"But why wouldn't a fish want a bicycle?" --Phil Shaw, 2006

Sandals in January and Whales in the Bay?!?! The Pacific Northwest is Crazy!

2010-01-24T08:12:00.001-08:00

The other day, while riding home from work, I happened to notice some navy blue in the sky and below that, some true blue, and below that, a small strip of light from somewhere off in the Pacific where the sun was still up.

The significance of this is that this was the first time since mid-October that my commute home didn't take place under pitch-black skies. Another bit of significance related to this is that I've been living in Bellingham long enough for one season to leave, and another season to ever-so-subtlely show its bright little head. And all this whole while, I've left you loyal blahg leaders in the, well, dark.

This leaves me with trying to figure out a way to organize the past, shoot...four months, into a coherent little story. And this has been a very full four months, indeed--from arriving one rainy Thursday and asking Kyle at the Hub where I should go to buy a rain coat (his answer: "You moved here without a raincoat? You're a fucking idiot") to knowing exactly where to go to get an after work beer on a Tuesday, giving trail directions to folks more local than I, and where to walk to in my new raincoat to sit and drink cup after cup of coffee on a dark Sunday afternoon. I've even already put on an Alleycat (the Scratch and Sniff, won by, funnily enough, Bobby and Joe, two old friends from Seattle, neither of whom had any idea the other was now living in Bellingham til they both showed up at the race and decided they ought to be teammates.) In other words, this place is starting to feel rather a bit like home. Or as home as a place can feel to a shiftless young adult.

And this is somewhat weird, Adam Winton said this wouldn't happen, and a very large part of me is fighting it, is yearning for a return to Appalachia--but it's sort of difficult not to get distracted (and comfortable) here.

Bellingham is, to use a word I have successfully introduced into the locals' lexicon, the Jam. If only I could transport a handful of my homies from, uh...home, and certain large swathes of Pisgah National Forest (namely, Squirrel Gap) I would have no complaints whatsoever. Except maybe for the rain, and my job, and the overabundance of college kids, and true-bred hipsters (east coasters...you have no idea! west coast hipsters are to east coast hipsters as grizzlies are to panda bears, no joke) and some of the Pacific Northwestern xenophobic tendencies...but I digress. I meant to be talking about why it's awesome here.

The hipsters here do not joke around.

And that I'm going to do in several thousand words, each thousand condensed into one photo courtesy of Google Image Search and my Samsung Camera phone (if I can figure this out.)
Here goes:

This is where to go to eat popcorn and laugh.
Notice the bright blue skies in the background.

This is the inside of Caps, with two typical patrons.

Brother Zach, Victory Lap on his sailboat,
just before selling it and heading back to Ashetown

Art Shuster revolutionized my life, and so,
I named a trail after him on Galbraith.

My singlespeed and some mossy woods. Swoon.

Anyway, I just spent beyond my attention span's limit trying to find pictures that did this place justice, but I couldn't do it. The riding here is too fun, the hiking here is too phenomenal, the coffee here is too strong, the beer here is too abundant...A thousand words or a handful of shitty photos, it doesn't matter. Bellingham is a pretty cool place. Won't be staying here long, though, I don't think...but more on that later. I gotta go ride.

Wait, how'd I get here?!

2009-10-25T18:47:00.000-07:00

Four weeks ago I had a going-way party, full of innocent fun, grilled hamburgers, Travis dancing in a wheelchair, loads of PBR and one balloon unicorn. A going-away party would imply some sort of going-away, which is indeed what happened, as three days later, I found myself cozily crashing on Casey's couch in Seattle (or, for poetic reasons, I should spell with a soft "c" as in Ceattle, to make for one hell of an alliteration.)

Literary devices aside, I left Asheville early one Monday in late September with a loaded-down pick-up, full of four bikes, and extra I-9 wheelset, and a bunch of useless crap that I somehow thought would be useful in my new life (and yet, I left behind my Cuisinart, which in retrospect was a terrible decision.)

Quigley had once told me about some MTB trails in Kansas, so of course I made that my arbitrary first stop of the trip. Total freak (or hipster, I can't tell) style, I crawled out of my truck at 6:30 am Tuesday morning in some parking lot in Lawrence, KS, got on my fixed gear mountain bike, bought some coffee, and went to ride the River Trail. Fast, flowy, and in Kansas--I recommend it highly. Post-ride, I went in search for breakfast, whence I became acutely aware that I had driven too far west and north to be able find a Waffle House or Bojangles ever, ever, ever again. At a seeming loss, I went into a downtown joint called the "World Cafe" or something ridiculous, considering its location in Lawrence, KS...and ordered an egg-and-cheese arepa. An arepa, apparently, is a Central American biscuit made not with butter, flour and love, but with cornmeal. Actually, it was pretty delicious, but Southern Pride (besides being a popular brand of chewing tobacco) makes me reluctant to openly admit this.

Flowy fun in the backcountry of Kansas

Loading up, driving on, I made it Gillette, WY the next night, had breakfast the next morning in Sheridan, at the same place we got cup after cup of coffee during our 2007 Booyah Tour. It was sentimental.

My next goal was to go mountain biking in Montana, as I had never been to that state, and judging my the name of it, it would have decent mountains. Decent mountains it had, but my premeditated stop of choice (Butte, MT) had trails that were 6-12 (depending on which local you asked and chose to believe) inches of snow. I was too hyped up on Mike-n-Ikes, bad coffee, Copenhagen, and Saltenes to make any sort of decision so I wandered around town restlessly for awhile, talked to the owner of the curiously named Beaver Bikes, bought more coffee, and drove on.

Autumn in Montana.

In Spokane, WA, having just seen a beautiful sunset over Cour d'Alene lake in Idaho, I talked to ol' pal Casey Gish, made the decision to push it to his house in Seattle, watched some guy accidentally splash gasoline all over the station attendent, bought a can of cream-of-chowder soup, ate it cold and did not like that decision, turned up the music a little louder, and made it to Casey's around midnight. Somewhere along the way, I caught myself in a moment of introspection--there I was, I happened to notice, blasting Rage Against the Machine, washing down Mike-n-Ikes with Mountain Dew, and I thought to myself that I have never felt dirtier in my entire life. Then I remembered that this was a pretty regular experience when I was in middle school.

Casey at earlier, more hydrated times.
Booyah Tour, 2007

Safely at Casey's, sleeping on a couch, not the bed of my truck, allowed (probably strongly urged) to take a shower, we caught up on life, the universe, and Warren Wilson College gossip, and the next morning we drank hella-good Anericanos in some alley in the U-District. He went to class, I drove to Bellingham, site of my new life for the next year, or whatever.

An hour-and-half and phone call to my mother later, I parked my truck in the visitor center parking lot, got a map from some volunteering retiree, and did the one thing that makes me feel secure wherever I go--I got on my bike and began pedaling, aimlessly.

The Beginning of My Farewell Process.

2009-09-15T06:46:00.001-07:00

Labor Day Weekend Play-by-Play:

My mom flies down for the weekend from Sunny Cleveland, Ohio.
I got to finish building my fixed mtb at ProBikes, when, suddenly, a dozen or so goofballs come in to help Sharma Michael build up his adult-sized big wheels. We drink beer and scavenge up old friction shifters, cranks, pedals, etc. Most are 8-spd, we test ride them, we are excited.
Most of those same goof-balls relocate a few hours later for a house party at Juts. It's an awesome house party.
I find myself on the front porch with some guy, and the conversation goes like this

Guy: "Used to be French Broad was the only beer served at LAAFF, but they've since
broadened the selection."
Me: "French Broadened, if you will."
Guy: "No, I mean, you can get other breweries' beers there now."
Me: "Oh." Refill cup. Walk back inside to the white-kid dance party.

5. Saturday. Recover from Jut's, go for a local 'cross loop. Love it. Take my mom on a field
trip to visit my friend Meredith at Maple Creek Farm, the southern-most maple syrup
production. We eat quiche and other delicious dishes.
6. I ride Bent Creek with Ryan Fisher, who is the jam, and the source of my using of the
phrase "the jam." Hadn't seen him in almost a year, we catch up, we say goodbye.
7. LAAFF! We race those bigwheels. The kids love it. The adults love it. We talk shit. Ol' pal
A.J. runs over my foot, I'm waiting for my toe-nail to fall off, but it hasn't happened yet.
Otto wins it all. We give our praises to Michael for being a genius. Here's some pictures:

Kyley Cross vs. Kylie Krauss. Keep it straight.

Otto vs. Adam. Hot damn. HottoAdamn. Or Something

Adam in the lead, right before Otto tears his soul out.

Small child in tires, smoking a stogey, apparently.

8. Shanna and Marshall host a post-LAAFF gathering, we bike around, keep Gabe from

partaking in a fist-fight, watch a music video from Major Lazer, it is amazing. We test the
boys' Ape-Indexes. Sean wins by, like, 6 inches.

Photo and special effects courtesy of Mac Hager

9. It turns into Monday, I say goodbye to my Mom, 'til next time. Do a low-key ride in Bent
Creek. A few of us gather to eat burritoes. Suddenly, it's back to a normal work-week.

Except that it's not. I found out sometime before Labor Day that I got a job in Bellingham, WA, which I promptly and confidently accepted, before realizing that accepting a job in Bellingham is a little different than accepting a job downtown. Longer commute for one. Anyway, looks like I'm moving...in, uh, two weeks. Paking up, heading out, it'll be good. I will sorely miss Asheville and the reason why Asheville is so amazing (i.e. the people, the bike riding, it being beer city usa #1, and it being generous enough to share that title with another city of somewhat lesser coolness and sunshine...) I've actually made up a little triad of happiness that is a graphical summary of my love for Asheville. It looks like this:

Skipped work on Wednesday to hike Linville with Ohio Rob. It was awesome...so pretty, the Sassafras and Sumac are already turning red...subtle hints of fall. It rained on us twice, and stoped raining on us twice. We ate cheese and summer sausage and figs.

This past weekend, we celebrated Lexy's upgrading to Expert after winning times a million at BMX grandes. Slap him on the back, or on top of his full-face, next time you see him. Then rode Laurel-Pilot-Slate with Beth, and a round-about way up to Farlow, which was awesome...and there was huge group of good people on that ride. Four hours of riding later, we headed over to Beth's for a cook-out, which, again, is reiterating the fact that these people, these mountain, these Kosher hotdogs washed down with PBR are what I love about Asheville.

Shoot! I'm a sap-ass.

Two more weeks of living it up in the best (and oldest!! Booyah!) mountains in the world.

General Emptiness

2009-09-01T05:40:00.000-07:00

I've been making a tough time of it lately, in my own stupid head. Not enjoying things as much as my horoscope is telling me I will in the forthcoming weeks (or something), a little disappointed that its dark when my alarm goes off now, a little nervous about what I'm doing for a job in October, and realizing I'm still a little affected by that boy I love. Which is ridiculous, I realize, but I just kind of think he's pretty awesome in his own little way, and I kind of miss that. I've also been harshly introspective lately, and then Connor has to tell me to shut up after I already told myself that. I feel like I've been off on all fronts lately. I'm just trying to start some sort of dialogue (for myself, or you, too, if you happen to read this), and it comes across as an attack. And then, the other night, a group of us played Risk (you know, the game of world domination...) and the formation of secretive, conniving alliances and eventual back-stabbing irritated me to the point of sadness. I mean, it's only a board game, but it was like being in High School again.

I'm trying to figure out where I'm going with this, and all I can think about is something Lexy's mom said once, "All that matters is to drink beer and be nice to people."

I'm sure there are a few other things that matter, like little kids riding BMX bikes, good math education for middle schoolers, non-bleached paper products, and universal health care, but I think Mrs. Lewis says it pretty well with that quote.

Oh, and Lexy is racing at Grands this weekend. Wish him luck.

Anyway, as tends to happen anytime I find myself disillusioned and introspective, I've been riding the hell out of my bike(s). I built up a 'cross bike, with wheels and a frameset form Little e, and this is the best thing that ever happened to me (that's a parabole). Took the long way (3 1/2 hrs through the woods) from my work in Mills River over to Brevard the other day to catch up with Dan and Tina, and the pavement-gravel-singletrack-gravel-pavement palindrome that is possible (or at least more comfortable) on a 'cross bike is awesome, and opens up a whole wealth of new loops. Spent the rest of the week commuting on the townie, then rode Big Creek for the first time ever on Saturday, which is embarrasing to admit, but made for a good 4ish hour solo loop. Then Sunday, another 'cross ride incorporating the WWC trails and Montreat College's XC trails over to Pisgah Brewing for the Brew Crew's Summer Games.

And let me tell you....as we've all suspected, Jut can throw a party, and throw it well. This was the best idea for (and carry-through of) a party ever: a good showing of Asheville bike people, $1 pints of Pisgah Pale, and recess games all afternoon (wiffle ball, kickball, sack races, shit talking.) The rain held, we only talked bikes about 1/8th of the time with eachother (we do have multi-faceted personalities!), and nobody really bothered to keep score...it was awesome. I love that crowd, there are some true all-star people here in Asheville.

Keeping up with this trend of revisiting juvenile diversions, this Sunday is the Lexington Area Arts and Fun Festival and Sharma Michael is holding an adult-sized big-wheel race...I think 2-5 pm for qualifiers, and 5-6 for the actual game-face competition. I trust it's going to be amazing. You should come. Shave you legs and wear spandex, too. Get serious.

Anyway, fun times and friendships. Long solo comtemplative rides through Pisgah. People not liking what I write, me being surprised they even bother to read (much less comment!) about it. Making new friends, losing old friends, wondering why I'm not in grad school yet, wondering why I even bother half the time. Getting rejected from jobs, but having people tell me, "with all honesty, Kylie, you were one of the best candidates, and we really enjoyed interviewing you, but..." and hearing pretty much the same thing from the boy at the end of this last relationship. Funny how a relationship can so strongly affect your self-identity. (Oh, shoot...is that really how you think of me?) It's scarry, having to re-evaluate yourself, force yourself to buck up and keep being you, especially when you don't really know where you're going with yourself. I don't know what I think about any of this. I'm trying to find the balance in all of it.

I guess I'll just drink beer and be nice to people. And ride on.

For Once and For All

2009-08-26T06:46:00.000-07:00

My housemate Charlie was telling me about his recent experience at a bike shop in Boulder, CO... I suppose first I should introduce Charlie, at least in the context of his relationship with bicycles. He has one, which he uses to ride places sometimes, usually to bars or parties, but he likes waterfalls and books more than bikes...though I think he genuinely thinks bikes are neat, and I certainly did see his eyes light up as I went into detail about all I had just learned about wheelbuilding. In other words, I think Charlie has a very healthy, self-aware relationship with bicycles.

Anyway, he was telling me about going into a bike shop with a friend, to do something innocent, like pick up new brake cables or something, and, also in the shop was a father with his daughter, presumably an incoming freshman at CU-Boulder, looking to buy a bike as part of the girl's back-to-school shopping list. The father said, "What do you mean? The more gears the better, right?" And the girl, rolling her eyes in the way that only spoiled 18 year olds can do to their parents that are just so uncool, said, "No, dad! I want a bike with just the one gear! Just the one!"

Charlie told me this story because he thought it was odd, verging on hilarious, and I'm repeating it because I think it's fully on the side of hilarious. And also because, a couple Saturday nights ago, I was riding downtown, I blew a red light turning left, and someone, from their car yelled, "Fucking hipster!" I looked back, and realized it was my ol' buddy Ian. And I wondered, (and I still wonder, because I haven't seen him yet to ask), if he knew it was me and was yelling that to be ironic, or if he didn't know it was me, and was yelling that because he really hates hipsters. Or maybe, worst of all, he knew it was me, really thinks I'm a hipster and was yelling that to be mean. I was, afterall, riding a fixed gear with a chrome bag, cycling cap and pants that I'd cut to make into shorts (which, to my credit, happens every summer, anyway).

Oh, god. I disgust myself.

But then another day, another ride, I got passed by an older-ish man in a car, and he slowed down to yell out the window, "Fixed hub! You don't see too many of those these days!" And I thought, "oh, if you only knew, buddy...if you only knew." But I was charmed by what, I assumed, was a genuine and long-lived appreciation for the fixed gear bicycle.

And so I'm admitting, right here and now, that I absolutely love fixed gears, I love them for many reasons, many reasons that are my own, and one, because like the Chuck Klosterman article I wrote about in my last Blahg post--how the over-abundance of choice ultimately makes us depressed, so you might as well keep it simple, at least for commuting and running errands and going from here to there. Nothing gets fucked up on a fixed gear. Every once in awhile my chain gets a little stretched and I need a 15 mm to shove my wheel back a little further, and sometimes I add a little bit of air to my tires, but that's it. Plus, if you've ever gotten up to speed on a downhill, did a half-assed skid to slightly slow down and a half-assed look to the left so you could at least tell yourself you made an effort to make sure no cars were coming, and cornered faster than you thought you were going to, didn't clip a pedal, came out of it smooth and at almost as much speed as you went into it, and your legs are going so fast, and the winds blowing against your cycling-caped head bedecked with the biggest smile you've ever smiled, and you have no where to go that evening except for some place you decided you had to go to just to give yourself an excuse to ride into town, and that's love. And that's why I love my fixed gear.

And I worry for the younger generation. I worry that they like fixed gears because they're cool, but they couldn't even tell you why they're cool, they just remember reading it somewhere, or they saw someone else with it, and that made it cool. They've never truely felt it. They're not in love. They just want to like it, but they're not even sure why they're supposed to like it.

And then there's the problem that I call Dave Matthew's Band Syndrome, which is when you know something is really awesome, but you can never bring yourself to like it, because everyone else is obsessed with it, and that turns you off. I've got bike-rider friends who will never go anywhere near a fixed gear because of their association with hipsters. Singlespeeds galore, but not fixed. They don't want to be lumped in with those losers.

But if you love it, love it. If you hate it, hate it. But do it for you own sake, and your own sake alone. Don't do it because it's cool, and don't not do it because it's too cool.

Do it because you never want to stop pedaling. Then shut up about it.

The Learning Process

2009-08-19T10:15:00.000-07:00

The other day, by which I really mean, like two months ago, I was in line at West End Bakery, and their tip-jar had a note on it that said, "Trix are for kids, but Tips are for Struggling Young Adults." Or something to that effect. Which made me think of the line in my header to this blahg, "young adult ridden angst" and it makes me think of the conversations I've been having lately with my young adult ridden friends, and a I'm starting to realize we all need tips. Not the monetary sort (which never really hurts, but tends to go towards beer rather than anything lastingly valuable), but the philosophical sort of tip, the advice, the direction, the reconfirmation that shit, I suppose we are actually doing OK.

Which may sound rather emo (to use an young adult ridden phrase), and may sound like a problem of decently-educated suburban youth, which frankly it is...but its apparent and its prevalent and as a young adult ridden young adult, I have no idea what the hell to do, or what the hell to tell my friends. The problem, as I see it, is that throughout school (and college if you so choose) you have a very clear idea of what the next step is. Starting in March or so, you start making plans for the summer...trips, a job that will make you enough money to last another school year, and then sometime in August, you look at the class schedule to figure out when you need to be back. And then you laugh, and drink coffee, and goof off, and stress about tests, then get a C then get pissed then get over it, then its Friday, then its Monday, and so on in this sort of repetitive, reassuring pattern...until you graduate with a Bachelors degree in something you don't really know much more about than you did four years ago, and you can't find a job, and no one's offering you funding for Graduate school, and even Americorps is freaking out with applicants. And so you say to yourself (and your friends when they ask, and maybe your parents if you're open and honest with them) "I really have no idea what the hell I'm doing with my life."

Which makes me wonder if anyone really ever does. It makes me wonder if that reflective introspection is good and necessary and should never go away. Part of me thinks this directionless wandering and constant drive for something more meaningful is good...but that's not to say its not frustrating. Which, leaving out the double negative, means it's pretty darn frustrating.

And so, whenever this conversations pops up amongst me and my fellow recent college graduated peers, I think of my conversation with my last hairdresser, "What do you do?" She asked. "Oh, I don't really know..." Then further on down the conversation she said, "You pick tomatoes and ride bikes, that's what you do." And that is what I do, in the most simplified nutshell of my life, and that's a good enough definition to help feel a little more settled. So I've repeated that in many a intimate bar or front porch conversations, and now I'm thinking of a certain amazing country song, and I'm thinking, of course, of bike riding.

The other night (by which, here, I really do mean, like, two nights ago) I was taught how to build wheels...and I built up my first wheel ever (write that down in my baby book, mom)...a fixed Surly hub, laced to some DT Swiss 4.2's. I love learning the process, the specific steps, the two hands full and a spoke with a nipple ready held between your teeth, the "this is how you do it, why? Just 'cause that's how you do it."

Having absolutely no artistic mind whatsoever (though, admittedly, I do rock at bubble letters and collages) I of course have to transfer whatever aesthetic sense that is trapped up in my human nature and apply it to bicycles. I don't like overt artistic-ness, which seems to be all the rage in hip urban centers, but I'm a sucker for the subtle examples of beautiful perfections. The scripted "Campagnolo" all lined up on chain rings, the ferrals and zip ties that strategically match some understated color on the frame, and...as I was taught to do while building wheels, if you look through the valve stem hole, you can see the logo on the hub. Why? Functional? Of course not. It's just how you do it.

Someone, somewhere, in the flowchart of people teaching other people to work on bikes, decided that's how it should be done, so you learn it that way, and you pass that on to the next person who asks you how its done. And its arbitrary and you know it, but you'll still always follow it, just 'cause. And there's a certain reassurance in that.

Chuck Klosterman, who is amazing and you should go read some of his stuff right now, has an article about Johnny Carson's death, which really is more about the idea that the overabundance of choice ultimately makes up depressed. At first, you feel golden...you could pick anyone of these options, oh the wealth! But once you make a decision, you realize you have fewer people to relate to, because they all made individual decisions, too, and you'll always be wondering what would have happened if you picked something else, did you make the right choice? Oh dear. This is similar to another book I've heard about, but haven't read, so I can't vouche for it the way I will so confidently for Chuck Klosterman, called "What is the What" And essentially, from what I've made up in my head about this book, it's about the Dinka people of Sudan who's creation story is that God offered them either cattle or the what. They asked God what the what is, and He, being the sneaky bastard He tends to be in so many religions, said, "Cattle or the what, your decision." They chose the cattle, and the rest of the world got the what. So while they're all meeking out their livings as herders, there's a whole bunch of spoiled-ass middle-class kids sitting around asking themselves what the hell this all means.

We have too many choices. We don't know what the what is. We're confused. We're lost, We're alone. We have no answers. I have an empty crossword puzzle tattooed on my fore-arm to help get this point accross. We know jackshit, and we shouldn't pretend we do.

But we also shouldn't be intimidated by that. I know the logo's supposed to be seen through the valve-stem hole, I'll work with that. I'm riding my 'cross bike to Brevard after work today, I'll work with that. What am I doing for a job in October? Uh.....

Let's go ride bikes this weekend.

Colorad-uh-oh!

2009-07-27T07:40:00.000-07:00

I just got back from an awesome solo trip to Colorado and I really want to write about it, but I tend to suck at this sort of writing. I can't think of how any of my experiences are relevant or pertinent enough to anything the reader (i.e. you) might be experiencing, and I really don't want to talk AT you. I want to talk with you. But that's not what the internet is for. I've also learned that people don't really ever read anything anymore. So I suppose I should just let the pictures do the talking.

Unfortunately, I don't have a camera

So, courtesy of Google Image Search, here is a photo journal of my summer trip out west:

The spontaneity got its start with my first night in Golden, which involved free beer at Ace-Hi because it was ladies' night, the meeting of a semi-local who took me riding right from town the next morning, and the purchasing of the largest, cheapest avacado I've ever seen. It was magical, and I never even meant to stop there. Here's a picture of the bar, as well as, what appears to be a very succesful greyhound named "Ace-Hi Rumble."

Then I drove a leisurely two hours to Granby, the site of the 2009 Mountain Bike Nationals. It was a party.

Next I went to visit my ol' bff Sarah, who is working as a climbing guide in Estes Park. I love Sarah very much, and I got to hang out with her little climbing co-guides, whom I now also love very much. Here's a picture of us having fun at an earlier date:

And here's another picture from Estes Park, of one of Sarah's climbing buddies on, I think a 5.10:

Anyway, I went on one bike ride outside of Estes that included (I dare say) some of the best trails I've ever riden. Not like a destination ride that everyone talks about or anything conventional like that, but rather...completely unmarked trails that no one ever talks about. But there were pedal scrapes on rocks and log pyramids, so apparently someone was out there riding. Such fun tight, technical singletrack that would pop you out at some great little vista then twist you back into pine forest, then up through Aspens, back up to a different vista, and back into pines. It was magical. I will forever hold that day's ride in my heart. Shit, I'm about to cry.

Next I departed Estes to go see what the hell the deal with Fort Collins is. I still don't really know, but I did have a good time there. Stopped on my way to ride something called the Devil's Backbone, which was over-used like Bent Creek style for a little bit, but eventually devolved (or evolved?) into really awesome, flowy, can't-see-anyone trails. I was in a Colorado Meadow. It was awesome. Then I turned around, goy in my truck, and drove the rest of the way to Fort Collins, even though I think I could have just mountain biked there on that trail. Stupid logistics.

Here's a picture:

And, apparently, a few other people also think this is a great trail, and you can buy a commenterative mug...if you'd like:

Well, like I was saying...Fort Collins is cool enough. You can ride from town, it's a college town so you have a good chance of meeting cuties (or "fresh young tenders" as one Asheville lady once put it), and you can stumble into New Belgium Brewery at any hour of the day (just because you have an hour to kill before leaving for Denver) and they'll give you four free samples of your choice of any of their beers, just for being you. I had a Tripple, another Belgium style thing, Adam's Ale (sort of pale, absolutely delicious), and a Dandelion ale. All I had to do for them in return was tell them what I would name my band, if I were in a band. I called it, "My Dog Dave" and drank four delicious beers. I thought this was the coolest thing ever, but then I realized I must not be the only one, since, according to Google Image Search, several other people have had (and thoroughly enjoyed) the exact same experience. But maybe with a different band name. Oh well. New Belgium is the People's Brewery.

While beering, I talked to some homeboy who recognized my Endless T-Shirt and told me about the "biking scene" in Fort Collins, I sent a post-card to Megs, because said homeboy talked to me about bike polo, went for a long walk to make sure those four half-pints wouldn't affect my driving capabilities, and got in the ol' truck to go see Little e in Denver.

Eric, or Little e, or Dr. Cutlip and I were going to go on a 4-5 hour ride, but my goal of riding so much that I wouldn't feel like riding at all when it came time to sit in a car for 24 hours came a little bit too early. I didn't have it in me at all. All heart, no legs. We rode for a little over 2 hours on some awesome trail outside of Evergreen, CO, saw a brown bear, switched out bikes...so I got to ride a fixed Viscous 29er, and he got to ride a 26" geared Independent with a 3.5 inches of squish up front. I think the change was much harder for him. I'm going to address this issue in more depth in a later post...but for now, let me tell you what a fucking amazing rider Little e is. Little e is a fucking amazing rider. He never really bothers to take the smooth line, he just takes the straightest line, and even rigid and fixed, he makes it look smoother than riding a boardwalk on a cruiser. God is jealous of Little e, and so beyond himself that he was able to create something like that.

So I pussed out of a big ride, but we got to eat some Middle Eastern food, which is my favorite genre of food, and I had been (seemingly) living off fig newtons and beer, so this meal was all the more incredible. Then Lil' e took me on a ride through greater Denver...a 2+ hour, late night tour of the town on our fixed gears. It was awesome. I guess I hadn't been in a real city for awhile, 'cause I was dumbfounded and slack-jawed by all those skyscrapers. So cool! And just as magical as that ride outside of Estes. Just a different sort of magical.

With that, I got up early-ish the next morning, and retraced my westward drive eastward. Met up with Slowhio Robb at some McDonald's in southern Illinois for breakfast, as he was heading westward to go do the Colorado Trail Race (which begins Aug. 2, so keep him in your thoughts.) I made him sit at the Lego table with me, I think he was disgusted.

Then I got home, got out my townie, rode around Asheville, got a text from Alex that said, "West to East...what dreams came back with you?"

I told him, no new dreams, just the realization that I'm on my way to manifesting old (and current) ones.

Booyah.

$1850 just to impress your boyfriend!?!

2009-07-13T13:46:00.000-07:00

While purusing Craigslist (like I do all day everyday) I saw this that caused a severe disappointment in my gender. Sigh. That was one of my best jokes, telling people I ride bikes to meet boys. Then I realized people actually do that. Meeting boys could definitely be a result of riding bikes, especially considering the ratio is "80 million to one" as a lonely male collegiate racer once pointed out, but it should not be the reason for riding bikes. That's silly.

Anyway, stepping of my high-horse of tom-boy-ism, now...

Went mountain biking with some Brevard boys (of course) this past Saturday and it was amazing. We rode some secret trails and they were the jam. Then we jumped in the lake and it was like summer. The next day I skipped a ladies-only ride (of course) and accidently wound up going tubing in the Smokies and it really felt like summer.

Speaking of which, remember Tom Petty's lyrics, "I feel summer creeping in and I'm tired of this town again"? Well, I realized I hadn't done anything too interesting in a really long time when I turned on the work truck the other day, and Alice in Chains came on, and I thought to myself that that was the most exciting thing to have happend in the past week.

That's all about to change though. I've got a ten day weekend coming up, and I'm heading westward for some moutain biking, soul-searching, and cowboy wrangling (of course.)

2009-07-01T09:20:00.000-07:00

A couple and half weeks ago was the Cowbell XC in the pristine college town of Davidson, NC. The marathon was the day before (Saturday) and I got a voicemail from Ohio Robb that said, "It's hot. I quit. I'm driving home. Start drinking water now." We showed up Sunday morning to stories of the hellish conditions of the day before: 103 degrees in the shade, people dropping out left and right, regional wars starting over what was left of the ice cubes. But the weather for us measley cross country racer was great. Maybe 80, slight breeze, over-cast to slightly sunny. Perfect. I mean, I was definitely thirsty each time I came around to the feed, but it was about as far from hell as eating baklava while listening to Neil Young would be. So I really don't have any good stories to tell. It was a really fun course, I got to hang out with the Niner crew one last time before they headed back westward, I learned that someone makes an eccentric bottom bracket that fits in convential BB shells and got excited about that.

Cool new Indy Fab kits!

Oh, and we stopped at Bojangles on the way home. I'd never been to Bojangles before. Actually, my only experience with Bojangles was a story from Phil Shaw that goes like this,
Phil: "...and some botatoes"
Woman behind counter: (erupts into laughter) "Botatoes! Hahahahahahaha. Yo, Denise, this
boy just said he wants some botatoes! Hahahahahahahahahaha"
Phil: (Stands there awkwardly, realizes he meant bo'rounds, and waits for the woman to
ring him up)
Anyway. I'm a changed woman. I never felt the need to venture beyond the Waffle House Egg and Cheese biscuit (99 cents!), but now there's no turning back.

So this was number 4 or something of the "Kenda Cup East" series I've been doing, and now I have a little bit that I can put my feet up and go ride the hell out of my bike just for the fun of it. I'm so very excited about this. So very excited, in fact, that I forced myself to wait even longer to have a free weekend for day-long Pisgah rides, and decided to go down to Athens this past weekend for The Buddy System Alleycat.

Phil and I raced as a team, in remembrance of our strong showing at the Holidaze Alleycat in Asheville back in December. Despite all out smack-talking on the way down, we failed to produce anything remarkable, although I guess we did win the Kiddie Bike time trial, which would make the SECCCCCCCCC, and Ryan Fisher, proud. And since my entire life revolves around making Ryan Fisher proud, I guess we did alright. My roomie Charlie came down with us, too, which was awesome. He needed to get out of the house and the factory. So we took him to a college bar with a rediculous name and rediculously priced (to our advantage) beverages, Max Canada. I still don't understant the culture down there, so I watch it with awe, starring at it slack-jawed until I catch myself about to drool, and I go back to talking about bikes with the boys, and about the boys with Megs. Heh-heh.

It's not what it looks like.
We're just doing body-shots.
It was mandatory, mom.

It's our country's Birthday this weekend, which is one of my personal favorite holidays. And I get a long-weekend, which means huge mountain bike ride on Friday, long road ride early Saturday, followed by sipping cold drinks, playing lawn games, watching fireworks, watching people act rediculous, and then going to bed at an unreasonable hour. And then another huge mountain bike ride on Sunday, hopefully a social one. Sunday church at the Fish Hatchery, anyone?

Races, Places, and Sad Faces

2009-06-09T09:26:00.000-07:00

After eons of on-again, off-again, the boy and I as an institution are officially R.I.P, which means, obviously, that I've been listening to a lot of awful (i.e. amazing) country music these past few days. Favorites lately are anything by Taylor Swift (amazing or awful? I hear there's a certain Super Pro in town that thinks the former...not to spread any unfounded rumors or anything...it's just what I heard) and whatever that "under the lights of the neon moon" song is. Oh, and the ultimate depressed cowboy song: "put some whiskey in my whiskey." I'm still a dignified lady, however, so I just put my whiskey in some ginger ale. Or the other way around, depending. I did see BioWheels Dennis pour some kegged Yuengling into an empty PBR can after last weekend's Massanutten Hoo-Ha. I'm not sure where that fits in on the emotional spectrum, but either way, it rocks.

Speaking of the Hoo-Ha, I guess I have a bit of race-report catch-up to do. Because this could potentially be quite voluminous, I'll offer the abridge version for now:

Ducktown -- Good race, I love that course. It was muddy and wet and awesome. I was pleased.
Dirt, Sweat, and Gears -- I raced the "12 hr" with Robb, who is cool and fast despite being from Ohio. But you should read Dicky's rendition of the race, because that man is hilarious, and surprisingly accurate.
Singlespeed USA -- Intimate two-day race scene at Hawkes Creek Farm, a slice of privately-owned paradise in northern GA. I met, and dare I say, mananged to befriend, some amazing people, including Scott Hodge of Addictive Cycles, who raced a fixed (and brakeless) steel IF, which reminds me of another country song: "I saw God today..."
Bump and Grind -- This was supposed to be my first "A" race of the season, but I failed to pull off anything remarkable, even by my lowly standards. Everyone showed up for this one--I mean, the for-real Pros. The start was very, very fast. I don't remember the rest.
Massanutten Hoo-Ha -- Stunningly beautiful location; long, flat, rocky ridges, flowy trails into endless rock gardens. And mega-props to the folks who built the trails- fine works of masonry to put it lightly. Another "ugh" sort of race for me, mainly because my heart got ripped out just a few days earlier, and those things are kind of important, it seems. I tried to be all angry and fast, but instead I was just sad and pokey.

With that out the way, I'd like to give a full race-report on the Mayhem Alleycat, which turned out quite nicely. After a brief run-in with some friendly police-men (apparently, selling t-shirts in public areas without a permit isn't cool by cops'-standards), a very fair and civilized conversation, and me ensuring the sheriff that, "next time, I'll learn the laws before I break them," they let us carry on with our bicycle race. I kind of want to go tell my story to the Asheville Copwatch Support Group next Tuesday, but I don't think I'd fit in. Anyway, some of the coolest people managed to become even cooler in my little mind by helping out at checkpoints and metal-working some amazing looking trophies/beer coozies: Robb at the Pumptrack, Caroline at the Slip-n-slide, Eric at the paper-boat race, Megs my BFF with me at the flip-hammer, and Alex slaving away in the metal shop producing those great trophies for the top three. I wish I had a picture...but you'll just have to visit Sunshine Cycles in Athens, GA to see the winners'. And while we all know in our hearts that, technically, everyone is a winner, the winners for reports' sake were:

First Place: Ben and Chris of Athens. How the hell did the out-of-townies win? And Chris was on a Polo-bike gear. I still don't get it.
Second Place: Gabe and shoot, I forget his name...I'm such an asshole. They won a tattoo from Galen at Freeks and Geeks.
Third Place: Phil Shaw

And honorable mentions to Christine for being the only one to get the "UNCA student's name, phone number and major" bonus and to Rob (the welder, not the Ohioan) for being the only one to go to the Jewish Cemetary checkpoint. It should be noted that at some as-of-yet-undecided date there will be a midnight crit at this same Cemetary, so stay posted...and in the meantime, you kids should learn where this is.

Anyway, I love community building events, I love bikes, and I love everyone being respectful and happy--this was the most ideal synthesis of these three ever. Thanks to everyone who raced and helped out, again and again.

So back to real life, I'm leaving my shattered little heart in a pile for the time being, I suppose until I get annoyed with it enough to clean it up. In the mean time...my new job is the jam, I just made the best biscuits of my life (they fucking rock, not to toot my own horn or anything) its summer, which means there's enough time to run, work eight hours, mountain bike, drink a beer, water my plants, and still have enough daylight to read outside until it gets too dark and I can call it a day. So it's really not that bad. Moving on..."forward, never straight" as that guy who stole my heart once said...usually right before he left me in his dust blowing through a yellow light. Oh well.

Just letting you know...

2009-05-07T16:50:00.000-07:00

There's going to be an alleycat bicycle race here in Asheville on Saturday, May 23rd.

Start is at 4pm at the Mellowdrome (at Carrier Park, you know the one.)

There will be t-shirts and prizes and beer and smiles and life-long memories.

It will be awesome. Tell all your friends.

"Cheers" [clink]

2009-04-27T13:41:00.000-07:00

I was checking up on Dan the Man's blahg the other day, and I saw that one, he changed his color scheme, and two, he had an article about confidence. Which is funny because this past race was my realization that my confidence as a racer has fallen to miserable depths. I'm in a slump.

With this new problem at hand, I went straight to the Bible (Joe Friel's not Gidgeon's) to look up what being in a slump means. But none of what he had to saw seemed pertinent to me. Overtrained? Not really, I don't think. Burned out? Surely not. My love for bikes has never waned. No, its a constant wax. Certainly, there are days when I'm like, "eh...really? Bike riding? Really?" And then I get on my bike and I'm like "Hell yeah, mother fucker!" In other words, my training is going pretty well. Day-to-day I feel great on the bike, and I'm enjoying my little training plan, doing my little hard workouts, and such, but when it comes to the weekend, I'm falling apart.

If you read my last Blahg, I'm obviously having some personal life issues, like boys and teeth rot, but I'm supposed to be a professional. Which means sucking it up and pretending. Or going hard regardless. But I think going into the season on a Singlespeed, getting blown off the back trying to maintain a 90rpm cadence while going nowhere and watching the other girls big ring their way away from me and I start to feel sorry for myself wasn't much of a help in terms of starting the season off on the right foot.

And then at my past race, the Knobscorcher, I broke a chainring, and dropped out because of a mechanical, which is something I've never done before. I guess that was just a matter of time, as mechanicals seem to happen left and right to some people, but I still didn't really appreciate it. I also noticed my head wasn't in it at all, even from the start. I think my bad mental state caused my chainring to break in half. Bad mental stated can ruin anything, especially old chainrings with ovalized bolt holes. Whoops. Should have replaced that.

Then this past race was the SERC in Winder, GA, which I don't even really want to talk about. Some girl came up behind me at some point during the first lap and said, "Kylie! Get your stuff together!" And I realized then and there that I absolutely did not have my stuff together at all for this one. I failed. It was my day of ultimate defeat, my low point on all fronts, from which point, I have decided, I am moving swiftly and deftly up. I'm putting all my little proverbial ducklings back in a row and "getting my stuff back together" and all that jazz.

The boy and I worked it out, defined it for the better, and I think we're both excited. First time in awhile that we're on the same page, which is a big relief, and I'm thinking we can make this happen. So with that settled, and it being rediculously warm out the past few days, and having seem my lady friends while watching folks go real fast in circles at the Twilight Crit, and giving myself a long lecture and pep talk, I'm putting the game face back on.

Alex and I sat outside Jack of Wood for awhile last night talking about everything, then I spilled my guts to him about my race season so far, and how disappointed in myself I am, and he was a big help in the snapping out of it. With his words of wisdom in my head, I headed to the Alma Mater today to go do sprints in Dam Pasture. I could ride the Wilson trails blind folded by this point, but going back to ride them every once in awhile is such a good motivator. Those trails were my stomping grounds during my early developmental years of bike racing, going back and riding them feels like mom making a milkshake when you go home. Which doesn't happen to me, but it might happen to some of you, and so you can relate to that feeling.

Anyway, it's all spring and green out there, and there are baby cows running amok, and I felt really good on my workout and I'm still getting a bit more used to my new bike and things are looking up. I've got another SERC race this weekend (Ducktown) then a couple fun ones (DSG 12 Hr and SSUSA) and then I'm throwing an underground race of my own. I'll let you know the details once I have that figure out.

So yes...here's to the feeling of summer. To riding the ol' townie all crickety downtown, watching the sunset with the boy, knowing things are only going up from here. Here's to going fast through the woods. What a fucking good feeling. And knowing I've got a lot to learn, a lot to improve upon, and being excited about all of this.

Parts and Pieces

2009-04-22T08:08:00.000-07:00

Haven't not written in over a month, I feel like a brief outline of the past few weeks is necessary.

I'm down one boyfriend and one tooth, but for what I've lost in relationships and dental health, I have made up for in bicycles. That's right....my Independent has arrived, and after four hours of building it up (embarrassing, I know...I'm still an amateur mechanic) I have an awesome new titanium micro-bike (honestly...you should see the headtube. Tiny!)

Independents, as we all know, are made of recycled robots, and man-oh-man, does it ride nicely. I haven't gotten my protractor out yet, but I think the head angle might be a little slacker, which is probably good for me, considering my downhilling is about as emabarrasing as my mechanical skills. Industry Nine hooked me up with a wheelset, Kevin from Suspension Experts hooked me up with a fork (a Reba, stickered up like a Sid for reasons that are beyond me) and IF got me a bunch of gears and other necessary components. Having not had gears since October or something like that, it's still kind of a neat little novelty. I can sit and pedal over so much stuff again. It's pretty fun. Meanwhile, my singlespeed is in pieces, and I miss it already.

Speaking of in pieces...my heart is destroyed, again. Boys, ouch. Dang. Emphatic sigh.

Also in pieces was one of my molars, which had to be cut in half before it could be pulled out of my jaw, which was performed all for $20 at the community dental clinic. What a deal!

Funny how pain in my heart makes me want to do nothing but go for long bike rides in the woods, but pain in my mouth makes me want to do nothing but think about the pain in my mouth. I'm spending this morning doing neither and instead trying to find a job. Well, I was trying to find a job until I started writing on this Blahg. Then I might go eat an avacado and go for a road ride. Emphatic sigh.

This weekend is a SERC race in Athens, which will be my first geared race of the season. It's going to be confusing, I can guarentee that. It's also the weekend of the Twilight Crit down there, which has morphed into a Ladies Weekend with a handful of my friends going down there to visit our friend Megs, and spend the weekend cutting up, kvetching, and whatever else it is gaggle of girls do together. I'm excited and I need it.

Community Building Events

2009-03-16T12:44:00.000-07:00

This past week three major bicycling events and resulting lessons occurred.

1) The last (of three) Snake Creek Gap race. I put on an easier gear (thanks to an 18t cog hook-up from Shanna, who now owns Endless and is on the path toward general awesomeness), bigger tires (2.2's) and ran lower pressue. This, plus rediculously nice weather, helped me take a good amount of time of my, uh, time. I never really look at results, so I don't know how much better I did, but the point anyway is that I learned that just because I ride a crappy set-up during the week, doesn't mean I shouldn't put forth the effort to put together an appropriate set-up for racing. See, I'm trying to be more professional this year. And I think that mainly means less retarded.

2) Alex's birthday party! Which was a Whiskey Crit, and post-crit havoc. The Crit went great, with such stand-by racers as Jut-Rut, Winston, Marshall, Brucey, Beth, Philly Cheese Steak, Thomas, and, of course, the Birthday Boy. I gave them the option of taking a shot of whiskey each lap or chugging a solo cup full of Kool-Aid. I accidentally told them that I made the latter with hose water, which I think detered some folks. I mean, everyone. They all went for the whiskey. But despite the relatively high alcohol consumption and the slick roads (due to a light, yet persistant, Northwest-esque rain), nobody got hurt and everyone had fun. Until a couple hours later, of course, when everyone thought it'd be a good idea to go for another, more casual ride. And of course, casual rides at this point during a party means everyone is going to sprint like hell and act rediculous. Which, of course, everyone did. Marshall busted his teeth and Alex broke his collar bone. But both boys are fine, I think, more "haha, that was dumb" that "waaah!" which is good. From this event I learned that boys are uncontrollable and so be it and I also learned that there is an "e" in whiskey. I think I always thought it was "whisky". But the bottle told me otherwise.

3)Asheville on Bikes had their little St. Patrick's Day group ride, where they showed off future greenways, and the result of all their hard-work advocacy. They also showed us a good time at a couple keystone bars in Ashevill. AOB is run my two people, I think, named Mike and Rachel, and these two people are great and I really like what they do. I told Mike this very thing, that is, that I like what he does, and he said, "Well, I like what you do, too." And I told him, "I don't really do very much." And Mike said, "Yeah, but you're intolerant." I don't really know what caused him to say this. It may have been because I took off in the middle of the ride to go do my own ride because I couldn't stand the group-lingering that much. I had spent all morning in the ER which Broken-Bone-Birthday-Boy, and couldn't handle not riding all over the place all afternoon. So that's what I did until I came back to rejoin the group and get called intolerant. I kind of liked it, though. From this event, I relearned that Asheville on Bikes is going great things and everyone should support Bike Advocacy and I also learned that as I say this, I hate the idea of being part of an advocating group, and I'd rather just tell other people to go support them, while I just ride pointlessly around town.

That's all for now. Enough lessons for one week. I kind of need the rain to stop so I can't plant my little beets and carrots and stuff and go for a clean mountain bike ride and have dry socks for the first time in a week. But whatever. It's good for holing up in the library and blahging, and for kicking it at home with my dear invalid.

Keep riding. Keep yelling at cars.

Ah, so.

2009-02-11T12:54:00.000-08:00

Three races into the season so far: two Snake Creek Gaps and one Icycle. The latter should be pronounced just like the word icicle and not to be made to sound like I-Cycle. The word Bicycle rhymes more with icicle than I-Cycle anyway. Only people who don't ride bikes say "bi-cycle." Like today, when I went to the YWCA to become a member (hey, now...) the woman was like, "Oh, you rode your bi-cycle here. That's great." And I was like, "Heh-heh, yeah. Bi-cycles." And then I went to work out with old people.

Anway. It's icicle. Or Icycle. No need to pronounce differently just because they spelled it with a "y" instead of an "i." But maybe I should check with Wes Dickson before I publish this. But never one to do what I should, I won't.

I got 2nd to Jamie. Like always and forever. Ah well. She's currently winning the Snake Creek series by like a million minutes. I think I'm in third now. And supposedly Willow's coming to SNC #3, which means I need to step up my game like woah.

Not really wanting to make excuses, but since everyone else does, I will too....I've been racing my singlespeed, which is all I have now since I gave my parts to the Mister and while I'm waiting on my Robot Bike from Independent. I'm super stoked. They recycle Robots into Bikes, is how its done, I think. They're a great company, and I'm really excited to be riding for them this season.

Speaking of which, a couple boys from IF came and played these past few days, and that was pretty cool. We did neat things like riding bikes, playing cribbage, and making home fries. Harlen is officially #1 on the Cool List, which he managed by his ability to portray his unabashed awesomeness in the most over-top and understated way possible. What did that sentence mean? I have no idea...but basically, Harlen rocks my face off, and I'm very humbled, honored, etc. to be racing with and for him. We made sense of my annual training plan this weekend and created an awesome race schedule, and he inundated me with invaluable advice, which I will take to heart, and try to follow. My goals are learning how to J-Hop all pretty over big ol' logs (like, over 8 inches, heh-heh, uh...) and learning how to rest. The latter is going to suck.

Otherwise, besides bike riding and not working, I'm working on ordering seeds for our little garden plot, working on trying to find work, exciting about getting to work this Friday splitting wood for Sarah's grandparents, and I've joined the Greenman Brewery's women's soccer team. Honestly, I'm a little nervous, having not played outdoor team soccer since high school. Oh well. I lost my dignity long ago, I have no one else to fool.

Asheville on Bikes canceled their little ride around town today because of the rain, which I think is missing the point, and I had a conversation with the folks at Riverlink about bikes as reliable transportation, and how disconcerting it is that bikes don't usually count as reliable to most people. Fools. Anyway, in the spirit of my inability to rest, I'm carrying on with my individual Critical Mass ride, which could be called a Lack-of-Critical-Mass-and-the-Point-Entirely-Missed Ride, which is just me zipping around town on my townie, trying to simultaneously find inspiration and inspire. Usually I just wind up at the library to check my back account and write on this Blahg. But someday...

Don't get the message? Ah well.

A MAN A PLAN A CANAL PANAMA

2009-01-16T12:26:00.000-08:00

That is: AMANAPLANACANALPANAMA. It's a palindrome, and one hell of a one at that. Kind of like RACECAR, only much cooler.

Anyway, I have a plan now. Sort of. That is, a training plan. Harlen is letting me in on his little secrets of advice, which is awesome, because I've got determination and dedication, but I tend to lack direction. So instead of riding myself into the ground all the time this season, I'm going to ride myself into the ground scientifically. I'm excited. And he's not really making me take rest days, just a couple days of easy spinning around town. Alex said to just ride around with a cup of coffee, so that you can't really get out of the saddle or sprint or anything, 'cause then you'd spill your coffee. That's a pretty good version of a PowerTap, I think.

A couple weeks ago was Race #1 of the 2009 season, which I tend to still write as 2008, which I think is a widespread problem. I think people generally get the hang of it around mid-February. But in the mean time, it's Jan. 16, 2008. Fuck. 2009. Right.

Snake Creek Gap, part one of a three part series. It was awesome. Held somewhere around Dalton, GA, the course was super, with lots of singletrack, and good climbs, and fun traversey sections, and a good crowd of people. I raced my singlespeed, because that's all I have right now, and despite what everyone said, a 32-17 turned out to be ok. I think it'll be even better for Part 2 and Part 3, you know...when I'm a little more in shape and such. Fatty McButterPants here, all winter-styled out. I think I got 2nd to Carrie Lowery, if that's how you spell her name, who is one of those awesome, badass, professional women that I look up to. So that's ok. The weather was in the 50's and it was all misty, so that was even better than ok, it being January and all.

I rode most of the 34 miles with Doug [I never know if it's appropriate to use peoples' last names without their permission, so I'll leave this one out. If you know him, you know him...] who is one of those awesome, badass, not professional at all men that I look up to. He usually has a wad of chew in his mouth and a bottle of wine in his hand directly following the race. He's cool. Also, all the Yazoo guys were there, and the NC version of Yazoo, the newly formed Pisgah Brew Crew, so it was pretty much a good party scene as well. Good race, good post-race...I'm already rediculously excited for the next one.

Last week there was a classic group ride out of the Fish Hatchery. I hadn't been on a group ride with kids my own age for over a month, so I was hurting for one. And this group was 75% Floridians, which means it was awesome. Dan Guiness Ennis and Chris Janaeskiwekiskzie97838kdisk and that guy who rides La Ruta six times a year, and Alexis and Nate Dog (not Dawg) and Thomas and such, and it was great. Followed by El Chapalas, and the wondering why it's El and no La Chapalas, and it turned out to be a great day. Oh group rides. So good for the soul.

Not good for the soul is temperatures below 25, which is what it is today, and what it was yesterday. Yesterday I rode Bent Creek and whined, today I townied all over the place with, like, 4 sweatshirts on, and it was fun. Tomorrow, I'm going to make people go ride Laurel with me. I'm going to go fast up it, and try to clear Pilot. Which won't happen.

In the meantime, I'm trying so hard to find a stupid job. Which is really, really hard, and really hurts the ol' ego being rejected all the time, and I really do dislike not working. I'll keep trying, and keep hoping that Obama creates some sort of neo-CCC thingy, and employs a bunch of healthy youngsters like myself to do pointless things like move big rocks from here to there. That would be sweet.

Otherwise, just waiting for spring. Three more weeks til our Homebrew is ready to drink (a Nut Brown, yum...) and a couple more weeks and we'll start some plants indoors, and then there's 12 hours of Santos mid-February, which will be like a Pseudo-Spring, and then it'll be almsot Spring here, and Landscaping places will be hiring, and daylight will last forever, and so will smiles.

Word.

A man a plan a canal. Panama.

2008-12-25T13:26:00.000-08:00

Lately I've felt the internal nagging that is the, "what I'm a doing with my life?" sort of feeling. And I honestly don't know what I have been doing, except that all of it feels pretty alright, if only it weren't for that nagging feeling, which I need to shake in order to achieve utmost contentment. Anyway, it's taken me over six weeks to get half-way through my current book, which is Sometimes a Great Notion by Ken Kesey. It's a great book, I love it, but no time to read, I've found, because I'm always doing other stuff that I can never put my finger on. You know, like not doing anything important at all. But what the hell is important? Do I feel like I'm wasting my time? Is it just because I have the vague intent of going back to graduate school someday? Is it because it's the off-season? Is it because it's winter which just seems to lend itself to the over-abundance of down-time? I'm a just restless? Yes. My bad.

Anyway, last week was the Holidaze Alleycat/Scavenger Hunt put on by the Pisgah Brew Crew (i.e. Justin and Beth) and it was quite the blast. I raced it with good ol' Phil Shaw and Kevin Booth, and I think we got third, though the scoring was all subjective and silly, so who knows what that even means. Either way, sprinting through town, across town, over and up town, out of town and back into town, all the while forgetting that traffic is still a threat and you're just racing for glory, so its not worth killing yourself over...oh but it is! So friggen fun. Go Alleycats. Asheville needs more. But in the mean time, a big thanks to the Brew Crew for putting that on, it was sweet.

Besides that, I've clocked quite a few hours, even a few with Alex, which makes my heart swell to an enormous size. Trackie Boy who can also hold his own riding street and can bunny hop, like, 4 feet, has built up quite the agressive cross country hardtail, and damn, boy can ride. Especially uphill, on a 2:1. He kills it, and then I get all embarassed, but don't admit it, and he's like, "whatever, you already ran an hour today and rode four hours yesterday." And I'm like, "yeah, that's all it is (sob, sob, sob.)" Anyway, the favor was returned, or whatever, as I built up a fixed gear. He calls it my track bike, which I think makes him proud, but it's a Trek 420 with one hell of a dented top tube and I think I paid for the chain and that's all, and calling it a "track bike" just seems too over-flattering. So I call it my townie. But I think it's my new favorite bike, of the arsenal of crud that I own. Go fixed gears. I can't track stand worth shit on it, but I'm figuring it out, slowly-but-surely. And getting bolder on the downhills, and around turns...and yes, pussy me funs a front brake. Sorry purists.

Anyway, I gave most of the parts off my singlespeed to Alex so he could build up his XC war machine, and in the process, striped down my geared race bike and turned that into a pimped-out singlespeed. So no more gears for awhile, which so far is treating me quite well. I'm running a 2:1, which has proved difficult but great on such standards as Bent Stupid Creek, Squirrel Gap, Rainbow Ridge, Kitsuma, etc. Snake Creek Gap #1 is the first race of the season, coming up a week from Saturday. Wtf!?! Right? Anyway, I'm excited. I hear a 2:1 is a bad choice for that course, but over-geared seems to work for me. I can't spin worth shit. Then a month later is the Icycle, then 12 hours of Santos, and then race season will be in full swing. Word!

Updating

2008-11-29T15:26:00.000-08:00

In the past week and half or whatever it's been, I've:

Got a tatoo
Moved into a new house
Found and started a new job
Learned to thoroughly enjoy my new job
Make friends with my new co-workers who have finally found that its ok for them to make fun of me, thus more firmly solidifying the otherwise awkward friend/co-worker relationship
Got my road bike stolen
Hated all of humanity
Built up a new road bike with old parts donated to me by Tavis and Alex
Learned that some of humanity is so friggen awesome
Learned to like my new road bike well enough even though its not my old road bike, which I loved through-and-through
Some other stuff and stuff

Anyway, it's been tumultuous, I guess. But a smooth, fun little tumult. My new job gives me time to run in the morning and ride in the afternoon, which is the jam, but I'm still feeling like I'm not getting enough hours on the bike, especially not off-road. My riding was terrible for a few days, which led me to feel sorry for myself and express this sorriness ot Jamie of Weaverville BMX and ProBikes, and he told me I need rest. I listened to what he had to say, and I very much trust his advice, but being one who always trusts, but never takes other's advice, I decided to just get rid of my geared bike for the time being. So I did that. No more stupid gears off-road. Singlespeeds are so much more reinvigorating than any rest could ever be, and it doesn't make you miss these stupendous fall days.

Or something.

Don't tell Jamie I didn't take his advice. He'll be pissed. He said that's why my road bike got stolen--so I couldn't ride it. Knowing him, he's probably got it stashed at home, or he sold it to some kid at the BMX track for $125. Dang.

USARA Nationals and another minor competition

2008-11-12T13:58:00.000-08:00

This past weekend was USARA Adventure Racing Nationals, held in a little town in the Blue Ridge mountains called, creatively enough, Blue Ridge, Georgia. This was to be my swan-song of adventure racing, so I could move on to bigger and better things, by which I mean shorter and more fun races. Once upon a time I used to run marathons, and with those, I would run the first 20 miles feeling great, then the real race started after that, and I'd just try to hold myself together for the last 10k, and that was fun. The weight is in favor of fun, and even the hurting part is bearable because its taking you toward the finish line. But for some reason with adventure racing, I spend the first 20 hours hating it and wondering why I'm doing it and wanting to cry and go home, and then for the last 4-10 hours, I feel great and I love it, and I have a blast. But that doesn't even out enough for me, and so I don't really like the sport. Add to that a sea of gear-headed dorks, stupid route planning (80 miles of gravel road when you're surrounded by an area raped with awesome singletrack! WTF?!) erroneous logistics for what would otherwise be a dandy romp in the woods, and the feeling that all I am is the little girl trying to keep up with my two male teammates...and the result is me hating the sport.

But this time wasn't so bad, honestly. Of course, as usual, I hated the first 20 hours of it, and at one point around midnight, I told my teammates I was dropping out. Thankfully , they ignored me, and we eventually got a gap where a guy gave us his Subway sandwich, and the vegetarian-since-age-seven in my went "Salami! Yum, give me two!!" And five minutes later, we got to a checkpoint where a bunch of men listening to Rod Stewart ("this isn't weird, is it?" they asked) offered us a quick warm-up by the fire and some Michalob Ultra (of course...this was an adventure race afterall.) This came right before the bike-to-trek transition, so I think the mixture of fire, beer, and change of tasks helped reinvigorate me, and finally gave me the second wind I had been waiting 19 hours for.

The rest of the race, which lasted until about 9:30 the next morning (our finishing time was 26:20:21 or something...you know, like a day and some change.) And for the rest of the way, at least during the dark time, I kept falling asleep on my bike, which was crazy and rediculous. This was my 5th of so 24 hour race, and I've never had that problem before, but there's a first for everything, so whatever. I crashed into a few ditches, and eventually, right before dawn, crashed pretty good, and that, mixed with the pending daylight, helped wake me up for good (or at least until around 2 pm, when I fell into a post-race, drool-puddle, rock-hard nap while trying to read "Sometimes a Great Notion.") About an hour before the end, the 2nd to last checkpoint provided us with some whisky after we whined about them not having coffee ("I have something else that'll keep you warm" the guy said, and the rest is history.) It ended with a 3 mile jaunt down a railroad, ala La Ruta, which everyone tries to be like. Posers.

Anyway, we ended pretty strong, and I ended not hating adventure racing that much, which is a good way to go into retirement, I think. Unfortunately, I did miss one heck of a camp-out, cook-out with Alex and Pals up in Madison and the Swank, two things I am very sorry to have missed. But no regrets. 24 hours of woods-romping, even if half of it is taken up whining to myself, is ok by me.

And last night was the inaugural Inter-Asheville Bike Shop Bowling Tournament held at Sky Lanes. There was a good showing from Industry Nine, Pisgah Works, Suspension Experts, and then me and Alex for ProBikes (stupid Jed had to work...he would have pulled us through, being the God that he is) until we suckered I-9's best players onto our team. I think we still lost all over. I don't even know if anyone really won. But overall, a good time was had, I think. So you know, that was cool and stuff.

I'm about to go get a tattoo from old pal Galen. I'm not saying what it's going to be, except to saythat's its going to be awesome. Like the Pisgah boys' bowling skills/fashion senses awesome:

The Gameplan

2008-11-10T13:33:00.001-08:00

Turns out I'm going to be racing for Independent Fabrications next season, which I'm thoroughly excited about. There are some awesome folks racing for them, and I whole-heartedly agree with the unstated mission statement of the company, so I'm thrilled to be representing them as I ride around in circles and then spread goodwill post-race. But with this newfound direction and motivation for next year's race season, I've come to the realization that I really would like to step up my game. That is, get friggen faster, and get better all-around on a bike. And I want to do it without the smile-draining, fun-sucking drag of current, conventional training, which I don't really think will be a problem.

Today BikeSnobNYC, who consistantly is like music to my ears, said it perfectly:

"Personally, I'm against training. In fact, I feel that if you're against doping in cycling, then you should be against training too. Some riders have access to more and better training, which in turn forces their competitors to attempt to match that training in order to level the field. In turn, the former riders seek out increasingly esoteric training methods to reclaim their advantage. The result is a cycle as vicious as it is dorky, and as anybody who's spent any time around bike racers knows, training (like drugs) can take a horrible toll on a person. Sure, training is much less likely to kill you than drugs are, but in large doses, it is almost guarenteed to make you incredibly boring and unpleasant to be around. If I want to have fun, I'll ride my bike. But if I want to spend a lot of time around people who constantly monitor their bodies with electronics, can't drink alcohol, and go to bed early, I'll volunteer my time at a hospital."

I love it! This paragraph is a masterpiece. My oft-used line is "fast by default" which I use to describe riders for whom I have a lot of respect, and the type of rider I'd like to become. That is, a rider who is fast because all they do is ride, and all they do is ride is because that's all they want to do. I'm so against power-taps, but I'm all about working on my gate-starts at the BMX track, trying to keep up with Alex's sprints through yellow-to-red-lights, and running a 2:1 in Pisgah just because it hurts and its fun that way--that's power training by default, I can feel the benefit, and nothing's beeping at me. And I want my handling skills to get better, which I'm planning on doing by building skinnies in my back yard with Lexy's slag wood, riding my bike through the house, challanging everyone to games of Foot-Down until I can hold my own, and of course, just from zipping through town trying not to get hit or doored or beer-canned.

In some interview awhile back, Jill Kintner said something along the lines that where she wants to be as a rider is to be able to do whatever she wants on a bike. I love that. I, too, want to be able to do whatever I want on a bike. And on all sorts of bikes. I want to ride my bike through the house, trackstand to turn a light off, fakie my way out of it to fit through the doorway, then park my bike nicely in the corner. (I was trying this the other day, but couldn't get the fakie part right, and kept cheating by touching the wall...I'll keep trying.) I want to be able to do on a bike whatever I can do on my feet, only better and more impressively. I want to develop the handling skills to do whatever I can picture in my head.

I'm so far off that. I can't even bunny-hop without clipless. Whoops. But hey, I'm still young.

2008-10-29T14:21:00.000-07:00

Last week it snowed and I rode the trainer. My general rule of thumb is that no matter how cold it is, if it's dry out, you're not allowed to ride the trainer. Wet and cold, you're allowed to whine, but dry and cold, you still have to ride outside. But after working in the stupid woods all day, commuting to and from work in 30 degree weather (which is normally fine, but in October? Not quite ready for this, nature. Ease up, there) and realizing I had been cold from 6:30 am when I left the house until 6:30 pm, when I made it home after 10 hours of working, taking the long way home, and dropping off 3 lbs of deer meat for Alex, etc. I figured being cold for 12 hours was enough. High time to get sweaty and do one-leg pulls on the trainer while rocking out to 90's music. I'm such a puss.

On Friday Alex and I took a couple demo Yeti 575's out to Pisgah to ride big bikes and feel cool, but fatty Alex snapped a chainstay less than an hour in, so we wound up hiking out, disappointingly as it was a wonderful fall day, back in the 70's after the mid-week winter freak-out. But so it goes. I'm not such a fan of big bikes anyway, slack head angles, 7 inches of forgiveness, 2.4 tires, all that rediculousness. Keep mine straight and steep, with the constant feeling that you're about to get tossed from your bike. That's the jam.

Saturday I sort of got my fix in, but was all sick with a headcold and whine, whine, whine, so more sort of slodged and pleghmed my way through a four hour mountain bike ride. Sunday, still feeling sick, I spent about four hours riding all over the place and yet no where at all on my road bike. It was awesome. This has been my road riding lately--no more epic loops for some reason, I'm just zipping here and there with some sort of half-formed agenda, taking the longest, most convoluted routes to places I need to get to that day, thus turning a 20 minute errand into a 2.5 hour ride. I guess this is base training, or end-of-season rest/transition period, but I do feel like I need to sit down and figure out where I'm going with my bicycle-riding life. You know, like a, uh, er, a (cough, cough) training plan. That'll be a good task for when I'm unemployed, I think. That and building cold frames and chicken coops and turning Alex's suburban house into one heck of a homestead.

Anyway, collegiate nationals a couple weekends ago: props like woah to Johanne and Dan from Brevard. Jo won everything twice (DS and omnium) and Dan podiumed all over the place. And Matt from the Warren to the Wilson for getting 3rd or something like that in the omnium, and of course, Rebecca Toma-wiki-wiki-wiki-Goddamn! who won XC (on her SS, of course) and tied for omnium with Jo but got squeezed to second because of rules, or something. Anyway, fast little scholars, always a good scene, ridiculousness and mayhem and bikes and smiles.

I've got Adventure Racing Nationals this weekend. Gulp. Wish I were doing the Swank, quite honestly, but its sort of like eating broccoli as a kid: You feel forced to do it, you never quite enjoy it or see the point in it, but you're probably getting some trace benefit out of it that you're completely unaware of...maybe. And it appeases those around you. Stupid team sports. Oh well. Can't complain too much about running around in the woods for a day. By the way, I just heard an awesome joke about broccoli, but again...it's one of those that can't be told on such a family-oriented blahg as this. So remind me about it later.

And now I'll leave you with some words of wisdom. Last week, I was walking back to my little office at the Southern Research Station with a mug-full of coffee, and a construction worker said, "Hey, you're spilling all your coffee!" And I said, "Yeah, I know, I'm terrible at this." And he said, "You just can't look at it." So I lifted my head, picked up the pace, and didn't spill a drop. We used to watch former WWC forest manager Richard drive the work trucks off-road with coffee filled to the brim, and he'd never spill a drop either. I thought he was God, but turns out he just knew not to look at the coffee. This story also, for some reason, reminds me of the time Lexy and I were throwing a football at a basketball hoop, trying to make a basket. And I said, "I'm just not trying anymore" and of course I made it on that one. I don't really know where I was going with this, but I think the moral might be that looking down and trying only causes you to fail. But if you just do it, you're golden. You can't lose because you're unattached from the outcome. And if you're not looking--you don't even know how much coffee you're spilling anyway.

That doesn't make any sense. I'm no philosopher. But I do rock at crossword puzzles. Go Vote. I mean, if you feel like it.

Double Dare and Pisgah Pale

2008-10-21T04:28:00.000-07:00

I probably average about 17 hours of bike-riding time each week, so I was hoping last week, with the Double Dare this past weekend, that I would have something like 87,000 hours in one week. But it turned out to be just 29. So it goes. I've never been one for simple arithmetic.

Even though it resulted in a disappointingly dinky weekly total, 20 hours worth of riding (which, admittedly, also included some hiking, eating, and some PBR shot-gunning) in two days proved to be pretty beefy. But in a good sort of way. It was an absolute blast. The race format was Noon to Midnight on Saturday and 6 am to 6 pm on Sunday, with 10 checkpoints each day. Only one was mandatory per day, which created a very open-ended "race", by which I mean, a good way to force yourself to ride loops and trails in directions that you otherwise never would.

Of course I didn't feel like sitting on my saddle at all on Sunday or then Saturday night, descending down 256 from Mt. Pisgah back to White Pines in 34 degree weather felt a little drawn-out and torturous, but that's peanuts compared to shot-gunning PBRs at 9:30 on a Sunday near Shining Rock (which was, of course, part of the race) or campfires or Jeremy making an amazing plate of eggs and pot of coffee that morning, or climbing Pilot and getting to watch the sunrise over to our right, or getting to ride trails I'd never ridden before, and don't really know why I never bothered, and now having a bigger inventory of Pisgah and wonderful ideas for big rides, and the newfound/refound motivation and apprectiation for bike riding that a good epic leaves you with.

Anyway, a good way to spend the weekend. I can't wait to get back into the woods. I get to go back today, but that's for measuring trees, which because its part of work and my bicycle isn't present and Mike Brown won't be there with beers and a slingshot...just doesn't feel the same.

I spent yesterday sleeping in, running, going for a 2 hour road ride, clearing Alex's new backyard, making plans for cold-frames and chicken coops, getting my fixed gear up and running, and then making some homemade pizza and store-bought PBR. This is how I envision unemployment--long days of getting lots of good stuff done, until you loose your dignity and get evicted from your house. Shoot. Back to work today though, working for the man and having a steady source of income for three more weeks.

I'm skipping the BMX track today, since Lexy won't be there to drive me home afterwards. Maybe I'll go try not to die on my fixed gear. You should see the top-tube, heh-heh...scary! Alex doesn't like it, he says its a piece of shit, which it is, but it wouldn't be anything of mine if it were any nicer. So I dig it. And I finally wore knickers, winter-gloves, and socks on my commute to work this morning. It usually takes me about a month of being a frozen-idiot before I remember how to dress for cold-weather rides, but I think this past weekend helped me along a bit (e.g. "I won't need booties for the Double Dare, it won't get that cold..." and then we rode from Bent Creek Gap to White Pines via the parkway and 256 in mid-30's weather and I realized I was retarded.) You would think that living in the mountains for 4 or 5 years would have taught me something about elevation and shit getting cold. But no...

Collegiate Nationals this weekend! I am so excited to be standing around with 20 oz of coffee, wearing a beanie and a down-vest and watching all these nervous kids freeze their butts off while racing for glories and stories. That was such a friggen hard race last year--I wanted to win so bad and Kate Chapman (watch out, too, for her...she's so strong and will soon take over the world--of endurance-racing, at the very least) was relentless and it kind of hurt for awhile and I had worked really hard and I really wanted the win then I did and then I smiled, and now my jersies are collecting dust somewhere and I lost my medals, but now all that silly stuff is over with...until grad school, of course. My work here is done. I love retirement.

As Megs would say, "Go Phillies!!"

Kethcup. Ooh, Kethum, ID. Let's go there with bikes...

2008-10-15T14:09:00.000-07:00

Hey! Wanna hear my most favorite poem ever? Well, not ever...but for the love-genre it is, and its the poem that's going to go on the doilie-place-settings at my wedding (not that I plan these things or anything...) Here it is (by e.e. cummings):

yes is a pleasant country:
if's wintry
(my lovely)
let's open the year

both is the very weather
(not either)
my treasure
when violet's appear

love is a deeper season
than reason;
my sweet one
(and april's were we're)

e.e. cummings is the jam because, not only does he write awesome poetry (some of its really erotic, but I'm always too embarrassed to read that stuff, so I just skip along to the PG stuff) and uses unconventionality in form that just seems to make so much more sense (kind like in real life), but he also doesn't even bother to capitilize his own name. I went through a phase like that in grade school--i thought it be a cool self-humbling statement if i always wrote my name like kylie krauss. I stopped doing that, though, as soon as I realized feigned self-righteousness and conventiality works for most other people, and they were all getting along much better than I, or i, or whatever. What the hell am I talking about? Oh well, I'm digressing anyway.

Spring, like e.e. cummings, is the bomb-dot-com, as it were. But like co-worker Brandon and I happened to notice today, fall isn't too bad either, assuming you're able to ignore what it's about to lead up to (i.e. winter, which is a terrible idea, seasonally speaking.) But fall, for what it is, is awesome. Especially here, in the Southern Appalachians. Word.

As much as I don't want to identify with the octogenarian motor-tourists that drive 25 mph down the parkway oggling over oranges, reds, and goldens...E.O. Wilson's whole Biophilia hypothesis forces me to excuse them. Everyone loves fall for its aesthetics. And dang! As they ought to.

It does, however, make me rediculously restless. Dwinding daylight and changing seasons coupled with me soon to be jobless, waiting to hear back from team sponsorships, not know what I want to do next year (work? grad-school? bake corn bread and make coffee for my man?), etc. It's been the most wonderful Indian Summer so far, and I'm trying to squeeze in as much riding as possible, knowing this isn't going to last. Soon there'll only be, like, 15 minutes of daylight once you're out of work, and it'll be all cold and wet, and my Campi grouppo will get all salt crusted from the road spray. I didn't just say that.

But yeah, fall riding...sure is swell. I've been feeling awefully strong this week--the Rainbow Ridge-Kitsuma-Rainbow Ridge oreo ride was great, I tried to take it slighty slower and focus on the key technical and power moves, all-official like. Last night I hammered a standard Bent Creek loop. My singlespeed's been sitting at home this week, waiting for me to put in a half-link so I can finally run it as a true 2:1, without a stupid tensioner, so I did Bent Creek on gears, which I hate doing. It makes me disappointed in myself. A couple easy rides the next two days, then I somehow got myself into doing the Double Dare along with Jeremy Hargroves. I think it's going to be a real tough race. I'm excited though--I haven't raced since August, and I've been feeling a little slacky.

In other aspects of my silly little life, my job with the Forest Service is ending soon--seasonal position as a research technician. It's been a good time, goofing off with co-workers under the guise of advancing the science of forestry. Or something like that. And so I've been trying to find another job, which, for those of you in Asheville, know is about as hard as cleaning Farlow your first time--unless your Sam Koerber, or God, then that analogy doesn't make sense. But yeah, trying to find a job. Trying to keep on keeping on.

And the guy I've been climbing to the top of fire escapes with to watch these fall sunsets, and other such acts of rediculous adorableness, is moving to this side of town, which sadly, yet conveniently, means no more evening sprints on the townie across, well, town. We used to use phrases like "smitten" all the time with eachother, now we're solid-like-a-wolf and use phrases like "re-smote" "smodden" and "forever smod."

And if that's not making you feel sick, wait 'til you see this.

I'm excited for this weekend--a good excuse to ride for 12 hours two days in a row, and there's no entry fee, so officially we're not really racing, so no pressure. No pressure at all....Gulp.

Fall's Re-Sprung

2008-10-11T15:28:00.000-07:00

Last night Alex was playing 20-questions of sort with his daughter, and he asked, "Would you rather have a car or a motorcycle?" and she said, "I'd rather just ride my bike." We, and Alex in particular, temporarily melted into a sappy sac of uselessness. So much wisdom and insight for a five year old. Rock on. And a few questions later, he asked, "If you were to write a book, what would you write it about?" and she said, "Dinosaurs. No, wait! Math. Math and dinosaurs." Gosh dang, I love that little girl.

Anyway, besides reconfirming that bikes, math, and dinosaurs really are about the coolest things ever...today was great because it was the best ride for me in awhile. It was all getting a little stale lately, with too much work and other commitments and fading daylight and whine-whine-whine that all my rides were micro-rides for the past few weeks. My definitions are that a micro-ride is less than 1.5 hours, a ride is 1.5 to 3 hours, a good ride is 4-5 hours, and a big ride is anything over 5 hours. And so, by these definitions, not only had I not been on a good ride in quite some time, I also hadn't really been on a ride. Once you take out the hour of commuting I do daily, I was really only riding for about another hour. Not enough at all. Granted, those two or so hours were great for what they were, and I've been riding the hell out of the hour I have, which might wind up helping my speed, but I needed a day of just riding, getting to go until I got bored or, not feeling like I had to be back for anything.

So I left to go to the sneak attack trails over to Mills, then up Trace, which for some reason I'd never bother riding up before--I've been down it countless times. It wasn't quite the tough grunt I thought it would be, more like a prolonged whimper. And the sourwoods are all bright red, and the Betulacea all bright yellow, and everything looked like fall--yet the temperature was warm and perfect. Two hours in, I realized I had only drank a quarter of one of my water bottles, so I decided to keep adding to the loop I had in mind, and got back in just under 4.5 hours. It would have been nice to go longer if I didn't get off to such a late start and the lesson I keep relearning would have changed my habits (i.e. that water and big red gum aren't enough for rides over four hours.) But oh well. I got home from this ride much more content than I had in awhile, so that was good.

Monday I'm doing the ol' Rainbow Ridge-Kitsuma-Rainbow Ridge oreo ride, which is one of my favorites, and on Tuesday, all the seasonal trails re-open in Pisgah, and then....watch out!!

Collegiate Nationals are happening in two weeks from this weekend. At Lees-McRae college in Banner Elk, NC. You should go and watch the fastest schoolkids in the nation go around in circles. And there's always a bajillion good parties going on that Saturday.

Lose your car keys.

Pretty.

2008-10-09T13:50:00.000-07:00

Not that I've been trying to look at other bikes or anything, but...oh, swoon:

Straight lines. Steel. Lugs. Italian. I love it. The closest I've got is a Trek 420 that I have built up as a townie. I love that, too, for what it is, which is a straight, steel, lugless, American janky-ass piece of shit. Far, far inferior, but hey...it gets the job done, and I love it for that reason. Tomorrow, to make me love it even more, a track wheel's going on the back of the ol' 420. It's going to be fixed. I'm going to get hurt.

Bowling, Huh?

2008-10-09T04:59:00.000-07:00

Exactly one week after Election Day, which would be November 11, which is also the date 11-11, which is an excellent sign according to Urantia and the person I trust more than anyone, Megs Denison, is the INAUGURAL ASHEVILLE BIKE SHOPS BOWLING TOURNMENT.

Invited are Industry Nine, Suspension Experts, Hearnes, Carolina Fatz, Pro Bikes, Sycamore Cycles, BioWheels, Ski Country, and Liberty Bikes. I'm assuming, however, that this will be like a typical group ride in that half the folks will wimp out, half of the other half will show up late, and the few that do make it will have one hell of a good time.

Too bad this guy can't make it (recognize him?) :

I think he's busy that week, either crying or rejoicing, it all depends on what YOU do on November 4th. Actually your vote doesn't really matter that much, despite what people try to tell you. But you should still vote anyway, just because you can, and because it gives you an excuse to leave work for a bit.

Anyway, for as many people there are who ride bikes in this town, the culture is a little diffuse. We're working on that. Ever been to Gainesville? Those guys stick together. Probably just because they can and because it gives them an excuse to leave work for a bit. I'm not a fan at all of huge (I mean, like, 4 plus) group rides...I always secretly try to get separated from the group, or hope the group breaks up on its own accord, or I keep riding until others have broken off to head back early and its just me and two others left. I don't like being a flock of weirdos clogging up roads or trails. I'd rather just be a handful of weirdos doing that. I don't know why, maybe just because you can't get away with more in little groups.

But I do love cammraderie, and I love seeing 27 bikes locked up outside of a bar (which never happens in Asheville, but should, and I can't understand why it doesn't--see blahg post below), and I do love running into friendly faces at trailheads, and I do love seeing the guy who actually owns a successful business party down like woah once in the safety of a post-race/post-ride setting.

At some point, Phil, Kevin and I were talking about the phrase, "...So you ride bikes?" and all its other forms. As in, "This is my friend Such-a-whozit. She rides bikes." And then you know, it is understood, that she knows how mush psi she likes, she has more than just "a" bike at home, she gets cranky when she hasn't ridden in awhile, she thinks arm-warmers are more practical than silly, and so on. This is in sharp contrast to someone who has a bike and rides it. You know, from time to time. Don't get me wrong, if you're on a bike, no matter what your cause, you rock, go you. You're probably still pretty cool if you're not on a bike, I just can't judge. It's just not as easy to tell that you're cool by our (i.e. the collective our that is the culture of "people who ride bikes") standards. But oh, hey...you ride bikes? Cool.

There's just something different between people who ride bikes and those who do not. Bike riding is weird and silly and made fun of from both inside and outside the little group. Kind of embarrassing, but still really fun for what it is.

Sort of like bowling.

Actually not at all. But less all us bike riders become too uni-dimensional, I figured it was high-time to try another activity. So...

BOWLING TOURNAMENT: ASHVEVILLE BIKE SHOPS vs OTHER ASHEVILLE BIKE SHOPS

November 11. Come. Tell you're bike-riding friends.

See who's # 1. (Besides Jamie Ritchey, which we all knew anyway)

"I'm not angry...just disappointed."

2008-10-07T07:07:00.000-07:00

While I was away in Vegas, I got a call from a friend asking if he could sleep on my couch--something about a gas crisis and not being able to make it home and back with how much gas he had left. I had no idea what was going on, but considering what a Flop-House our place is anyway, I said of course he could sleep on our couch.

Gas crisis, huh? I was flying back from Utah when the ol' Blackout of '03 happened up in Cleveland and that whole area, so I missed that whole adventure, and there I was living it up in Vegas, using the hell out of non-renewable resources during the gas crisis here in the Southeast. Dang, I miss all the good stuff. Maybe this is a good sign...I'll probably be tele-skiing in Whistler when the apocalypse happens. No I won't. I just jinxed myself. Great....

Anyway, I'm sure even if I were in Asheville at the time, I wouldn't have noticed the gas crisis regardless. I think driving is about the most nerve-wracking, blood-pressing-rising, self-destructive thing you can do. So I tend not to do it very much. Maybe once every three weeks. Plus, it's terribly inconvenient. But no one else seems to think it is...instead they think biking is inconvenient, but that's only because they don't bike. I've done both. For trips less than 1/2 hour, the convenience factor is the same and driving is far worse anyway because its simply evil.

People punching people in lines while waiting for gas? That's hilarious. People thinking they need to drive to work that's four miles away? That's fucking disgusting. There's nothing funny about that, and it's such a post 1940's American concept to think driving is the best (and some people consider it the only--which is really gross) way to get from here to there and back. I recently bought a car from my brother, mainly so I could drive my mountain bike to races and bigger rides in Pisgah, which I'm sure could easily be called hypocritical, but that's fine. It is hypocritical. And if I were entirely flawless and never felt rushed or tired, I would ride my moutain bike for two hours to the trailhead, go ride my mountain bike for four hours, then ride the two hours home. But I don't want to do that. And maybe how rediculous that sounds to me is how rediculous it sounds to some people to ride their bike across town to work. Maybe that's just so far out of the question for them. It must be, otherwise they would have thought of it before they couldn't get gas anywhere in town.

I'm not pointing my fingers at everyone...just at a few key types of people. As much as I love and respect my friends, I am slightly appalled and disappointed with a few of them because the idea of riding their bikes to work or class never occurred to them until this "crisis" happened. I'm thinking especially of the ones that are actual bike riders...but not commuters. When you own at least three bikes, its hard for me to understand why you wouldn't ever consider one as your main mode of transport. You're already in shape and like bikes well enough, apparently...why are these people still so fixated on their cars? I just don't get it, and so I can't sympathize with it very well, so it makes me frustrated, and that's all.

I'm glad we had a crisis for the sake of my friends that ride bikes but never considered commuting on bikes. I'm glad there was a crisis for people that never really biked but had a townie and started using it out of necessity. I'm sorry for the folks that don't have the means of getting to work any other way but by car because they live an hour from thier work and public transportation in most parts of this country is somewhere between aweful and nonexistant, and I'm sorry for all the kids in my roommate's preschool class that couldn't show up for school that week becuase their parents couldn't get them there. But to all my able-bodied friends that drive their cars just because it's what they've been doing since age 16, and they never thought that putting on a backpack and biking to Amazing Savings or wherever is just as easy and quick as it is with a car...I'm shaking my head at them, wondering when they'll learn, and wondering why they seem to get so angry at the government for supporting their apparent needs. I don't know anything about politics at all (it reminds me of high school cafeteria gossip, so I tend not to pay attention to it.) But I know that I hate over-exploitation in all forms (excpet when it involves Halloween candy, then I, too, am a greedy bastard) and this is case #1 of "action, my friends, not words." You can't be driving to work hating on our government for wanting to increase the amount of oil available to the general public. They're doing it for people like you, silly.

I'm thoroughly convinced bikes can save the world. At the WWC homecoming last Friday, Alex and Pinkie were talking, vaguely, about the history of transportation in NYC. With Pinkie's stance being that the car was great because it replaced horses, which, of course, fouled up the streets and created the age-old American problem of having too much extra shit. Leave it to Alex to mention the bicycle. I was in-between conversations so I don't know what points were made between these two, but my own massive amount of common sense (scoff here, please) makes me back the bicycle with mule-like stubborness, mag-wheel toughness, and Chrysippus-like stoicism (don't bother analyzing those similes, especially the latter.) After the initial production, and every once in awhile for a few new parts here and there--there is nothing that goes into or comes out of a bike. No hay in, no shit out. No gas in, no CO2 and world destruction out.

Go bikes!

Or rather, go bike! To work, or class, or the grocery store, to over there and back, or, like, from the boys who got it right, you could just sit at home and drink a tasty brew:

Getting out alive.

2008-10-06T07:05:00.000-07:00

A couple weeks ago I managed to weasle my way into a business trip with Kevin and Phil of Suspension Experts to Interbike. It was in Vegas, which is a place I never really had any desire to go to in the first place, and am now convinced that I have no desire to go back, but not one to pass up an opportunity to weasle my way into anything, I decided I ought to do it.

My first thought flying into Vegas was "dang, that's a lot of lights." Then walking through the airport my thoughts we're "Why the heck did that Starbucks charge me so much for this goddamn coffee?" and "Holy cow, all the men have really nice shoes. Weird."

I managed to make it to the hotel, The Stratosphere, ooohhh!!, and called Phil, as directed, because he said there would be no possible way I'd be able to find my way through the casino to our room, which was numbered 3-08-16...of course, it was. There were a fuck-ton of rooms in that hotel. And there are a fuck-ton of hotels in Vegas. It doesn't make any sense. But nothing in Vegas does, and that's why I had to sit outside of the hotel waiting for Phil to direct me through a casino no mortal soul would be able to navigate themselves through, alone, the first time around.

Sitting there at 11:30 pm local time, 2:30 am my time, at the beginning of this little adventure that was to be a week at Interbike, I reached into my jeans pocket in a desperate attempt at comforting myself and making myself feel at home. What did I bring from home that I had forgotten about that was now in the deep recesses of my pockets? Oh, dang...a Miller High Life bottle cap. I strongly believe that all your favorite pant pockets should have a bottle cap in them. You should just keep them there and carry them around with you and replace them when they get lost to the washing machine. It's good luck or something, for its also fun to pull out a bottle cap at a random (or discomforting, in this case) time and try to think of where you were, who you were with, and what was going on when you were drinking the beer (or soda, for you U-21ers out there) that once belonged to that bottle cap.

Anyway, I couldn't remember where that High Life cap came from, then Phil came, and the week began.

It was a good, overstimulating week. And anti-vacation of sorts. Lots of bike products and bike people. Some really cool innovations, like inifinite-engagement hubs (by a lil' company called Stealth) which use needle bearings in crazy little ramps--no pawls at all. Dang! (But warning...I-9 hubs are still the best. Don't be fooled.) And the Hammerschmidt crankset. Planetary gears. Swoon. Neat. And this awesome Belgian (or you know, some other non-American country...) company that had the same sort of cranks, but the shifting was done by kicking a little button with your heel on the side of the crank. Beautiful! A dingle! I've fantasized about this for so long--zipping down to Bent Creek on a more appropriate road gear than the near 2:1 I ride off-road, then not having to adjust chain tensioners or anything--same chain length, just kick, and you're in a trail gear. Word! Plus, it makes it ok to kick your drivetrain, which previously had only been reserved for momemts of anger and frustration.

So anyway, there was a lot of looking at products and wanting and thinking and dreaming up awesome new bikes to build. But there was also free crap to grap and free snacks to eat and free beer to drink, and I ran into some folks I know and met some new folks and made some really great small talk and tried but didn't manage to sweet-talk my way into the Campi cycling cap, but so it goes...

Highlights were sneaking into the VIP area at Cross Vegas with Rebecca "Hot Shit" Tomaszkwiszkiekszwik and her cronies, and riding the heck out of some fun bikes at the Outdoor Demo. Phil and I quite half-way through the day on Tuesday because there were too many people demoing the bikes and it turned into a cluster-fuck, so we starting eating Chipotle chips and drinking Fat Tire, then we took out the most ridiculous "bike" we could find. One, a Da Vinci tandem, which was more race-oriented and agressive then my road bike, I would say--so scary! No me gusta! 74 degree head angle on a tandem!?! Get me off of this! And some recumbant tricycles! So hilarious. Phil equated it to being tickled...its aweful and you hate it, but you can't stop laughing. It was so funny. And some guy on a road bike past us, and we apologized to him for being on recumbants and said we hated ourselves and were embarrassed, and he said, "it's ok, with people on recumbants, to point AND laugh." But hands-down the best part of the show was going into the bike-check room, which was a room full of bikes owned by people at the show. Mainly their townies, and mainly, the most awesome looking, well-built fixed gears. Some awesome old-school, neon-era mountain bikes, some new-ish race bikes (disappointing to see amongst so many other bikes with personality), etc. I walked around there for awhile, drooling, getting ideas for bikes that I want to build up, and probably looking a little suspicious to the old couple checking peoples' bike in and out.

Lowlights were running in Vegas. Disgusting. And the price of food. Oh, and that, upon flying out Friday morning, from the plane I saw a wonderful desert sunrise, and I thought "oh yeah, we're in the desert." Whoops. They fooled me.

It was a good time overall. Met some characters, saw some bike products, experienced Vegas (though not all that all-out, which maybe is for the better...) only missed two days of biking, and made it back to Asheville and normalcy in one piece.

Ah, youth.

The next day I purged my system with a long road ride followed by a long-ish trail run at Wilson. And then promptly slipped back into the ol' daily grind. Did Vegas ever really happen? Where I'd get all these key chains and coozies and stickers? Oh, right...

New Routes through the Old Town

2008-09-11T14:14:00.000-07:00

There's not much to write about now that the racing season's over, and it seems my weekends have been too busy for epics, and now the ever-dwindling daylight has been shortening my post-work ride to about two hours. I'm restless as can be, and I've been sending out resumes trying to find a new job...one that gives me a solid 3-4 hour chunk of ride-time, plus enough money to pay rent. That's the major downside of Asheville--it tricks you into wanting to play all the time, then you realize there are no jobs available, then you realize you can't afford to play, so you sacrifice some play time for work, and then you're like, wait...this much work stinks. I quit. Let's go ride bikes. Then you're broke. And yet so happy...

We had a grand ol' house party last weekend, up 'til about 3, then up the next morning at 6 to drive to ETSU for the collegiate race. It was awesome. I got Lexy all dressed and packed into the car, I chugged six cups of coffee and rocked out to country music for the hour-long drive over Sam's Gap, then the two shiftless college-grads that we are hung out and watched kids ride around in circles all day. I got in some circles of my own--three laps of the XC course, which is my favorite of the SECCC (at least until the one at Santos next month, probably) and even better on a singlespeed. Everything's better on a singlespeed, though, so that was a pointless comment.

Otherwise, the best riding I've been doing has been zipping around town with my man Alex. He's always on his "don't-call-it-a-fixie!" which he runs with a 42-17, which is exactly what I run on my townie, only that's not a fixed-gear, so I suck. But anyway, he is bold, and an amazing bike handler, and a sprinter...so trying to keep up with him through town is terrifying and awesome, and I think this is my newest mode of training. Sprinting out of trackstands at red lights is the best power training since BMX gate practice, in my well-formed opinion, and the amount of audacity and assertiveness it takes to dart in front of cars, slap a hood, or let out a whislte to let them know you're going, screw their 2-tons of steel death box...it's good stuff. It'll make you a good rider by default, I think mainly because there is no way you couldn't fall in love with bicycles as you outsprint cars down a busy road, weaving in and out of traffic, hopping over urban obstacles like curbs and broken glass and stupid hippies and geriatric tourists. It just goes to show how awesome bikes are and how aweful cars are, and that realization alone is enough to make you fast on a bike. Somehow or other. But whatever about being fast...go biking in general. Swoon. I'm so in love.

But, being the well-rounded, multi-dimensional person that I am, I also just bought an automobile from my brother, and Dan F-ing Ennis barted me his roof racks, which means I have a new founded freedom to go drive (hey...you gotta do what you gotta do...) to the woods and ride the piss out of my mountain bike. No more same ol' Bent Creek to Mills loop. Oh boy, am I excited for the fall! Pisgah riding is great year-round, but Pisgah riding in the fall. Holy crap. Indescribable.

I think I wrote awhile ago about the stagnation of my learning curve...that I didn't feel like I was getting faster or getting any better on the technical stuff. Then it occured to me that really my only goal is to become the best bike rider I can be, and that means every genre. What I'm learning on the BMX track has helped my mountain biking considerable, and what I've learned trying not to die while riding downtown has helped my cornering on the road. Soon I'll be building up a 'cross bike for the winter, which will become a track bike in the spring and summer. As much as I want to hate the Wal-Mart-ization of things (i.e. everythings there, but its all pretty crappy) this diversified generalization of bike riding is kind of appealing to me. I'll always be most "serious" about mountain biking, I think, but I'll dabble in anything that involves two wheels. It's just too much fun. And those two wheels include dirt bikes. Ahhh...some day!

Hero of the moment: Michael Mooney. This past weekend he attempted to break (shamelessly destroy, actually) the World Record for riding a tall bike. And a very tall bike it was...40 feet. "What?!?!" you say. "Uh, yeah, I know." is how I would respond. He didn't make it, though. Lost his balance about 2/3 of the way in, which is about as excusable as it can get, considering he was on a friggen 40 foot tall bike. But he's still a hero because he'll ride anything. A bike is a bike, an experience is an experience. Some may be more worthwhile or valuable or make more sense than others, but all of it is good, and all of it builds character, so none of it should be hated on. Except recumbants, which just lend themselves to ridicule.

I have to go back to work tomorrow!?!?!

2008-08-24T13:51:00.000-07:00

The other day a few of us were doing the ol' porch sitting, beer drinking thing, and a friend of ours still in school asked some of us, who are no longer in school, how our summers were going. Phil responded, "Uh, just like my spring and my winter. We work full time, you know." This being my first year out of school, I had been dwelling on this tragic point of reality for awhile. For the past four years, around March of each year, I'd begin plotting grand adventures for myself. I went to Europe once, I mountain biked the hell out of Flagstaff thrice, I galavanted all over Colorado and Utah, and one time three friends and I biked west for two months.

But now I have a full time job, which means I'm finally making enough money to actually afford these silly little wanders, but it also means I don't have any time to take off and be irresponsible and gain valuable life experiences. It being mid-August already, I realized I had been really itching for something a little bit grander than my usual road and mountain loops...just something to make me feel like I was doing some sort of exploring or soul-searching or what-have-you. I wasn't getting out enough, is what I'm trying to say. Too much work, not enough play. And daylight is slipping away!

So I took a mini-vacation to Brevard. It's really just right down the road, but I think it did me well. The idea for it began with a mid-week night ride with Alexis, Dan, Johanne (national expert super-D champion...yeah, like dang!) , and Tony. Tony's the shit. He's been WWC's mechanic at nationals the past couple years, and for as many times as I would go out to his little work tent, and say, "Tony, you want a cup of coffee?" he would say, "no, I've got four more bikes to do, I'm good." Hard working, extremely knowledgeable, a great mechanic--he's awesome. And I've never really ridden with him for some pitiful reason, so this was great. Plus night-riding in general is awesome because otherwise mundane trails suddenly because exciting and technical and... confusing (even in Bent Creek, which is really incredible.)

The next day, my vacation began, with a stop on the way to do Pilot to Laurel, which is backwards from how most folks do it, but this way was awesome. Challenging climb up Pilot (and Dan just had a 34T middle ring, no granny! bwah!), then 7 1/2 miles of trying not to lose sight of Johanne (I always failed) down Laurel. Dan dropped us off at Jo's, where we shoved cereal and coffee and MTB Action articles down our faces until it was time for the Sycamore Cycles group ride. They've got a good thing going on at that little shop. Wes is pretty much the bomb dot com, and all those Brevard Natural Disaster kids (a talented little cyclone they got a-twisting there...watch out for them this collegiate season), plus a slew of other Brevardians and some random kid from Warren Wilson (uhh...) A speedy, short ride up and over some fun trails. Then Jimy "You can't burn the Devil, Son" Fink made me just about piss my pants with his antics and story telling over grandes and chips at El Chapalas. It was a good evening to wrap up a great day of riding.

The next morning, I met Tristen, Nate, and Colin Izzard for another ride in Pisgah, and pretty much felt destroyed. I rode doubles the previous two days, and kind of just felt like chilling out, but the boys apparently didn't. Ouch. I rode like crap, but so it goes. Nate drove me back to Asheville, where I spun my dead legs and mental doubts out with an easy road ride, then spent the rest of the day doing the most zen thing I could think of...truing wheels at ProBikes while Alex and Jamie entertained/distracted me with their incessent banter. Those two form an unstoppable team of rediculousness.

Not wanting to end my Brevard vacation any earlier, and realizing this would be my last free weekend for awhile, I decided it was high time to do the West Asheville to Brevard route. I had mentioned it my friend Tally, and she got me all siked for an epic, so I packed three tubes, a bunch of CO2 catridges, six goos, a pack of Big Red ("powersticks" as I call them), and even a chain tool--which for me means things are going to get real serious. I was prepared for knife-fighting bears. But the ride turned out to be super straight-forward and casual, about six hours. The most trechereous part actually was the commute down 191 to Bent Creek, from there it was gravel climbs, fire road descents, Squirrel Gap wonderfulness, some South Mills, some Buckhorn, etc. and then zippity-do into downtown Brevard. I'm now thinking of how I could make this ride much more badass, which would include some of my secret stash routes, going out of the way to do Laurel, then not wimping out at the end (like I did yesterday) and finishing on Black Mountain rather than Buckhorn. But I had a good, rather relaxed ride and did see some wildlife highlights: the biggest tom (that's a male turkey for those of you who don't subscribe to Field & Stream) I had ever seen, a white-tail, and a bear cub climbing his way up a locust. Adorably gigantic ears, let me tell you. Good old friend of friends Conor met me in Brevard after a day of flyfishing to drive me back to Ashetown. All he asked for was $8 worth of gas and some ground beef. He's such a pal.

<--Not this big Tom,this big tom -->

Saturday night turned out to be considerably more epic than the day's ride, starting at the same flyfishing Conor's, then me, Philly Cheese Steak, Cody-No! and Camile "She did not just say that!" Prevost migrating to somewhere in Montford, and ending with the four of us getting a ride home from Dammit Sam in his peddy-cab. Sam had just finished a seven hour shift of hauling around tourists and was still willing to pick us up at 3 in the morning. Granted, he made Phil and Cody get out on the uphills, but man! was he a trooper on the flats and downhills, pulling all four of us. I owe that guy a burrito for all his hardwork, which is something I think I told him about 47 times that night.

Anyway, the exploring stopped there. Today I did an easy three hour road ride through the Swannanoa Valley, which is about as flat as it gets here. I was hoping for a Leicester or Madison County Maze ride with Art, but it didn't pan out, and I'm much more terrified of exploring on the road then in the woods, probably because when I picture trails in my head I see this:

But when I try to picture road routes, I see this:

I'm liking this end of the race season thing. I was talking to Art the other day about annual training plans, and I don't really know what that means or if I even really care, all I know is that since I don't have a race every weekend now, I go out and destory my legs any old time I want and I don't have to do easy days or anything bogus like that, so its really pretty enjoyable.

Collegiate season starts pretty soon.....Oh, dang!

Becoming Partially Whole Again

2008-08-18T13:32:00.000-07:00

"I might have made a few mistakes, but maybe that's exactly what it takes

to get a little happy in this big, sad world. How many have you made?

And which have you laid on down to die?"

--The Avett Brothers

This past weeked was, to use a phrase that just re-entered my vocabulary, "the jams." Which then reminds me of a hilarious joke about jam, but this is neither the time nor the place for such crudity.

Anyway, Heartbreak Ridge was on friday...and I'm still stewing over how great that was, then saturday, I had no plans, which can be either terrifying or exciting. I wound up taking a convoluted way out to the BMX track to meet Lexy, Phil, Callum, and Cody. Lexy's letting my use his TAJ now, which I'm started to get used to, and maybe in another month I'll be able to beat some of the eight year olds. After awhile of pretending I was cool, I changed back into my spandex, put on my vented helmet, and rode a new way home...which was so good I think it'll become my standard: gravel road climb up to the best part of Elk Mountain, then its just zoomy-zoom all the way back into town.

As a sidenote to Saturday's fun, or to help suggest that I do do things besides bike riding and blahging, Saturday night was one of the most fun evenings lately, too. It was Lexy's week-late-unoffical Birthday party--which really just meant he got to call all the shots, which is how Jenna and I wound up at Asiana, watching Lexy down four plates of sushi. We then met up with some others at the Bier Garden to watch Michael Phelps show the world who's boss, and some other Olympians do their thing. Sometime and somehow later we wound up at a house party, made up of 10% Wilson alumni and 90% random ultimate frisbee players. The dichotomy of the crowd became apparent as soom as beer pong commenced, since all those alledged State School wienies were so geeked-out serious--so absurd when its in the context of beer pong. They kept saying silly things like "Yo, let us get the Power-I" or "Can you courtesy my cup to the back?" (To which Phil responded, "I'll give you a courtesy to the back." Of course he would. Ha! I loved it.) And they kept telling us we were doing things wrong, and coming from a school where anything official or rule-ridden is shunned, Beer Pong having such an extensive rulebook seemed rediculously absurd. Phil and I dominated the table for awhile, even though we apparently we scrappy, ruleless, and didn't know what we were doing, until we were ousted by Hart and Conor, two other former-Wilsonites, only much more scrappier and rulelessier. Take that State School Dorks! We can play a decent game of Beer Pong and still smile.

I'm now asking you to recognize this analogy for the sport of cycling, particularly mountain biking. Powertaps, inflexible training plans, proper hydration techniques, riding the trainer less your Dura Ace grouppo gets rusty, etc. is all well and good, but I still don't think any of this will do for you what frequent 6 hour rides in Pisgah will do for you. Besides it being infinitesimally much more fun.

Speaking of which...Sunday! Best ride, ever. I say that all the time, I realize, but this was the best ever for so many different reasons: made up route including trails I'd never ridden, wrong turn resulting in 15 minutes of unnecessary but rediculously fun climbing on an crazily overgrown trail, Laurel Mountain (which I'd been itching to do for so long), a life saving babbling brook where we could refill our empty-for-far-too-long bottles, a close-up view of Mt. Pisgah, a six mile sprint down the Parkway, a sweet final decent down Trace back to the truck, tailgate Sierra Nevadas (cooler-packed and ice-cold...homey knows how to roll), and most importantly, a rekindled friendship with someone who, I'm still certain, is one of the most important people in the world to me. It was a great ride, a great day, and dang...I'm still soft for that boy.

But I can't be. I'm not allowed. Homey's got a new girl, and a gorgeous one at that (which figures and leaves me, once again, to hope that some of my mediocre atributes might add up to something worthwhile...but they never do.) Anyway, the other day at work, after an impromptu heart-to-heart with my co-workers, co-worker Owen said, "You can't blame yourself for having feelings. You're not a robot, Kylie. Are you a robot?"

I'm not a robot. But if I were, I'd probably be made out of titanium, which would be cool. But for now, I have to adopt robot, "heart-part-made-of-stone" (for another Avett Bros. quote) mode. It hurts and it sucks and dang, he still gets me, I'm still so smitten, which I can't be anymore...but I am just so rediculously relieved, excited, all that jazz, to be friends with this guy again. Its "the jams", as it were. I don't know what to do from here, I never ever do, but I think the advice offered by one of the greatest bands to come out of the 1980's, 38 Special, (not really at all, but, hey, the lyric does the trick):

"Hold on loosely, but don't let go."

So that's that. Time to go ride the old road bike, recovery-ride style, which is good, 'cause it'll give me time to think, relish in a week's worth of great rides, and rock out to '80's music in my head.

On Commraderie and Beer Vans

2008-08-14T20:11:00.000-07:00

Well, in keeping up with my new found tradition, I will start this blahg post with a congratulatory note. This time it's to Alex of ProBikes, who recently set the new record for the 500m at the melodrome here is Ashevegas. I was lucky enough to have my high-end sports lens with me to capture this shot of him mid-lap:

This now officially makes Alex the fastest guy on a bike in Asheville. I had written that in a previous blahg post, but didn't really have any way to substantiate that, but now I do. Alex is fast, and he can bunny hop curbs like no other, and I hear he's a really good cook. Give him a pat on the back next time you see him.

Anyway, this past weekend, I rode with another fast Alex, this time Alex Uh-Ohman of ETSU fame in the Nighttrain 12 Hour Race. We finished second in the duo category, sandwiched between two Biowheels teams. The winners where a double-dude team, Kris Something-or-other and Eric Krause (who is kind of like my brother, Erik Krauss, but really only in the pronounciation of their names and maybe their taste in music, I don't really know...) And the team in 3rd was made up of two of the coolest cats around, Ian and Beth.

It was a battle-royale between Team Boner (me and Alex, of course...) and Biowheels #637 (Ian and Beth...#637 because Biowheels had so many teams there, but more power to them) for the first 11 laps. At that point, Alex and Ian had each done 6 laps, and Beth and I had done 5. The boys came in at about the same time, Alex handed the baton to me, and as I rode off, all I heard was:

Ian: "I just want to drink beer now..."

Beth: "But you should go, you're doing faster laps than I am"

So I rode off, not knowing if Ian or Beth would be behind me. Either way, 2nd place and 12 hours worth of dignity was on the line, so I took off for my 6th lap around 9pm, figuring I should just go kill it, as it was my last lap, I was having a rediculous amount of fun, and I really just wanted to see how much I could sketch myself out going that fast while night-riding. I never did get passed, meaning by the time I crossed the finish line, Alex was there to give me a big celebratory hug and Phil was there to give me 16 oz of celebratory beer. Turns out Ian's light had burned out, and he was left to stumble around the woods, using bike parts to forge tools to fend off bears (or some epic story like that) until some other racer was able to give him a light and he could return safely to the finish line.

Alex, displaying the team uniform, appropriate hydration technique, and good cheer.

This was my first 12 hour race, and while I felt wimpy doing it as a duo, it was awesome being able to time-trial for an hour, hang out, time-trial for an hour, hang out, and so on for an entire day. It was the first time I had ever ridden at Fontana when the trails were dry, and I had a blast going that much faster and being able to clean all the climbs--in the middle ring, nonetheless (if you've been out there for the Icycle, and you're not Ned Overand, you know what I'm talking about.) Holy cow, do I love those trails.

But besides the bike riding, the weekend involved such highlights as: tossing around a football like the good ol' days of yore, making s'mores, car-camping, a Pisgah Brewing Co. van with two taps coming out of the side doors, sitting around geeking out on bike tech talk with the other racers, playing cornhole, listening to live music, rolling my eyes as Alex and Phil oggled some stupid Audi in the parking lot, and such other random mini-experiences that made for one hell of a great weekend.

Oh, and when we got called up at the awards, it went like this:
Announcer Man: "And in second place, Team (pause, suggesting reluctance to continue) Boner...

Random Guy in Audience: "Ha! They sure stiffed the competition!"

Because I love puns as much as I love clever jeers coming from random folks in crowds, I thought this hilarious.

The Nighttrain was my sort of the epilogue to my race season. The "serious" races have come and gone, and for the rest of the year, there's just a scattering of big races (the Swank 65, the Double Dare, etc.) and maybe some 'cross races, iffn I can get a bike built up for less than a paycheck.

And the end of the season has, judging by this past week, been awesome. Every ride this week has been awesome:

Monday: Solo road ride along the river, out and back until I figured I'd run out of daylight.

Tuesday: Group ride out of Bent Creek with some great folks...Florida Transplant Luke Rozanski, Fast Brian, Philly Cheese Steak, and my adventure racing teammate Dwight. We ended the ride playing around at the pumptrack and log rides built with love by Benny Blitch, and then Phil and I met Art "You're How Old?!" Shuster at Papa's and Beer for some pre-collegiate season team talk.

Wednesday: Another solo ride, the usual parkway loop. But it was so nice, and with the breeze and draught-stressed trees dropping all their leaves, it felt like fall. I also saw another black bear, for a grand total of six so far, which is neat because I get to go, "hey, what a funny looking dog! Oh wait...!" But terrible because the reason I'm seeing so many bears is because they're building so many houses up on Elk and Town Mountain. Jerks.

Thursday: And another great group ride out of Bent Creek...this time Stephen and I just headed out, and he picked the usual trails but in reverse of how I usually ride them, which was refreshing and great, and made me realize I am out-of-singlespeed-riding-shape like woah. My legs don't spin and the power's not there like it used to be. But since race season is done, time for geared bike to be forgotten about for awhile. Anyway, we ran into Luke and Party Steve mid-ride and wound up going til the woods turned from all-grey to too dark to see much. Which now is only about 8:15, which is really quite tragic.

Friday: HEARTBREAK! This was awesome. Phil, Luke, Beth and I met Matt from Biowheels, some downhiller from Santa Cruz, and Mike Brown for the loop that everyone in this area must do. The last time I went to ride Heartbreak was a couple years ago with the WWC Bike Team, and we made a last minute decision at Star Gap, which produced an 11 hour ride, somehow...But anyway, I had never done the standard Heartbreak loop before, and this time it was so dry, the switchbacks were so flowy and rideable, and the group was awesome. It was great.

And now it's Saturday. There's a group ride in DuPont tomorrow, but Lexy has a state BMX race, which I'd like to check out so I can write another congratulatory note in my next blahg post. But anyway, two more cups of coffee this morning, and I'll get a run in, then decide where to go ride my bicycle for the rest of the afternoon.

The Last Two Weeks

2008-08-06T05:32:00.000-07:00

First off, big ol' props to Rebecca and Deejay for winning the mixed-duo category at 24 hour MTB Nationals...on singlespeeds, no doubt. If you can think of the coolest, most fun, talented, badass, laid-back-yet-still-crazy-fast people you know, then multiply that by 47 and add some charisma and good looks, you'll get a sense of what somone half as cool as Rebecca and Deejay would be. In other words, they rock, they're fast, go them.

Second off, the last SERC race was last weekend at Fontana, NC. Terrible performance on my part, where I pulled 3rd out of my ass while failing to appreciate what great trails they have out there...I sort of felt a little burnt out, it being the end of 5 months of racing. I wound up 2nd overall in the series, which is fine, but I don't think I'm going to do the series next year. I have grander plans, plus I'm bitter about dinky pay-outs and having to have missed ORAMM for that last SERC, being a slave to the desire to keep my 2nd place standing.

From Left: Bright-Futures-of-America-Rider Emily (15 and so Badass!),

Some Kid, Eventual SERC Series Champ Kym, Felecia, Anina,

and Rebecca-of-the-previous-paragraph-Tomaszewski

But this past weekend I got my longer-race fix anyway with the Goldrush 24 Hour Adventure Race. This was my forth or something 24 hour, and I still don't know how I feel about the sport. It's such a rediculously geeked-out and gear-headed scene, and I want to steal the trekking poles from the guy-who-acutally-brough-trekking-poles and stab the guy who refers to the sport as "A-R." Especially when used in a such a dumb clause as, "Only in AR would you see..." Shut up, dude...don't glorify yourself or this sport. You do adventure races, you're such a queer-ball to the general public, so quiet down and help keep us under wraps, you're embarrassing us. I think this same thing to myself when I'm totally in love with bicycles mid-ride and think I'm so cool zooming down a hill all fast on my titanium litespeed, then I stop to buy a soda, walking into a gas station in full spandex, and reality hits me like this:

Biking isn't cool, no matter how much our little sub-culture thinks it is. This doesn't mean I don't love it or appreciate the hell out of it, and I do still think cyclists are so much cooler than everyone else and that other people are idiots for driving their cars to go get sodas, but I realize that's only becuase I'm cracked out on the sport of cycling, and therefore druggedly biased. And I realize no one else really respects us, and will ever respect us less the more cool we think we are. This is sort of why I'm so weary of religion--it tries too hard to be imposing and self-righteous, tendancies of every sub-culture. And this is what causes people to despise other people, this is why there is hate, why high school cliques don't inter-date, why drivers hate roadies and mountain bikers hate equestrians and hikers hate mountain bikers and everyone hates triathletes.

And Adventure Racers are just triathletes with daypacks and a few more chafe marks. Yet, I like racing for 24 hours because of how bipolar you get: how sore then euphoric, how pissed and then clear-headed, how nauseaus then energetic, how sleepy then determined, and so on. I like pain that can be tracked back to a very clear source, I like goals that are achieved in 24 hours, but not easily, I like being lost in the woods but knowing its really no big deal, and I like how the only reason why I feel like I'm not going anyway is not because my future is indiscrete, I don't have a permanent job, I'm not in love, etc, but because I'm swimming across a lake at 2:30 in the morning with a full pack, a PFD, and running shoes.

I'm a terrible swimmer anyway, but even worse, apparently, when I have more crap then just bad form holding me back. And there were over three hours of swimming in this race, giving me plenty of time to feel like I was going nowhere and to reflect on the metaphor of this going-nowhereness. Feeling particularly down and out at one point, I decided to switch from freestyle to backstroke and I thought, "this sucks, I'm just going to lay on my back, think of Dan, and look for shooting stars." As soon as I did this, I saw me a shooting star, then another. I realize this means nothing, that the fate of "us" is in his hands (which means its been drawn and quatered and scattered in each of the four cardinal directions never to be pieced together again, I'm sure) and has nothing to do with normal cosmological occurances. But whatever, I allowed myself to be humored by this, and I did make it across the lake, through 11+ hours of trekking, 3 hours of biking, and some late-day running. And our team got 2nd or 3rd, or something, which qualified us for USARA Nationals again, which is good.

One of my teammates is from New Zealand, which one is he?

Correct answers will get a piece of toast with vegemite. And some sheep thrown in for good measure.

Anyway, the Nighttrain is this weekend, which is a party with a 12 hour bike race on the side. I'm so excited. I think I'm going to do the duo with Alex Uh-Ohman from ETSU. Word! Watch out for Team Destruction. Or something. And then I'm planning the Greater Pisgah Thru-Bike from West Asheville to Brevard, and then its time for collegiate season, where I'll spend my time giving feeds, heckles, and butt slaps, fully living up my retirement.

Above: Potential teammate Alex. Wise choice?

Don't know yet, but at least he's smart about sun exposure

Aw, Shucks

2008-07-28T19:06:00.000-07:00

ProBikes is my local shop, right around the corner from us...its whose jersey I wear in races and its where I go to read bike magazines, use obscure tools, annoy the mechanics with my ineptitude, ring up one hell of a huge tab, and feel like I have a semblance of an extended family.

I went in there today for the first time in a couple weeks (I'm usually more regular than that) and it was just Jamie and Alex, which was great...no other official customers, so we could shoot the shit for a little bit. Jamie has experience in every type of biking ever, and he's done them all well, and he's Canadian, so he's great. And everytime I talk to Alex I learn or think about something new. He's the fastest guy on a bike in Asheville, he's rediculously intelligent, he'll dish out more shit than you can handle, and for all these things, I have a huge amount of respect for him. He's also all legs, which reminds me of the drawings children do, which look rediculous, but I think are actually an incredible example of the ability to draw perspective, which is hard for even advanced artists to do. Think about it: when you're knee high to everyone around you, this is how you would see people: I drew that myself and added the cycling cap so you would know it was Alex. Anyway, this is sort of what he looks like to me, because he's so tall.

These guys help me out a lot, in little ways that really amount to a lot more. The sort of "I'll be back around 5 to get that bottom bracket and put it in." Then I slip out for a ride, come back, and Alex has come and gone, to finish up some other job he had to do, and just for the hell of it, he finished up my bike for me. He freely tosses me spokes, Stan's, advice, ridicule, wisdom, etc. and I fully appreciate and take in it all.

Sometimes I feel like I put a lot of work into this cycling hobby, not to mention a lot of money, and getting breaks is hard. I sent out tons of race resumes last season, only to recieve rejections, dinky-sponsorships, or no response at all, and I see the same thing happen to riders who are a hell of a lot faster than I am, and super hard-working, and such good advocates of the sport...and its all them, not much outside help, and its hard. So when folks like Alex and Jamie and Phil and Kevin and to a much more prolonged extent, Art Shuster, show a little bit of faith in me, and are so willing to help, that means a whole hell of a lot to me.

Oh, and better watch out for Team Canada. Alex, (who is rediculously fast and deserves to show the rest of the world how fast he is, and I want him to because he's still young and needs to do this for himself) and I suckered Jamie, the GodFather-Like-Woah-of-Cycling, to be our "coach." Whatever that means. But we'll be sponsored by beer (Labatt's, of course), ice-fishing, maple syrup, and hockey. And Alex and I will figure out where our potentials lie. This is important, this is good. Sometimes being serious and determined is ok. We'll probably make fun of ourselves a whole bunch, we'll have to give up certain things like real jobs, Alex will call what we're doing (i.e. training) "gay", but that'll be ok, because we're going to go for it. We'll be faster than we are now, and that's cool. But we really won't try that hard, because we all now that that's not cool.

Jamie (right) on a day off

Philosophisizing.....or whatever

2008-07-28T17:17:00.000-07:00

"Were spinning around in inifinite space,

why shouldn't we encounter difficulties?"

--Marie Rainer Rilke

Ok, so I'm back from my run...best run in awhile, and first time in two weeks that my knee didn't hurt. I went kaboom on the road bike a couple weeks ago, and since them my knee's been old-man style. But I did to it what I usually do for injuries...keep forcing running and biking, making it hurt, acknowledging it hurts, but not doing anything about it, and then suddenly it just goes away. Of course, this isn't always the best way to handle injuries, and each case takes good-judgement and critical thinking, of which I have neither, so my advice will stop there.

Anyway, this injury-treatment method of mine is now applicable to boys. It hurts, it sucks, then one day its over, and I go out for a great run, and think about life philosophies, bad jokes, Beatles songs, and why anyone would ever own a tiny dog.

So here it is...what I learned from my first good run in two weeks: we should all just be like the British. They have a rediculously absurd and wonderful sense of humor, probably due to the fact that they live in a very dreary part of the world. For some reason this didn't work out for people in the Pacific Northwest, but they produced grunge and Nirvana, so I suppose it evens out. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that life pretty much really does suck a lot of the time. It's grey and dreary and challenging and uncomfortable and so far beyond us (if you don't believe me, go read the newspaper or go have a beer with a social worker, which I did on friday, and wow....) but in the end, nothing ever turns out to matter that much, everything is so fleeting (especially, that is, in the long run), and the only way to get through any of this is to have a sense of humor. I think its ok to recognize that life sometimes isn't all that agreeable, so long as you can maintain a focus on the whimsy, absurdities and pleasantries of everyday life.

Bad road ride the other day...fixed easily by a roadside bush of ripe blackberries.

Boring-ass, motivationless day at work....fixed easily by an impromptu fight of bear corn (Cornopholis americana)

Ammunition:

Three months of being sad over a boy...fixed by an incontinuitious weekend, immature blahg posts, and an evening run.

Well probably not entirely. But whatever. At least my knee's all but healed...I've got a 24 hour adventure race this weekend (ugh! I thought I retired from those...) and being hurt over the boy is ok because its been motivating me to step up my search for grad schools and ph.d programs, as a way to distract myself by day-dreaming of my future full of coffee, cowboys, and math classes.

The Final Blow, and Why I've Finally Resolved to Move the Hell On

2008-07-28T16:12:00.000-07:00

I'm under the impression that no one really looks at this blahg, and that's the way I like it: that's how I focus my writing, that's why I write about unimportant things, that's why I don't usually bother to post pictures...I'm just sort of writing for the sake of writing, and because written out diaries are for little girls.

But I look at other people's blahgs fairly regularly (and some, like bikesnob's, fairly religiously) and that made me worried that some people might actually be looking at this. Whoops.

Anyway, came across a blahg of the boy of late the other day, and uh....woah, there passive agressive blagh posts. Second time something like this happened. Ouch for real, dawg. I've been so hurt over this, he won so hard (and he must know it), and its probably all me rubbing salt into my own wounds, but dude...I'm hurt. I tried and I lost so hard. Don't be like this, dude. So of course, the mature adult in me in combating my distaste for passive-agressive ways of dealing with relationships (or lack thereof's, or sudden declines thereof, or whatever) with a passive agressive blahg of my own. But whatever. He's not reading this, I'm sure.

I'll grow up in time for the next post, I promise.

Mountain Bike Nationals

2008-07-23T19:02:00.000-07:00

Bicycle Nationals just took place in a little overpriced ski town in the Flannel Capital of the U.S. I had never been to a real live NORBA before, so it was pretty neat getting to see the pages of Mountain Bike Action (I only look at the pictures, I don't read the articles....honest) live and in person. Ryan Trebon is actually taller than he looks, his seatpost is higher than it looks, and he goes faster than you could even dare to think. But I spent the week in a house full of more humble and average-heighted professionals (goon-balls, really...but that's off the bike.) And it proved to be an absolute blast.

Start of the U-23 women's race.

I raced the U-23 race (got 3rd to Jamie Dinkens and the forever natty champ Chloe Forsman) and the singlespeed race a couple days later. There were something like forty dudes entered for the latter, and two girls. Lame. There were also only four pro women entered in the dual slalom. Lamer still. I fully appreciate the, as a collegiate racer pointed out once, "forty million to one" rato of guys to girls in this sport, but I do not appreciate showing up to a national championship and seeing hardly any competition. Elizabeth Shorgrun beat me like woah, and after racing three laps on her 32-22 (yeah, those climbs were steep...) she stayed on the singlespeed for the women's pro race and finished 23rd in that. She's a super badass, and if she'd give just a smidgen of her badassness to the next twenty women around her, we would have had a much more interesting race that day. Half empty podiums suck, is all I'm trying to say.

Moving on...fellow SECCC rider Johanne won the expert 19-29 women's Super D, Housemate-of-the-week Travis Livermon won the men's singlespeed race, Sam Don't-Worry-About-His-Last-Name won the Naked Crit, and Ryan Woodall had one good-looking mustache in the pro men's shorttrack. Good job, friends. I'm proud.

The only thing that didn't really win this week was the Otter Creek Porter. I was told I had to try it, which I wasn't opposed to, but its about as average as I am, which is very. I remember hiking up past Sterling Pond somewhere off the Long Trail in Vermont a couple years ago, getting to some shelter, and having a group of ruggedly good-looking, guitar-playing young men off me and bff Sarah some Long Trail Blackberry Wheat (this memory may have been embellished). Normally not a fan of the pussy beers, I was blown away: holy cow, perfect experience. So there's a special place in my heart for local Vermont brews, and Otter Creek kind of weasles its way in there by default. But I'm still in search of the world's best porter. I'll keep you updated.

But overall, USAC Mt. Bike Nationals was A-Ok. I'm pleased with my result in the U-23 race, and it kind of makes me ambitious for next season. I think I might get serious about this. I made new friends, old friends did well and made me proud, I spent too much money eating out but it was worth it, I didn't see any moose, dang, I rode the course backwards one day and liked it better that way, I read my book a lot, etc. It was a good week.

And now its back to the ol' work routine. One more SERC race this weekend, and then I'm kind of on my own for entertaining myself bike-wise. Weird.

An Ode to My Road Bike, or A Brief Discussion in Numerology

2008-07-23T18:32:00.000-07:00

The six month post-graduation grace period finally ended, and I got my first bill for student loans. Holy cow! That hurts the ol' budget. I'm good at living cheaply, but this mandates it. I think my typical dinner of animal crackers and a beer is going to have to switch to saltine crackers and coffee. That'll save me some money, for sure. I don't understand how (or why for that matter) people like me (i.e. a half-adult) own cars...insurance plus gas money on top of health insurance, student loans, rent, utilities, mobile telephones, etc. I own a truck, but it doesn't work, and I don't care much to fix it because, dang.....that's a silly waste of money.

Which reinforces my love for my road bike. I had a Giant OCR 1 for awhile, which took me across the country once, but it was a sort of forced love. Something to do when I didn't feel like mountain biking. But then one day, I got a call from Tina, who served as the Cupid in the formation of my new love. Cpl. Sergeant Major, as we call him, was selling an old Litespeed with full Campi Chorus components, and Cane Creek Ti wheels...for $700. It was a 49cm toptube and a 49cm seattube. That means its a perfect square: 49 x 49, and besides that, 49 is the sqaure of 7, which is a divisor of the price, and 7 is the best number in the world, and two 7's put together makes 14, which is my jersey number (I played soccer, once) so sevens, fourteens, or any multiple of seven is good. Very good. I don't know why, that's just how I feel. There are so many sevens in this bike. It is awesome.

Anyway, there's no rationality to that previous paragraph, but whatever. To make up for this lack of rationality, however, the bike is made out of titanium, which is found in such obscure items as ferrari hubcaps, airplans, replacement kneecaps, robots, and some day, my wedding ring. It's flexy and awesome like steel, but with higher strength, fatigue and corrosion resistance, and of course, its rediculously light. My particuler bike corners like a ninja, and zooming down twisty downhills to the point of getting so sideways as to almost clip a pedal is about the most pleasant experience I can think of right now.

A full afternoon road ride with Art Shuster through Leicester, up Potato Knob, down Rabbit Hen, up Turkey Creek, over Tater Tot, and all those other silly-named roads and passes out there on this bicycle is almost as good as 7 hour mountain bike rides in Pisgah. I never thought road biking could be this awesome, but it apparently can be with a good bike, awesome Western North Carolina farm land, and a man who knows his roads.

Also, my road bike gets me from here to there everyday. It gets me to work on time. I never have to fill it up with gas. Sometimes I have to pump up the tires and lube the chain, but that's about all. Like Shuster said once, "the great thing about a titanium frame is that you could leave it in the back of your truck and piss on it for a year and it'd still be good to ride."

Finally, the bike is all silver and black, no decals at all. Just some black electrical tape holding the quote "Just go Fucking Faster"--Fisher on the top tube. It's the most aesthetically pleasing thing I've ever owned. That's not really saying much, but still....it's a great bike, it's a great car, it's a great piece of art, and I appreciate the hell out of it.

2008-07-08T13:37:00.000-07:00

This past weekend was my ideal recovery weekend: a four day holiday weekend, no races, and 15 hours of riding. I thought I needed long solo rides, but the weekend quickly got set up as social with a two hour easy road ride with Shuster. This was followed by a phone call from Camille, Sam, and Tally to meet them at Bent Creek--Wilsonites I haden't ridden with in a long time, so I took my singlespeed and had a hell of a time with them til about dark. Afterwards we went to visit fellow-former-teammate Ryan Morra, who broke his jaw and collar bone while denting the hood of a car. He got struck real hard while road riding, and he's wired shut for awhile, but he's still very much alive and coherent. The moral's always the same: people aren't always paying attention (whether the biker or driver) and helmets do save lives. I tend to wear my lucky Beatles visor when zipping into town for errands or to meet friends for a beer, figuring its just as good as a helmet and certainly more stylish. That doesn't make any sense. I'm retarded. Do not be like me.

Anyway, Friday, the Nation's 232nd Birthday, or something, the four of us from Friday, plus Philly Cheese Steak did a Pisgah loop I'd been itching to do for awhile. It included some seasonal and hiking-only trails (I have no conscience) so I can't tell you what the route was, but it was awesome. A late thunderstorm and majority-rules decision caused to the ride to be tweaked toward the end and resultantly shortened to put us back at four hours. Initially disappointed, I'm now excited about having a 5+ hour dream loop to do next non-race weekend. Our post-ride, pre-fireworks celebration took place in the raving metropolis of Brevard over $3.50 Grandes. Being at a Mexican restuarant for America's birthday is, these days, a very appropriate way to acknowledge and celebrate the ethnic-heterogeneity and largest minority of this little Melting Pot of a Birthday Boy, I think.

Saturday was my easy day: 2 1/2 road ride, introspective hike at the Alma Mater (which you can see I needed, if you'd read my last two blahgs), then a Rodeo in Old Fort. The Rodeo wasn't as cool as I had hoped, though. Our new housemate's dad told us about a rodeo where they put a monkey dressed up like a cowboy onto a greyhound (the dog, not the bus) and let it run around the arena. That is hilarious! PETA would be pissed, but whatever, they have no sense of humor. Nothing like that happened at this rodeo, not even goat wrangling, which I had also hoped for. Just people on bulls--which is undoubtedly badass, but it's so old-hat.

Then Sunday I somehow weasled my way into a ride with the 2nd faster father-son duo in the Southeast: Nathan and Dwight Wyatt. (The Koerbers, Sam and Bob, would be first, but they hardly count since they're inhumanely unattainable.) Starting from my favorite trailhead in Pisgah, Dwight's route-picking was great and coincendentally included the best part of the Black Mountain Trail, which Friday's group decision caused us to miss. Only we rode it in reverse, which was even better.

So anyway, that was four good days off. Now I'm halfway through the weekly 5:30 am coffee and NY Times cram followed by 10 hours of work and 2-3 hours of recess (i.e. bike riding.) Next weekend is NMBS Nationals and Mount Snow. I want to do well, but right now I don't even now how I'm getting up there. Shoot....

This is the end.

2008-07-02T21:04:00.000-07:00

Lucero is my current band of choise. I can't listen to The Avett Brothers anymore because they remind me of the wrong things and I can't listen to John Prine, because he sings about love too much. But Lucero sounds like they drank too much whisky before they started playing, and I either listen to it and go, "tell it to me, brother..." or "well, at least I'm not that down and out." Usually the former, but that's me being a whiner. Anyway, pertinent song of the moment is "Hold me Close" a bit of which goes like this:

Smoke and the wine and the whisky don't mix

Shaking so bad, think I'm gonna be sick

But another Scotch as I head to the door

Now it won't make me better

But I wanna make sure

---

I feel the cold ground underneath my boots

for no good reason it reminds me of you

Never made good though I tried and I tried.

So I turn back around,

and I walk inside.

Now hold me close

I love you more than you know

Now hold me close

I love you more than you know

And that won't make things right.

It's a lot more effective when you hear the song, of course. Writing songs out poetry style always makes the lyrics seem so cheesy, unless you're writing out an Arlo Guthrie song, in which case its amazing.

I'll write more about things that really matter later, like bikes and Fraser Magnolias. But it seems like for the past two weeks I haven't thought about a single thing while riding. Sort of like the emotional equivalent of tunnel vision. At the end of 2 or 3 hours, I'm amazed I made it back to where I started, suprised I apparently held my line well enough to either not crash into a tree or get hit by a car, and that I somehow knew where I wanted to ride beforehand, because there was no real conscious thought between the start of the ride on the end. It's kinda cool, but also kind of scary. It gets to be 8:30 at night, and somehow I wind up on my back porch. Today in the middle of my ride I remember thinking, "What the hell bridge is this? Oh, I'm here now? Oh." And that was about it. I don't know what happened the rest of the time.

So anyway, I don't know what I'd say about bikes besides that. I'm apparently riding them still, but I don't know what's going on while riding. My head's somewhere else, it would seem.

Broken.

2008-06-30T20:31:00.000-07:00

For certain social utilizations, Facebook is incredible. It's also a great way to waste time, iffn you have time to waste. But other times, Facebook is absolutely terrible. Like tonight....stupid Facebook just inadvertantly informed me that the boy I adore more than anything is "in a relationship." I'm shattered. Absolutely destroyed. I tried so hard to make right with him, after foolishly, naivelly, and painfully (on my part, too) letting him go. But to no avail. And he never let me explain myself, and for as many times as I told him I never stopped caring, he never told me when he did. I don't know when sadness gave way to anger and when that gave way to apathy, or whatever. But now Facebook has just implied that I no longer matter to someone who matters a rediculous amount to me. This hurts so bad.

The only thing saving me is that its a holiday weekend and I work for the government, meaning two days off, thus creating a four day weekend and four days of huge solo rides where I will hope to get lost somewhere in Pisgah, and this emotional pain will give way to the more tolerable pains of hunger, fatigue, and fear.

I am so absolutely broken up about this. I hate growing up.

My First Ever Road Race....Sort Of....

2008-06-30T18:33:00.000-07:00

This past Friday was the 26th annual Town Mountain Hill Climb, a individual time trial up Town Mountain, about 5 miles from town to almost the Blue Ridge Parkway. For locals, its a standard climb to get out of town and into a great loop and once a year, it becomes a way for a fast few to earn a few hundred dollars. I've never been in Asheville for it, and I think I forgot about it this year, so went for a 3 hour road ride with Art and Jeremy Hargroves, who has as many good stories as he does tattoos, which is a lot.

At some point between the end of the road ride and 6 pm, I remembered that the time trial was going on, so rode into town to watch some folks go all fast up hill. I only lasted about half an hour before I decided I wanted to race, too. Bystanding sucks, despite what is apparently popular opinion. And luckily, I had my road bike, since my townie currently has a flat and a slippy rear axel, and was wearing silly girly stretchy jean shorts, which sort of simulated spandex bike shorts, only longer, hotter, and more fashionable.

First time women (i.e. women who have never raced a road race before) got to race for free, which my friend Camille commented on with, "sometimes it pays to be a virgin." I only had to buy a day liscence, which I later determined is a load of crap and now I'm once again pissed at USA cycling for ripping me off** (see footnote.) But it was only $10, which I quickly withdrew from the nearest ATM, then rolled up to the starting line as the last rider to go off that evening.

I finished in 23 minutes or something, which placed me in 1st in the first time women's group, but would have placed me first in women's B (which is where I should have been, had I realized at the time the $240 I already paid to USA cycling this year has me as at Cat 4 roadie automatically.) Or I would have been 3rd in women's A, or 3rd of all the women there, I suppose. I'm pleased with that, but still a little disappointed that I didn't roll up to the time trial prepared to go. I probably had 45 lbs of pressure in my tires (which is great for training, but bad for racing) and I did it in street clothes, which I didn't really care about, but everyone else seemed bemused by this:

I cross the finish line at the top of the hill, timer man says,
"23:47! And you did it in shorts!"
And I say, "But everyone did it in shorts...."

Besides, riding in cotton is amazing. I think roadies are so uptight all the time because their clothing is always so tight. So riding up a hill in a cotton t-shirt was really not that big of a deal. I just wish I had been rested better and such, just to see how fast I really could have been. But still, the brash mountain biker in me would like to say a big "Ha!" to all the non-smilers at the Tuesday Night Turbo Nerd ride that are always so pompous and unwelcoming. I may not be a roadie, or have any desire to be one, but I can handle a bike, and its nice when people realize that, even when I show up to a group ride (or a time trial for that matter) in a little league baseball t-shirt and pretty darn worn out shorts.

I should stop hating on roadies, though....this same snootiness has appeared at mountain bike races, too. Which is really discouraging.

Anyway, I won a Mountain Dew and a water bottle, and everyone gave me their coupons to some running store that they all won because they don't need running shoes. I also got a medal. Yey. But more importantly, I think I realized that I'm not too bad, which sometimes I think I am, and that maybe I should take somethings a little bit more seriously, just so I don't get to the bottom of the hill and get all disappointed with myself because I know I could have been faster...

Whatever. I had a good road ride earlier that day, and an awesome night ride back home from Town Mountain afterwards.

**I'm livid with USA cycling for charging me double for an international liscense because of my untimely upgrade last year. My fault, I realize, but shoot...$240 just to have the title Pro for a season!?! That's stupid. I can't believe I fell for that. More about this later though.

I'm not giving up, yet...

2008-06-23T14:17:00.000-07:00

There was a Georgia State Cup race this past weekend, which also served as a SERC make-up race as well as a way to fill up the weekend. Weekends without racing feels weird, and since we don't get the New York Times on weekends, there's really no reason to get up out of bed unless you're going to a race. So anyway, Alexis and Kim and I were going to go but at the very last minute we convinced Mikey "Bon Jovi?!?" Viertel to come along with us.

The race course was dumb, but props still to the folks you built it. It's hard work building a trail, I know, but riding a just built trail is just as hard. Especially because then you have real expectations, not just fantasies. But racing isn't supposed to be easy, so I won't complain...but since I'm already at it, besides not being easy, this course was uncomfortable. Nothing a few minutes with a Pulaski couldn't fix, but whatever...

Anyway, following the individual time trial, dinner at the Golden Corral, and a trip to the liquor store with Mikey, we sat around the parking lot conversing with some Vantaggio girls. At some point, the conversation privatised and I was informed of a something the boy of one of the prior blahg posts had said. Instead of quoting him, I'll quote the Avett Brothers with what immediately went through my head: "Don't tell me its over because that's the worst news I could hear." I realize I was at a bike race and supposedly am called a Pro and perhaps should behave as such, but my delicate little world that is this, at times, very difficult experience of growing up was absolutely shattered. I'm no where near getting over this boy and am in a perpetual state of feeling destroyed because of it. This was just bruising on top of bruises.

The next morning, finding out I could get my entry fee refunded, I spent what would have been my warming-up time throwing rocks at an exposed root 15 ft away. I was getting pretty good at it, and somewhat distracted from feeling sad, when Kym the Miracle Worker (who was also my main competition) came over and ever so carinlgy slapped (by which I mean realistically consoled) some sense into me. Embarrassed for having exposed myself as young and lacking perspective, I took her advice to suck it up, suit up, and go race. I did and got second to Kym. I'm fine with that. I admire that woman so much, so standing slightly below her on the podium just serves to provide a metaphorical visual of how I look up to here. Or something.

On the starting line, too, still mentally not into the race, Homeboy Whose Name I Can't Remember from The Hub bike shop told me good luck and there'd be a beer waiting for me at the end--he had witnessed my earlier displays of sorrow and thankfully didn't judge me, at least not to my face. Homeboy is part of the best team under any tent at the SERC's: Team Wake and Bake. They ride 29ers, which I don't like because I'm 5'3" and I have a hard time accepting innovation, but I forgive them because they are a team chock full of great riders and even better personalities. My first female role model in a long time (Kym has since butted her way into this hard to obtain position as well) Rebecca is on their team. I would post a link to her blog but her last name is spelled like Tomaszewski but with six more s's, z's and w's that I don't know where to put. Anyway, she's a badass. Look out for her.

I'm losing focus. Okay...right, team Wake and Bake. They rock. Following the Athens SERC (i.e. the beginning of me admitting to myself that sometimes my emotional/mental state does indeed severly affect my racing, not very pro of me, I know...), they immediately ushered in the little wayfaring bike racer that I am, let me sit under their tent, drink their beer, and talk about nothing important with them. And then Homeboy at this race being there once again for the litter wayfarer. And Kym, and Alexis, and Mike, and everyone else, and Terry and Doug from Gone Riding being like dang yeah, get yourself a refund and not asking questions. The mountain biking community is freakin incredible. Loosely knit and geographically disperse, but incedible nonetheless. And so I thank them...and further wonder why some people have to take it so seriously (see previous post) that they miss out on the post-race tent parties and the development of weekend friendships that really do mean so much.

Getting the Seatpost out of your Ass

2008-06-23T04:14:00.001-07:00

This past friday I was riding along some trail to do my Squirrel Gap quickie loop and passed a family hiking. The parents told the kids to move over, I thanked the little shits, and one of them said as I passed by, "What a cool scooter!"

I thought that was so funny. I then learned that a Bright-Futures-of-America rider from the Panhandle of Paradise (i.e. Florida) named Martin Cox calls bikes "Pedal Scooters." This is also hilarious.

The moral of this story is that, as a handful of us goons noticed at the GSC race this past weekend, too many people take mountain biking way too seriously. But if they could just take a step back from their gear-headed ego-trips, and realize that they're all just racing around in circles on pedal scooters, that this sport is rediculous. A synonym of which is awesome. So shut up about your new Grouppo and your 64 oz of HEED a day habit and make sure you're able to laugh when some little redneck girl calls you out on riding a motorless scooter. Or be like Martin and make fun of yourself and your favorite sport, too....because mountain biking's too rediculously awesome to get so serious about. Besides, being serious makes you slower and is too expensive (financially and emotionally) and causes cancer and causes people to make fun of you behind your back. I assure you none of these things are desireable.

Race Report, or, When Just Riding Stops Being Enough

2008-06-18T19:57:00.000-07:00

SERC #6 (http://www.goneriding.com/) was this past weekend at Clemson--the best course for racing in the series, I think. Not exactly epic or even all that technical or anything else otherwise outlandish, but I suppose that's the point. So much of it is high sppeds, big rings, tires barely gripping as you slide through cornes, putting all your trust into your balance and fish-tailing abilities. Somewhat of a roadies' course, maybe, but going fast is rediculous fun, so please excuse me.

Clemson is the type of course where it never mattered that my brakes were somewhere between shoddy and non-existant, but even so, the responsiveness of my new Juicy's and the natural brap-brap tendancies of I-9 wheels were much appreciated at high speeds. This is in contrast to the steady, more technical weekend Pisgah rides they had been used on up to this past weekend--for which this new set-up is also super.

And yet...I still came in just 2nd in the women's pro/expert race. Of the ten or so races so far this season, I've podiumed-a-plenty but have only managed to claim one victory, which leaves me feeling slightly frustrated at not being able to find that extra oomph.

The problem, apparently, is that I've plateued out awhile ago. Which is just fine in most respects--just like riding along ridge lines: such pleasant cruising for cruising's sake, with only minor ups and downs. But every once in awhile I sort of get the urge to maybe, uh, er...get a bit more serious about this sport.

Right now my "training" schedule looks like this:

MONDAY: Easy day, ride to work on the road bike, then home, plus 1-2 hours of a good, local loop
TUESDAY: Ride the road bike out to the BMX track, then try to maintain my dignity while learning to pump and "jump." I think this is helping my xc riding and by August, I'll be table-topping like Dan Ennis. No I wont.
WEDNESDAY: Sprints. I usually make up the workout the day of: 2 x 12 min, or 4 x 6 min or uphill all crazy. Mostly this is on the the mountain bike, because that's what I race.
THURSDAY: Ride 2-3 hours, on road or off, singlespeed if off, hilly route if on.
FRIDAY: I don't work Fridays, so I like to do about 4 hours in Pisgah, or one of Art Shuster's incredible road routes.
SATURDAY: Easy, little bit of riding, pre-ride race course if I'm there.
SUNDAY: Race. Act mean.

I also train with a powertap. It's made out of electrical tape and a quote from Ryan Fisher: "Just go fucking faster." It doesn't give me my wattages and I can't upload my rides onto my computer, but it does tell me what to do and it is waterproof.

So anyway, that's my secret to mediocre success. Borrow from it what you will. We'll see where it gets me. I'm only half-concerned about being all serious and fast. Most of the time, I'm more concerned with finding awesome new loops through Pisgah, and if I get fast as a result of that, then that's cool, I guess.

On a lighter note....

2008-06-11T19:35:00.001-07:00

Ha! Literally! 'Cause I just ordered (and recieved in two days) a pair of Industry Nine wheels. I rode a pair at Collegiate Nationals back in '04 and fell in love with their responsive handling and have oggled them from afar since then. I think the colors are silly, but they certainly don't supress the function at all. They're light, bomb-proof, technologically innovative (www.industrynine.net, let them tell you about their wheels...) have the best free-hub sound on the market, and they're locally grown here in Asheville.

Anyway, I finally bought a wheelset of my very own, mainly because of one shitty race and the realization that I quit running everyday for this (relatively) high-paying job, where I work 10 hour days and now have four figures in my checking account, finally. And if I'm going to give up running, hells yes I'm going to use the stupid money I'm making on stuff for my bicycle. Rice and beans (or lately, animal crackers and beer...) every night is good enough, especially when you come home after 4.5 hour rides on your new I-9's.

They're awesome. I want to go ride through every rock garden ever right now, take then off drops, do some precision techie-handling, some steep saddle-up-your-butt climbs, and coast through the parking lot at the trailhead to listen to the free hub. But three hours of that today was perfect for whetting my route-planning and implementation all over Pisgah the next couple days. And then their first race on Sunday at Clemson...can't wait!

I'm also excited to have brakes that work. I swapped out some ceremic rim brakes (they were good while they lasted, but the rims are chipped to high-hell now and then I realized only Europeans still use rim brakes) for some Juicy Sevens. Seven being the best number in the world and me having a good job now, I figured these were the appropriate upgrade.

But like Ryan Fisher always said, "What do you need brakes for? They only slow you down."

Not that I'm dwelling or anything...

2008-06-11T18:58:00.000-07:00

"he said, ' my god, nothing around here works.'

well, at least he's right about love."

--The Avett Brother (About Love)

One of my professors at Warren Wilson College said during class once, "Probability being what it is, it turns out its infinitely easier to fuck things up than to fix them." Physicists call this entropy, ecologists would call this nature, I'm calling it life. Either way, there appears to be a general consensus on the tendancy for things to fall to shit.

Also, my father--either a man of few words or of verbose lectures, depending on when you reach him--provided me with only one piece of advice (maybe more, actually, I don't know...): "Don't fuck up." This piece of advice is offered to me a lot from him, as it has a wide application of use, and I appreciate it for being open-ended. I can do whatever I want so long as I don't fuck up. And yet, either due to my own short-comings or my young-adult stupidities, I failed to follow the only advice my dad ever gave me. Dang.

I fuck up all the time, I've realized, and usually I don't mind. Normally I relish the process of growing up, the surrendering shrug of being young and stupid and knowing that that probably wasn't the best thing to do, but how was I supposed to know? I'm just a dumb kid with no sense of perspective and only quasi-formed wisdom. But the screw up didn't matter that much in the long run, and then you get to learn something, which is the greatest part.

But my most recent fuck up has been no fun at all, and in fact has been the most painful of all fuck-ups ever, I think. Which hopefully means I'll learn something and learn it good--but right now I'm in despair and too busy agonizing to take anything positive from this. And it's all because this is the first of my fuck-ups that occurred at the expense of someone else. It's ok when I make a mistake, but when it involves dragging someone else into my mess, and results in the loss of someone I adore...that's terrible. And I'm having a tough time getting over it.

So lately I've been reading a bunch of Avett Brothers lyrics to try to help make me feel better. Yet, it really just serves to get depressing lyrics stuck in my head, e.g. "I have dreams but nothing to hope for..."

They have songs that pretty accurately, and certainly more melodically, express what I'm feeling towards him. I wish I could send in a poem and get into this boy's head how sorry I realy am and how sincere I am in wanting to make it all better, or at least to talk it out so he's not thinking things that aren't true. But I'm convinced he'd be singing along to another one of their songs entirely:

"So bye, bye, bye, bye. I ain't got time to watch you cry,

'cause I've been drinking seven hours now.

Sympathy is a waste of my high."

Ouch. I'm waving the white flag on this one, he won. This fuck up really hurts.

This is why...

2008-06-11T18:38:00.000-07:00

In terms of the typical cyclist's blog, my housemate/freind/personal style inspiaration, Mikey (www.michaelviertel.blogspot.com) said there are three reasons to have a blog:

to brag
to bitch
to give a nod to sponsors

While I normally love categorization (it exemplifies higher-level cognition, plus it's great fun) these three seem a bit too limiting. I really just wanted an outlet for all the mindless wanderings of my, well, mind, which tends to crescendo during my morning commute. Since I was elevan, I ran just about every day and sort of gave up writing around that time because it was all so fluid in my head and we started learning in school how to discern good literature and poetry from rubbish, and well...being the self-aware person that I am, I realized it'd be better to keep those ill-worded thoughts to myself.

But then I stopped running daily a couple months ago, leaving me feeling generally unsettled, but doing nothing to quell the aimless ponders, observations, and realizations that flow so readily through my head while biking down the same stretch of road every morning following 4 cups of coffee and as many New York Times articles that I can cram in before having to leave.

I suppose the real straw that broke the camel's back, or better yet, the wave that broke the front off the ship (www.hutton-web-design.co.uk/tanker.html, for some irreverant--and irrelevant--British humor) was the desire to better sort out this tumultrous period of transition: from college kid to pseudo-adult, from obsessive runner to trying to make more sense out of running, and from a kid who could ride a bike alright to a mountain biker who now tries to make enough money from racing to allow me to maintain this rediculous hobby and still have enough money to eat. Plus, all my friends have blogs, and I wanted one too, goddammit.

And just like my general day-to-day thoughts, this blog has no purpose, will probably never draw any sort of significant conclusions, will be incongruous, half-formed, and non-sensical most of the time. But at the very best, it'll sincerely try to by entertaining enough to read from time-to-time, and at worst (which may actually be for the best...) it'll just blend in with all the other crap on the internet that makes up the one terabyte of information floating around out there. Surely y little contribution of crap will go unnoticed in such an unfathomably hugh pile.