriously white liquid by Special tactical hitman Casey F. Ryback. He rode me hard and put me away...dead. I made a vow to always beat every last member of Team Seagal (excluding Dan Miller, come on!) and Ryback was totally successful in assassinating me on this fine and beautiful day.

I lined up with St. Louis' finest single speed cross racers at my elbow. Hub Eric, Laberta, and Mayfield were identified as my top competition. Little did I know that Ryback and Tropical Storm were bent on destroying me for the fun-loving comments I left on their blog. They worked me over in a one-two punch style early in the race. I pulled it together and passed Storm to get on Ryback's wheel of torture. The more I rode his wheel, the more it snapped my beautiful, yet muscular (see photo above) wrists. With so much muscle built up from all of my bedroom workout sessions (I don't want to talk about it, I've had a lot of time on my hands) over the past nine days, I was able to yo-yo with Ryback several times throughout the race. Several times I almost caught Crotch and his big hairy legs on the finishing climb, and several times he used those massive woolly mammoth limbs to destroy my spirit on the remainder of the course. I tried to defeat him by yelling, "I'm coming for you crotch" as he rode past me on one of the 180's but he immediately retorted with something I can't type here. Well played, sir.

After my race I brought out my cooler full of Schlafly Coffee Stout and prepared to hand beer out to people. But it's too much trouble trying to give things to people. They think they're going to owe you something in the future, which is never an expectation with me. I try to give things to people to try to make up for all of my past indiscretions and wrong-doings. I wound up giving two of the precious brews away, which I guess is better than nothing. If people want to sit around and drink Pabst, it's their right as American citizens. I can't force them to drink decent beer. I certainly enjoyed my 12 pack during the A and B races and I'm still enjoying it right now. It didn't go to waste. It's the best $12 I've ever spent.

I had at least five of those precious brews inside of me as we cheered on the A racers. It was a hard fought battle between the superfast, superman Dan Miller and Missouri hardman Josh Johnson. I put all of my money on Dan for this climb-fest, and was not disappointed. Butthead and Dan came through the barriers neck and neck, but Dan's youth (two years younger than Josh) won him the race. He pranced on his peddles like a toddler compared to the old man. As he crossed the finish line somebody put a pacifier in Dan's mouth. A few minutes later, somebody handed Josh a mug of Geritol...and he didn't refuse it!

2010-11-12T20:44:00.002-06:00

Day 7:

After a very productive week of riding, I chose to take it easy and ride up to Forest Park for 25 miles. With a race coming up on Saturday, I didn't want to waste too much energy or tax my muscles too much. I ended up riding 200 miles over the last five days. I thought that was pretty impressive until I remembered the year that I rode 12,000 miles. That was followed by the year I rode 10,000 miles. I rode pretty much every day for two years of aimless unemployment. I can't say that I miss those days. That's pretty much what my current vacation has been...remembering what it feels like to be unemployed.

I enjoy riding. It's almost like another form of masturbation. It's very pleasing in some ways, but completely disappointing otherwise. I can't wait to get back to work when I will interact with more people. I'm kind of tired of jerking off.

2010-11-11T19:39:00.002-06:00

It's been a long time since my last update.

Day Six: I chose to take an off-road ride since I had pretty much exhausted all other possibilities over the past few days of my vacation. I raced my cross bike, I rode it on and off-road, I rode my track bike on the road, I pretty much did it all.

I drove to Greensfelder and took my rigid 29'er singlespeed with me. The ride felt really smooth for the first several hundred feet as a I rode up the gravel road to the radio tower. Once I passed the radio tower and began to ride down hill, all hell broke loose. I'm not going to lie to you. I came to a complete stop in the middle of the downhill and unclipped after being scared shitless by a huge obstacle. My mind was racing.

I sucked less and less over the next several miles as I adapted to the trail. By the time I got to the next serious, rocky downhill, I was riding much better. I realized that I was trying to ride my mountain bike like a cross bike. I was trying to ride around every obstacle with my 700x30 tires when I really had 29x2.35 tires. I began to aim for the middle of the trail and hope for the best. My riding improved several hundredfold.

I rode almost a complete lap of the race course from May, took a few wrong turns and was really starting to enjoy myself on the technical downhills and climbs of the random trails I happened upon...until I got a flat in my rear tire. I guess I chose some pretty kickass lines. I took the first escape route I could find and rode the road back to my car. It was pretty late at this point and I chose to call it a day instead of fixing my flat and riding for another 20 minutes.

I changed and drove home. I had an old routine of stopping at Taco Bell in Fenton and drinking a few Tilt alcoholic beverages. I ran over the scenario in my mind several times but couldn't bring myself to do it. It's unsafe and uncool. I decided to drive all the way to Hampton and exit there for Taco Bell and booze. From there I would descend upon my home to drink and eat the spoils of my conquest. The drive was horrible. The highway system in our state is a flaming pile of shit. Everybody involved should be embarrassed. I feel like Socrates right now.

I exited the horrible, extremely dangerous highway (I'm not kidding here), and drove several blocks north to Arena Liquor. They have so many different kinds of booze it was really hard to decide what to go with, but I went with a six of Lagunitas Maximus. From there I went to Taco Bell and picked up the necessary amount of burritos to make my day awesome.

2010-11-10T21:52:00.002-06:00

I am currently enjoying nine days of vacation from my job. For lack of a better term, this was a "staycation." Visualize me riding a jetski in my backyard swimming pool.

Day 1: I did the Pride race in Godfrey Illinois. There was very little competition available but it was a fun day and the few people who showed up were very cool. In my singlespeed race, Dan Bruns showed up to take the victory. I came in second, unable to hold his wheel. But I came in second, winning most of my entry fee back. That was converted to Boulevard Nutcracker Ale. It was delicious.

Day 2: Was the epic Bubba cyclocross race at Queeny Park. It was probably the best and most satisfying race of the series for many of the participants (including this one). I came in third place behind Anthony Dust and Bruns. I was lucky enough to be given two bottles of New Belgium Ranger IPA from two different people. (That is two total bottles). As if that wasn't awesome enough...I converted my winnings into a six pack of Modus Hoperandai. It's the best beer available in a can...period.

Day 3: I kicked back and relaxed most of the day at my home. I was kind of bored with riding the jetski in the swimming pool, so I passed. I grabbed my bike around three p.m. and took a ride up to the Chain of Rocks Bridge for a total of forty miles. I was kind of surprised by how long the ride took but I was riding a singlespeed.

I'm not going to lie to you...the dreams were coming in hot and heavy at this point. I was dreaming there were ghosts in my house trying to contact me and all kinds of crazy stuff. When you get twice as much sleep as you usually get, really strange dreams are soon to follow. I promised my ghosts I would do anything for them (in dreams of course) but they have, to this point, not responded.

Day 4: I took a practically identical, but much different ride over to Horseshoe Lake for 42 miles. The weather was perfect and it was awesome. The ghosts in my home seem pacified. I'm happy if they're happy.

Day 5: I somehow got talked into riding my cross bike to the SIUE campus to do some off-road riding with my friends Jo and Andy. It was a thirty mile ride to get to the trails and I rode roughly 15 miles with them and otherwise. "Roughly" being the key term. The first place Andy wanted to ride was the old trails at SIUE. My recommendation is to never attempt to ride these illegal trails on a cross bike, or at all. I didn't sign up to ride them but I wasn't shocked that Andy would drag a guy on a cross bike onto them. The guy feels no pain. Jo was somewhat sympathetic as he discussed extremely boring and procedural fitness topics with Andy. I ended up riding a total of 75 miles. I can't remember the last time when I've ridden that much and it really, really hurt. I barely made it home alive.

Here is something completely and totally uncool that I have noticed that people do. On this particular ride I planned on getting home by four p.m., so I didn't bother to bring lights with me. As I was crawling home through the last few miles of my neighborhood around six p.m., I had several drivers buzz me, ride right up against my elbow, and fail to give me enough room to get around parked cars. Needless to say, they did not give me the required three feet as they passed. I did not have lights because as I said above, it was a rough ride. But I know they could see me as the streets were very well illuminated by street lights. They treated me like crap because they knew if they hit me they would not be liable. They pretended not to see me. Needless to say, I think they are a bunch of sad sacks of shit.

Here's to the rest of my vacation.

2010-09-20T18:59:00.002-05:00

I raced for the second time this year last Saturday.

I got to Hermann just in time to warm up for about ten minutes when they called us to the line for staging ten minutes before my race. I chose to do the 1/2/3 race since I had to work that day and Hermann is an 80 mile drive from my house. My plan was to tailgun the race and get the feel for racing cross on a cyclocross bike. I haven't ridden a cross bike off-road in six years, not even in practice, so I'm a little rusty.

Racers were lined up in order of registration, which was kind of a waste of time and stupid since there were only about 35 people in the race. There was also absolutely no one there to watch us line up, which kind of defeats the point of calling people up and introducing them. I took my place at the back of the pack as the last person to register. Lightning began to move closer and closer as they called the local pros up to the line. You're not supposed to run a race when there is lighting in the vicinity and I began to mention this. The officials must have been high on prescription drugs because they started our race right as a minivan began to pull across the course. It was dark out there but the officials were in some weird zone where they were paying absolutely no attention to their surroundings.

The start was nullified and we lined up for a restart. As the lightning moved within about two or three miles of us I once again mentioned that it was a bad idea to start the race. The officials, perhaps, high on pure high fructose corn syrup decided to start the race anyway. At this point, I thought they didn't care if we lived or died and prepared to do an entire race in a thunderstorm. The course was really twisty and there were a bunch of hilarious crashes with ultra-skinny road racers running into each on their 17 pound carbon fiber cyclocross bikes. All I could do was laugh as I cruised past them. Most of them regrouped and passed me again as I was riding my own pace on my singlespeed.

A lap into the race they rang the bell for the final lap. When I rode through the start/finish they didn't ring the bell for me so I thought they were ringing the bell for a prime. I proceeded to ride two more laps. Finally, I asked about a dozen spectators if the race was over and they couldn't tell me anything. One group handed me a beer. It was a Corona, but any free beer I can get during a race to rehydrate myself is much appreciated. I finally realized the race had been called when I rode through the start/finish area and there was nobody there. Game over.

I rode back to my car, got some beers and rode back to the registration shelter. I hung out with a bunch of the racers and we drank and talked about how much we hated working in retail. It was pretty fun. People were swinging from the rafters, probably high on life. The rain was pouring down from the time my race was cancelled until about 10:30 at night. I got a few beers inside of me (I'm not even counting the Corona) including a really tasty can of ale that I can't remember the name of. It is the best canned beer I have ever had. A guy was about to drink it but I got him to give it to me. I appreciate the donation.

When the rain died down, everybody made their plans for sleeping arrangements. I'm not a quitter and was still going strong, until I realized everyone was gone. It happens to me all of the time. I went back to my car, cleaned off a bit, changed into my street clothes and headed for home. I pulled into a nearby gas station, filled up my tank, and immediately proceeded to turn the wrong way leaving the parking lot. I drove ten miles in the wrong direction until I realized that I was in the middle of nowhere. I turned around and drove back through Hermann. I stopped at a different gas station where I bought an extremely nourishing bag of cheddar cheese Ruffles. After the bag of chips my driving and navigation skills improved by about a thousand percent.

Hermann gas stations on a Saturday night were kind of scary. Random people drove to them in their cars and walked up to them on foot. The first destination for most of these pilgrims was the restroom. Then they would exit without washing their hands (yuck!) and proceed to the beer cooler to grab a six pack of Bud Light. As I was exiting the second gas station, several zombies were shuffling across the parking lot. If the window on my car was down at the time I would have yelled "brains!" at them. I'm not sure if they would have understood my reference. I'm not sure what motivates rural people or what gives their lives meaning. When you live in an urban area, there's always way too much to do, way too many strangers, way too many people who want to make your life a living hell, and hardly anybody who gives a shit if you live or die. It gets to the point where you would rather not leave your house on a weekend night. People in the country probably socialize more than people in the city. They have no other choice.

I made it home safely by 12:30, had a few beers and went to bed. I chose not to race the next day since I was pretty tired from being out so late. I learned later that day that a flash flood had caused major damage to the race venue about two hours after I had left. I had already chosen not to return because I knew there would be several inches of standing water in some places but I never could have imagined that a flash flood would cause so much damage to the park.

2010-08-26T22:33:00.002-05:00

Attention all Internet cuzzos! I made the switch to the day shift at my job a few weeks ago. I've ridden a few hundred miles in the past week, so things are going pretty well. At least, sort of.

I took a ride up to Spanish Lake yesterday. It sounds pretty innocent. But I guess it wasn't. I ran into a guy I have seen riding the Riverfront trail for several years now. Every time I have nodded at him, waved at him, or tried to acknowledge him, he has ignored me. The difference this time was, we were riding in the same direction. I was cruising along in my 46x16 gear when I happened upon my hardcore loner friend struggling up a short hill with his hefty backpack strapped to his weak shoulders like an albatross. I passed him like he wasn't even moving.

He eventually caught me and passed me on a flat section. I said, "what's up?" and he made a half-hearted reply. I immediately began to draft his wheel. He was content until he realized I was drafting him, then he disgustedly pulled off hard like his draft was the only way I could possibly ride a bike. I've been riding alone, more or less, for twenty years. I don't need to run into losers while riding my bike to keep me motivated. Though, it doesn't hurt. I did my antisocial friend a favor and pulled several lengths ahead on my singlespeed bike after he made it clear that we couldn't possibly work together.

It made my ride much more of a challenge, which is kind of cool. When everybody fights against each other, it makes a ride much harder and maybe, more fulfilling. But I prefer to run into friendly people on a daily basis, not sociopaths.

2010-06-03T11:41:00.002-05:00

I'm in bed. The phone rings several times. I crack my eyes open and try as hard as I can to look at the LCD screen on my phone in the early afternoon light of my bedroom. It's just a bill collector. Three years ago I crashed my mountain bike and couldn't afford to pay the bill since I didn't have medical insurance. Now the collectors call me every day to remind me that I will someday repay my debt. I'm at least glad that my arm has healed to the point that there is no visible scar. My arm looks pretty good and is strong. Good job, guys!

My alarm clock rings at nine p.m. and I hit the snooze button. I'm not ready to wake up yet. I need a little more sleep. My alarm rings again at 9:12, I hit the snooze. It rings again at 9:15, this is freaking ridiculous! I decide to get up and take a shower. As I'm making my way from my bedroom to my bathroom, I hear Cubby rattling the basement door with her paw. I ignore it and clean myself up. After my shower I proceed to brush my teeth, but I hear Cubby continue to shake the door with her paw. I clean her dish out and take her a bowl of food. She's so happy, I can't help but kiss her on her precious little head.

I manage to make it to work on time. Somebody else gets fired right in front of my eyes. I ignore it and do my job.

2010-05-22T22:44:00.002-05:00

For my birthday I took a day trip to Springfield, Illinois with my mom and step dad. I took a fairly similar trip with my mom and brother 11 years ago. In 1999, we went to the botanical gardens and Carillon. We went up inside the 12 story structure, took the entire tour, and got an excellent view of the surrounding area.

We were too early this time. The bell tower was still closed so we strolled around the grounds and my mom told me all about the flowers that were growing everywhere. We caught several cheaters in the act of planting annuals. We sat in the sun for a good ten minutes and watched people play with their kids.

That was enough nature for us. We went to the Dana-Thomas house next, designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. We went here on our last trip and I was every bit as impressed with the structure as I was last time, probably more so. This time, I was even more impressed with the fact that they've been able to keep this extremely important historic structure intact and looking so fresh and perfect. This house is still so far beyond our current architectural standards and practices, it's ridiculous. I'm not sure if we'll ever catch up to the design detail and perfection that is contained within.

I was, kind of, sort of, an Art History minor in college, so it always feels a bit odd for me to step into Wright's homes. It feels like universes are colliding. I used to build furniture and the inspiration and love for the craft came back to me after seeing all of the amazing woodwork and craftsmanship. I miss the craft but I can't afford to create things at a financial loss. I respect Wright as a rare artist who was able to create things that were timeless and make money doing it. I've done it before and I know I can't break even or even come close. For every three thousand dollars I spent, I made about a thousand dollars in return. But I loved doing it.

It was nice to remember how it felt to create things.

After our breakfast began to wear off we went to the the "Garden of Eatin'." I was the first one who made the connection between the 'Garden' in the title and the fact that everything there probably had some sort of vegetable in it. My Antipasto wrap had black olives, banana peppers, mushrooms, lettuce, feta cheese, and salami in it. It was really good for something healthy but not as addictive as fast food. It was a good balance between something healthy and something tasty. We ran into four of the people from the Wright tour at this lunch cafe. It was a slightly strange but inevitable coincidence in a small town like Springfield.

From there, it was a short walk to the new Lincoln (as in only five years old) museum. I hadn't been to this museum yet, but my mom and her husband had celebrated its inauguration roughly five years ago. They had plenty of praise for it. After experiencing four of the exhibits, I agreed that it was a fairly satisfying experience. I'm probably easier to please than the average person since I have a degree in history and have written essays and research papers about Lincoln and the civil war. I have to say that I loved the gift shop and the stove pipe hats.

What can I say? I love Springfield. I love architecture and I love history. I chose history as a major because my university specialized in that subject. Otherwise, I probably would have chosen architecture.

The people I work with are more concerned with how to be more effective baby daddies and less productive members of society. God forbid they would ever contribute anything useful to the world. Having the latest cell phone and flyest pair of kicks is way more important than being intelligent, productive, or useful in any possible way.

2010-05-08T18:03:00.006-05:00

Despite everything I said in my last post about not racing at Greensfelder on Saturday, I did it anyway.

I went into work on Friday night several minutes early. The company is cracking down on tardiness, so I'm taking every precaution to be punctually perfect. I swiped my badge at the time clock at 9:57 a.m. sharp. I proceeded to check my assignment on the chart. It was penned into the bottom of the list because I don't register in the computer as a stocker, I'm a sales associate. It read, "Brian...Chemicals...2:45." 2:45 meaning I should be done by 2:45 a.m. What I would do at that point...God knows what. If there was anything specific expected of me, it would have been listed on the chart.

I stepped into my four aisle department and counted up my pallets. Originally there were only five, but by the time they had all been pulled to the floor there were seven, including the pick pallet. The first half of an aisle is fabric softener and stain remover, the first real aisle is laundry detergent, the second full aisle is all purpose cleaners, bleach, and air fresheners. The third aisle is floor wax, oven cleaner, bathroom cleaner, mops, and brooms. The last half of an aisle is dish detergent and sponges. When the store is remodeled all of this useless crap will be crammed into two really long aisles in a totally different place.

Even though I don't work chemicals on a regular basis, I did a pretty good job of sorting the random bunch of stuff sent to me. If you fill at least six shopping carts full of cardboard, you're doing your job in the department. I did that and was kind enough to make a bale for my partially useless coworkers (not a blanket statement). I stocked everything that made it out to the floor and managed to clock out by 7:01. No OT was accrued because I took a 1:05 lunch. Mission accomplished.

After work, I drove over to Shop 'N Save and bought a 12 pack of Schlafly APA, fully expecting to need something to keep me motivated in case I decided to race the single speed race at Greensfelder. I finally committed to do the race after I got home and decided that I didn't want to lay around in my bed all weekend. I cleaned and adjusted my bike, coolered up the beer, and tossed everything I would need into my car.

I was running a little late, which is always a little annoying. But I didn't feel so bad after driving behind El Cavano for several miles on the way to the race. I have better things to do than show up for a bike race three hours early. Cavano and I tried out several different parking lots and finally found some space about a mile away from the start/registration area.

I stepped out of my car to several familiar faces. That was a good thing since I forgot to bring a water bottle. I managed to get a fairly nice one from my drinking buddy, Struckman. I've hung out with him at a bunch of races but I'm not sure if I've ever raced against him. That sort of thing happens when you go to races but don't actually race. This wasn't one of those days. We both raced for real this time. I did the math, and this was my first mountain bike race in almost three years. Burnin' at the Bluff 2007 is the last time I raced off-road.

I kitted up and rode to registration. Money was running a little short, so I post-dated my check for 2011. Then I stole candy from a baby and tore a pair of turtles apart that were having intercourse. But really, there was no need to do all of these evil things. A bike race was about to happen and there would be plenty of chances to focus my energy in a positive direction.

The start of a single speed race is always a little bit pathetic since it involves a bunch of guys furiously spinning their cranks but not really going anywhere. I did the best job of looking ridiculous and got the initial holeshot. I use the word initial because someone had taken the tape down on an early part of the course and I rode up the wrong section of trail. I looked back and nobody was behind me. Not having ridden the official trail I wasn't sure how big of a mistake I had made.

Honestly, it didn't stress me out that much as there was plenty of racing ahead. I waited a few seconds and the rest of the racers came riding up a section of single track. I let them go ahead (after stabbing a squirrel in the eye with an allen wrench) and hopped onto the end of the train. We hit a downhill and I was immediately wanting to pass everyone in front of me. I picked off a few really quickly. I think they were more busy braking than biking. Don't worry, I told them they were braking too much. By the end of the downhill I only had two guys blocking my way to freedom.

It kind of sucked that I had thrown away one of my major advantages (my ability to descend) but I was still in the mix. I rode behind rider number two and was starting to come out of my skin as rider number one was smoothing the twisty, technical sections of the trail and riding away from us. I told my riding companion that brakes were for stopping and not much else. He was nice enough to pull aside and let me run down the guy up the trail. I felt kind of bad and actually did apologize after the race. He said, 'no sweat cuzzo' (or something to that effect). It's always kind of tough telling people that the way they are doing something is wrong. I want to be constructive, but people are generally so set in their ways, it's going to be a long, long time before they will be able to use your criticism constructively. Believe it or not I am very altruistic, but it's a part of myself I've had to kill, because it's caused me more problems and lost me more friends than I care to talk about here.

I caught up to rider one pretty quickly and was relieved that he was riding smoothly. I told him he was riding some good lines and setting a good pace. I decided to burn some matches, pass him, and make up the minute or so I had lost on the downhill portion. It worked out pretty well and probably turned out to be the deciding factor that determined the finishing order in the race. I stepped on it and rode pretty hard to get some separation from the field on what was a pretty hard, technical, climbing section of the course. I caught several of the people in the race in front of us and made that my goal for the next several miles.

It felt strange to be off the front of a race for the first time in God knows how long. I was off the front at a cyclocross race last year, but that was only for a lap. It was super-painful. I felt pretty good this time. This was for real and I knew that it was my race to throw away since I had the best handling skills in the group. I was a little weak on the wide-open, back section of the course on the first lap. I think I took it easy because I was riding solo for so long. I rarely ever spun my gear out. I climbed the hill pretty fast but that's necessary on a single speed.

Starting off the second lap, a couple of the cat 1's who had started in front of me, caught back up to me after fixing their bikes. This was cool, because I was hoping to use them as motivation to ride a little faster. First Schottler passed me and I kept my eye on him up the trail as we made our way to the first downhill. I hit the fucker at full speed this time and was gaining ground on Schottler until I hit a rock pretty hard and felt my rim touch. I've got a rigid fork with tubed tires, so I backed way off at that point. I came around the bend at the bottom of the hill and Drew B. wasn't too far behind me and not that far from Schottler, so I pulled over to let him by. I followed him for a short time, but like the lazy bastard I am, I let him go since he wasn't in my race.

The race was pretty uneventful from that point until the first place cat 2 rider caught me in the middle of the second climb on the course. Finally I had some motivation to do something since he was riding a slightly more relaxed pace than my cat 1 buddies. I stuck with him for the next several miles and it ended up helping me out a lot. At the beginning of the third downhill I looked over and saw the second place single speed dude about ten seconds behind me. I used the cat 2 guy in front of me as motivation and caught him by the middle of the downhill. From there I followed his wheel through most of the flat, bottoms section of the trail. He had some separation going into the last climb, but I caught him by the end. During the climb, I caught my buddy Skip and cheered him on. He wound up finishing 3rd in his cat 1 age group.

At the top of the climb, I bid my geared riding companion farewell and spun my little gear out as best as I could on the last, mostly flat section of the course. I knew I was safe at this point since I was using every bit of my gear. I won my first race in four years. I guess it's easier to win races when you actually do them. You can't win if you don't play. I really want to get a geared, front suspension 29'er and compete for real, but can't afford it right now. That's a thousand, plus dollars that needs to go into my 64 year old house and my five year old car. For now, I'm going to stick with single speeding since it doesn't cost much.

At the awards ceremony Bobby A. mentioned something about the purple single speed that I won at a Greensfelder race five years ago and I couldn't help but laugh. I have fond memories of that bike. I tried to ride it over to Illinois but got a flat tire about a mile away from my house. Instead of doing the ride I stopped in at Quick Trip on Kingshighway and bought a 2x4 of Milwaukee's Best Ice that I enjoyed behind the store in a creepy alley. I walked my broken "bike" home and called it a day.

The post race party was excellent. There was plenty of free food, free soda, and better yet, free beer. There was canned light beer for the safer set and keg beer for the pickier among us. I ended up filling up on the keg brew and was able to save most of my Schlafly APA for later. The thing is, you never know when you're going to go to a race and everyone there winds up being straight-edge. It's times like those that a cooler full of tasty craft beer is like a troy ounce of gold in our currently failing economy. I make it a point to always have beer in my cooler and it usually is the right choice. On this particular day it wasn't a necessity.

2010-05-06T17:34:00.002-05:00

On Thursday, Gorilla Jo (no longer Aggro) united forces with me to ride Greensfelder. A strange choice for the lowland ape, but he wanted to get in some quality time on a local, up and coming race course. I feel his pain after watching him pump fifty dollars of gas into his full-sized pickup. Sometimes keeping it local can save big bucks.

The weather was perfect and the trail was in the best shape I've seen it in the past few years. The new sections cut out a lot of the old, steep, unsustainable parts of the trail. The first five or so miles of the course was mostly single track, with some technical sections and three pretty fun downhills. We ran into Jeremy B. fresh off of his sixth place finish at Syllamo's Revenge. We adopted him and rode a lap of the race course together.

The first downhill was the most fun. I like how the Declue has been rerouted (a few years ago) to connect to the Greenrock at Allenton Road. It allows you to ride farther down the hill and stay on the east side of the park. Bigger downhills equal more fun. I followed Jeremy down it and it was an eye opener that early in our ride. We dropped Lowland Gorilla fairly quickly after laying it down on the most technical section of the Declue that followed. We waited up for the beast and took it a little easier from that point in the ride.

The third downhill was a lot of fun as well. Riding a fully rigid out in front of our small crew, I can positively confirm that it is rockier and more technical than the first downhill. There were a few times when I hit a rock or a route pretty hard and had to ride on only my front wheel for a few seconds. This caused some unintentional hooting and hollering. Even the gorilla heard me from the top of the hill.

After that rip-roaring hill, the course is pretty much all fire road-width trail for almost three miles. There's a mile long climb near the end, but it is pretty gradual and even I had a pretty easy time riding up it. I like the psychological effect of getting all of the more mentally difficult riding out of the way early and rolling in for the last few miles. I think the marathoners will appreciate that more than anybody on their fourth laps.

I could probably ride the course in under 50 minutes if I tried, which isn't terrible. Sadly, I won't be racing because A: I don't train, I just ride for fun and B: I spent all of my money on craft beer over the past few months. A doesn't keep a lot of people from racing anyway but I'm not kidding about B. I guess I enjoy beer more than racing.

Jeremy peeled off after a lap and Jo and I decided to ride another. I took it easier on the first section of the course but after I realized Jo was riding a hot lap, I cranked it up to give him somebody to chase down. I probably did too good of a job, getting several minutes ahead of him by the end of the course. But it was fun to ride a little faster than I normally would on my more laid back excursions.

We hit the Dogwood and part of the Greenrock for our last part of the ride and they were in excellent condition as well. I always love riding down the Greenrock to Allenton, but the climb back up to the parking lot is a real son of a bitch. I rode most of it other than one steep little section. I'm definitely going to get a slightly easier gear than the 32x18 I'm using on my 29'er right now. It should keep me on the bike a little more.

After the ride some random guy told us "I like the hill better than the new section." This comment really tickled the fancy of the gorilla. I guessed that he must have been talking about the old, nasty, eroded trail that we used to be stuck riding. We pondered over this as I opened a four dollar bomber of IPA on a Crank Bros. pedal (it works great) and proceeded to drink. If only I had enough money to race.

Just as we were getting ready to leave, local legend, E. P. showed up all dressed and ready to ride. Even though his weight doesn't register on most scales, he had a full suspension bike with him. I told him if he didn't break 43 minutes for a lap he wasn't really trying, not admitting that I was just cruising the trail for fun. He didn't look worried and pulled out his bottle of tequila to show us he was a laid back cuzzo. Disappointingly, he didn't drink any before he started, but it is pretty hard core to drive around with hard liquor in your trunk. I'm more of a beer in the cooler kind of guy.

Lowland Gorilla turned in a good performance for a guy who broke his back last year. My primate companion is improving quite well as the year progresses. It's amazing to me that he rode the same speed at Greensfelder as he did at the Berryman. Most people couldn't do that. He has definitely earned his nickname.

2010-04-23T09:22:00.002-05:00

Since this is essentially a riding journal, I thought I would recount some of the rides I've done over the past few weeks.

A few weekends ago, I rode the Chubb with Aggro Jo. We started at the West Tyson trail head and took the old trail over to the Lone Elk side. Like a lot of other mountain bikers, I was disappointed to see the single track was gone at the Lone Elk end. Other than that, the trail was pretty much the same as it was when I rode it a year ago. I don't see much point in riding over to the Lone Elk side, when you could just ride laps at the West Tyson end. But this is from somebody who has been riding the Ozark Trail a lot lately.

We ran into the usual weird assortment of socially challenged cyclists. One guy almost ran me off of his left side of a seven foot wide section of trail while I was descending, without any apologies. I said something to the effect of, "this trail is a fucking fire road!" as I grabbed both of my brakes and clung to the tiny bit of trail left to his left side. If that was you, you're an asshole. Keep your head up when you ride.

My mom called and I decided to go to lunch with her after the ride since I hadn't seen her in a few weeks. She told me the name of the place we were eating was called "Soups and Salads." I had never heard of it but didn't give it much thought. We pulled up to the establishment and the sign out front read, "You can't keep a good man down." It was her local church's soup and salad day. I didn't mind the environment or people so much as the fact that I couldn't possibly get full on the portions I was provided. There were no seconds. As soon as I grabbed my meal the food ran out. At least I got something.

After suffering though a day of hunger caused by a vigorous ride at the Chubb, we finally went to El Maguey. I ordered the chicken and beef burritos and finally filled the emptiness inside of me. When somebody suggests "Soups and Salads" after a ride, respectfully decline the offer and go straight to your nearest Mexican restaurant. It will prevent unnecessary hunger and pain.

Aggro Jo was chomping at the bit to get out on the trail again after the Chubb ride, so we hit the Barryman last Thursday. It was my third time on the trail this year. I decided we would ride clockwise since the direction seems a little easier and it was Jo's first time riding the trail.

I had just installed some new brake pads on my bike and of course I started having problems. A few miles into the ride my rear brakes started clamping down on the disc. Riding became extremely hard and climbing became impossible. The Avid Elixir is a strong brake but this was ridiculous. I had the bright idea to swap front and rear brake pads but it didn't really work. The rear piston had some gunk in it and the pads went from clamping down to not working at all. I had to ride the last sixteen miles of the Berryman with only a front brake.

Jo finally got his revenge on me for riding away from him on downhills then resting on the easier sections. He was right on my wheel as I was trying not yank too much front brake on the technical, rocky descents of the trail. It was especially painful because I have a rigid fork and front braking tends to push the front of the bike down. My hands and shoulders were killing me after the ride. I never realized how little front brake I use, until I was forced to use it as my only brake. I tend to control my speed by how hard I pedal into corners, using the trail to scrub my speed off when necessary, and using some rear brake to maintain my traction if I have to. Otherwise I don't use the brakes much. I like to keep my momentum steady in order to conserve my energy.

After a particularly tough ride, the only beer we could find at the Sullivan gas station was Bud Ale. That was disappointing, but I drank mine faster to make it taste better. Jo told me to throw away my bike and start over but I told him I was dedicated to keeping my baby up and running.

My bike was still a mess when Boz sent me an email about a ride at the Middlefork with Casey Ryback. I told him I was in, even though my bike wasn't in working condition. My bike sat in a corner, broken, until Monday morning covered in dirt from the Berryman. Finally, out of necessity, I washed it off and began working on the brakes, tightening the rear hub, and adjusting the chain. Somehow I got the bike up and running, in like new condition in under an hour. I called Boz and told him I was coming.

Boz, Casey, Sarah, and I rode in Boz's Acura to the trail. It was the only choice considering the fact that the seats are upholstered in human skin. We drove past numerous other local cycling celebrities on our way to the trail. I think Boz called them ahead of time and arranged to have them on Highway 141 to show what a major player he is in the St. Louis cycling community. We were highly impressed.

During the ride down I drank some strange brand of energy drink that claimed to have maximum caffeine and maximum taurine. I felt ready to rock by the time we made it to the boat launch at Council Bluff Lake. As I pulled my bike off of the rack, I noticed I was the only kid without anodized parts on his bike. I guess I don't keep up with trends, because I've never even considered bolting an anodized part to any of my bikes. Despite that short coming, my repaired bicycle was riding pretty well despite the fact that it only has one gear and no suspension. Those are issues I'll have to address at a later date.

We started the lake trail in the counterclockwise direction, took the Telleck connector to the South Trace, and eventually took a right onto the Middlefork. I was feeling pretty good and was using the downhills to get some separation between my riding pals. While they couldn't see me, I would sneak and crawl up the climbs to save my energy for later in the ride. When wrist snapper Casey F. Ryback Lt. Colonel of Team Seagal would ride up on my wheel with Sarah close behind, I would pick up the pace. Later in the ride, after the Colonel got in front of me and my energy started to become depleted, it got much tougher to conserve as much for the rest of the ride. Riding got quite a bit tougher because of this, but I knew it was inevitable.

After dropping Boz, Casey and Sarah started to assault me with their skills and fitness. Boz cried uncle and decided to sit on a log at the Middlefork parking lot while the three of us rode the remainder of the trail to his Acura. Casey and Sarah continued to work me over. I eventually fell over for no apparent reason but managed to make it back to the SUV without any serious physical damage to my body or bike. The total length of the ride was around 45 miles which is at least ten more miles than I've ridden off-road this year. It was satisfying to get a longer ride in after doing mostly two and three hour rides this year.

After the ride, Boz opened up his magical cooler with pockets and just the right amount of beers appeared inside of it. I had a Mighty Arrow and a mysterious craft beer that was very good. It was an amber ale that had a mildly sweet taste to it. It reminded me a little bit of a porter but wasn't nearly that heavy. We hit the Potosi Hardee's and I followed my beers up with a Thickburger combo. It sure as hell beat a soup and a salad. There's nothing better than a five or six hour ride to burn a few calories.

Just to prove that I've been riding my mountain bike way to much I hit Council Bluff again yesterday with Aggro Jo. This time I decided not to touch my bike before the ride. I didn't even clean it off. Instead I spent my time stopping at Shop 'n Save and picking up a six pack of Schlafly special release IPA. I think it was a better use of my time.

Once again, we parked at the popular Council Bluff Lake boat launch for our Earth Day ride. We started in the clockwise direction, with the intention of doing laps in both directions. We were hitting a good pace on a trail that was in excellent shape. Jo said he had around a ten mile an hour average for the first part of the ride and I was probably riding around eleven. The reason I was riding faster is shocking. I was climber faster and feeling pretty good doing it. I can't remember the last time I rode up a challenging hill and felt good doing it, but it happened several times on our ride. Most surprising, was the fact that I rode up the campground connector, never got off of my bike, and felt good doing it. I don't think I've done that in a few years on a singlespeed.

That was pretty much the peak of the ride. A few miles later I got a front flat probably because my pressure was too low. It was my first flat after using the tire for more than a year! I fixed that, but it wasn't long before my chain became a little loose and started to come off in rough sections. Maybe I should have worked on my bike before the ride. It wasn't a huge problem though. Mostly, I just had to be careful not to push too hard on the steep sections and those are pretty short at Council Bluff. It wasn't long before Jo broke his chain and had to fix it with a quick link. Worst of all, we both witnessed turtles having sex in the middle of the trail in two separate incidents. I can't even begin to describe the mental anguish that is caused when you see a pair of turtles stuck together, retract inside of their shells. (Hey baby, can I get inside your shell?) Those several incidents managed to break up the flow of the ride. Before that, I was considering a third lap but was happy to make it to the truck with my bike in one piece after two laps.

After a few beers we hit Dos Primos for some burritos and a Negra Modelo for me. My fajita burrito was pretty good for a middle of the road Mexican restaurant. I washed it down with a Schlafly IPA, which made it's flavor much less important in the scheme of things.

To my surprise, I've been hitting the local trails at least as much as I did last year. I didn't really have any intention of riding any specific trails this year, it's just kind of happened. I haven't done the South Trace or the Curtois secton of the OT yet. I still have to hit those and hopefully a few sections of the trail I haven't ridden yet.

2010-04-09T15:41:00.002-05:00

Several days ago I bought the movie, "Legend," upon leaving work. I remember watching it on TV roughly twenty years ago and thinking it was a really strange movie. I almost didn't get it thinking about the scenes with Tom Cruise covered in glitter. But it was directed by Ridley Scott (Alien, Blade Runner, Thelma and Louise, Gladiator, Blackhawk Down, etc.) so I went ahead and bought it. After watching the Director's Cut, I decided it was a really good movie. Basically, the movie was butchered and given a crappy score in order to make it more marketable to an American audience. The version I bought included that version and the Director's Cut. The unicorns are goofy, but Darkness wooing innocence is one of the most intriguing things I've seen in a movie in a long time. I've watched it like four times now and all of the special features, so I guess I spent my money well. "Without dark, there is no light. Without evil, there is no good."

I rode the Berryman for the eighth time on Thursday. I decided to ride counterclockwise, since I rode the other direction last time. Riding through Brazil Creek to start the ride wasn't so bad since there was less than a foot of water in it. I ran my bike up the muddy, horsed up switchbacks and hopped on when the trail got a bit more rideable. To my surprise, the trail was much drier and easier to ride than the last time I rode it, several weeks ago. The only other people I saw out there were a couple of hikers about a mile in. That's two more people I saw compared to the last time I rode there. Without mud, there is no dryness.

I can't even begin to describe how beautiful the trail was. It was like a scene straight from the set of Legend. Driving to the trail on Highways N and W from Bourbon, I was extremely impressed by the beauty of the blooming trees and foliage. One tree in particular had purple blossoms and was very pretty contrasted against the rest of the forest. I was disappointed that I didn't see any unicorns or ferries, but sometimes you have to be happy with the cards nature deals you. Without death, there is no life.

I felt great during the first half of the ride. I briefly considered riding a double, but knew that was a ridiculous concept considering the fact that I was on a fully rigid single speed and I only ride twice a week. Just when everything was going perfectly, I was riding downhill laughing, and having too much fun...my princess threw her ring into a forbidding pool of water and told me that the first suitor to retrieve it would be her groom. Actually, the new chain I had just installed a few days ago, stretched out and came off. I stopped for about twenty minutes and got everything working again. Without single Berrymans, there are no doubles.

From this point in the ride, I felt more fatigued and started to think about the end. I had been up all night working a nine hour shift. That's what I do, I work nights. It makes riding during the day a bit more difficult, but I still do it. Without work, there is no play.

I hit Weiss junction and felt a little more comfortable since it's roughly the halfway point when you start at Brazil Creek. This is where I met Mike Weiss and his future not to be girlfriend suffering through a six or seven hour death march on the Berryman last year. This trail is no joke. If you're not hardened, tough, and used to torture, I wouldn't recommend taking on the Berryman solo, in a group, or in any other way. Without pain, there is no comfort.

I was feeling fairly beaten up and began to get a headache late in my ride, but I knew the end was near. I hit a familiar section that's almost like a roller coaster, a few miles from Brazil Creek and I began to feel a little more comfortable. I looked over, saw Highway W through the woods, and was glad to ride back to the safety of my car. I was pleased to learn that I had finished my loop in under three hours. I opened up the cooler and started off with a Dundee Kolsch. It has a cartoon of a wolf in waiter's clothing carrying a tray of beers and a two foot tall sandwich printed on the label. Despite all of that, it's a very good beer. I followed that up with an IPA and finished it off with a Stout. Without Stout, there is no IPA.

Upon arriving at home, I had a few more beers and watched the movie Legend again. I fell asleep a few times during the feature, but I'm sure that's happened plenty of times to plenty of people. Every time I watch the movie, I think Tom Cruise is covered in more glitter. Without sleep, there are no waking hours. Without Tom Cruise there is no Tim Curry. Without bikes there are no cars. Ad infinitum.

2010-03-31T14:41:00.002-05:00

A few nights ago I went out to my car to start it before going to work and it was no dice. The ignition wouldn't catch. I went back into my house, head hung low, grabbed my single speed road bike and rode it to work. Anybody and everybody I worked with made fun of me for being a loser without a car. (Not really, but it sounds really funny).

I replaced the battery, since I thought that was the only problem. But I was wrong. As soon as I installed the battery, the fog lights refused to turn off. Apparently, this is a major problem on P T Cruisers, circa 2005. I drank a few too many beers and went overboard. I ended up yanking the end of the fog light controller switch off, effectively breaking the controller stalk on my car. Drunken exclamation: "God Damn It."

I did some Internet research and learned that all I needed to do was pull the #8 fuse out of its socket in the passenger cabin. I did it and it effectively killed the fog lights. Later on, when I was sober, I flipped the fuse door over and noticed that everything I needed to know was printed on the back of the fuse door dealy. Why does everything have to be so simple?

Nothing is as easy as it seems. I bought the part I needed (turn signal stalk) for sixty bucks and replaced it successfully. But somehow I managed to ram my door into the ground while doing it. I ended up having to bend the bottom of my door back into shape with an Armenian wood working clamp.

It's funny because I was pissed off at my car for being a piece of shit, but after spending time with it, I kind of admire it as a quality piece of merchandise. I feel closer to it after having worked on it and fixed it. Creepy.

2010-03-26T09:24:00.002-05:00

THE NORTH TRACE OWNS AGGRO JO!

You probably saw this coming from a mile away. If you don't know Aggro Jo, you probably didn't. A few years ago the Destroyers and McGibbs invited Aggro to ride the North Trace Creek section of the Ozark Trail with them. Jo loaded up his dual suspension bike with a (as in one!) water bottle for the thirty mile ride. By the way, it was summertime and temps were hovering in the nineties. Aggro Jo almost died.

I wasn't invited to that ride. The Destroyers were disappointed that I chose to get a job and redeem myself, instead of kill myself. I heard about the near death of Jo through tall tales, folk lore, and legend. I think I remember reading a Grimm's fairy tale that recounted the story when I was in grade school. Against all odds, Aggro Jo made it back alive, the words, "fuckin' fine" barely audible upon his parched lips.

Back to the present, Jo and I descended upon the North Trace on Wednesday, around tennish a.m., just as I listed in the last post. I was not disappointed to find an empty parking lot. I only posted the ride because I occasionally feel a little guilty about posting ride reports and not really inviting anybody to them. You were invited, so stop crying.

We parked at highways DD and 32. We started off on the last little chunk of the Middlefork and cruised down it to the junction of the South Trace. From there we trudged through the bottoms and forged through several creek beds. We finally broke free after crossing Highway DD and began our true assault upon the legendary trail (I'm channeling Casey F. Ryback here). Wrists were snapped and we shit in a hooker's mouth (I think I took it too far).

I was feeling pretty good after working all night at the factory stacking pallets. My ride was pretty much effortless up until the point I arrived at Highway DD (five miles into the ride). I was surfing the downhills, cruising the flats, and taking it easy up the climbs. I was falling in love with the North Trace all over again...despite the fact that it's GORC's adopted trail. Even though I don't have the street cred to ever be a part of that crew, I still respect the hard labor and fortitude that they have shown in keeping my favorite trail of the year in clean and pristine condition.

I stopped for a few minutes at Double D, five miles into the ride and checked out the map nailed to a tree near the road. Aggro eventually rode up sweating profusely. I said, "One water bottle...good Lord...how the hell are you alive?" He said, "I'm Aggro Jo mother fucker, let's do this!" Or something to that effect. This time Aggro had a hundred ounces of pure energy strapped to his back and a bottle in the cage of his overpriced Stumpjumper. I trusted him to whip this bitch of a trail for every cent she was worth.

Over the course of the ride, my contact with Aggro became less and less. First of all I would ride ahead a mile and wait for him for a minute. Then it was a few miles and a few minutes. By the time we got to Hazel Creek, it was four and half miles and a bunch of minutes. But Aggro did it. He looked proud but tired at the turnaround point. I suggested that we ride the trail back another 12 and a half miles to Double D and take that back to the truck instead of trudging through the lowlands of the South Trace to the last little stub of the Middlefork. He agreed.

I laid out the landmarks for my sweaty and very tired buddy as we sat eating our energy bars at Hazel Creek. In my opinion, landmarks are all you've got to hold onto on out and back rides. When you pass them on the way back to your car, the effect they have on your brain is better than drugs (or so I hear).

I gave Jo my favorite and most comforting landmarks, having ridden the North Trace several times. Our first major hurdle was the road crossing, four and a half miles from Hazel Creek. That one turned out pretty well because the last four or so miles of the North Trace are probably the easiest. When I got to the road, I sat down on a stump and ate a granola bar...fudge dipped with caramel. It was good.

Aggro rolled up and I informed him that the next landmark was the limestone kiln, roughly three miles away. I have no idea what this chimney-like structure was actually used for in the past, but I like to think of it as a limestone kiln...because it sounds romantic. I waited for Jo at the Kiln. He did a good job here of closing the gap, as these few miles were more downhill than up.

I regret to inform you that the next landmark was the "Dead Pool." This is a pool of water in a creek, roughly three miles after the kiln. I figured it was too depressing to meet at the soggy bottom of the trail, so I waited for Jo at a hill, high above the Dead Pool. Instead, I chose the end of a section that had been cordoned off and burned, in order to promote growth in the native vegetation. More importantly, it was the top of the hill and a much more positive place to rest and wait for somebody.

I blasted down the hill and slammed into the Dead Pool at full speed. But I didn't have enough momentum. The Dead Pool reached out it's claw of death and grabbed my 29x2.35 tire before I could reach her opposite shore. The filthy bitch tried to drown me. The Guns 'N Roses song "Welcome to the Jungle" was running through my head, only I replaced "jungle" with "dead pool." I caught myself before I drowned in the depths of the Dead Pool (obviously) and continued to ride the last two, plus miles to Double D. I made it without incident and waited for Aggro Jo. He was near death but still alive. We rolled back to his truck without any issues.

I hopped into Aggro's truck and let him drive us back to town in his weakened position. I grabbed a precious Pepsi I had stored in my bag and complained, "God, this thing is so warm" as I poured the sweet nectar of life down my throat. Aggro was choking and gasping but managed to get us to the Potosi Hardee's. There we loaded up on burgers and Cokes and everything was fine again. We weren't really ready for beer. Sometimes, "Coke is it."

2010-03-20T12:58:00.002-05:00

I've got plans to ride the North Trace on Wednesday, March 24th, starting around 10 a.m., probably later. Listing rides you're going to do on the Internet is extremely lame, but I thought I would throw that out there. If you do happen to show up, it's not going to be a bunch of free-for-all, run and gun, leave your friends for dead just so you can ride a bunch of gravel roads back to your car bullshit. This ride will be 100% single track, pure mountain biking. I don't spend four hours in my car and twenty bucks on gas to ride gravel roads.

Aggro Jo is in and you should be too. The Middlefork trailhead parking lot at DD/32 is the default meeting place.

2010-03-09T11:29:00.002-06:00

This weekend, I will be riding the Berryman. I'm not going to list the parking lot, the time, day, or anything else about my ride. If you know me, and you're interested in riding, comment here, call, or email me.

In fact, send a postcard to this address:

Mason Storm
5912 Southwest Ave.
St. Louis MO 63139

...and most likely nothing will happen.

But I think it's pretty obvious, that I'm going to start at Brazil Creek. I kind of like having the equestrians who are there on the weekends as a buffer zone against cycling creeps. I'm going to do at least one lap, most likely clockwise because I love the huge descent down to Brazil Creek that is offered in that direction. To get some extra mileage, I'll probably ride some of the Curtois section from Harmon Springs. It is pretty new and probably still pretty rough, but it will be interesting to try out some fresh trail...if I can find it.

2010-03-07T22:19:00.004-06:00

I postponed my weekly off-road ride until Sunday this week, and it turned out to be a pretty huge failure. But I can't complain. I rode 35 miles on the Middle Fork, which is more than I was expecting to do. I had a cold, and I was surprised how much it dragged me down over the last ten or so miles of the ride.

I had originally planned to ride on Friday by myself, and I regret not having done that. Mostly because I didn't have a cold. Also because I would have planned my ride out a little more carefully.

Without any intention of offending anybody, I'm going to say that there's a definite disconnect when it comes to the things people say online and what they do in reality. That disconnect is a major reason why I don't post on this blog much anymore. I have plenty of free time to write things for this blog. I don't do it because I feel like it's a waste of my time. You might agree...I totally agree.

Even though my ride was a flaming pile of shit, I really enjoyed the drive home. I guess you never know where you're going to find balance and happiness in your life. I picked up a six pack of New Belgium Ranger IPA and drank it while watching Bad Boys II on free television. Martin Lawrence is extremely skilled at pretending to be high.

I've wasted enough of my precious time.

2010-02-26T07:47:00.002-06:00

I took my new bike out for my first real off-road ride in four months. We both did fine. The frame and fork on this bike are identical to my last one. The biggest difference is the black paint and the totally amazing "aluminum X trail" decal on the seat stay. The "Cliff" decal on the top tube tells you this frame is a serious mountain bike weapon.

I too am pretty much the same. Unfortunately, I am still white and don't have any stickers plastered on me. I might have to get a "kick-ass mother fucker" tattoo one of these days.

It's the middle of the winter, the local trails are a mess because either they're not rocky enough or they have too many users. What do you do? You head for the mountains. I have never been (totally) disappointed with any of my winter rides in the Ozarks. The trails almost always hook up great.

I chose to ride to Council Bluff from my super-secret cheapskate hideout parking lot. This way I can avoid the four dollar fee per car. I'm talking about the Middle Fork trail head parking lot at highways DD and 32. I actually like to park there because it's right in the middle of four different trails. They branch out like an X (good thing I had my aluminum X trail seat stay sticker to use as a map). Or if you're a religious individual, I suppose you could think of it more like a cross. Which leads me to wonder why nobody has come out with a Jesus Christ brand bicycle yet. It could have Holy Ghost asymmetrical chain stays. Ten percent of the proceeds would go to famine relief.

But I digress. When you park at the Middle Fork trail head you can choose to ride the Middle Fork itself by going to the right. But if you go to the left, you can ride down the last little part of the Middle Fork and access the Trace Creek section of the Ozark Trail. From there you can either go right and ride the South Trace Creek section to Bell Mountain. Or you can go left and take the trail to the Telleck connector. From there you can either go right and ride to Council Bluff (which is what I did) or you can go left and take the North Trace Creek section to Hazel Creek. From there it's another 12 1/2 miles to the Berryman.

I rode down the middle fork and took the South Trace to the Telleck connector and rode a clockwise lap of Council Bluff for a ride of about 22 miles. It was a good start for the year. I took it easy riding about eight miles an hour and stopping every few miles to stretch my back out. The best places to do that were the steep little climbs around the lake. I couldn't push my gear up them anyway, so it worked out pretty well. The only way to truly get a rest on a fully rigid bike when riding off-road, is to get off of it for a minute here and there.

The temperature for the ride was much warmer than I thought it would be. The forecast in St. Louis was calling for a temperature around 30 degrees when I started my ride. It was 40 at the trail head. I ended up leaving about half of my bike clothes in my car, including my shoe covers. I have cheap-o vinyl Exustar shoes that don't have any ventilation. They kind of suck in the summer, but they were in their element on a winter ride. They offered a lot more protection from wind and moisture than a standard pair of ventilated Sidis. There were numerous wet creek crossings, but with the temperature above freezing and plenty of sunshine, having wet feet wasn't much of an issue. The only time I felt any pain was when my feet warmed back up after the ride.

Some sections of the trail had a little standing water, while some were frozen and crunchy. I cracked through ice a few times but it was much wetter to ride through creek crossings where the water was flowing freely. Most of the trail was rocky and dry like it always is, but a few sections were soft and slippery. Don't worry, I didn't leave any ruts. Some of the lower portions of the trail were washed away by high water over the winter and could use some riders to redefine them. Get out there and ride!

I'll be hitting the trails once a week if anybody wants to ride.

2010-02-24T12:47:00.002-06:00

This is my new bike.

Gayest image of 2009. Gayness=Happiness.

Are you missing one or more teeth? Stop reading this post immediately and go buy some tooth paste.

2009-12-28T03:21:00.013-06:00

To some extent, the holidays were good to me. Look at these grizzly bears and this beer! That mean looking mother fucker in the foreground looks like he really wants to hurt somebody. Don't mess with him! He'll scoop you up like a salmon swimming upstream in a a cold water Alaskan river in the spring and eat you whole...you fucking sissy! Your bones will be the only thing that remains on the rocky, lonely shore depicted on the box. Sometimes, you've got to believe.

Look at this four pound jar of jelly beans! I think I need to start an empire based on this jar. I started off, innocently, eating one at a time and it was pretty cool. After about 30 jelly beans my taste buds were completely blown to hell. It's at that point that I started to eat two beans at a time. That's when I decided that four pounds of jelly beans are way too many pieces of candy for any one person to eat in one lifetime. Stop by my house and I'll give you a handful...I'm in the book.

The three ounces of M&M's that came with this ornament were awesome! Don't bother to stop by my house for any of these treats...I ate them already. I think it's the best gift I got all year.

Happy holidays!

2009-12-22T11:55:00.003-06:00

At the last minute, I decided to race CXMas. This wasn't a shocking revelation, since I had decided to do the race a long, long time ago. Ever since I filled in as an impromptu volunteer at the original CXMas, I knew that I would one day race in the big show.

This is photographic evidence of my involvement in the event. At the left of the picture you see a Big Shark rider. Then you have a happy and loving couple on a tandem. That little sliver of a person over the shoulder of the tandemers, donning a totally awesome stars and stripes, Missouri State Championship jersey is me! To my right is 2009 CXMas champion Devin Clark riding his Huffy. I was in front of him!

Once he got on his real bike he was totally gone. It feels strange for me to ride in big groups like this. Every once in a while I'll forget that I'm out of shape and I only ride about once a week. That's when I'll start passing people and humiliating them. Then...I start to humiliate myself. The fact that I'm completely out of shape will slap me in my bloated face. I flew by a bunch of poseurs on a descent and immediately regretted it on the climb that followed. That's when Devin passed me on his real bike on his way to victory.

I worked so hard to keep my position on that climb, that I could barely breathe for the next several miles. The good news being that I settled in with a couple of other 29'er single speeders. I cruised with these awesome dudes into the first checkpoint and we picked up our zip ties.

The next significant part of the race was the package pick up. I was way too late to get a gift, but I did get an easy drinking Pabst beverage. I enjoyed it all the way around the little off-road loop that the Team Seagal boys dreamed up. I hit the last little climb and took it easy to preserve the rest of my beer. Upon completion of the loop, I finished my beer and attempted to toss it into the box next to the table at the checkpoint but missed. Maybe next time.

It wasn't long before I caught up with the legendary Santa Boz. I already knew it was Boz, which made catching him all the sweeter. He looked like he was really hurting in his 20 pound Santa suit, but I didn't give a damn. All I wanted to do was draft the 200 pound man in the huge billowing Santa suit. That's pretty much the end of the story as far as my effort for the day goes. I never had to try again, all I had to do was draft Santa Boz. So much so, that we discussed entering the race as a tandem team next year. I would be the reindeer and Boz would, of course, be Santa.

I drafted Santa Boz across icey roads into the second checkpoint, which offered bacon and whiskey. Boz doubled up on bacon, and immediately the checkpoint ran out of bacon. I don't really like bacon and didn't care that much. I took a shot of Jameson and rode the loop around the lake even though we were (passively) told to ride it. I didn't want to lose the awesome draft that Santa Boz was providing.

I now wish that I had taken two shots of whiskey to make up for the loss of bacon. But it's too late now. I've had whiskey three times this year. I had a shot at my neighbor's house back in March...a shot of bourbon, then I did a ride in Bourbon, MO(the Berryman). Jon Farinella gave me a shot at the Burnin'...I think. It might have been Tequila. And of course the CXMas shot.

After a heavy duty amount of wheel sucking over icy roads and trying to find our way on unmarked double track, we finally made it to the third and final checkpoint. I waited around for my ziptie and got a little bit pissed that I wasn't being plied with eggnog. I protested, "where's my eggnog, fags" and rolled up to the table to slam a cup.

Later, I heard that Bob Jenkins aka Boob Jerkins, drank 15 cups of eggnog. (The guy really should get his name changed). I had no idea that drinking multiple portions could win me a pair of Polk Audio speakers. If I had known...I would not have done anything differently. Eggnog is disgusting. I probably could have drank about 5 cups of the horrible swill without puking. Next year, we're going to have to have a whiskey shot contest, maybe a beer drink-off. I think Team Seagal has taken eggnog as far as it can go.

Once again, Santa Boz and I teamed up and hit the road to finish CXMas 2009. We traded places with the Easter Bunny quite a bit. At one point Bob Arnold came from behind at a million miles an hour clicking his gear all over the place, only to cheat (unknowingly) and take a shortcut because the course was not well marked. Boz called him a cheater, so everything was cool. We ground out the remaining miles mixing it up with our riding companions. It was funny, because they would come and go, but I would always stay in the draft of the huge, billowing santa suit. It was sweet. When I went to sleep after the race, all I could see in my mind's eye was the backside of Santa Claus on a cross bike with Sidi boots, in his middle cog.

I don't know if I beat the Easter Bunny or not, but I know I should have with the help of Santa Boz. We totally kicked ass for a pair of mid-pack losers. I have to hand it to him, because I would have never had a clue where to ride if it wasn't for his guidance. Boz was rewarded with me, pulling 15 percent of the time. Thanks, Boz.

Immediately, upon finishing, I disrobed, changed, and began pouring beers down my gullet. There was no fire or warmth, which weeded out the weak from the strong. Most chose to jump in their cars and speed home to warm fireplaces and pot bellied stoves. I chose to hang out and drink several more beers before going into work later that night.

I scored an awesome wrist band at the awards ceremony which I plan to wear the rest of my life. It's red, white, blue, American. I also swiped a coozie to keep my hand warm while I drank several bottles of Boulevard Pale Ale. My apologies to Pabst Blue Ribbon.

2009-12-01T10:20:00.003-06:00

At the last Bubba race of the season, I tried to hand Kurt Fletcher a dollar with my long, bony, white hand, but he wouldn't take it. He would have rather had a Guinness. I guess a dollar only represents future potential, and completely fails at the task of providing immediate relief. (Unless there's a Guinness vendor three feet away). After this experience, I'm suddenly motivated to offer high quality beer to the A racers at the state championship race next week. My long, bony, white hands will be offering the finest brews from across the land to the A racers. I hope they don't break their platinum grills on the glass bottles that contain these fine beers.

Cyclocross is a stupid fucking sport but it's hot right now. I remember when we raced in circles...and we liked it! Now all sorts of random people who aren't interested in any other aspect of bicycle racing show up to do battle on Sunday morning. I can't blame them. Dawson, Mason Storm, Casey Ryback, Merli Jr., Grrman, etc. have set up some extremely exciting courses. They have blown my fragile little mind with their layouts. Years ago we never could have imagined that cyclocross could have been this exciting. But it is.

My theory: plucky, independent loners have been replaced by an elite cadre of inclusive and friendly champions of the cycling lifestyle. Mind you, these are not the sort of wretched individuals that would hide inside of cliques to maintain their cool and hide their faults (we all have them). Hell no! The champions of cyclocross are legion. Their friendliness knows no boundaries.

Do you have what it takes to be a state champion? I was one once. Show up on Sunday!

(Cliques are the refuge of the weak-minded. That's just my personal opinion.)

2009-11-24T00:26:00.002-06:00

Why do I race cyclocross, even though I think it's lame?

Because I love to race my freaking guts out.

This week's race was a pleasant surprise. The course was set up on the side of a hill and was probably the most difficult cross race I have ever done. I've done tougher mountain bike races, but mountain bike races make a lot more sense, logically speaking than cyclocross. Jump on a bike and ride a trail faster than any of your friends.

Cyclocross makes no sense. Super-cool alcoholic, and, or drug addicts, painstakingly set up race courses an hour before race time. High on controlled substances, it's pretty likely they chuckle incessantly as they set up these courses. It's a caveman vibe, but I have to admit, it's pretty cool. I'm sort of kidding. I enjoyed the sadistic but enjoyable surprise provided by the race promoters on this particular day.

Upon finishing my race, I decided to start drinking. Cock Punchor invited me to enjoy a couple of pints of PBR behind his truck at the end of the parking lot. I took him up on the offer. I poured one into a Gatorade bottle and made my way onto the course to cheer my B race heroes. If anybody asked why my Gatorade had foam, I was going to tell them it was the new carbonated Gatorade, otherwise known as G3.

I killed that brew off and decided to switch to a stronger concoction. Not wine, never wine. I went up to the carriage house bar ready to buy a pale ale on draft for six dollars American, when Boz jumped me in line. I demanded that he cover me with his superior funds, and he did. I wound up drinking two of Boz's brews while I cheered on the B racers.

Before I knew it, we were cheering on the A racers. I ended up showing an attractive, married woman how to hand out money to men. She eventually got the hang of it. I'm pretty proud of the fact that I got Butthead to take a dollar. You rarely ever see that happen.

As Casey Ryback mentioned on the Team Seagal blog, the parking lot party was extreme, strange, and special. Several of us attacked Boz's softside cooler and a 48 ounce tub of pretzels. It was the most supremely satisfying experience I have had...in the past week. Drunken cyclists got ever drunker and did stupid things in a parking lot over the course of a few hours. I grabbed a huge piece of mystery poultry and gnawed at it like a Home Erectus while polishing off Boz's cooler. Damn that was fun!

2009-11-16T00:50:00.002-06:00

I did my third cyclocross race of the year on Sunday. I showed up at the park on time, ready to roll after working all night. I rode down to the registration area without my helmet and Buddy (the official) came up to me and gave me a speech about insurance liability issues. I told him I was sorry and wondered why I wasn't wearing a helmet. When I went back to my car I figured it out. I didn't have one with me. I left my gear bag at home, tucked comfortably into my leather wing chair.

I was ready to give up and start drinking when the legendary Butthead came up to me at my greatest moment of confusion and told me that I had plenty of time to go home and get my stuff and do another race. I decided his logic was solid and signed up for the A race instead of the Single Speed race. This gave me the most time to go home, get my stuff, and keep stress at a minimum. I switched to a geared bike, since they are faster than single speeds.

My leg in this picture looks kind of like an extremely huge and long drumstick. I wonder if it would taste good. I would never know, since I have no interest in eating myself. As usual, Mike Dawson took this picture. He's been at all of the local races lately, taking some really good pictures of me as well as real racers.

I was glad to have gears early in the race. I couldn't believe how insane the first few laps were. It was so fun, I'm glad I forgot my bag. After I settled in and accepted the fact that I would be DFL, the bike I was riding didn't really make much of a difference. I ground out the laps and felt really good. I took dual pint Pabst Blue Ribbon hand ups from Mason Storm on my last two laps. I apologize to Boz for rejecting his more expensive beer. The last thing I want to do during a race is drink beer that has a legitimate alcohol content. That's why I went with the Pabst.

I'm not racing for results. Over the past four weeks I have gone from riding one hour, to 2 1/2 hours, to 3 1/2 hours, to 7 1/2 hours. I'm not in racing trim and I'm not even close to achieving my full potential, but I have regained my muscle memory for racing. In other words, the pain feels good again. Hopefully, I will have the funds to race for real next year. My major issue for not racing very much this year was finances. Times are tough.

sensational alex harvey band - framed live 1974

2009-11-13T08:36:00.001-06:00

I stumbled across this performance. I promise you, you have never seen anything like it.

2009-11-10T10:49:00.002-06:00

I competed in my fourth race of the year on Sunday. It felt strange. I felt the old fire in my belly, but my ability to kick ass was only partially there since I only ride about once a week. I mostly just work, drink, and sleep...but not exactly in that order.

Notes from the race: I rode the tight sections and corners better than anybody else in my group. But that's not saying much since the Single Speed race (my group) was staged with the C race. I partially credit my success to my mountain bike. I never felt like I was going to slip or had any handling problems at any point in the race. Lack of power and speed were my main problems.

There's a video of the first or second lap posted on Stlbiking that is hilarious. Here's what happened from my perspective: The starting gun was fired. Joe Walsh tried to get in front of us with a St. Louis start but he was called back. I was fairly aggressive after the real start and jumped into third position. Matt Laberta had the lead and was pushing the pace. It would have been no big deal for me to stick his wheel early in the race but the guy between me and him was not riding the corners well. I'm not all that physically fit, so I had to wait for an opportunity to pass him and jump on to Laberta's wheel. By the time I tried to make my move, it was too late. I hate being fat and out of shape.

Destined to finish no better than second place by the second lap, I continued to battle as my fellow single speeders caught me and passed me. The most memorable confrontation was from Joe Walsh. He caught me, passed me, and put the hurt on me in a straightaway section. As soon as we hit a tight turn on a climb, I passed Joe like he was sitting in a folding chair on his porch yelling at neighborhood kids to stay off of his lawn. But it wasn't long before the next straightaway. The track champ put the hammer down and put me in his rear view mirror for good. I hate being fat and out of shape.

Later in the race, Casey Ryback was chomping at the bit to defeat me, his Gary Busey. But I didn't let him sink my battle ship. With three or four laps to go, Ryback begged for his dignity, but I wasn't having it. I dropped the hammer and opened up a sizable gap on him and three of his teammates. When the ashes settled and the results were posted, I learned that I had defeated every single soldier of Team Seagal who had dared to face me on that fateful day. Fuck yes!

I'm a cat 2, I bought my bike at Nashbar.com for $350, I drink a six pack on a daily basis, and I don't give a shit. I think it's a healthy approach to bike racing. Some might disagree.

2009-10-26T00:05:00.003-05:00

On October 25th, 2009, I witnessed the "Robortion." First it was from behind. It was a most unpleasant sight.

Dawson's daddy snapped these pictures.

As I crossed the finish line in fifth place, I looked around for Robort but couldn't see him. He was behind me with a flat tire and I didn't want to strain my neck.

In the past few years I have changed from an obsessive compulsive weirdo to a unique individual who doesn't give a shit about anything. I have searched my ever-deteriorating memory banks but I can not remember a time when I've done a bike race less prepared and more completely out of shape. Riding a 42x18 gear on my 29'er didn't help me either. But my outfit was super-fucking sharp. I bleed blue!

The overly high gear was so painful, that I had to remove my mind from the field of battle. I started to think about a gear that would be comfortable on the course and pretended I was in that gear. 2x1. Every time I hit the climbing sections I thought about the perfect gear. 2x1. It was a like a suicide bomber imagining the virgins he would have access to in heaven. 2x1. Allah also provides rivers of milk to the extinguishers of infidels. 2x1. Why would anybody ever look forward to a river of milk? 2x1. Even if it was breast milk from the virgins, I would rather eat a cheeseburger. 2x1. Some people are so fucking stupid. 2x1. How long would it take a martyr to impregnate 72 virgins, considering the fact that he would be shooting blanks most of the time? 2x1. Why the hell is heaven full of virgins? 2x1. If you think about it, it's a really sad waste of potential. 2x1.

In my heaven there are bottles of Trois Pistoles on ice. Triple bacon cheeseburgers are consumed at every meal. Wages are never garnished for child support and each man is only responsible for one woman. Virgins do not exist.

2009-09-25T10:02:00.002-05:00

A few weeks ago, while rooting through my basement for drugs, porn, and other paraphernalia that my brother might have left behind after he moved out more than a year ago, I found a vintage bottle of Nyquil. I've been feeling pretty congested lately, so I drank the bottle of 50 proof cold medicine over the course of a week. It was good stuff, packing 50 proof alcoholic potency and pseudoephedrine. What's even better, there was no warning on the bottle about the dangers of mixing excessive amounts of alcohol with acetaminophen. Our livers used to be more indestructible back in the 1990's.

Present day Nyquil contains only 20 proof of alcohol but the doxylamine succinate has been increased to account for the loss of the other depressant. Apparently, doxylamine succinate isn't just an antihistamine, but is also an effective tranquilizer, possessing more potency than many other prescription drugs, perhaps even phenobarbital. Sweet Jesus!

Dextromethorphan is the final key to the Nyquil puzzle. It acts as a cough suppressant when taken responsibly. But when it's abused, it acts as a psychedelic that can cause sensory deprivation. It was developed to replace codeine, which was considered to be too addictive for an over-the-counter drug.

2009-09-19T10:27:00.002-05:00

"I've suddenly realized that trying to create, foster or preserve relationships with other people over the Internet will only ever end in total and complete failure. I'm not going to bother anymore."

Truer words were never written. I stumbled across them on my old blog while looking for a video I posted of Jim Morrison singing "The End." I just watched the movie "The Doors" again, and I think I finally got Oliver Stone's point that Jim was searching for the end, while at the same time death was seeking him.

"Sucking on a young man's...blood." I love that line from the movie. I wonder if Jim ever really sang it? His poetry is beautiful and disturbing.

Internet relationships are like drugs. They offer nothing real and provide no substance. When you don't interact with somebody in the real world, it's like you never really talked to them in the first place. You get a short term high that ultimately leaves you feeling empty and worthless.

That's why this blog sucks.

Think about the people who text each other incessantly. They do it at work, they do it while their driving their cars. They do it at the expense of being fired from their precious jobs and crashing their prized automobiles. The consequences are steep but they do it it anyway. But what do they get out of the bargain?

Not much.

People need to talk to each other in the real world.

I can't possibly connect to anybody who reads this crap unless I interact with them in the real world.

But that's just my opinion.

2009-09-14T11:19:00.006-05:00

"Jem is truly outrageous...truly, truly, truly outrageous. No one else is the same. Jem is my name. Jem!"

My Co-worker and best friend (for 30 seconds at a time), Daniel, brought a disc loaded with Jem and the Holograms cartoons into work. Everybody was saying this stuff was pure 100% 1980's. One of those people is my friend, Erin. I have talked with her extensively about the sociopolitical impact of Jem's band and their rivals the Misfits. She's ten years younger than me, but she will often make pop-culture references that are from my generation. To be honest, as much as I searched my mental data-banks, I came up with nothing on Jem or the Misfits (at least a Misfits lacking a lead singer named Danzig). I drew a blank when I tried to remember Jem.

As we watched an old episode, I felt sick. I wanted to vomit. Jem and the band escaped from three different situations where they were faced with almost certain death from falling. The first time, they almost drowned after falling into a killer whale and dolphin tank. Strong, sexy, competent males jumped into the tank in their Miami Vice suits to save the helpless girls. All of those who were wet, donned towels after the rescue in order to protect them from the frigidly cold, eighty degree temperatures they faced after exiting the whale and dolphin tank. Oh God, I wanted to throw up.

The second time, some helpless security guard crashed his golf cart (I bet he only had a G.E.D.), flipped thirty feet into the air, and knocked over a tower populated by Jem and the Holograms. I felt like I was tripping after watching the accident. Jem and the crew all jumped to safety. The last person to jump to safety was one of their man friends. He basically said, 'I'm in control of this shit, let's fuck the Misfits up for what they have tried to do here today.' But not in so many words. Jem and the Holograms told the macho fags in control to chill a little bit and everything was cool. I felt so ill that I thought my heart might stop, but I decided to choose life over an easy exit.

In the third scene, the Misfits unleashed a swarm of deadly bats on Jem and the Holograms in an attempt to knock the band of cuties off of a cliff. No such luck. Jem and her crew were saved by a helicopter piloted by a swarm of tough, muscular men. These caring males with their sweet moustaches put down their long range lens cameras long enough to save Jem and her friends from certain death at the wings of the evil cloud of bats. Bats can fly...but pretty, young girls can't.

I never watched the actual show as a kid (I'm a man, by the way), but the theme song was very familiar. I don't strut around in a Miami Vice suit with long, flowing hair (but I could if I wanted to). When I listen to the classic Jem theme song, the memories of the former mass-merchandising campaign flood back into my fragile little mind. I now remember flipping through the channels of my T.V. past episodes of Jem and the Holograms. We got our first television set including a remote control sometime around the mid 1980's. The set top box for cable television had a remote control as early as the early eighties, but that was a hit or miss thing in our household. My mom didn't want cable to bring any negative influences into our household. As you can tell from reading this blog, it didn't. The bad news is, on any given afternoon after getting home from school, I had to get up and spin the knob of our Quasar television set to switch away from Jem. Click, click, click. UHF to VHF. A minor little adjustment to the rabbit ears and I could watch either He-Man, G. I. Joe, Thundercats, Transformers, or Voltron. I didn't watch Jem and the Holograms when I was a kid.

2009-09-10T09:14:00.003-05:00

I was watching random videos on Youtube and accidentally discovered that Sonic Youth played a gig at Live on the Levee the Friday before the Soulard Criterium. It sucks that I missed them. I've decided that they're my favoritest band ever. They came to my town, played a free concert, and I missed it. Sometimes it's better to regret the things you have done, than the things you haven't done.

A few weekends ago, Dick Racer called me about a ride at the Rister compound. Even though I had been working all night, I drove up to the top-secret location, 50 miles away from my house, to participate in the extravaganza. Dick was not present, but Tim, Justin, Bigal, and Andy McGibbs were there to throw down. Tim and Andy were in tip-top shape and rode great. I was a phat (I can't really say I'm fat since I haven't gained a pound in the past three years) slob on my 29'er single speed, walking most of the steeper climbs. Justin and Al brought up the rear. During the course of the ride, Al bowed out and I became more tired. I began to bring up the rear, while the boys waited for me at random forks in the trail.

After returning to base we popped open some beers. I drank a nine percent brew after not having had any alcohol for the past week. The deal was sealed. I slammed a few additional Milwaukee's Best Lights and everything was right with the world. We munched on Rister's leftovers to curb the effects of the alcohol. I ate a couple of slices of pizza, but it wasn't enough.

I sat around so long trying to sober up that I was required to accompany Tim and Andy's family to the local Imo's pizza joint for Sunday dinner. Since they gave me a ride and I wasn't totally sober, I took them up on the offer. Everything went according to plan. I stared at some guy's girlfriend at another table and he began to give me dirty looks. It's the story of my life. I'm alone and I'm required to feel guilty.

I exited Imo's with Tim and his family and we proceeded to go to a bar in Alton. I was kidnapped. It was the 50th birthday party of one of his coworkers. Tim bought me a beer, which I really appreciate. I know he is a generous person, but not really when it comes to cash leaving his wallet. Four whole dollars bought me a Fat Tire, and for that, I am appreciative. It was a really good beer.

Super-ultra-tired after being awake for more than a day and drinking six beers for the first time in a week, I drove home in search of a comfortable bed. I almost fell asleep several times during the journey. Upon arriving at my house, I crawled into bed and slept for twelve-plus hours. I can't even begin to tell you how good I felt after waking up the next morning. I'll probably never feel that good again.

Last weekend, I decided I would watch a few of the Gateway Cup races. I rode my Schwinn Point Beach down to the venue at Francis Park. I like to think of the big red machine as the "Point Break" aka "Patrick Swayze." (Arnold Schwarzenegger is 6' 1", and that's a fact!) I got plenty of compliments on the bike and felt proud for having purchased the beauty for barely more than a hundred dollars last year.

The most interesting thing I saw at the race was the former lead singer of The Urge playing a concert to, maybe, nine people, one of them being me. It was a pretty good set. It brought back the memories. I hadn't heard some of those songs in ten years. They weren't exactly Sonic Youth, but they were something. Jump right in.

Things are fuzzy at this point, but I think Steve and his band played my brother's birthday party circa 1986, maybe 1985. I've never had an official birthday party. I also haven't had a vacation in two years. But I had plenty of fun at my brother's party. I broke into the liquor cabinet and got completely wasted even though I was only ten years old. My mom caught me and chased me around the house. I was pretty cagey and managed to jump out of a 1 1/2 story window to get away from her, with no major injuries. Mom and I don't talk about this experience very often at our present positions in life. We've moved past it.

On Sunday, I rode "Swayze" down to the race at the Hill. Numerous compliments were given in support of the awesome bike purchased at Wal-Mart for $130. I parked my machine at Ryan Pirtle's house but was careful not to mooch off of him, like I did last year. I bought all of my own food and beer...up until a point. Realize, that I crashed his party, totally uninvited.

We all admired Ryan's beautiful newborn baby and Pat Collier's too. Their kids are disgustingly cute. Neither Patrick Swayze nor Arnold Schwarzenegger could produce more precious offspring, though they probably would be 6' 1" and skilled at dirty dancing. By the time I had to leave Ryan's party I was eating his food and drinking his beer. I told the guys that I would see them next year, which is probably pretty accurate. I jumped on Swayze at the last possible minute and shifted into high gear so I would make it home in time to drive to my job. The ride was only two miles long, but it felt like it lasted forever. I clocked in at 10:05, which doesn't count as a tardy against my record. Sweet!

My thanks go out to Tim Rister and Ryan Pirtle, who are two gracious hosts.

2009-09-04T10:40:00.002-05:00

Every once in a while my mom tells me about the story of Billy Jack. Supposedly, the actor who played Billy Jack, lost a hundred pounds to play the role of the kung-fu Native American. It's pretty impressive that Billy Jack could set aside the pork rinds long enough to play the role of a kick ass mother fucker.

Billy Jack is one of the best hippie movies ever. It's up there with Two Lane Blacktop. Two Lane Blacktop is a movie that starred James Taylor, a Beach Boy, and a girl who overdosed on heroin in the seventies. It's a really good movie...trust me.

I haven't had a vacation in two years.

The Lord Is A Monkey Butthole Surfers

2009-08-20T10:19:00.001-05:00

In the tradition of video posts, here you go. I've been listening to a lot of Butthole Surfers lately. I also like to collect He-Man action figures and play lots of video games on my Sega Genesis.

2009-08-13T10:42:00.014-05:00

Profiles in Courage, Chapter Two:

Back in my school days, when I was a kid, I remember several of us formed a circle in a gymnasium. We grabbed the various corners of a parachute and used it to roll a red rubber kickball towards each other. It blew my mind when I was nine years old. Now I kind of wished we had strapped on parachutes and jumped out of planes, armed with kick balls to throw at unsuspecting victims across America. Why the hell did we play it so safe? Sobriety was probably to blame.

But enough about me.

Reggie is an American hero. He is the senior stocker working overnights in our food department. We don't have produce, fresh meat, or a full blown freezer and cooler. That means Reggie is the mini-boss of a small cadre of individuals. He has been working at our store for two and a half years. That might not seem like a lot, but our turnover is something like seventy percent, per year. This makes him a survivor, in relative terms.

Reggie doesn't drive a car to work and I'm not sure if he has a driver's license or has ever owned a car. Like many of my coworkers, he takes the bus and, or, metrolink to work every night. I can't even imagine what it must feel like to waste several hours of your day riding around on public transportation. I'd rather ride my bike to work...or anywhere within a hundred miles of my house.

Former employee, Tezzo (profile imminent), was more honest than any of my other co-workers about the total waste of time that he spent on public transportation and how it made him feel like a chump. When he finally got his Chevy Tahoe up and running, he seemed like a free man. Reggie does not have a Chevy Tahoe sitting in his driveway waiting for repairs.

Reggie likes to come to work on holidays, buzzed. I can't blame him. He doesn't want to be at work, and his crappy job gives him no other option than to work on national holidays. Most people are spending time at home, comfortable with their families and loved ones. You know he's liquored up when he comes into the break room around midnight and pops a half of a chicken into the microwave. It becomes even more obvious when he can barely keep his eyes open when third break hits. He's had to go home to avoid total exhaustion a few times but he usually makes it through to the bitter end.

One time, during our third break, Reggie shook himself out of a stupor, got up from his seat in the break room and proceeded to walk right into a door jamb. Everybody in the room heard the sound of him slamming into the doorway. He hit the wall so hard his eye was bleeding. He shook it off and went back to work, though I don't think he was worth much.

On an average day, Reggie and I discuss sports, life issues, and the benefits of consuming alcohol, during our first and second breaks. He's about 5' 5", 135 pounds. Scrawny but scrappy. I think he could best be described as a sergeant to his crew in the foods department. James C. (profile to come) calls him and the other slackers that work on overnights, "clowns." James' assessment is almost entirely accurate.

Reggie is a courageous American.

2009-08-08T09:24:00.010-05:00

Profiles in Courage, Chapter One:

The year is 2009. The sub-premium beer wars are being waged in earnest. Stroll down to your local Shop 'n Save and you will be able to purchase a 24 ounce can of Milwaukee's Best Ice for ninety cents. I don't drink that crap, but I did buy six pints of Bud Dry for $3.49. That's enough beer to last me an entire day...but enough about me.

This post is about my co-worker, Ben. Ben was born and bred in rural Tennessee, not far from the home of the Highland Rim stage race that many local cyclists are so familiar with. Ben is not, strictly speaking, an athlete, but he is in decent shape. He works out from time to time and tries to eat healthy snacks such as protein bars.

Ben is the Overnight Sales Associate in Electronics. I am the Overnight Sales Associate in Sporting Goods. We are the only two Overnight Sales Associates at our store.

Ben drives a gold 2005 Chevy Cobalt.

The right side is covered in gold primer and all of the hub caps are missing. To call it an eyesore would be a compliment. According to Ben, his "ex" wrecked the car when they were still an item. I'm guessing that she didn't offer to pay for the damages. It still had a few hub caps remaining at that point, but he went ahead, said, 'fuck it,' and pulled the survivors off and threw them away. He's stuck paying for the car for at least another year. Now he hates it like it was his ex-girlfriend herself. Who can blame him?

Ben likes to call people, "dumb asses" when they fail to meet his expectations. He is kind enough to do this behind their backs. I usually agree with his assessments of individual character. Sometimes he takes it to the next level and calls people a "waste of space." Considering the fact that our company hires pretty much anybody, regardless of their abilities or experience, he is usually pretty accurate. I've worked with enough junkies, drug dealers, and train-wrecks over the past few years to realize that, pretty much anybody can get a job where I work. You just have to know how to exploit the system.

Ben served in the army for three years but was never deployed overseas. He wanted to go to war but was never called to combat duty. To this day, he still cuts his hair in various army styles.

I didn't realize how many different army haircuts there were until I worked with Ben.

I think Ben is pissed off at the fact that he is 24 years old and he already has gray hair. I would be angry too. I'm ten years older than him and people mistake us for each other. In his defense, most of the people I work with think I'm in my mid 20's. I'm not. Ben is...the bastard. He doesn't have that much gray hair. He could dye it but he's too much of a purist. Instead he chops it off.

Ben is one of the few, the proud, the people who are stupid enough to actually try in a dead-end job. The reason I always try is because I have an obsessive-compulsive fear of failure. Failure = Death. I'm not sure what his excuse is. Maybe ambition.

I saw Ben buying a goofy looking stuffed frog on valentine's day.

I couldn't believe he would be buying something so ridiculous for his girlfriend (unless she was 14 years old). Later on, I found out that he put the frog in his ex-girlfriend's car as a "fuck you."

Ben is a courageous American.

2009-08-01T14:07:00.002-05:00

For some reason I recently rediscovered Steve Earle. I own about a thousand records comprising hundreds of artists. Besides that, I have access to several thousand more on the Internet...just like everybody else. The days of owning compact discs are pretty much at their end, but the fact that I've spent a relatively huge amount of time listening to Steve Earle records over the past 15 or so years cannot be denied.

Sometimes I wonder if a woman feels uncomfortable that I'm staring at her body. I try to change directions with my eyes to hide my true intentions. For instance, I'll spend at least a few seconds looking at a girl's eyes. I at least made an effort. I think the eyes are the most beautiful part of a woman. The eyes are the window to a person's soul...much more so than a cute butt or a big chest.

Steve Earle kicks ass. I have Transcendental Blues, El Corazon, and I Feel Alright on compact disc. The man is a genius.

When you pull him up on Youtube, you get his two most popular videos, Guitar Town and Copperhead Road. Guitar Town is solid and reminiscent of John Mellencamp and Bruce Springsteen. Copperhead Road stands alone and is amazing. I can listen to it "until my brain goes soft." It doesn't matter which version it is, or where Steve is at in his career. My favorite performance is the one on the Letterman show in 1988. I appreciate the fact that he plays the mandolin instead of the guitar, like in later performances. The song is better when played with the mandolin.

The second paragraph of this post was tossed in to keep you on your toes. I mostly just wanted to talk about Steve Earle. He's still alive and has been sober for 13, plus years. I can't even imagine how you do that.

2009-07-31T10:25:00.010-05:00

I have a Mead Five Star notebook and a Trapper notebook. The Five Star has two subjects, one hundred pages, with a folder insert between the two subjects. The cover is plastic (naturally). The Trapper is only one subject with 70 pages. Its folder is contained within its cover...but it is essentially cardboard.

Therefore, I found it necessary for these two totally awesome notebooks to battle each other...to the death!

My Five Star notebook is on the right. It won the match even though it's smaller. The two parties faced each other on totally even ground in a fair and "tilted" battle.

Five Star opened the salvo with her two subjects. Trapper answered with his self-contained folder. Five Star essentially said, "look bitch! I've got folder holding abilities on both sides of my middle insert. That gives me two different options for insertion." While Trapper could not deny this fact and the fact that he only had one option for insertion (and not a very desirable one at that) he could not help but proudly display the trivia facts on the inside of his cardboard cover. In addition, he thought the name and subject field on his cover made him look really impressive. In reality, he looked like a posturing, preening, self-important pile of shit. (LOOK AT ME!!! THIS IS MY NAME AND THIS IS MY SUBJECT!!!) Not surprisingly, Trapper's defense went over like a lead balloon.

Five Star wasn't interested in useless knowledge. She beat the shit out of Trapper within an inch of his life. Despite the abuse, Trapper was a resilient mother fucker. Lonely and suffering from the pain of rejection, he jumped on top of Five Star and the two notebooks became one. After all, he was larger. College-ruled metal coils became one (only the tiniest hand could print words to fit between them). Trapper combined his 70 points with Five Star's 100 points to create a happy little Mead family. A pocket-sized notebook worth 50 points is expected this fall.

I pray to God that it will be Five Star. Just my opinion.

2009-07-20T09:22:00.013-05:00

The 21st Tour de Soulard is in the books. Unfortunately, I haven't ridden my bike since the Webster Groves Criterium. Therefore, I decided I would volunteer instead of race. I brought the sound system and helped set it up. What I didn't bring was beer, since it was too early in the morning to buy it. This situation became painfully obvious when Carson's, the bar across the street from the Start line, began selling beer for $4.50.

By about 11 a.m. I decided the beer situation had to be rectified, so I drove over to Shop 'n Save and bought a 12 pack of Schlafly APA and a 30 pack of Natural Light (the all day alcoholic's choice). I avoided any hard feelings on my part and drank a Schlafly before easing it down with the Natural Lights. I feel much better if I at least get to drink one of my own beers.

I spotted McGibbs across the street at a pub with his new family. J.P., his wife, and kid were kind enough to adopt the lonely McGibbs and feed him this big juicy burger. Notice that he's already drained one pint of booze and he's ready for more. How else would he wash that pound of meat down? Also note that this is a pre-race meal. I informed the family that I had some cold beer in my cooler and returned to my volunteer duties.

At the start line, I watched the masters adjust their bifocal Oakley's from the comfort of my shaded pop-up tent, sitting atop my cooler full of beer. But it wasn't long until I was called into active duty. Another volunteer was needed between corners six and seven, codename: Clementine's. That's right, we needed another corner marshal in front of the local gay bar to let cars out of the inside of the course and I was enlisted for the task.

I left my precious cooler behind (because it weighed about fifty pounds) and headed over to my post. Derek from the Trek Store was on the other side of the street. He would wave cars through from his side and I would remove the caution tape and let them exit the course on my side. It was definitely a two person job.

By about noon, my can of Natural Light started to run out and I was getting pretty hungry. Bigal drove by on his motor scooter, with the lunch order for the other corner marshals and I stole someone else's sausage out of necessity. Around that same time, Derek's fiancee ran into Clementine's and got us all beers.

Derek's fiancee can be seen resting on the barricade to the right. She was great. She kept a cold beer in my hand all day and bought several of them. She wouldn't take my money.

A shout out to my cuzzo who handed me the Belgian wheat ale. It was by far the best beer I had all day.

Understandably, I was trying to avoid going into Clementine's myself. Eventually, it became inevitable that I would have to use the restroom after processing several beers throughout the day. I went into the bar and immediately noticed that the restroom's door was nailed open. I stepped into the room and it was about five feet wide with only urinals lining either wall. The first time I was alone and everything went fine, other than the fact that when I looked up there was a poster of a body builder above my urinal. The second time I had to use the restroom some guy put his hands on my shoulders and called me "honey" but thankfully made no moves. The third and final time I had to relieve myself, a guy was looking at me in the mirror and talking to me while I did my business.

Later in the day, Derek's buddy Carl (please excuse any misspellings or incorrect names) came by and helped us out. One of the bar's patrons was hitting on me, so we swapped sides of the street. That only caused more trouble as the guy who was hitting on me followed me over to the other side of the street and a new group of guys began to hit on Carl. One guy was working him hard, asking if he could trade shirts. But the biggest reaction of the day came when Curt Kippenburger rode through with his jersey unzipped. The boys went wild!

After the race we broke down our corner and quickly moved on. I loaded up my mini-hearse with the sound system. I checked my cooler and of course all of the Schlaflys were gone while most of the Natural Lights still remained. Gibbs and his new family must have been thirsty. I popped open a few Natty Lights while me and some of the guys waited around for the hay bales to get picked up. Carl provided me with some snacks, which was a good thing since I ended up stuck at the race course until about nine in the evening guarding a pair of motor scooters.

While I was sitting around, playing security guard, some pimps and playas shot a rap video across the street from me. Check out the hot wheels and fly honeys involved. My favorite ride is the Dodge Magnum with the goofy two-tone paint job. Personally, I would prefer a cop-car-style black and white paint job on my Magnum.

A couple of cute neighborhood girls walked by after the video had been shot and I told them about it. We talked for several minutes, when they started to escape. I asked myself, 'What would Bobby Van Daley do?' I attempted to channel his phony charm but I only managed to keep the girls entertained for another few minutes before they slipped away. Now I know what the guy hitting on me at Clementine's must have felt like.

Bigal and Chris came by to collect their stuff and I was finally free to go home. I hopped in my car and hit Taco Bell on the way home for some chicken burritos. I think we did a pretty impressive job of putting on the race without the ususal assistance from the neighborhood association. The boys and girls from the Manchester Trek store made a huge difference in helping the STLCC out on the ten corners of the course. Our two crews worked pretty well together.

2009-07-16T12:04:00.002-05:00

On Tuesday, I developled a really nasty cold. By Wednesday , I feared I might have the deadly swine flu. I called my mom, who is a nurse, and asked her about my symptoms. Talking to her, my condition sounded more like a cold than a flu. I was scheduled to work that night, so I drank plenty of Nyquil (actually an off-brand with the same drugs in it) and hoped for the best. A few hours before I had to work, my fever (which had reached about 102 degrees) broke, but I still felt pretty tired. I took a chance and went into work anyway. I was tired at first, but started to feel pretty normal by the end of the night (actually morning).

Driving home the next morning, I got a warm fuzzy feeling, thinking about the money I saved by going to work. At my job, we need to be sick at least two days in a row to collect sick pay and we need a doctor's excuse. I had almost made it home when I went right to pull around a car making a left turn. I drove up on a curb, and ruined one of my tires. The amount of money I make in a night will cover the cost of a new tire.

2009-07-12T16:53:00.003-05:00

Over the weekend, I went to the St. Louis zoo with my niece and nephew. Here are the annual pictures of these two cuties:

This is Sage. Much too cute to be my relative. But the fact that she constantly runs away, does her own thing, and defies authority, lets me know that she is definitely a blood relative.

This is Zach. This is pretty much what I looked like when I was a baby, though I almost certainly sported a larger nose (and bigger muscles). All the better to breathe with. His thunder thighs are not yet muscular enough to carry him away from authority figures, but with enough formula and solid foods he will, hopefully, gain his independence.

2009-07-07T13:00:00.002-05:00

I finally got my college diploma in the mail and I framed it up in the finest document frame Wal-Mart sells. Before I could get the official document positioned properly, the little stander-up thingy broke off of the back of the picture frame. I was going to hang it on the wall anyway. I was pleased to learn that I was "Magna Cum Laude." I thought that the mediocre grade I received in my final class had bumped me down a level, but I guess not. It was a pleasant surprise. I was also pleased to see a pair of bears on my diploma. They are tough and they do not fail to hunt down man when they have acquired a taste for human flesh (according to the movie, The Edge). Not everybody gets to have a human-destroying monster on his diploma.

Speaking of human-destroying monsters...

I watched the movie The Predator again for the second time in the past few months. I love this freaking movie. Arnold's band of mercenaries are bumped off, one by one, until the final showdown where Arnold kicks the motherfucker's ass. I love the part where the Predator says, "what the hell are you" in an Austrian accent to Arnold and proceeds to type a self-destruct code into his wrist computer. Then he laughs maniacally as Arnold runs away to save his own life from the impending nuclear blast.

My favorite scenes:

I love the scene where Jesse The Body gets blown away and the rag-tag crew of ex-soldiers empty their weapons into the forest in attempt to eradicate the alien species. I especially like the part where the hairless dude who compulsively shaves himself with dosposable razors picks up the one hundred pound helicopter gun and cuts down the forest in front of him in attempt to mow down the Predator.

Along those same lines, I love the scene where razor guy breaks the head of his razor off while mindlessly shaving himself in the middle of the jungle while he and his crew are attempting to kill an alien life form.

The reason I watched this movie again was after seeing Sonny Landham, playing Billy Bear, pull out his knife and get blown away by Eddie Murphy in the movie 48 hours. In Predator Billy dies for a good reason after throwing away his automatic machine gun and pulling out his knife...to save Arnold and the girl captured from the enemy compound.

Lastly but not leastly, I love the scene where Carl Weathers' arm gets blown off and the finger of his severed arm can be seen pulling the trigger of his machine gun while it lies on the ground. It's reminiscent of the scene where Arnold and Carl slap hands and have a muscle flex contest earlier in the movie. It leads me to hypothesize that, the moral of the Predator is, men are severely competitive to the point of self-destruction. The Predator himself goes so far as to kill people and take their skulls as trophies.

All of this speculation begs the question, is the Predator a male and does his species reproduce like ours. It's been a long time since I've seen Predator 2 and I haven't seen AVP yet. I'm going to have to study these movies before I can make an intelligent decision about the sexual orientation and capabilities of the Predator.

2009-07-06T11:58:00.003-05:00

I've had a rough week. After the Webster Groves Criterium, I haven't touched a bike. Every chance I've had, I've slept instead. I promised my mom that I would visit her on no less than three occasions, but instead I've slept in.

I did nothing for the fourth of July weekend.

1/3 of my life equals work...1/3 equals drinking...and the last third is spent sleeping. But there's another 1/3 of it is spent watching movies. It totally throws off the equation. To be honest, it's a new and not totally unwelcome development in my life.

I have a stack of DVD's and I'm going to run through them for you.

"There Will Be Blood" is the most compelling movie I've seen in a long time. I love the fact that Daniel Day Lewis plays the roll with his native accent, though he supposedly hails from Fon Du Lac Wisconsin...or wherever the fuck. The bowling alley scene at the end of the movie is one of the most incredible scenes I've ever seen in a movie. Eli Sunday is forced to recite, "I am a false prophet. God is a superstition." During the closing credits I noticed that it was based on the novel "Oil" by Upton Sinclair. Suddenly, it became clear why the movie was a perfect vehicle for the tenets of socialism and atheism. If you've ever read "The Jungle" think hard about what Sinclair's point was. The man is a master manipulator.

Most recently, I watched "The Edge" with Alec Baldwin and Anthony Hopkins. I remember watching this movie, years ago, and being scared by the massive grisly bear. Now, it just looks like a joke. The most important and compelling thing about this movie is the relationship between Baldwin and Hopkins. I love the inscription on Baldwin's watch, "For all the nights." Baldwin gets all fucked up on a bottle of tequila at a wayward cabin but isn't able to dust off his adversary. Hopkins takes mercy on him and tries to save his life. The single-most thing that I love about this movie is the unwarranted compassion offered buy Sir Anthony Hopkins for the undeserving Baldwin.

I remember going to the theater to see "Breakdown" with my mom and her "man friend" back in the mid 90's. In this movie, Kurt Russell does everything possible to save his beautiful wife from death and rape from J.T. Walsh and his evil crew of bandits. Though Kurt has a brand new Jeep Grand Cherokee, it doesn't mean that he or his wife actually have any real money. I understand completely. New cars and displays of wealth are nothing but an illusion.

After several years of owning "Girl, Interrupted" on DVD I finally got around to watching it. I was surprised that I really liked the movie. Winona Rider was a compelling heroine. I related most to Angelina Jolie's character. I too am too honest to maintain the friendships that matter most in my life. When Jolie talks the valium-addicted girl into killing herself, it's the most compelling scene of the movie.

I finally watched another movie I have owned for many years, but I've never watched..."Donnie Brasco." Forgetaboutit! I love the scene where Johnny Depp's character tells Al Pacino that his diamond ring is, "Fugazi." Al and Michael Madsen stand by Johnny's character to the end even though we know he's a phony. I think the whole point of this movie is, we all have friends that are a bunch of liars and fakes, and maybe it's easier for us to treat them like family and not question their true intentions. Forgetaboutit.

In addition to the previously mentioned titles, I bought "48 Hours" for a few measly dollars. I was intrigued with how much the scrawny, undersized, over-compensating Eddie Murphy character was built up. The movie was sublimely fictitious. I loved it when the undersized Murphy, in his "five hundred dollar suit" fought with the more legitimate Nolte in his outdated Cadillac. I totally want to get a crucifix earring in my left ear, just like the main bad guy in the movie. Then, maybe I can lay around and watch outdated cartoons while my girlfriend struts around naked.

I can't even begin to tell you how long I've had "The Falcon and the Snowman" in my DVD collection. I love how Timothy Hutton is totally an alcoholic sucking down shots at every chance he can get, but somehow he is superior to his drug-addicted friend Sean Penn. Snorting cocaine is kosher, but huffing horse is indicative of being a total loser.

Finally, but not lastly, I viewed "2001: a Space Odyssey." The movie is forty years old but I loved it. "Open the Pod bay doors, Hal." Keir Dullea and his cuzzo attempt to conspire against Hal in their secret little pod, but Hal can read lips. Hal is lonely and he needs friends. Therefore, he feels compelled to kill the yellow astronaut. Who can blame him.

2009-06-30T14:08:00.002-05:00

Beer of the day: Pabst Blue Ribbon Light. It used to be labeled, "Pabst Blue Ribbon, Light, Low Calorie Beer." My opinion? It's not the worst beer I've ever tasted. In comparison to a decent beer, it's every bit as satisfying as a Shop 'n Save cola. It's somewhat satisfying...in comparison to a crisp, refreshing can of Coca Cola. It gets the job done.

I raced Webster Groves on Sunday. It's the fifth time in six years that I've done the race. I remember watching Dan Bruns and his cuzzos drinking light beer there in 2004 and thinking, "God damn, I'm thirsty!" But no light beers were forced into my kung-fu grip at that point in time. This year, I allowed Greg of Team Seagal to force one beer into my hand, for which I am grateful. He also forced an inner tube into my wheel that would hold air. I appreciate his assistance and I had a pretty non-eventful race considering the fact that my bike is so old, it should not, technically, be capable of finishing a race.

I finally purchased the movie Aliens after a long and not very exhaustive search. Then, I went so far as to watch it and really enjoyed the acid-drenched bloodshed. Next, I viewed the movie Alien 3 and enjoyed that as well. I saw the movie at the theater when it came out in 1992, but it was interesting to experience it again. Sigourney Weever is never hotter than her appearance in the movie Alien. It makes me think that maybe youth and beauty are shackled together.

I have no scientific facts to back up my claim, but I believe that 28 is the perfect age. I defy anyone to disagree with me. For the majority of our lives, we are either younger or older than that age. Therefore, perfection is rarely (if ever) within our immediate grasp. Something to think about.

2009-06-26T09:08:00.002-05:00

Beer of the day: Old Milwaukee Light. "America's best tasting beer." 2008 Gold Award winner for American-style light lager.

My opinion? It's a fairly beery tasting beer. People who don't like beer will definitely not like it...so it's pretty good...compared to other light beers. It at least kicks the ever-loving shit out of Natural Light.

Even more exciting, I finally tried "Pepsi Throwback." It was pretty good, but it was strange how much different sugar cane tastes than high fructose corn syrup. We never noticed the transition when it happened because they weened us off of sugar gradually. I remember when ingredients lists would read "sugar or high fructose corn syrup." Now they don't even pretend that there's any real sugar in soda-pop. It's just not there.

I raced for the first time in almost a year on Tuesday. I did fine, even though I got a flat tire and had to fix it during the race. I blamed it on six year old tubes, Ryan Pirtle heard six year old's pubes. The Pirtles are strange people. Despite the low level sexual harassment, I hung in the race fine and took a decent pull near the end. I never saw Dawson in the mix, though he was supposedly there, according to the results. I don't think he was really there.

After the race I enjoyed a snow cone from the ICCC. I was the only person waiting in the line to request a combination of pink lemonade and cherry. In my opinion, the two flavors are a perfect combination. In my opinion, I am a perfect combination of bitterness, love, and insight...not unlike a cherry-lemonade snow cone.

2009-06-15T08:01:00.002-05:00

My stats for last week are pretty solid: I rode five times for 260 miles. It's been a long time since I've felt truly bad on a ride. It hasn't been as long since I've felt truly bad about the path my life has taken. I guess that's why I've been riding more lately.

During the past few weeks, I've begun to purchase and watch cheap DVD's. A few weeks ago I watched Death Wish and was impressed by Charles Bronson's performance. He wasn't totally wooden, like he is in so many other movies. He at least showed a little emotion and some proof that he could act like somebody other than Charles Bronson. Plus, Herbie Hancock produced the score.

In the middle of my 260 mile week, I watched Natural Born Killers and drank a bunch of light beer. I had never seen the movie before and was surprised that I really liked it. Oliver Stone doesn't make what is traditionally thought of as a quality movie, but what he produces is almost always different and thought-provoking. I loved the performances of Tommy Lee Jones, Tom Sizemore, Rodney Dangerfield, and Robert Downey jr. The "natural born" killers themselves were a little bit cliched and boring but the actors that surrounded them made the movie interesting and different.

I picked up Casino and Batman Begins for chump change during the current Father's Day sales. I'll report back on those movies later as they are very long and I don't feel like watching them right now. I bought my step dad A History of Violence and The Perfect Storm. I think he may already have the latter movie. If he does, I guess I'll be stuck watching George Clooney and Mark Wahlberg get killed by the sea on some lonely Sunday morning, which really isn't so bad.

2009-06-10T21:17:00.002-05:00

On Tuesday I rode a hundred miles for the first time in almost a year. I rode my single speed road machine over to Illinois. Originally, it was only going to be another 80 mile ride but it turned into a little bit more after running into a few friends from the past.

I spotted Dawson leaving his job while I was eating a taquito at Quick Trip. As he was climbing into his 1985 Chevy Cavalier, he informed me that it was going to rain. I said, "nah, nah, nah, I can't hear you." I've got no time for negativity.

After getting back on my bike, I ran into former teammate, Justin, in his green kit. I joined him in my much handsomer blue kit. The STLCC is blue now. I'm one of the people who rammed the change through. What can I say? I was tired of wearing green. We rode together over to the Tuesday Night Tri ride. We ran into Dawson, riding his precious bicycle in the freshly falling rain and his buddy Mullen. At that point I had ridden about 60 miles and was 30 miles from home, so I decided to go for it. I completed the century by circling Tower Grove Park three times, with only a mildly numb left index finger to show for it. I rode the hundred miles in five and half hours. I had nothing better to do.

Naturally, Wednesday, should have been a rest day. I took my geared road bike out for a ride through some urban parks. First of all, I hit Carondolet and was feeling pretty good in the hot and humid conditions. From there I took an old route down to Jefferson Barracks and was surprised how good I was feeling after the long ride the day before. Leaving the park, I was averaging about 19 1/2 miles an hour, which is much faster than I usually ride. I decided to attempt to hold the pace as I rode up Broadway to Russell, then over to Tower Grove for a lap. I did it, and it wasn't easy.

It was unbelievable, how many times I had to stop and start on this route, but I held the pace. I guess my light beer diet is paying off. I haven't been training that much this year, but I'm not sure if I ever felt this good last year. It's somewhat encouraging. I'm thinking about buying a USCF license.

2009-06-08T13:10:00.007-05:00

I bought a six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon against my better judgment. I think the flavor of the beer kind of sucks but the fact that I scored a full house from my sixer is beyond all reason. As I was drinking my beers I decided that I was going to quit my job if I got a four of a kind. It's every man for himself on the "Wall", which gets old after a while. If I scored a full house (which I did!) I was going to make some sort of profound change in the train wreck known as my life.

Well...Goddamnit...I scored a full house. Now what?

I guess it's time for me to stop fucking around.

2009-05-24T09:58:00.002-05:00

I'm still on the light beer diet that I mentioned a few weeks ago. I haven't lost any weight yet but I haven't had any hangovers to speak of. It was my birthday a few days ago, so of course I bought a real six pack of beer to celebrate the occasion. Real beer tastes so strange and flavorful after weeks of drinking beer that has 95 calories a bottle (Natural Light is my favorite). I went with the bitterest selection possible, Boulevard Single Wide IPA. I only made it through four before falling to sleep, avoiding major weight gain. That means I have two more to drink and it's back to Natural Light.

I may have been tired after riding my single speed road bike over to Illinois for the second time in a week. This time I rode eighty miles in eighty degree weather without making any stops at filling stations. I was fine for the first three and a half hours, but the last hour started to hurt. I drank plenty of water but I needed energy drink. My average speed dropped from above 18 miles an hour to around 15. I still managed to ride the 80 miles in four and a half hours.

I'm impressed with the performance of my single speed on my various routes in Illinois. There is no time in the ride that I ever wished for gears. In fact, I think it's more convenient not to have them. I rode through a muddy stretch along Sullivan Boulevard in front of the Arch that would have caused major problems for my geared bike. Seventy miles with a dirty chain and cog didn't cause me any problems. The thing that bothers me most about the bike are the skinny little brake hoods. I started on them as a teenager, but they are hard to get used to after years of riding fatter STI hoods.

While I was busy working, my mom went to the Grand Canyon and all I got was a stupid T-shirt. But she has promised to help me get a new roof for my house, so I guess I can't complain. You can't really top that in the birthday present department, short of buying somebody a Lexus and sticking a bow on the grill.

2009-05-20T08:59:00.002-05:00

I've decided that it's too much trouble to maintain my geared road bike. Therefore, I've been riding my singlespeed the past couple of weeks. Last week, I rode 66 miles. This week, I upped it to 70 miles on the trails and bike paths of Illinois. Eventually, I will knock out a century. It should be no sweat, cuzzo. These four hour excursions haven't been too tough.

The major problem with my three hundred dollar bike, is the extremely short stem that it came with. I decided to bite the bullet and stop at the Cyclery during my ride and do the swap. The last time I stopped there, Dawson tried to sell me a hundred dollar saddle. I'm not interested in paying a hundred dollars for a fucking bicycle seat. I said, "good day, sir" and was on my way.

This time Dawson (somehow I always get stuck with the guy as my "sales associate") found me a stem that would work for my bike and told me it would only cost $12. I said, "cool" and he tossed a tool at me and told me to put it on myself. His coworkers looked on in horror as I installed my own stem.

I think it looks pretty sharp. Dawson left the scene and I made a deal with Gibbs to trade my old stem for the "new" one. It was cool with me since I didn't have much room to carry the old stem.

During my ride, I checked up on Dick's domicile. His house has been under construction for about two years now. A year was spent preparing the lot. Another year has been spent building the house that stands on it. I have to say, it is a pretty kick-ass house, comprising several thousand square feet and numerous garage doors. I've made plenty of jokes to random people about the million dollar house (I'm not exaggerating) on the adjacent property, but when (and if) Dick's house is finished, it will fit into the neighborhood pretty well.

2009-05-14T08:54:00.002-05:00

This T-shirt looks so innocent.

I went into personnel to pick it up and my manager told me my size had been estimated as an X-large and I had no choice but to accept it. I asked her, "What do I have to do to get you to give me a medium?" She told me it was not possible. I told her I didn't want the T-shirt. We worked out a deal for me to get a medium. I traded my XL to somebody who wanted a bigger size. Everybody wins.

2009-05-13T10:08:00.002-05:00

My sources report that Tezzo was seen sipping from a cup of clear liquid that probably wasn't water on the night he was fired. The dude would crack me up. He would come back from our lunch break and there was obviously something completely different about him. He never tried to hide it, at least from me.

I've got nothing to hide. I'm on a regimen of light beer right now since I'm trying to lose some weight. I'm feeling pretty good. I'll throw back a few Milwaukee's Best Lights and hit the sack. A dude at Shop 'N Save informed me that, "there are beers that taste better than Milwaukee's Best Light." I responded, "Yes, but there is no beer that costs less than Milwaukee's Best Light." He agreed. All light beer sucks and there are no exceptions. I'm drinking light beer in my quest for fitness because it only contains a hundred calories per can or bottle.

Not that I'm as fit or healthy as the contestants on the "Biggest Loser." My opinion of this show: A bunch of disgustingly obese people who have made numerous bad decisions about eating and even poorer choices about the amount of activity they engage in, in their everyday lifestyles, suddenly realize that they are disgusting slobs. This bunch of corpulent food addicts go on national television to engage in a physically dangerous level of exercise. The negative effects on their bodies will probably be long lasting. Especially, considering the fact that most contestants will probably regain most of the weight they lost during the contest in the next five years.

I think it's cool that these people want to change their lives, but I think it sends the wrong message to our youth. That message being, it's o.k. to get morbidly obese when times are tough or when you feel sad. It's possible to save yourself and burn most of that fat over the course of several weeks. The proof for this logical fallacy is in the numerous weigh-ins that are the dramatic core of the show. I can't remember how many times a big fat blobs oozes onto the scale and records a weekly weight loss of 10 to 20 pounds.

In reality, you have to be constantly vigilant if you want to maintain a healthy weight and lifestyle. Most fit people didn't get there by turning their lives around after a moment of clarity, perhaps triggered from looking in the mirror at their 400 pound frame, they have been working at it their entire lives. Life is hard and that difficulty extends far beyond changing a lifetime of bad decisions in a three month period. The Biggest Loser is a crock of shit.

After a six day absence from riding any of my bikes, I decided to take my single speed road bike out for a four hour ride. It was my first ride on the bike in three months and I knew it was a bad idea at the time. I decided to give it a shot anyway and headed over Illinois to gauge the progress of Dick Racer's house. That's right, his house is far from being completed after nearly one and a half years of construction. Maybe some day he'll finish it.

I felt pretty good riding into a headwind on the way out, noticing that it's 46x16 gear was perfect for riding on the flats...which comprised 95 percent of the ride. After an hour or so, I began to feel very comfortable on the bike. So much so, that I've decided I'm going to attempt a century on it soon. I ran into Justin Allen and a dude from Ghisallo named Kyle somewhere around the southern side of Edwardsville. We rode together for a stretch and it helped break the monotony of the ride up for me.

It's funny to note that Kyle was on a bike with carbon rims that probably retails for around five grand, while Justin was atop a carbon fiber machine that was no slug itself. Me? I was riding a three hundred dollar, bright orange, Windsor track bike that I mail ordered from Bikes Direct last year. With God anything is possible. I was at a bit of a disadvantage because of my gear, but it wasn't too big of a deal since we were only cruising.

I ended up riding 66 miles and having a pretty good ride on the single speed. On Tuesday I decided to take my geared mountain bike out to the Chubb and Greensfelder. I parked at the Lone Elk side of the Chubb but soon ran into high water from the Meramec and had to turn around after a mile. I decided to drive over to the West Tyson end of the trail and deploy from there. I couldn't get too pissed off about it since I know that it's been raining about 70 inches a year in Missouri for the past few years and the river is subject to frequent flooding.

I headed for Greensfelder first. The trail was pretty torn up from horses but otherwise completely ride-able. It was much drier than when I rode it a month or so ago but the hoof damage was much more extensive. Overall, I couldn't complain. The trail are well cut, rocky, and fun. As wet as it's been in the state over the past few years, trail damage is inevitable. This isn't Phoenix.

I rode back to West Tyson Park and rode a four mile loop of the Chubb and Flint Quarry trails. By this point I was a little tired and my hands were feeling stiff and slippery from not wearing any gloves. I averaged like eight miles an hour. I sucked. I was getting into the three hour range by the end of the ride, which explains the fatigue.

I drove home, cleaned up and enjoyed some light beers. I went to work, controlled a bunch of inventory and organized a bunch of things in the backroom. Then I went home and enjoyed some light beers. Light beers, light beers, light beers.

2009-05-08T11:32:00.004-05:00

Bad news, Tezzo got the axe. That's right, they fired my cuzzo. He came into work hungover (more common than not) and decided to sleep it off at the bank of computers near the time clock. The problem, he was on the clock for those two hours. At our job "stealing time" is a fire-able offense. And they fired Tezzo after two and a half years on the job.

I think it bothers me more than anyone else. It sucks to lose somebody who is competent at a place where competency is the exception. My cuzzo "Benzo" referred to Tezzo as a bum, but I disagree. Intelligence, grasping concepts, and a true ability to understand what teamwork really is, is rare at a retailing establishment. Tezzo was sharp. He had it all down pat. If I was going to pick a softball team, I would pick the dude. Enough said.

I rode the Berryman on Tuesday. I wasn't in the mood for a double, so I rode part of the Curtois section and some gravel roads, instead of an additional lap of the Berryman. The total mileage was around 33 and the time equaled about three and a half hours. It was a fun ride and I rode some trail for the first time. I had no idea that the Curtois section connected to the Berryman like it did.

2009-05-01T23:26:00.003-05:00

Yo, cuzzos. I decided to ride the Trace Creek section of the Ozark Trail on Friday morning. Why, I'm not sure. I was working from 10 p.m. to 7 a.m. picking and binning merchandise for the man, when I decided that it was time to do another epic ride on the Ozark Trail. The next logical choice was the two trails I have ridden parts of this year, but have not completed. That would be the North and South Trace Creek sections of the OT. I've ridden them both before but never together in their entirety. All systems were go after the whistle blew and I punched out of the time clock.

Tezzo wanted me to take him to the Ozarks for an adventure but I told him, first you're going to need to get yourself a mountain bike. It's tough to cover 50 miles in six hours on your feet alone. This ain't Wal-Mart, cuzzo...the land of overweight lovers in low-riding jeans, texting on their cell phones in a climate-controlled environment. This is mother nature kicking you square in your nuts...and she's a pretty mean bitch.

Once I got home, I prepared my geared bike, boarded the mini-hearse, and completed a successful drive to the Middlefork parking lot. From there I planned to take the stubby part of the Middlefork to the South Trace Creek section and ride it. From there I would continue to the North Trace Creek section and ride it too. Mission accomplished.

I found it interesting that the South Trace Creek trail has hills that get steeper as you ride to the south. So much so, that I was seriously thinking about bitching out and riding over to Council Bluff and doing a lap after riding up the cliff along Highway A. But after getting through those five or six miles of hell, with the trail leveling out, I decided the North Trace was doable. I checked the time after getting back to the Middlefork and saw that I had four and a half hours of daylight to get it done. Cool.

I spent about two hours riding out and two hours getting back. Not my finest hour, but I realized that it's probably unrealistic to expect to ride as fast at the end of a six hour ride as you do at the beginning. It just doesn't happen unless you're a freak of nature. My mottos for the North Trace Creek were "North Trace Creek, cuzzo!" And "TCB-TCB." Which translates to: Trace Creek Boyz Taking Care of Business. Don't worry about the fact that none of this makes sense. When you do six hour rides by yourself in the Ozarks, strange things go through your mind. I think I recited the mantra, "North Trace Creek, cuzzo" out loud no less than a hundred times. Strange things like this get me through the day.

There were probably 40 creek crossings and my feet and hands got pretty cold and a little numb by the end of the ride. It didn't help that the temperature dropped ten degrees to the mid-50's while I was on the trail. This is a pretty severe contrast to the 85 degree lap I did of the Berryman back on Sunday. No sunblock was applied and no sunburns were acquired on this day.

That's what's up, cuzzos. I did it. That's all I have to offer you for now. After the ride, I drove over to Hardee's and ordered the Bacon Cheese Thickburger meal in size medium. It wasn't enough, but I filled up on Cherry Coke. Apparently, a medium size soda is 32 ounces now. Holy shit, I guess your average American is out there busting off Middleforks, and double Berrymans in his free time.

I tried to drive straight home, but I was too tired. I had to pull over at Quick Trip to take a five minute nap. I made the stop worthwhile by buying a six pack of Sam Adams Winter Lager. I thought it was White Ale when I grabbed it, but I was pleasantly surprised when I tasted the brew. I don't think I've had it in six months and I kind of missed the brew.

After that, I blasted "Mama, I'm Coming Home" by Ozzy Osbourne on the way home. Listen to the lyrics. He's not singing about his real "mama." What a creep.

2009-04-27T02:25:00.007-05:00

On Sunday, I decided to give a double Berryman another shot. I made this decision driving home from work at 7:15 a.m. I'm not a huge planner. I cleaned up my singlespeed for the epic. Why I chose to ride my SS for the first time in five weeks, I have no idea. I think because it's finally dry enough to not wear a set of rim brake pads down in one ride. I prepared everything like the pro that I am. I poured a hundred ounces of fluid and packed all sorts of other things into my hydration pack. I loaded my gear into my hearse and departed for the trail on a perfect, sunny, 85 degree day. What could possibly go wrong?

I flew down the rural highways of Missouri in my car on a perfect day with my sunroof ajar. I see a lot of other cruisers on the road and I'll usually eyeball the vehicle's operator. I would say, on average, the person is twice my age. It makes me feel so young.

Highway W is one of the most beautiful roads I have driven. I think it's one of the main reasons I'm drawn to the Berryman. You may have noticed that I usually park at the Brazil Creek trailhead. That is partially because I enjoy the drive. The highway winds along a creek and contains numerous intriguing farms, plantations, and rural properties. Once again, it forces me to think what my life would be like if I lived in rural Missouri, drove a pickup truck, and was a real American. I wonder how many other people have, "Ozark fantasies."

Here is the obligatory picture of my car. I jumped out of the black beauty, ready to try my best at riding two laps of the Berryman on my singlespeed in the seven hours of daylight I had available. I opened up the drawer in the passenger seat of my car and found a bottle of sun block to slather on myself. There would be no sun burns today. Most importantly, my cars seats have drawers, cousin!

Everything was going as planned until I couldn't find my hydration pack. It turns out, I left it at home by accident. I always forget something, and this is what I forgot on this day. No Powerade, tools or tubes made riding the trail seem impossible to my fragile little mind. Finally, I decided that I had plenty of daylight to ride one lap. If my bike had a mechanical of some sort, I would walk back to the trailhead over the shortest distance possible. That would never be more than 12 miles. Fortunately, I remembered to bring my cooler and I had plenty of water, so hydration was not an issue.

I spotted this caddy with the downward leaning hitch rack at the campgrounds before I started my ride. I've seen a few vehicles at this trailhead that made me wonder if the occupants knew what they were getting themselves into by riding a 24 mile loop that has no potable water (in my opinion) available along its length and no convenient bailouts. There are places where you can cut across the loop and take country roads. but nothing is signed and you would have to know what you were doing. For me, it's easier to stay on the trail than take a chance at getting lost by making up an impromptu route including a bunch of fire roads, but I'm not into orienteering. I just like to fucking ride.

After a few miles of riding in the clockwise direction, I passed a guy walking his bike up a hill and I wondered if the Caddy was his. I asked him if he needed help but he said he was fine, he was just tired. Little did he know, but I was going to request his assistance in case I had a mechanical and had to turn around and head back to Brazil Creek.

My singlespeed felt great on the Berryman. I noticed that the 29 inch tires felt better and smoother on the smoother and buffer portions of the trail and the single gear felt more connected and efficient on the less vertical portions. The rigid fork provided no comfort when hitting roots and rocks, but I'm pretty skilled at hitting them at the right angle to create the least amount of pain. I definitely had to slow down in some rougher sections to avoid T-boning trail obstacles. That's essentially what happens when you ride a rigid fork. You hit a rock or a route and the only thing that gives is your body. If you hit the obstacle hard enough, it really freaking hurts. It's a toss up between which one of my bikes rides better on the Berryman. The geared bike is faster but the singlespeed is more fun. Sometimes you need to have fun.

It's hard to believe, but there was not one time when I ever wanted gears out on the trail. My 32x18 was almost perfect, other than a few steep sections that I had to walk. Comparing the Berryman to the Middlefork, two trails I've ridden in the past few days, I would have to say, I prefer the Berryman. The trail winds along ridges more than the Middlefork. The thing that sticks in my mind most from the Middlefork, is the way the trail constantly drops into and climbs out of valleys. This would account for the approximately three dozen creek crossings along the trail when you ride it out and back. The Berryman had so few creek crossings that my feet stayed dry until the final creek crossing, one hundred feet from my car. I couldn't complain.

I rode the trail in 2:45, which is what I expected. It's not all that impressive, but I was excited that my skills actually match my imaginary ability. It's kind of cool when your imagination and your ability start to get on the same page. I would be happy if I could crack off another lap in that same time, but we'll see what happens.

The Middlefork took me six hours, out and back, and it really, really hurt. Compared to that ride, this one was fun. I didn't have any tubes or tools, which made for an interesting experience. There were times when I was riding downhill and I couldn't help but think to myself, "oh shit, be careful." One wrong move and I would be riding the rim for the rest of the ride.

I made it out of the jungle just fine and went to Shop 'N Save to buy a celebratory bottle of Salvador's Margaritas. I mixed some with ice and couldn't help but note that the mixture needed more kick, perhaps an additional shot of tequila. "The tequila's in it" but when you put ice in "it" it tends to water the mixture down. Note to self, always buy a buy a bottle of tequila to accompany a bottle of Margarita mix. Then it can be enjoyed on ice.

2009-04-23T08:37:00.010-05:00

I hadn't ridden Middlefork in three years, so I decided it was time to challenge the trail on Wednesday. It was pretty impulsive. I don't have the ability to plan anything more than two days in advance. That's why I've been doing most of my rides alone. How the hell I'm still not out there lying next to a non-functioning bike, broken and defeated, I have no idea. It was a pretty serious rush when I rolled back into the parking lot to greet my mini-hearse:

Pain is not an option when you have to get back to your junior death-mobile in time to make it home to take a nap before you go to your job working all night. I made it back to my car, drove home, grabbed a quick nap and went to my job. I showed off my sun-burned arms and told everybody I rode six hours in the Ozarks two hours away, earlier that day. While I was bragging, Cortez told me he drank 14 beers before coming into work. I no longer felt like such a badass.

Here is the scene before I started my ride on Wednesday morning. I left my house around eight a.m. and made it to the Middlefork trailhead by about 10 a.m. I planted that Bradford Pear tree myself seven or eight years ago. At first I was disappointed by the fact that it was more of an ornamental tree, because I wanted some immediate action, but now I'm glad I have such a beautiful tree growing in my yard. The maple you see behind the Bradford Pear was planted by the city of St. Louis at no charge to me. I can't complain. It provides plenty of shade when it has leaves.

This year, I have been enjoying the eight or so additional miles of restricted-access highway 21 on my drive down to Potosi. Further proof, that you have to keep on living in the presesnt, instead of embracing the past. Memories are like the unfulfilled promises of a diseased whore...they destroy your mind like syphilis. Guy de Maupassant, we hardly knew you. Anton Chekhov, you should have worn a sheepskin condom. These guys were talented writers, but there is only so much you can give before you say, fuck it.

I got stuck behind this machine on Highway DD. I couldn't help but wonder what the hell it does. More profoundly, I wonder what life would be like if I was living in Potosi, Missouri, possessing a CDL license and driving obscure machinery. It happened to my brother. He lives in rural Missouri and works at Wal-Mart. What went wrong with his life?

I pulled into the Middlefork parking lot at Highway DD and 32 and immediately observed these objects hanging from a tree. I think it's the ultimate declaration of self-meaning by someone stuck in rural Missouri with a CDL license driving power machinery for a living and suffering from the debilitating effects of final-stage syphilis.

I consulted the trail map and decided it was too difficult to map out a route of any sort beyond riding the whole damn trail out and back. Out and back it was. It was a sunny day and I didn't have any sun block on me, but I decided to risk future death by skin cancer. I geared up and strapped on the most gloriously vinyl blue shoes ever manufactured in China:

You're not living until you've worn Exustar brand mountain bicyle footwear. Tell your friends.

I started off pretty strong and was surprised by how quickly I made it to the end of the trail and the turn-around on the highway at the bottom of the hill. It was kind of cool to return to the "scene of the crime" after three years. The crime being, the Destroyers skinny-dipping in the nearby creek. Alert the media...Dudes nude in public. If we were all gay, maybe it would make for an interesting story, but we were traditional guys who like our women non-hairy and somewhat curvaceous.

Utterly straight and envious of role models so consumed with passion that their lives were ended by the cruel mistress otherwise known as venereal disease. Anton Chekhov, nursing a bottle of vodka and reminiscing about his one and only true love, while he enjoys the services of a filthy whore, comes to mind. Awesome!

Along these same lines, the Middlefork was a filthy whore on Earth Day. I enjoyed her, but she damaged me...deeply. So deeply, that I may not be able to ride again for two or three days. That's pretty serious!

2009-04-20T09:21:00.004-05:00

I make the...difference.

I think I would prefer: "Our people...make the difference!" Fuck yes! Along the same lines, "Our people...kick ass!" But you know what? We really don't...kick ass...that is. Not all at once, anyway. We kick ass, one booty at a time, one customer at a time, one store a time.

Blah.

"Our people make the...difference" describes the situation pretty well.

I'm On A Boat (ft. T-Pain) - Album Version

2009-04-17T10:16:00.001-05:00

I consider this a public service. If you haven't seen this video, watch it immediately.

2009-04-12T08:46:00.002-05:00

I'm not just posting about my weekend, I'm posting inside of the weekend. It's truly mind-blowing.

This weekend, I was in Quick Trip looking at the liquor selection. I was about to grab a pint of Tilt (easy does it) when a guy looked over at me and said, "Hey buddy, what's up?" I responded, "What's up my dude?" Then something strange happened. He said, "Give me five, man" and extended his hand with money in it. I gave him a look of total confusion. I wasn't sure if he wanted me to buy liquor for him because he was underage. He was insistent, so I decided to buy the liquor for him, because who really gives a fuck? He had a 12 pack of Miller High Life, which barely has any alcohol in it anyway. We slapped hands but he didn't give me the money. He then proceeded to the checkout, produced his I.D., which was deemed valid, and bought the beer. It was a strange encounter.

My theory is that this guy thought I was underage and was attempting to buy me booze for a five dollar fee. This would be highly strange considering the fact that I'm 33 years old. I bounced this idea off of my buddy Cortez and he dismissed it out of hand. But he knows my age and probably isn't aware that when I buy liquor, I usually get carded. I'm going to play-act the scenario with some of my homeys (maybe complete strangers) and see what they think about it. The main reason I like strangers, is they don't know me well enough to hate me yet.

Here is a random disclaimer: reading my blog posts in their entirety gives you absolutely no insight into who I really am. They are just an electronic representation in text of the more interesting things that happen to me in the course of a week. They do not provide a glimpse of my soul.

I don't get to have any fun this weekend because I have to work Friday through Sunday. My place of employment rewarded me with split off days during the week. Monday and Wednesday off...Goddamn, that's exactly what I wanted. The fact that I had to work Saturday night didn't give me enough time to make my usual journey out of town to a random section of the Ozark Trail. On Saturday I rode the Chubb and headed over to Greensfelder on my bike. But I didn't have enough time to make it to the second trail. I had a fairly satisfying and easy 35 mile ride compared to my recent Berryman adventures. It was a nice change of pace but I'd rather ride the OT. I'll be back next weekend since I have next Saturday off.

At work on Saturday night, a couple of girls flagged down Cortez and I as we were taking our pick list carts out to HBA (how's that for retail jargon?). The more well-endowed of the two needed a car key made because it had broken. I immediately knew that you can't copy a broken key, but did I mention that this girl was very well-endowed? Her and her friend were also really drunk. Cortez and I were drawn into the vortex of the two sirens. We were powerless to resist. Cortez paged our cuzzo, Joe, on his walkie talkie to buy time. I rolled the carts over to HBA and was going to go to lunch but I was powerless to resist the tractor beam of the intoxicated girls. I soon found myself in the automotive department with no memory of how I got there. The girls were drunker than ever and threatening to steal a promotional sign for the movie Twilight. I specifically told them they couldn't have it.

Cortez played around with the key and the key-making machine while we talked to the girls. Finally, Joe came and over and said, "Sorry cuzzos, but you can't copy a broken key." He wasn't telling us anything that we weren't aware of, but we thanked our cuzzo for his assistance. We continued to talk to the girls. Tezzo pointed out the burnt hood on the jacket of the endowed one. I was immediately impressed by this maneuver as it caused the girl to take off her jacket and reveal her tank top. The downside was, she started calling Cortez a "fucker." It turns out, her and her friend had a polished off a bottle of SoCo (that's hard liquor) two hours earlier and somehow her friend had burnt her hoodie. On top of that they had broken the key to their car and it was parked a few miles away. We asked the girls how they got to our store at 3 a.m. but they offered no specific explanation.

As the girls began to cuss more and make attempts to strike Tezzo, we decided it was time to go to lunch. A few minutes later, we heard over the walkie that the girls had attempted to steal the Twilight sign but were apprehended in the parking lot. That's when I thought, why the hell didn't I leave with these girls? They were pretty belligerent but if I had liquor on hand at home they would have been hard-pressed to turn down my offer of coming home with me. Sadly, I don't keep liquor at home. That policy may have saved me from the pain of a nasty case of gonorrhea. It's also nice to still have a job.

2009-04-06T08:16:00.002-05:00

My Weekend

Last weekend I decided to establish a routine and return to the Schlafly Bottleworks on Friday night to drink a few pints before work. Once again a bluegrass band was playing in the bar area, but it was a different bluegrass outfit. What the fuck is up with all of these bluegrass bands? Who the hell genuinely likes bluegrass music? Maybe it's easy to play...or something.

I started things off with a Pale Ale, and it was a huge mistake. I don't like Schlafly Pale Ale, but I forgot. Amazingly, it is by far, the least palatable pale ale I have ever had, and it's made right here in St. Louis! I think it's awful. I attempted to rectify my mistake by following up my first beer with a Bavarian Wheat. I was much happier with this selection but felt pretty bloated by the time I finished it. Keep in mind, I drank both beers in a half hour.

Ten dollars down the drain. God it feels good to piss money away sometimes.

On Saturday, I descended on the Berryman once again hoping to ride a double. But I showed up too late and I knew it wasn't going to happen. I arrived at the Brazil Creek trailhead around three p.m. or so after catching some much needed Z's after work. I turned in my one puny little lap in less than three hours and averaged 9 mph on the rough but exciting trail. I ran across scores of young hikers and campers along the way. I was the only person soloing the badboy. I have absolutely no fear of the consequences that face me should my bike fail me in my endeavors...I think we all know that by this point.

I wish I could walk into a bar knowing full well that I have absolutely no fear of the consequences that will face me should I fail to crush maximum amounts of pussy. I wouldn't have to actually crush the pussy, just knowing that I could would satisfy me. Besides, I hear there's an outbreak of Gonorrhea in St. Louis.

I stopped at Hardee's for a Thickburger meal and fell in love with my cashier. I swear to God I'm going to take her away from her small town life and show her what the big city is all about. Facing a long drive home alone, I decided to stop and buy a six pack of Budweiser American Ale. I immediately fell in love with the cashier who sold me the beer. I mean, she said, "have a nice day." I said, "you too" and she said, "thank you." I almost jizzed in my pants. I enjoyed the brew immensely.

On Sunday, I went over to my mom's house to watch a few movies. The comical, yet violent, sex scenes of one of the movies were a bit awkward. Moms toughed it out and I was proud...after all, she picked out the movie. On the way home I grabbed a bottle of "La Fin du Monde" to enjoy before I went to work. It was an interesting night at work.

2009-04-01T20:52:00.003-05:00

On Saturday, I drove down to Council Bluff Lake to ride a lap or two before the Rim Wrecker, with plans to camp out the night before the race. I loaded sixty dollars of beer into the death wagon along with the rest of my gear. I promised Team Seagal free beer for showing up and I planned to deliver the goods.

It rained most of the way down, but the weather finally broke once I hit Potosi. I made it to the campground in time to ride at least one lap. I pulled out my newly geared bike with plans to ride immediately, but it would not cooperate. The front derailleur wasn't shifting. I was messing around with it when McGibbs and Rister rode back from their lap of signing the trail for the race. McGibbs, ever the pro, threw my bike on my car rack and fixed the front derailleur issue.

Instead of riding the lake loop we headed for the South Trace. The trail was wet with some deep creek crossings, but it was hooking up great. I couldn't believe how maneuverable my tiny little 26 inch tires were. I enjoyed being able to ride up all of the climbs with my fully geared drive train. I also enjoyed the stopping power of the 185 mm Avid Elixir disc brakes. It's nice to have a fully operational bike again.

I led the boys for most of the ride. Rister was braking and shifting through all sorts of gears behind me, but I was keeping it smooth. Gibbs was taking it easy after a day in the saddle.

Upon returning to Rister's pop-up camper the duo cooked up a pair of ten dollar steaks and a pot of 33 cent macaroni from Shop 'N Save. I dug into a six dollar sub sandwich from Wal-Mart. We enjoyed some single fermented Belgian wheat from Schlafly that Gibbs managed to score for the race (along with lots of other great stuff).

Manthony Duston and the Dogfish crew joined us along with Al and Fred in the pop-up. The heater was on and it was pretty comfortable sitting on the couches inside of the camper. I brought in a 12 pack sampler of Boulevard earmarked for Team Seagal (sorry guys) and we enjoyed it immensely. After a while, a bag of trail mix was opened and only the strong remained to eat it. Dust, Dawson, Gibbs, Rister and myself entered into a contest to see who could outlast the huge bag. I ate as much of the perfect food as I could but when the mix began to taste like sand and I realized that I had been chewing the same bite for several hours, I decided to retire to my mini-hearse for the night.

Upon waking up the next day, I decided I was lucky to be alive. I was fairly scrunched up in the mini-hearse because I was too tired to move any of my gear out of the way, but I felt o.k. more or less. Better than I would have if I had slept in the tent I had set up, which was collapsed from the snow that had fallen overnight. I took a peek inside of the popup and noticed that there was still some trail mix left in the bag. It turns out everybody lost the night before, I was just the first to surrender.

I decided that the festivities of the night before were too much fun and that I wasn't going to race. In fact, nobody at our campsite was in the mood to race. I guess too much trail mix can be a bad thing. Instead, we cheered on the other racers and enjoyed the festivities of the day.

I was pleased to see Team Seagal show up in droves. In fact, they comprised the entire single speed class. I happily handed them their six packs for showing up, as promised. I consider my beer for bike racing a huge success. We had two Seagal soldiers at the race last year. This year we had nearly a dozen of the little wrist snappers spinning their single speed gears with reckless abandon. Team Seagal, I salute you for supporting the sport.

I decided to have dinner at Dos Primos with the Seagal crew to show my appreciation. Our overflowing numbers filled up no less than four booths. The food was good and the conversation was odd. Who could ask for anything more. I paid my thirteen bucks (no beer for me) and headed home to get ready for another night at Wal-Mart. It's called living the dream.

2009-03-23T08:41:00.002-05:00

"My Weekend" by Brian Shoemaker:

On Friday night, I decided to stop at the Schlafly Bottleworks before going to work. I ordered an APA to start things off and was amazed by how good it tasted, kind of like the ultimate IPA. A bluegrass band was playing and doing a pretty good job of picking and strumming. Next, I ordered a Bavarian Wheat to offset the bitterness of my first beer. I really wanted to keep drinking but it wasn't tough to go to work instead of paying $4.25 plus tip for another beer.

On Saturday, I grabbed some sleep after getting home from work. It was my mom's birthday and I was supposed to meet her and some family members at the Macaroni Grill for dinner. Before doing that I rode a short loop on part of the Chubb trail. I had some new fat tires on my 29'er and was amazed by how much better the bike rode with them. After that I ate spaghetti and meatballs with my family at the restaurant. On the way home I grabbed a bottle of Trois Pistoles for dessert. That disappeared very quickly, so I went back out and got a bottle of champagne as well. After that was gone I went over to my neighbor's house and had a shot of whiskey. We discussed the good old days back in 2007 when I passed out on his lawn, then stumbled into my living room. He said he saw me standing in there with my head in my hands next to a nearly empty bottle of Silver Dragon vodka. I learned my lesson and only buy a bottle of hard liquor maybe once a year. I save it for special occasions.

I woke up Sunday morning feeling alright, more or less. I headed out to the Berryman around noon to hopefully ride a couple of laps in hopes of emulating Dwayne Goscinski. I flew down highway 44 to the Brazil Creek campground in a record-breaking 80 minutes. I hopped on my singlespeed and was making excellent time averaging about 10 mph for the first 12 miles. I was amazed. It's the best I've felt on a mountain bike all year. But of course, something had to happen. This time, I broke my seat post. It sheered straight off and I had to install my seat at an extremely low height to make my bike somewhat usable. About a minute later I ran into Mike Weiss of all people. He was riding an extremely ancient machine, perhaps rescued from a time capsule. I gave his girlfriend an extra bottle of water I had on me, since I wouldn't need it. I would only be riding one lap of the Berryman. Not very Goscinkian of me. A minute after that, I broke my pedal. After slowing down, my hangover became much more obvious. The next 12 miles took me about two hours on my goofy looking bike. I was really glad to get to my car and get back home. Maybe some day my bike will make it through an entire ride without having a mechanical.

Later that night, at work, I was licensed to operate the fork lift, scissors lift, walkie stacker, and electric pallet jack. My long nightmare of being expected to do things with these machines but technically not being allowed, is over.

2009-03-15T00:59:00.003-05:00

Saturday was a long, long day. After getting off from work I drove down to the Ozark Trail near Potosi in the mini-hearse with my Saris Bones RS attached to the back. My bike was quite stable on the contraption. The interior of the Chrysler is clean and pristine should I need to transport any infants in their coffins...hopefully not.

Babies are naive yet crafty. I am technically a moron considering the amount of useful information I have absorbed in my lifetime. I proved it after getting stuck on the Ozark Trail two hours after dark. Upon arriving at my car, I was ready to crawl into the cargo hold and drop dead. Instead, I drank an energy soda and drove home. Oh well, the coroner would have had to cut my feet off in preparation for the funeral.

I planned to ride 48 miles and everything was going sort of o.k. when I broke my prescription glasses after kicking them by accident during a rest stop on the side of the trail. Not long after that I broke my chain on a section near the southern end of the North Trace Creek trail. I fixed the chain problem and was on target to make it back to my car before it got dark, even though I was technically bonking. Unfortunately my chain broke itself apart at the previously broken link. I've never seen an outer link look so damaged from pushing a pin through it. It was ugly. Cause of initial chain breakage: It was tensioned too loosely

That was it. I was screwed and I knew it. With two miles to go, it got as dark as the inside of a coffin. I spent the next tow hours feeling the smoother packed down portion of the ground with my feet since I couldn't see much with the moon hiding behind some clouds and my nearest flashlight tucked safely away in the glove compartment of my little casket hauler.

Surprisingly, the feel method worked pretty well. "That's what she said." I threw that in there for old time's sake.

I've never been so completely and totally screwed on a trail after dark before. There were a few times when I considered going to sleep in the woods to wait for daylight. But like the really smart person I am, I decided to risk getting lost by trusting my feet to feel their way back to my car.

I forgot to mention that I got attacked by a snake while crossing a creek at dusk. Since I couldn't see very well, I jumped off of my bike, but something didn't look right. I must have stepped through a nest of snakes, because I heard one hiss at me as I jumped the gap. Fortunately, he hit my bike instead of me. Needless to say it scared the ever-living shit out of me. I was a little more careful at creek crossings after that encounter, but no other snakes attempted to get a piece of me.

I couldn't help but think about this old baseball adage as I continually walked the wrong way in the dark and back-tracked to feel for the compaction of the trail with my feet: "This is why we play the game." In sports, the best-ranked team in the preseason isn't anything until they prove themselves in the real world. Sometimes they lose miserably but it teaches them an important lesson about life. I played the game, I lost. I had a pretty good ride, all things considered.

2009-03-07T21:17:00.003-06:00

Unfortunately I haven't been drinking (much) lately and I had nothing to do after getting home from work on Saturday morning other than drink Shop 'N Save cola. It was already 65 degrees outside, so I decided to...

...jump into the mini-hearse and drive somewhere to go for a mountain bike ride. It was late notice, meaning I would be doing this ride alone.

Rolling in the whip of death. Note that I really am alone, which is probably hard to believe. More importantly, check out my factory cassette deck. This is the kind of stuff you'll only find in a Chrysler-class vehicle. If I still owned a cassette, I definitely would have taken advantage of this Dolby Pro Logic device. Instead I listened to the Black Crowes, Rage Against the Machine, and Black Sabbath on my factory compact disc player.

My plan was to go to the nearest trail head in the area that would offer truly awesome, rough and ready, wilderness-style riding. I decided that the Brazil Creek campground at the Berryman was the best place to achieve this goal. Along the way I stopped at Hardee's and bought a couple of little Thickburgers. I ate one right away and saved the other one for my ride.

I made it down to the trail head in about 85 minutes, proving that it truly is one of the closest connections between the Ozark Trail and St. Louis. I stuffed a bunch of stuff into my backpack and started around noon. My plan was to ride the eastern portion of the Berryman to the Ozark Trail, which I would ride across Highway 8 and down to Hazel Creek. Since I didn't have much daylight available for my potential speed, I would come back the same way.

I immediately felt terrible in the first few miles of the ride. My backpack was hurting my back because I packed the stuff all wrong. I don't usually wear a backpack. Besides that I was sweating all over the place and my rigid fork was bouncing all over the freaking place. I stopped a few times and was finally able to rearrange my backpack until it was pretty comfortable. The temperature cooled off about five degrees and I started to feel much better.

Everything was going great until I ran into a group of equestrians riding in the same direction as me. One of them mentioned something like, "this is why we should carry guns." I passed them with no apparent gun shot wounds to my back. It wasn't long before I rode over a log and pinch flatted my tube. As I sat next to a creek and finished changing my tube, the equestrians rode up and watered their horses. One guy mentioned all of the flats he used to get when he rode a bike. Apparently, he upgraded to a horse. It might not be a bad idea.

After fixing my flat, I passed the equestrians again and continued to my mission to ride to the Hazel Creek campground. I was about nine miles away from the turnaround point when I got another flat. This time it was a puncture. I was tightening my wheel as the equestrians rode up on me again. I told them not to worry, I was out of tubes and ready to turn around.

I decided to ride back to the Berryman and do a full loop for a total of 33 miles. It's more miles than I've done in an off-road ride this year, so it would still be a challenge to complete. I felt fine until I had ridden a few miles on the Berryman on my fully rigid, tube-tired, singlespeed, torture device. I couldn't help but think how much more comfortable I was on my front suspension, geared bike on this trail last year. I felt pain riding up and down. The only time I was comfortable was when I was cruising along the gentler sections. I started making plans to immediately set up another front-suspension machine once I got home. Instead I'm writing this stupid post, so you can guess how well that is going.

Upon arriving at the B-HEARSE, I decided that arriving alive equaled a successful ride. I'll probably choose a trail a little less rocky than the Berryman for my next ride on my singlespeed. Goddamn that hurt!

2009-03-02T09:42:00.002-06:00

On Sunday, I drove down to Council Bluff to ride with four soldiers from Team Seagal. I don't get to be a soldier of Team Seagal because I've been around too long on the stlbiking scene, my handling skills are too good, and by the way, I'm on another team already, but that's cool.

DA9DR shows promise but he needs to work on his handling and downhill skills. If I can drop you on a downhill while I'm riding a singlespeed, you've got problems. I ride much faster downhill on a geared bike. Just so you guys know.

But I will admit that I don't ride much faster uphill on a geared bike, just smoother. The Doctor impressed me on those sections of the trail. He shows a great deal of promise. I am going to name him my "soldier of the day."

I choose Matt Hoffmeyer as my "soldier in need of re-training." He needs to pound some miles out on his bike and get it dialed in before he has any hope of snapping enemy wrists in the future. You've got a long way to go, Hoffmeyer.

As do I. I hit the wall pretty hard in the middle of my second lap and had to limp back to my baby hearse. The Doctor waited up and provided me with the water I needed to make it back alive, which I appreciate.

Upon my arrival at the parking location, I was immediately deployed to the headquarters of Dos Primos. I met my key contacts at the drop point and we proceeded to order authentic Mexican cuisine and alcoholic beverages. I was the lone man out, ordering Modelo Especial, while my compatriots consisted on rations of Negra Modelo. Hoffmeyer drank H2O.

I think this is probably the dumbest post I have ever written. I think I'm glad I'm not a real member of Team Seagal.

2009-02-23T11:28:00.004-06:00

In case you have overdosed on all of the copy-protected videos I've been posting lately, check out the pictures of my new whip.

The long nightmare is over. I have a car. All of the sixty year old women in my life think it is an awesome set of wheels.

Jizz In My Pants

2009-02-21T10:22:00.001-06:00

Just in case you hadn't seen this one yet.

I mentioned this vid to my much younger and hipper co-workers and they had never heard of it. Therefore, I decided to post it.

On the job we pump 107.7 on the radio, overnight. This song goes toe to toe with any of those pop tunes...even Kanye West.

It's like women will be interested in me, but one day they caught me jizzing in my pants and now they are no longer intrigued by the mystery that surrounds me. I have never jizzed in my pants (sometimes I wish) so I'm not sure where reality destroys their fantasies.

I'm a physically fit, strong, capable, self-suficient, and not a totally un-handsome individual...I think I just "jizzed in my pants."

twisted transistor

2009-02-20T09:25:00.001-06:00

Check it out. You've got nothing better to do.

2009-02-19T09:04:00.003-06:00

I don't know if you read the post about how I broke my old bike three different ways on Sunday, but I pretty much gave up on it and ordered a fully rigid singlespeed 29'er the next day, which was Monday. I was shocked when Fedex delivered it by Wednesday. Now that's service. This is what the bike looks like right now:

All i have to do now is actually ride the thing. But before that happens I will probably change the parts a few more times. My plan right now is to avoid riding on the heavy duty stuff that came with the bike and use the light weight parts I was using on my old 26 inch bike. That's going to be tough in the case of the wheels, since I have no spare 29'er disc compatible wheels to use with my old disc brakes. In other words, I'm probably going to be stuck riding with rim brakes for the next few months.

I have saved a few grand to buy another car and I'm going to get over five thousand dollars to replace my totaled Subaru. That money is going to be invested in a replacement car. It's more important that I have a nice car and look mildly successful, than it is to have a kick ass, over-priced bike with gold anodized wheels. I would much rather have the diamond-encrusted bike and drive an old piece of shit car but it's time for me to grow up. Image is everything.

In related news of things I didn't really want to do but did to appear like less of a loser to other people...it's official...I'm going to graduate from college on May 16th with a bachelor's degree. I see no reason why I couldn't return to college and get my master's degree and beyond, but honestly I don't care. Let's face it though, as my life unravels at the seams more and more in the future, I'm going to seek out educational superiority as a status symbol to impress my peers.

2009-02-16T11:06:00.004-06:00

On Sunday I drove this to a mountain bike ride that was beginning at Rister's compound:

I tossed my ailing mountain bike into the spacious cargo hold of my sturdy, American rental car. A few miles from Tim's house, a madman began to swerve across the road, behind me and made an attempt to pass me like I was stuck in some horrible side-swiping scene from CHIPS involving a conversion van and a full-sized station wagon. I was able to hold the maniac off until we made a right turn onto a narrower road. I let the road-raging Illinoisan pass, in fear that he would do damage to my temporary set of wheels. Plus, Dick Racer needed an ego boost, considering the fact that he doesn't have much to live for.

It was the first time I've seen Dick in almost a year and it felt creepily familiar to have him threatening my life, property, and pursuit of happiness. Good times. We arrived at Rister's house at about the same time and joined up with Tim, Tony and Gary to do the usual weekend ride from the ranch.

Everything was going off without a hitch. Dick was wearing shorts and a jersey, but somehow sweating more than anybody else. I was covered head to toe and barely sweating an ounce. Rister was riding at about 30 percent of his aerobic capacity, but was happy to humor the rest of us. Gary Dyer was in truly amazing beginner state champion form. Tony was rocking his full suspension rig while patrolling the rear of the pack.

After the trail began to thaw, the riding became a bit more difficult as our tires, and sometimes fingerbanging shoes sank into thick mud. Honestly, I haven't used the word "fingerbang" in a few years, but Dick's repeated use of it has returned it to my vocabulary.

Everything was going great until I broke my derailleur hanger off of my bike after riding through a particularly sticky groove. I took about 20 minutes to convert my bike to a single speed, when a minute later my broke again. This time it was a broken skewer and hub axle. God does not want me to ride bicycles.

As an aside, I do not understand why some people do not like to ride their bikes in mud. It's like having sex but disliking the whole orgasm aspect of it. It's like eating, but hating the full feeling you get as a result. One word, catharsis.

I had to walk my bike a few miles back into town while the rest of the boys headed back to Rister's ranch. As I was walking into town, I noticed that practically everybody who was passing me in their cars would wave to me as I was walking beside my bike. I couldn't help but wonder why they would think it would be normal to see somebody walking a bike on purpose on a perfectly flat stretch of road, when that person could just as easily be riding. I refused to wave back. When a police officer drove by me and waved, I was convinced that people are stupid. As I was pondering these thoughts, I looked down at the side of the road and saw an open pack of Winterfresh gum with only one stick missing. I reached down, picked up the pack, and popped a stick into my mouth.

Just as I was thinking these negative thoughts, I saw another guy in the distance walking his bike on a perfectly flat stretch of road. I thought, 'he's probably just tired or something, it's not very likely that his bike doesn't work.' As we drew closer, I recognized Tony walking his bike with a broken off derailleur hanging from a muddy chain. It turns out, he had broken his derailleur off shortly after my mechanical. We teamed up and headed back to Rister's place. Along the way, our good buddy picked us up and returned us to our dry clothing and our operational automobiles. Fun over.

I cleaned up and had lunch with Tim and watched some television with the family. It was a very domestic experience. On the way home, I stopped at Taco Bell and ate until I felt sick. It was a cathartic experience.

Mc Breed-Ain't No Future In Yo' Frontin

2009-02-14T10:49:00.001-06:00

A few days ago, me and my moms rolled up to UMSL in her Benzo (actually a Subaru Forester) so I could apply for graduation. I'm trying to graduate from college in May. It went off without a hitch...but just yesterday I received a letter in the mail that included a degree audit that claimed I didn't take at least two different courses required for graduation.

I took them last semester. That was the whole point of me returning to college after an eight year hiatus. They were the only two courses I needed to graduate.

"There ain't no future in your frontin'."

Beware The Blob

2009-02-13T11:26:00.001-06:00

This movie defines my entire existence. Check it out. At one point, a guy in an ape suit skids his sports car into the blob and is absorbed while screaming in pain. God damn this movie is awesome. Enjoy!

snoop - gin and juice

2009-02-10T13:53:00.001-06:00

Where are you Tezzo?

I haven't seen my co-worker Cortez in a long, long time. He's got, like, a million excuces for why he hasn't been on the job. He kind of reminds of Snoop Dogg...check out the vid!

2009-02-03T15:45:00.002-06:00

It would be an understatement to say that I blow the minds of my coworkers every night I step into the sliding doors of the store I work at with my bicycle helmet in hand. They can not believe that I would ride my bike in the dark in below-freezing weather when I could just as easily spend three times as much of my time and a thousand percent more of my money on public transportation.

Almost every day after work I walk up to my local Schnuck's to buy multiple beers. I like to think that it keeps me well-adjusted. On the way to the store I pass a storefront gym where people work out on elliptical trainers. I want to know why the hell anybody would ever do something like that to themselves? I've thought about joining a gym to meet girls but that is my only motive. I wouldn't actually ever work out at the imaginary gym, I would just stand around, pose, and look desirable. You would never catch me on an elliptical trainer in front of a window for everybody to see. Fuck that shit.

Having my car destroyed by two different parties who don't give a shit about me or my welfare has taught me some important lessons about public transportation and private health clubs. It has been two months since my car was totaled, and I have not received any compensation from the responsible parties. If anyone who reads this blog could recommend an attorney I could talk to about all of this, that would be super.

"Every time I start to believe, something's raped and taken from me."

2009-01-29T11:44:00.004-06:00

The Price Is Right, Korn, riding your bicycle on Hampton Avenue (zip code 63139) at 9:35 p.m. central standard time, and an over-protective mother.

Korn's songs are in chronological order from most recent, to their oldest tunes on their greatest hits album.

$60,107 is what some European immigrant won on the "showcase showdown" in Los Angeles, United States.

On Wednesday night, I had to ride my bicyle on major streets in the city in order to stay on snow routes that were shoveled and clear.

I don't have any idea what the particulars were regarding the showcase showdown victory because channel four, CBS, switched to the trial of Rod Blagojevich. May the criminal rot in hell for interrupting my game show. Needless to say, I was pissed to turn on my television at 11:35 a.m. and see this lying, worthless son of a bitch pleading his case in front of congress. As far as I'm concerned, he should just go straight to hell where he belongs. If he ever interrupts my favorite game show again, I'm going to have to impeach him personally. Stay the fuck off of the airwaves where The Price is Right is concerned you son of a bitch.

Love, Brian.

2009-01-17T13:40:00.002-06:00

Don't even think about using my computer when I'm not at home, and don't try to drink my beer behind my back. Cubby is on patrol.

This may come as a shock to the people who read this blog, but I don't have a car that works right now. I rode my bike to work on the coldest day of the year, a few days ago. It sucked. My mom offered me a ride to the jobsite over the past few days, and I didn't refuse. First of all my brother picked me up. The next day my mom and her husband gave me a ride.

When you don't have any friends that give a flying fuck about you, family is all you've got.

Now, I'm on my own. I spent several hours on Friday, talking with insurance companies. Nobody wanted to accept any responsibility. Through no fault of my own, I don't have a working car. It ain't no fun (waiting round to be a millionaire).

2009-01-14T17:15:00.002-06:00

On Saturday night, my club had a banquet. I was in bed, wrapped tightly in blankets with a cat sleeping on my back, while my fellow clubbers were enjoying the festivities. Before it was too late, I decided to go to the banquet because I had already paid for it. The restaurant was in Laclede's Landing which meant that I had to pay to park. Most lots were charging six dollars while I only had five dollars in cash on me. I decided to park a few blocks away and walk.

I was a little late but the restaurant prepared dinner for me. Before I could dig into my meal Louie B. bought me a double Absolut on the rocks with olives. I'm not sure if it was supposed to be a martini but I couldn't taste anything other than hard liquor in it. Before I could finish my drink, Louie bought me a pint of Guinness and a round for my table. He is definitely the guy to sit next to at these events. The food was good, the drinks were hard, and the company was friendly.

Somebody mentioned that I was the youngest person there and I felt young for a second. After Louie bought me another double vodka for dessert, I couldn't deny that I was having a pretty good time. President Jim began handing out door prizes, which was kind of a new twist on these events. I would have been happy to get a water bottle like practically everybody else at my table, but I was much happier to win a $65 road tire. As if that wasn't ridiculous enough, I went over to feel the wool jersey that Louie had won in the drawing and he forced me to take it after I tried it on and it fit.

Summing it all up, I think I saved about two hundred dollars by getting out of bed and going to my banquet. But I enjoyed spending time with my friends the most.

Another moral of this post: binge drinking is cool. Copy it and mail it to ten children.

2009-01-10T09:41:00.002-06:00

This post contains a douchebag, but it lacks a hot chick. Check out the white leather belt that I found on a Schnuck's parking lot. Note that it's fastened backwards in order for the hearts to face up. But it fits. Photographic evidence.

>

2009-01-06T14:51:00.009-06:00

Translucent lavender see-through backpack

...full of toys. I think it's the most awesome thought that has ever come into my mind.

Full grown men wearing capri pants (knees get cold but shins will survive), writing haikus, and sharing their opinions of how to make our nation greener and more eco-friendly. I think anyone would agree that this is a much darker and negative paragraph than the first.

Gentle reader, I was born under a bad sign...so please forgive me.

Translucent lavender heaven. Backpacks full of American ideals and truisms. Minds filled with everything God intended them to contain.

Over the course of the past few days I noticed that a piece of glass was imbedded in one of my toes. Which toe, I wasn't sure. It turned out to be the index toe. I sat down before my shift at the factory and proceeded to dig the foreign object out of my system.

Because of this I made it into work a few minutes late and my my manager was eyeballing me hard. When I stepped foot into the meeting circle she immediately pointed at me and said, "Last night, Brian worked the backroom until four a.m. After that he worked six pallets in pets." Basically, telling my coworkers that I kick ass and they suck. I don't thing they got the point. I'm cool with that.

I told a coworker how to label boxes and stack them on a pallet so they can be scanned into our inventory system. He pulled most of the labels off and placed them on random parts of the boxes and stacked them in random directions. He sort of, kind of, got what I was trying to tell him. Which is sort of, kind of cool. Practice makes perfect.

The thing I most enjoy about my job is training people. And I do plenty of that. When I tell people that I have a bachelor's degree with a major in history they almost always ask me if I'm going to be a teacher. I tell them, "No...I'm not a liar."

I think we all know that I am a liar.

2009-01-02T14:18:00.002-06:00

I know that you don't want to know how I really feel or what I go through on a day to day basis, so I'll give you the standard, sanitized recap of my daily life:

Woke up, took a crap, prayed to Jesus, went to sleep.

Today, I found a white pleather belt, punched with hearts. I was drunk and angry. I had my ear-buds in place, listening to Jay-Z...walking across the Schnuck's parking lot. I snatched up the booty and rolled it into my pocket. After I got home I tried it on and it fit. It was designed for the thirty inch waste of a girl but it barely fit my slightly larger waste. Close enough.

Happy New Years, cock suckers!

2008-12-26T09:00:00.003-06:00

You're Fired

They've been cutting the crew at my place of employment. First of all Sonny got the axe. I'm not exactly sure why, but I'm guessing the fact that he was a white guy who walked around saying "nigger" this, "nigger" that didn't help his cause a whole bunch. It probably wasn't a commendation on his record that he picked a fight with a customer, who was a black guy whom he called a "nigger", which ultimately resulted in fisticuffs in the parking lot. The fight was epic, attracting the attention of all possible employees anywhere near the front door and requiring the assistance of the local police department to arrest the perp (not Sonny)...but I'm not sure why Sonny got fired.

O was the next to go. Allegedly, he was five-fingering gloves that belonged to the store for his own personal stocking purposes and not paying for said merchandise. "Store use" is not looked upon lightly at an establishment that castigates its employees for "stealing time." Boiling in oil is not looked upon as a fitting punishment for sinners in the eyes of an angry God. Rest in peace O, we'll miss you.

Hotelita (name withheld to protect the "innocent") was the final piece of the parting puzzle. She has been accused of being a ho by every last possible woman who has ever talked to her or even laid eyes upon her. Men seem to like her. Maybe the chicks were right about her since she was allegedly caught having sex with an anonymous person in the restroom. Hotelita was really nice to me and I liked her but I can't deny that the first two letters of her name were "ho." Personally, I don't think there's anything wrong with that. Rest in peace, Hotelita. May you find a better job...perhaps utilizing the Internet and video cameras.

2008-12-24T10:45:00.002-06:00

Established in Maplewood 1974

Born in 1975. They call me "Old Dirty Bastard" because there's no father to my style. In the picture above there are a few of the presents I have bought and "procured" for myself this holiday season:

First of all we have my toasty-warm pair of Wall's coveralls (way warmer than Guess blue jean overalls). So cheap yet so warm.

Next we have the movie Predator. This is a kick-ass flick. When Arnold tells his alien adversary that the infiltrator is "...one ugly mother fucker" I wanted to burst into tears.

Perusing the shelves of Target, I found the first two seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer selling for one low price, so I bought it for myself as a gift.

The Pabst Blue Ribbon shirt is the item in the picture that I procured.

2008-12-23T11:09:00.002-06:00

I can't help but think of the song "Back in Black" by AC/DC when I look at this picture. I finally found some presents for the entire family. Before yesterday, I didn't have any presents. Today, I have most of them. One more gift to go and the short nightmare of Christmas will soon be over. Happy holidays!

2008-12-19T10:19:00.002-06:00

Fall semester 2008 is in the books. I got an A in my one credit course that was essentially a one hour chat about various life issues with my professor. I got a B minus in my senior seminar and I deserved it considering the fact that I only put out an effort for the course on a monthly basis. I was kind of disappointed since it's the lowest grade I've ever gotten in college...but what are you gonna do when you don't give a shit in the first place? My goal was to get my bachelor's degree and I've done that.

To whom it may concern: There is a course being taught at the university by professor Acsay (I've never had the guy but I've heard he's the best UMSL has to offer) on the history of St. Louis over the winter intersession. It's a three credit hour course taught over the course of two weeks in ten, five-hour sessions. If I had the thousand dollars to spare I think I would take it to see if I would survive. Instead, I'm going to use my thousand bucks to buy a new mountain bike which will allow me to continue to be a dumb-ass.

On the job, I'm running into one relative per day. First of all, my cousin (cuzzo) bought a hunting license from me. I didn't know who he was until he handed me his conservation card. Even then, it took me some time to catch on. I noticed his name was Ryan Shoemaker and said "hey, my name is Brian Shoemaker...what a coincidence." I eventually realized who he was. In my defense, he was at least two feet taller than the last time I saw him, which was ten years ago. The next day I ran into my uncle Jimmy buying expensive dog food in the Pets' department. There was no mistaken identity. It was a strange meeting since I only work in Pets' maybe once a week. His daughter (my cuzzo) and her husband both work at another Wal-Mart. My condolences to the young couple.

2008-12-05T09:47:00.003-06:00

This is the back of my damaged car. That's my broken glass at Jaimeson and Arsenal!

Here's the front of my car. I guess it doesn't matter that somebody egged my car several years ago, ultimately causing paint damage to my hood. It was during the Labor Day soccer tournaments that we have in my neighborhood. I never got around to getting the hood repainted, so I guess I win that round. Damage nullified.

This is my parking sticker for UMSL, which still has a rectangular section of broken glass stuck to it. On a side note, our professor talked to us about the UMSL history program for the last hour of our last class and I think a lot of what he said was really interesting...which is really saying something! The University tends to value professors who publish more than those who have the ability to teach because it earns the institution more respect compared to other universities. UMSL has had a fairly strong history department over the past few decades but it is beginning to deteriorate with the loss of several professors to retirement over the past few years. After a recent hiring freeze at the four campuses in the Missouri system, the situation doesn't look like it's going to improve anytime soon.

At my job, I've worked seven different departments in the past week. I'm usually an affable person, but I'm ready to strangle somebody. It's not that I'm not capable of working every department in the store in the course of a week but I'm starting to feel insulted. I don't get paid enough to be versatile. This job is basically a dead-end for me as far as a career is concerned and I'm not sure why I try as hard as I do. Stupid fucking job! But I do like the money.

2008-12-04T09:43:00.002-06:00

Everything was going super duper, as usual, until my crappy old Subaru got sandwiched between four other cars on my drive home from work this morning. It wasn't just double penetration, it was quadruple action. I was stopped and waiting to make a right turn when I got shoved into the two cars in front of me by the two in back of me. I was definitely the biggest loser of the day.

We all stood around in the cold for what seemed like forever, exchanging information, when I finally asked, "did anybody call the police?" The answer was no, so I called them. The fire department came first and secured the scene. Pretty impressive. I had never had that kind of service before. Then the police eventually showed up and took all of our information. God, it was cold.

The old Subaru might be a goner, worth nothing more than it's parts at this point. I'll miss the old piece of crap. I guess I bought the commuter bike just in time.