hookin' a brotha up

Evidently my continuous blasting of the family is starting to pay off. I've finally coerced my bro to take steps toward becoming a riding bro, that's right he's purchased his first mtn. bike.

Like alot of people out there I dig watching cyclists do shit that I'd never dream of; here's a couple of just such vids:
Cool teaser here:


More can be downloaded here and I highly recommend them:
http://www.pinkbike.com/stund/

And how about a good ol' crash video? Here ya go:

Check out the ghost rider action at 1:40 into the video. "Romaniac" digs it!

Tomorrow I get to watch Buddy run up & down hill & dale, should be a hoot 'cause with his personality he'll be givin' it 100 percentile 100 percent of the time.

Just give 'er Buddy!

$823.00

Heroes: Alphabetically speaking

Steve B.
Buddy B.
Eric & Dee Dee C.
Carla E.
Stuart E.
Scott H.
Tim H.
Richard L.
Mike M.
Aaron P.
David T.
Roger U.

Due to my fundraising in this years MS150 ride I will receive a “Heroes” jersey; but the people listed above are the heroes. Those are the people who gave to help find the cure for this tragic disease.

Thanks to all.

Also thanks to those listed below for putting forth you’re hard earned dollars to help make this a team event. Doug is the owner of Superior and Gale is our Medline rep. Gale donates the money that assures each person on the team gets a free jersey for riding on our team and Doug pays for pre-ride parties and also for all the amenities we have at the overnight stay at Camp Gruber.

Doug W.
Gale B.

Again, thanks to all.

Now on to the story:

The ride sucked. You guys & gals donated a lot of money and will enjoy your donation more knowing that the MS150 turned into a sufferfest for me!!!

After a week of beautiful weather things turned ugly. Leading up to this weekend the weather had been high 70’s to low 80’s with light breezes and just gorgeous; this Saturdays high was 97° with 20-25 mph winds and gusts to 36!!! E-fucking-gads that’s atrocious. My day started off with the bonehead move of forgetting to slather on the sunscreen I’d begged the wife to put out for me the night before, which of course leads to some really weird sunburned wrists along with a striped head from helmet vents. (Yeah, that’s fucking sexy.)

Oh, it gets better.

The ride started out late of course and the first 30 miles most people were feeling froggy. I rode with David Griggs and his friend who is a marathoner; knowing deep down that I wouldn’t last long with these two I started looking for a big group to ride with that could break the wind once we got out onto the open plains. I hooked up with a group and had good luck for the first 30 miles; we had a good pace and it looked like I’d make it to camp in time to shower and watch the OU game @ 2:30. What I didn’t realize is that at the 30 mile mark this group had blown itself up. After waiting about 30 minutes I set out alone heading due east into the hardest flattest 30 miles I’ve ever ridden. The sun was pounding, the wind was fierce, the road was brand new chipped surface, (see rough with gobs of rolling resistance,) and it was fucking HOT! I stopped at each rest stop and reloaded my 20 oz. bottle of water and 16 oz. bottle of Gatorade only to empty them before each 10 mile rest stop.

Oh, it gets better.

At mile 58 a demon appeared at the end of my right big toe. I was already miserable and then this little bastard pain that can only be described as a razor blade being jammed into the end of my toe with each revolution of the pedal. I’ve never felt anything like it before. At the 60 mile lunch/rest stop I discarded the shoes and hung out in my socks giving the toe a break. After lunch I was feeling good again with no problems until mile 62 where the turkey sandwich was now a knot just at the base of my neck. I worked on keeping that jewel down while heading into the first hills of the day. It was still hot, windy, chipped road, but now hilly with a puking on the horizon. It was glorious; I trudged on and caught up with David and marathoner at the 70 mile rest stop. The group of resting riders giggling at me walking so tenderly since my demon had showed up at mile 68. Real funny bitches.

Oh, it gets better.

So now into the final 12 mile stretch with one two-mile climb lurking toward the end I set off. The toe’s rested, the lunch knot has subsided and the wind is behind Braggs Mountain and no longer bothering me. At mile 78 the toe demon came back with a vengeance so I decided to pull off the side of the road and rest. I rested.....forever; every sag wagon pulled up and asked if I wanted help; nope I’m waiting it out I replied at least a dozen times. (Like I said I rested for a looooonnggg time.) I’d taken my right shoe off as hurriedly as possible when I dismounted and sat in the shade pondering my possibilities; I finally decided that it’d be best if I took my right sock off and allowed the piggy’s a little more room. Good idea; bad result; I bent my knee, reached for the sock and BAM goes a cramp! I’ve got the four toughest miles ahead and I’ve got a kick-ass cramp? Fuck me! After about 15 minutes of hopping around and stretching I get it worked out a bit and decide it’s time to go; I mount up and ride alongside a guy who’s motivating me until he gets a cramp. (Evidently they’re contagious.) He pulls over and I continue on until with ½ mile of the big two mile climb left my one cramp multiplies somehow into four separate huge cramps. (One quad, two hammies, and one calf.) I jump off the Bianchi like its hot molten lava and dance around on my painful toes trying to get the legs working. After about twenty minutes of trying to soothe the legs it’s evident that they don’t wanna go anymore; so I take the walk of shame to a SAG wagon. (SAG drivers should do like grand tour officials and rip your number off when you have to have help; I deserved the humiliation.)

Yep; I said it, I did it, and I ain’t proud. The cycling gods were on me:

SAG driver: “Want me to take you to camp?”
ME: Umm, hell no, just to the top; I’ll spend the night there and ride the rest in the morning if I have to.
SAG: I understand; what seems to be your problem.
ME: It’s my fucking toe; I don’t’ know what’s wrong with it but it's killing me.
SAG: What shoes are you wearing?
ME: Shimano
SAG: Oh, you gotta ditch those and buy you some sandals.
ME: Eat me, those are for queers.
SAG: I think it’s because you’re dehydrated.
ME: My toe hurts because I’m dehydrated?
SAG: Yeah man, weird huh?
ME: Yeah right, pull over and let me out now.

The legs never got better and they still hurt today (two days later), but I rode in. There were two more hills to climb which actually did me good and worked out some of the cramps; but I did notice one thing that I’ve never had happen before. While descending the backside of one of the climbs I noticed while coasting that my speed was dropping! That my friend is fucking windy! I normally descend like a freight train; gradually gaining momentum the entire decline, but not Saturday; the wind was angry that day I tell you.

Sadly, my pains pale in comparison. Saturday evening’s festivities were somber compared to previous years. At about mile 56 a 15 year old youth who was riding in his first MS150 was struck by a vehicle and killed. Details of exactly what happened are still sketchy; I hope all parties involved will remember why we were there and that accidents do happen. Hopefully not a single lawyer will make a dime off of this tragedy. Sorry to end this on a sad note but no matter what happened or happens this kid should be remembered for what he was doing; raising money for a fantastic charity.

Fittingly; Sundays return ride was cancelled due to foul weather.

Due to the nature of the last paragraph they’ll be no titties in this post.

like a kid in a fucking candy store

Turkey mountain is kinda freaky ya know; it's explained here:

Turkey Mountain, Tulsa Oklahoma

It’s not really a mountain, rising only a couple hundred feet off the west bank of the Arkansas River, but Turkey is an amazing urban wilderness area. With over 300 acres of mostly- singletrack trails, bluffs overlooking the river, and abundant wildlife, Turkey is an oasis for Tulsans needing to get away into the woods for a hike, to run, or mountain bike.

Taken from here: http://www.doubleshotduathlon.com/ (An upcoming event for Buddy.)

Anyway it's only a 300 acre park that I've been riding in for four years now and yet somehow occasionally I find a new trail. Most of the new trails I've found are small feeder trails that take you to existing trails; however over the last couple of Friday rides I came across a few off-shoot trails (or so I thought) and ended up riding a beauty of a trail named "Lookout Loop". The damn things has signs and everything so how I've never come across it amazes me. Here's a pic:

That section of trail is all the way at the end of the trail; there is a cheater line you can see to the left that can be taken, but until I learn to ride across the rocks, and I will learn; I'll walk across 'em. The following pic is the continuation of the trail which is only about 50 more yards or so.
When you're riding Lookout Loop you can tell the trail doesn't get ridden as much as most of the other trails due to the jungle growth and surely that's just because most people don't know about it. But I'm here to spread the word.

W-O-R-D

And finally; more boobies!

snot bubbles and 'tard drool

Deep down I don't consider myself to be a competitive person, but on occasion an opportunity arises that's just too hard to pass up. Take Saturday for instance. When rolling out at the start of the MS150 60 mile training ride everybody was grouped together, probably 100 riders strong, rolling at a casual 15-16 mph on flat terrain. After about mile three a group of maybe 20 riders rolls thru and the opportunity for a long paceline draft is too enticing to ignore so I tell the guy next to me that we need to be in that group. Click-click boom I'm on the tail end now and we're rolling at about 25mph; about 6 mph above my comfort level, but hey I've got a hell of a wind break so I'm feeling OK. At mile 5 or so we hit the first little climb and the line blows up like the leader dropped a turd grenade. After all the shenanigans and jockeying I'm now left with three chicks riding clunkers and me on my fancy carbon Bianchi. Surely I can hang is the motto I use to stay motivated; at mile 10 on the second of two killer rolling hills I ask the lead chick if she's trying to drop me; her reply: "We try to drop everybody". GULP; OK I'm in I tell her, go ahead and drop me. For the next ten miles we're riding a pace unlike any I've ever been a part of, my hearts pounding, my legs are screaming, my stomachs churning, sweat is pouring out of every pore of my body, I need to pee, I need to shit, I need to puke, I'm fucking hurting, but I stay quiet and let the power of the Ramones on the ipod keep me pumping. Finally the oasis of the 20 mile rest stop appeared and thankfully the 3 cycling dominatrix’s pull in; I definitely follow and damn near fall over once I stop 'cause my legs aren't working like they normally do. After fetching a cup of watered down Gatorade I catch my reflection in the storefront glass and notice I’ve got snot bubbles accumulated outside of my left nostril and drool hanging off my chin. I look like a ‘tard preparing to destroy my first funnel cake. Anyway, the lead chick comes over and tells me good job hangin' with 'em, I say thanks and ask what pace we rode at and she tells me the average was 23.1 mph. (I’ve abandoned using a cycling computer for now.) WOW, that is the fastest pace I've ever carried over that span and I'm feeling it. After a total of about two minutes at the rest stop they ask if I'm ready to roll? Fuck no I think but instead I politely decline telling them I need to wait on my buddy. Thank god there was somebody I needed to wait for otherwise I think I would have had a complete and udder meltdown on some back road in the next 40 miles.

Now before I start this next bit let me make this statement: I've always been a firm believer in the adage of "It's my soap and my dick and I'll wash it as fast as I want". Especially when it comes to singlespeeds; soooo....

Post 1 on what's wrong with the cycling community: (Click title to go to his site.)
Single Speeds ...Cool right? Well mostly. I have had a fixed gear since ’94 and it is a great bike that I ride all the time. So what is the problem you ask? Here we go. Don’t race a damn single speed! You are not cool, you don’t have “soul”, you are a tool. Why would you want to be under geared on the flats and downhill and over geared on almost every climb?

Just get some freaking gears! Want to impress anyone? Win a race with gears like the real fast people. Yeah I know Travis Brown wins ‘cross races on a single speed. Guess what? You are not Travis Brown. Travis gets the exemption not you. Also if you live where there are mountains don’t even ride a single speed off road. Next time I see one of you goons pushing your bike up a hill you are getting the double barrel snot rocket as I RIDE by your walking ass on my cross bike.

Blah, blah, fucking blah. Who does he think he is? The "Sultan of Cycling?" Nope, he's today's DICK NO. 1

These are cool:

Post 2 on what's wrong with the cycling community:
I don't care who's soap it is and who's dick it is, I bet these guys are dick lickers. Who the fuck do they think they are? Here's who they are; today's DICKS #2 & 3.

BTW, from now on I'm a Moots guy.

Congratulations boys!