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doreo hosting

 
Friday, May 31, 2002
jenna   I   chloe   I   line 'em up

There isn’t too many ways to go about saying it other than this. I have an aunt who passed away on Thursday in El Paso, Texas. I’m getting ready to drive out for the funeral with my sister.

Don’t expect to much in the way of an update in the next few days, as I’ll be on the road and pretty much have my hands full with family obligations.

She was fighting cancer for the last two years or so. For those of you who have known someone, seen someone go through it, you know it is mostly a losing battle fought bravely and courageously from day to day. Small gains and huge losses. I lost an uncle two years ago, in the spring to cancer. It just doesn’t get any easier.

Watching someone you know, have known your whole life in my case, and seeing how they handle it, come go grips with their own mortality is an incredible experience. I can’t say I’ve enjoyed it, but I sure have grown because of it.

Anyway, it’s time to set some land speed records across southern New Mexico in the Buick Park Avenue division. I’m traveling with my sister, and we have a lot to talk about.

See ya’ll in a few days.


Wednesday, May 29, 2002
chrissy m   I   dorothy   I   niki nova

On the off chance she actually reads this, I just wanted to say, "hello bunny."

I got my ride in this morning with care bear and big gay randy. I have no type of fitness in any way shape or form. It’s amazing how fast you can loose whatever snap the legs had two weeks ago. Boy, I sure am glad I took a break from riding.

I feel like shit. Good thing I’ve got another Budweiser in the fridge. Otherwise I might actually feel bad about this shit.

I got mail, I got mail, I got mail, I got mail, I got mail, I got mail, I got mail, I got mail, I got mail, I got mail, I got mail, I got mail, I got mail, I got mail, I got mail, I got mail, I got mail, I got mail, I got mail, I got mail, I got mail, I got mail, I got mail, I got mail. Yeeaaaaa!

Lets keep the discussion rolling about the 29 inch wheel. Also commonly known as a 700c.

  From: pistol pete
Subject: ?
Dude,I can't figure out why the hostility toward 700c wheels on a mountain bike.Did everyone have a conniption when the changed to 11/8 headsets? ISIS drive? Clipless pedals?No one will make you ride the bigger wheels.They have some disadvantages.They have some advantages.All I can really say is if a wheel size throws someone into a tizzy maybe they need a little more focus in their lives.It's not the end of cycling as we know it.

And then the other side of the coin looks a little more like this.

  From: Doug
Subject: Gay-re Fisher
Big Jonny;
Gary Fisher will take credit for the 29 incher as he did the evolution headset(my 1964 Alex Moulton has a 1 1/4" lower headset with 2" of travel in the steer tube ala Headshock..) When Alex designed this Gary was still crapping his diapers. The 29" is in reality a 700c. It is the european standard for touring bikes since the 70s. Dave Weins with Diamondback first brought this to the Norba race courses during the Cactus Cup time trial in 1991-1992? I don't remember the excact year, I think Johnny T was on a Raleigh that year. At any rate leave it to the arrogant to take credit for the Ideas that impress only the ignorant. you can quote me on that one. KHSD...

After those two letters, there just isn’t much else to say. That pretty much sums up the whole thing as far as I’m concerned. I’ve got nothing to add.

Oh, but check shit out one time, it’s the srm - usa website.


Tuesday, May 28, 2002
lesbians   I   gina ryder   I   zdenka

Lets see, Garzelli out, Simoni out and now Casa-fucking-grande is out. What the fuck? Who’s gonna win this Giro, whoever is left? What in the hell is going on over there?.

Maybe this will help explain the Simoni part of it anyway.

  From: 10 ‘o hearts
Subject: my own moral of the story
Big Jonny,
Here you are, about half way through breaking down the "proverbial pile of rocks" of email, and I go off and throw another one on the stack.

Anyway, I was a little inspired by the "moral of the story" email you posted, so here goes with one of my own. I changed the names to protect the guilty. Mr. Gilbert Simon was a well to do..umm, stock analyst who was a part of the high pressure world of the Chicago Board of Trade. He had been away in New York, working a different angle for awhile, and was happy to get back home to Trentino, er, Chicago, at the end of April.

Now, like most of us, he decided to go out on the town with his old friends, to celebrate his homecoming, of sorts. (Hey, which of us wouldn't? And we know what kind of trouble that leads to.) Mr. Simon was no different.

So he goes out with his old buddies, and they have a grand old night on the town. They hit the clubs, meet some lady friends, dance, drink, and even rode the White Horse.

Now, Gilbert(o)'s firm: Wexler, Anderson, Dean and Andrews, or WADA, has a strong anti-drug policy, and is known for random drug testing. It seems that Mr. Simon(I) didn't seem to care.

Well, his firm hits him a with a "pop piss quiz" the next day, and it comes to light that the "White Horse" was in his system. He fails, and is kicked out of the Chicago Board of Trade, or Giro, for short.

Moral: Either, don't dabble in the nose candy, and make up some bullshit story about how one of his friends got into a fight, had to go to the ER, and get stitches, and Gilbert was accidentally administered the local anesthetic in all of the confusion.

or, moral number (2): When you know drug tests are common policy, don't party with your friends every time business takes you back home. Hell, we common man knew that one. The last time I got with my college friends, at a wedding...lets just say I might have bent a few laws after the reception, and can't really go into it, for fear of prosecution.

And finally, props to Tyler, for stomping the dope, er, pis out of the Italians today.

10 of "I sweat officer, that’s not how old she said she was" hearts

Check out Gary’s site x-gear, and tell me what you think about it.

Simoni the stock analyst. And here I thought he was some kind of regular Joe pro cyclist. Now I know the truth.

And believe me I know all about tying one on with the buddies, be it Vegas or Gettysburg. Or, for that matter Laughlin this weekend. Could happen. Shit.

Check my man mudflap.

  From: mudflap
Subject: outlaw
there is a fine line between drunk and sleeping on the pavement lately. it is a balancing act. sometimes I tip the scale a bit too far and wake to find the place completely shattered with a funky smell coming from the bed. do I complain? no. but I do at these times reconsider my priorities. I have ridden my new road rig so much that I pay the price with a fuck of a saddle sore, and this in turn now keeps me off my bike. I hate that, simply because when I don’t ride I do far more reckless shit. really stupid. I wont go to details, but suffice it to say it ain’t making the saddle sore go away. here is some footage of me on friday:

modernhumorist.com/mh/0205/free/images/punchie.mov

uh, where the fuck are you anyway, I cant keep entertaining myself up in this bitch, yknow.

Just so ya'll know, I had a hard time getting that link to work right. Keep at it.

Shit my brother, I’m right here in Scottish Chris’s kitchen trying not to drink every ounce of liquor in the place the first week I’m here. Fucking Big Gay Randy and the Care Bear (‘cause he loves everyone so much) are smoking out like cheech and chong and I’m trying to stay out of that cyper. I’ll stick to Budweiser, thank you very much.

  From: angry hippie
Subject: (no subject)
hey jon-hole,
sittin' here watchin' the shit box (tv) , with "on the spot" reporting with az's finest kiss ass reporters updating us sheep on the latest wildfire reports in our great state. hell man, blame it on the lighting strikes or adolesent squirrels with matches..we,yes we (as you you n me) are the only damn animals so far that can manipulate fire and the best thing we can do with it, well the second best thing is to leave it smoldering as we drive away from our weekend campout retreat and blaze the woods. go figure huh, damn animals......well I better git out n' ride while I can, gonna be closing' down the woods soon (randy, ha ha ) remember bikes good, fire bad..........sorry I have to git down on the human animal all the time , but most the time we suck.......rainbows n' unicorns

You angry hippy piece of shit, I always knew those fucking squirrels were up to no good. Fucking little bastards. Let's kill them all and let God sort them out. Jerry can help, he's up there, right?

Fuck it just doesn’t end. Here’s the latest from Heff, the king of fucked stories. I absolutely love this guy.

  From: Heff
Subject: Death of Ton Bik
Angry.

Death wont be visiting me for a while.

Someone took the kind steps of stealing my saddle, slashing my tyres and kicking my gears in. And they ran a key up the painwork just to spit on the corpse.

Ton Bik is mothballed. Im not even sure If I want to go back to messenger, Im that heartbroken.

Id be angry but I just feel that dangerous level of blackness inside which means If I ever find out who didn’t it, I'll cheerfully stick my thumb through their eye into their brain.

Well, shit brother I'm glad to hear Death won't be visiting you for awhile. Let's make it a long while. I can't have this stream of killer material just shut off on me.

It's the worst when they fuck ya that extra bit, like the key down the paint. Not any damn good at all. Take my insurance provider for example.

My car got broke into way the fuck back in February. I'm still going around the block with those mother fuckers trying to get my money. It's unreal.

No, I don't have receipts for everything. I don't usually keep that shit around, you know what I'm sayin'? But, God damn can a brother get a table dance around here or what?

Where is my money already? Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.

Good luck getting that bike back up and running my man.

And last but definitely not least, you gotta see what these Midwestern madmen are up to now. This is a race series you can sink your teeth into.

  From: Brian
Subject: Race Report: Frank Tuesday #8 (unnecessarily long and gratuitous
"Shit!! I was too late. Eric said he was going to the bathroom, but by the time I had realized it, he had already flushed. We needed that shit." By this point the entire restaurant was looking at us, a bald man in a pink suit and some guy yelling about shit. I look damn fine in that suit, and he had every reason to yell. He had been drinking for 6 hours already and his teammate had just flushed a 40 minute time bonus.

Just minutes before the teams had been given their information packets as well as instructions for the evening. It seemed simple enough, though had Eric looked at the scavenger list a bit more carefully, he would have known that shit was worth 40 minutes. Apparently, that was their only encounter with shit for the evening as they hadn't any to turn in at the finish.

In addition to the list of items, each team had a set of directions to the next checkpoint and a sealed envelope, which would cause a fair amount of trouble later in the evening. The three teams set off for the evening, not knowing where or when it would all end.

Team 1:
We were stopped at the door by a little man (boy) that was selling candy bars. I selected some race food as did Dana. The little boy's parting comment to Dana was, "Remember, I don't like you because you did not get a Butterfinger." (Funny enough, that was my selection.) Dana changed her order and we were off with the little kid's blessing.
The route painfully led us threw Westport. We mixed it up with another team derby style, cutting and pushing. I got tangled with Carter for two blocks, each of us trying to knock the other to the ground to gain a little time advantage. Carter yelled out, "I should just taco that thing now and be done with it." Yes, he should have, but he rode away with his team to put some distance on us.

Team 3:
Zeke, Angie and myself rolled out of the market and headed east on 43rd. The instructions did not give street names or number. You were instructed to head east on 43rd st, take the first left, at the T go right. "Follow to the third left after the 2nd light" type of instructions. Zeke quickly proved himself to be a poor navigator. We had to return to the market and start over. I took over as navigator for the evening.
We decided to stop in and pick up some bonus points by getting pint glasses. We ordered them and drank them quickly and headed back outside. Just as we did, a guy gets thrown out by the bartender. The drunk and the bartender are going at it pretty good. The drunk getting the worse end of the pushing match they are in. He falls down and some other guy comes flying out of the bar, grabs him by the lapel and hits him three times in the face. Damn, that is going to leave some marks. Unfortunately, there are no bonus points for watching a drunk get his ass beat down.

Frank:
After the start, my entourage and I drove around, heckling the riders and making sure my directions were correct. The weren't. Sadly for Team #2, I found this out too late. We came across them at the top of a very steep hill that they had just ridden up. They were to have ridden down. Whoops. Travis was on the verge of puking after muscling his fixie all the way up. The liquor, rain and fever were catching up with him finally. His race would soon be over.

Team #1:
At the edge of the guard rail was a little singletrack descent that ended in an endo into a brush pile. After collecting my self and conferring with my lovely teammates we discovered that this is not on the directions. We are lost. After the meeting of the minds we came up with the plan. Opening the envelope that contained the location of the finish was a 45min time penalty, so we looked at the list to see what would recover that time. Shit. Shit had a 40min time bonus. Wow, that would be a tough one. Not tough to find, but tough to get and take with us.

Team #3:
Away we go, take the first right, wind our way through the bottoms and back up towards Liberty Memorial. We arrive at the Pavilion to find our last set of instructions. It is starting to get late and we have been dragging all over the damn city and we are about done. We almost open the sealed envelope. Again, we feel that in the spirit of the contest, opening the sealed envelope is the easy way out. By goddamn it we are going to finish this thing. Off we go again.

Jack:
Throughout the event, we kept in touch with the competitors via cellular phone. "I'm talking to Eric on the phone and I see him ride by. Funniest damn thing I've seen in a while. I'm like...dood...did he have two hubcaps zip tied to his bag? All three of them had stuff packed everywhere."

Team #1:
As we rode to the Brewery finish we collected pint glasses, matches, coasters, salt shakers, a can of spray paint, a shoe, a 2x4, a beer, some gay porn, a butt plug. Those were fun to pick out with two excited and hot girls. Many men in the store were watching us and putting their hands down their pants, thinking of what we might be up to. (If they only knew.) Dana and Karen were gone. We had been separated, but never fear. We had a plan worked out for that, and we were nearing the finish. On my way solo to the brewery, I finally found the dead bird that I was looking for. I scooped it up and sped to the finish.
At the brewery I was greeted by some old college buddies that had been at the Bike-O de Mayo and were laughing so hard because they had just seen a homeless guy crawl out of a truck and take a dump thinking that no one saw him. I was excited, here was the shit that would surely seal the win for us. I grabbed the shit and regrouped in side with my teammates to begin the celebration.

Team #3:
We arrive at River Market Brewery to the news that Schuster and his team got lost, took the easy way out and opened the sealed envelope. They had arrived almost two hours prior to us. They had collected numerous bonus items, included...well some shit. Little did we know that this shit would put them over the top.

Frank:
Little did I know the controversy that was boiling beneath the surface. Sure they opened the envelope, but there was no rule against it. In fact, as with all Frank Tuesdays, there are no rules. Max, the newly self-appointed Minister of Complaining and I exchanged a few words:

"Well, I would like to take this opportunity to lodge an official complaint. I feel that in the spirit of the hunt, nobody who did not complete the entire course should be able to win. The penalty for opening the envelope should be so difficult to overcome to prevent the opening of the envelope for anything short of a disaster. I mean the idea was for us to find the checkpoints...we should have gotten enough bonus points for all of the miles we rode dragging that whining ass chick with us to put us over the top. Our teams worked the hardest for naught. I am so disillusioned with the hunt at this point that I have decided for the next race....I will win...regardless of the spirit of the contest......"

madd xman
Self Appointed Minister of Complaints

"We appreciate your feedback. However, should you choose to continue with said complaint, we, the staff at Frank Tuesday, Inc., will have no choice but to formally ignore you. Good day sir."

Frank Tuesday
Minister of Chaos

Of course, with Max involved, it couldn't end this way, but I shall not bore you with his pathetic, feeble complaints, which could come only from a childish, self absorbed, crying, bitching, whining, juvenile, thumb-sucking, temper tantrum throwing, pathetic little man.

Alright, that's it. I'm out. Good night.


Monday, May 27, 2002
jessica's bananas   I   cori   I   hot nurse

Sitting at the kitchen table a six in the morning, black coffee and oatmeal and laptop in front of me. Giro coverage starts in on half hour and Nic is probably going to be watching that and not riding. I am probably going to be riding and not watching. Each of us will probably wish we did as the other choose to do. Life is like that, you know. The grass is always greener it seems.

Unless your living next door to Scottish Chris and are puttering about in the back yard envisioning the lush oasis next door. You have the greener of the two already and you need to quite your bitching and get on with it already. I mean, c’mon. We’re talking about a couple hundred square feet of dirt and exactly three and a half feet on bermuda grass holding on in wispy, desperate solitude. Whatever it is your standing on is the better end of the deal.

But, if it don’t grow, you don’t mow. And no worky is good worky. Catch my drift? I’m beginning to see Chris’s logic.

Tyler Hamilton won the time trail stage yesterday in the Giro making him either only the third American to ever win a stage, or marking the third occasion an American had ever won. I can’t remember which. I’d call it a draw on the cool factor, so fuck it. And he still almost wrecked. That Lance Armstrong has some major ju-ju going for him.

All the other American cyclists get stung by bees, blow corners and ram barriers, wash out and end up in drainage canals and shit like that in the big races. Either that or they’re bottle carries that finish 10 Tours at 411 place and don’t excite the fans back home. But not Lance. He manages to keep the rubber side down and actually win the damn thing three times in a row, God bless him.

But this years Tour could be another story for the Texas Tornado. It’s almost to easy. With the elimination of his only real rival, Jan Ulrich, all he has to do is show up and pick up his check pretty much. Even the second tier riders are a mess. I don’t imaging Simoni’s little coke issue is going to help his chances to prove, "I can drop Lance", are they?

So who else is there?

Answer: No one.

So now the only thing keeping Lance off the podium will be bees, barricades and roadside ditches. If he can just keep his mojo working he’s a good as gold, baby.

Not much fun the fan’s though, is it? The only action will be the battle for table scraps. Who gets the Green (ahem: Zabel) and the polka dot jersey? Who gets second and the like. Stage wins will be a big goal for everyone as it always is, so that will be something at least. I just can’t help being a little bummed that both Ulrich and Simoni are in the crapper. I don’t know what the fuck is up with Pantani and his third cousin Garzelli, but maybe this will shed some light on the subject for us all.

  From: 10 ‘o heats
Subject: Garzelli explained
My man,
Sorry to keep adding to your inbox, but it seems relavent, at least for me to work out some of my issues with the current state of things. What's your message total up to now? 400? More? Especially with MTB world cup this last weekend, the 24 hour norba race, and of course, garzelli. Not to mention all of our own missadventures..p> So, anyway, to the point. First, now I'm really bummed about Mr. Garzelli. But I guess thats the price you pay for being the prodigy of 'Il butt-pirata'. Second, Cipo keeps getting upstaged, in one way or another. That royally pisses me off. Today, it was the B sample that made Cipo's feat rather unimportant. At least he's winning, though. But he's a stand up guy, and pretty solid in his anti-doping stance. He had some comments on the cyclingnews.com May 22 update. Maybe you can link those. Makes me think there are still a few heroes to believe in.

thirdly, back to Garzelli. After doing some reading on this diuretic he's been tested for, it seems that I have a viable defense for the man. It seems that in addition to its "steroid masking" properties, it is a treatment for the gout, and (the big, important one) a treatment for gonorrhea. This quote fcame from cyclingnews as well: "If Garzelli has probenecid in his urine then either it was given to him without his knowledge, there was an idiot treating him for gout or gonorrhea or there was an idiot managing his performance enhancer regimen."

So, clearly, Mr. Garzelli is a man who is familiar with the whores, just like you and I. Okay, maybe just me. He contracted something in Belgium, or Holland, or whereever, in the days leading up to the Giro, and instead of making it public that his unit is turning green and about to fall off, he would rather risk his career and reputation. I can see the logic: "Sacrifice self and self worth before sacrificing the character of the little man." That about wraps us up. let this episode be a lesson to all. If thyne est to sleep with the whores, thyne must wrap it up.

Ah, cycling, drugs and whores. You know, he may just be on to something there. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

You are not going to believe the virus laden message I got in the mail today. It’s unreal. Check this out one time.

  From: Microsoft Corperation Security Center
Subject: Internet Security Updates
Microsoft Customer,

this is the latest version of security update, the "23 May 2002 Cumulative Patch" update which eliminates all known security vulnerabilities affecting Internet Explorer and MS Outlook/Express as well as six new vulnerabilities, and is discussed in Microsoft Security Bulletin MS02-005. Install now to protect your computer from these vulnerabilities, the most serious of which could allow an attacker to run code on your computer.

Description of several well-know vulnerabilities:

- "Incorrect MIME Header Can Cause IE to Execute E-mail Attachment" vulnerability. If a malicious user sends an affected HTML e-mail or hosts an affected e-mail on a Web site, and a user opens the e-mail or visits the Web site, Internet Explorer automatically runs the executable on the user's computer.

- A vulnerability that could allow an unauthorized user to learn the location of cached content on your computer. This could enable the unauthorized user to launch compiled HTML Help (.chm) files that contain shortcuts to executables, thereby enabling the unauthorized user to run the executables on your computer.

- A new variant of the "Frame Domain Verification" vulnerability could enable a malicious Web site operator to open two browser windows, one in the Web site's domain and the other on your local file system, and to pass information from your computer to the Web site.

- CLSID extension vulnerability. Attachments which end with a CLSID file extension do not show the actual full extension of the file when saved and viewed with Windows Explorer. This allows dangerous file types to look as though they are simple, harmless files - such as JPG or WAV files - that do not need to be blocked.

System requirements:
Versions of Windows no earlier than Windows 95.

This update applies to:
Versions of Internet Explorer no earlier than 4.01
Versions of MS Outlook no earlier than 8.00
Versions of MS Outlook Express no earlier than 4.01

How to install
Run attached file q216309.exe

How to use
You don't need to do anything after installing this item.

For more information about these issues, read Microsoft Security Bulletin MS02-005, or visit link below.
microsoft.com/windows/ie/downloads/critical/default.asp
If you have some questions about this article contact us at
rdquest12@microsoft.com

Thank you for using Microsoft products.

With friendly greetings,
MS Internet Security Center.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Microsoft is registered trademark of Microsoft Corporation.
Windows and Outlook are trademarks of Microsoft Corporation.

Sounds pretty trustworthy, huh? But this thing was carrying the W32.Gibe@MM virus. Can you dig that shit, brother? How the hell does that work?


Sunday, May 26, 2002
bianca   I   cory   I   erica campbell

It’s a brand new week, and a brand new site. Yeah right. Same old shit on this end. I’m living in a new place with my main man Nic. Two guys, three dogs and five bikes. I’ll work on making it a few more bikes so you don’t think we’re gay or anything.

I’ve got about 120 emails and all kinds of links to wade through. I’m giving it the ‘ol heave ho if you know what I’m saying. We’ll see how it goes.

I’ve also got a new bike to hurt myself on. It’s a Kona single speed frameset, the Unit, I’ve built up with the parts off my old single. With some new shit thrown in for good measure. It promises to be a whole lotta fun. I’ll let you know how it goes.

I’ll be taking it out on the trails for the first time tomorrow morning, around, well 5:00 am since it’s now summer in the valley of the sunstroke. Get up early and get out there. It’s snooze and loose time around here.

Check out the modern humorist.

And check out this shit right here, it’s athlete octane. I’ve been on this juice for about two weeks and I’m feeling great. Give it a try and tell ‘em big jonny sent ya. They’ll be tickled to hear ya came from drunkcyclist.

  From: northwave
Subject: Fisher go figure
Hey Jon,

Think you hit the nail right on the head with that stuff you were saying tonight. 29er. What a gay concept. Gary 'old fart' Fisher rode the Red Bull 24hr here on one of those last year. He even stood up there at the start and preached to people about what a goddamn great idea it was and how it was going to revolutionise the industry. Well the guy was talking out of his arse. We all stood around looking at each other and knew the guy was just spouting crap. Looks like a pile of shit too. Would you want to be seen dead on that or on a nice slinky singlespeed? So Mr. Fisher, take your supercalibre and jump it off a big Californian cliff (preferably with you and your head full of silly ideas attached to it).

Wasn't another reason they used smaller wheels because they're stronger? Chunky tires yes. Smaller, lighter, stronger wheels too though (less leverage distance from the rim to the hub under lateral loads). If we let this one go he'll have us riding round on pennyfarthings (http://www.pennyfarthingreplica.com/) next. For christsakes, the DH boys and girls are starting to ride 24" wheels. Smaller = Better. Like to see Mr. Fisherman trying to explain his queer 29 inch concept to a North Shore looney like Josh Bender. Have you seen what that crazy fool is riding these days?
singletrack world

Anyway carrying on with other stupid ideas, Manitou are now about to introduce another headset size. Yippee. We need that like a hole in the head. If oversize is so f'ing A, why did they drop 1.25"? And have you seen what Chris King has been saying about those 'revolutionary' integrated headsets?
chris king

The 2003 XTR chainset is a remake of the old Tioga Revolver. Superb idea til you strip the pedal threads of the chainset or something and end up needing to pay up for a new crank and bottom bracket. Even the Japanese are starting to go to the dogs. XTR is great - leave it alone. What next? Are Mavic going to produce a Kevlar webbed discwheel?

This whole biking larks so cyclical. An old guy I know is an ex- triathlete and he was saying to me how in the 70s people were drilling holes in components and cutting things down and reaming them out and all that sort of stuff to save weight. Where did it get them? Well with a jaggedy ol' broken seatpost stuck up their arse or with a snapped bottom bracket spindle ripping their calf open. Then in the early nineties we did it all again, but this time with carbon and titanium and advanced aluminiums. That old trade off o'weight for strength. Are people suckers for it or what?

I'm just waiting for the whole trend to go full circle again. I think a lot of it is corporate bollocks. Marketing hype and that kind of jazz, but it really annoys when you see things like the big record companies making sure Napsters coffin gets well and truly nailed shut so their own gay little websites can prosper. Well they can take PressPlay and MusicNet and stuff them up their fat bloated ugly arses. The Net's about things for free - there's a lot of very clever and capable people on-line. We will overcome.

Educate the masses. Tell them the truth like it is Big Jonny. You just know that if you run off into the woods to hide, some bastard corporate type I'll probably come and try and sell you timber.

adios
northwave

Ain’t just the truth, brothers? Ain’t it just the truth. Hey, you think you had a bad day. You don’t know shit. Check this out.

  From: Carl
Subject: big titty bike porn!
Love the site, man!! I've following it for a while but haven't had the chance to give you mas props for having the insight and inspiration for creating a single speed friendly, porn, bike and beer site. Fuck man, your shit really keeps me going. It's like getting a cyber handjob while cranking big ring style to a free beer, best teenage breast contest. Damn.

During one of my porn surfing sessions, I ran into this gem and thought it'd make a nice link on drunkcyclist:

bigtits.elitecities.com/bustbeauty/KerrieMarie/xkm.html

It's a bit of a throwback for you porn-wise but there's a special place in my heart for the old big titty, white-trash, skanky, porn beotches you used to link. Plus, she's on a bike. Can't go wrong there.

keep it real and no more than 25% gay.

Keep it all man, all man. If not you might turn into Randy. But, he’s a lot faster than me, so maybe that’s not so bad after all. Great link. Oh yes it is, yes it is. I’m not sure she can even ride a bike, and I just don’t care. Although judging by the belly she sure could use a little help. Some time on the bike might just help her out some.

And there is always the fucking machine.

This next one ain’t gonna bring any grown men to huggin, but I did laugh. Oh, I love to stir it up a little.

  From: Adam
Subject: Note to Snake/Decker/Single Speeds
Hey Big Jonny- I just gotta comment on Snake's dumb-ass commentary regarding Carl Decker, his 16th place at Big Bear and how to be the fastest mother fukk'r on a bike with a single gear. (I really think that the term "Single Speed" is very misleading... I don't want to go on a rant here, but they are one GEARED bikes, not one SPEED.) Okay, I feel a little better now, but I need to go postal on Snake's whiney little ass to really feel some relief.

First, if he is frustrated with his own performance- in a really tough class, no doubt -then suck it up, be a fukk'n man, and change something with your training, preparation and/or race strategy. Don't try to bring down someone who is a great rider... it does not reflect well on you. Now, about single "speeds..." Decker rode a 32x15 gear on a titanium frame and fork that weighs in around 15-16 lbs. We started with the Sport class (I raced in the single speed race with Decker (sort of) and finished 5th... notice, no whining from me); that means we started a full 5 minutes behind the Pro/Elite and Expert classes. The Spring Thaw race, in Ashland, Oregon starts on pavement, climbs immediately and doesn't stop climbing until 7 or 8 miles later, where you wind up atop a ridge line (with snow still in a dozen places!) at 4,000 ft, and roll along a ton of false flat for another 15 miles. My friend Matt, who placed 6th in expert, said Carl rode up to him (already made up the 5 minute gap in the first 4 or so miles) and then dropped him on the rolling ridge line! If you know anything about gearing, then you will realize that Carl's 32x15 is like riding a climb in the big ring, so he was flying. As for who he beat: Barry Wicks, Eric Tonkin and Sean Doyle were the top three "geared" pros.

So pull your sorry head out of your sorry Snake ass and give props to Carl (and Jason T. as well), and pick your chin up and go race another race. And don't forget to enjoy a really cold, frothy beverage crafted with malt and hops after your next endeavor. It should help your future emails.
Cheers!
Long Dong Kong
Grants Pass, OR

I don't even know what to say I'm laughing so hard. Snake is not going to like that and he's going to take it all out on my sorry fat ass. I am one dropped puppy next time I see that guy.

Yeah, you are right on the single gear vs. single speed thing. But, any time you can combine the letter "S" back to back in conjures up images of power and destruction. Like the Nazi Storm troopers and a 69 Chevelle SS turning donuts in a Wallmart parking lot 4:00 am on a Friday night. Fuck me running.

This might just get the home fucking run award for this week. Seriously.

  From: DH
Subject: Good Read
Goliath,
As I try to reduce my worldly possessions I often wonder "what for" but this article brought it all into perspective and refreshed my motivation to keep on keep'n on...You dig? Although I will want to bite the bullet one day and get a leg up on my financial status, I resolve to clearly be happier at the moment living Monkishly and riding.
dh

I read this and thought dam, you gotta read it (if you havn't already).

By Patrick O'Grady
VeloNews editor at large

This report filed May 17, 2002

"I notice that you use work and job interchangeably. Oughten to do that. A job's what you force yourself to pay attention to for money. With work, you don't have to force yourself." - Cal, an engineer, in William Least Heat Moon's "Blue Highways."

According to a story by Jason Sumner in the May 20 VeloNews, most pro mountain bikers aren't making any money. Welcome to the club, dudes. I believe the late Ed Abbey defined this sort of edge-dwelling as "voluntary simplicity." But then he didn't mind sleeping in the back of his truck.

Pro cyclists are not unlike the pro journalists who write about them, except we get to do our work in the shade and don't look nearly as solid in Lycra. A handful in each group earns a respectable living and/or a measure of fame, but the rest of us are basically working for The Man, challenging our credit limits and trying to wheedle enough schwag to keep rolling. Voluntary simplicity.

Still, at times one feels more simple than voluntary. "Why the hell am I doing this for a living?" is a common refrain. "I went to college. I could have a real job. Why am I sleeping in the bed of my truck next to two bikes, a pile of dirty laundry and a cooler?" And those are the journalists, mind you; most pro cyclists are too dignified for such whining, and only have the one bike.

My first career crisis struck in 1978, when as a reporter hauling down $155 per 44-hour week at a Colorado Springs daily I discovered that my girlfriend Cathie made three or four times as much money as I did. Of course, as a topless dancer at the Peppermint Lounge, she provided more of a public service than I did. And there were considerations other than the purely monetary: I occasionally got to interview some national newsmaker like David Duke, but Cathie was mostly limited to chatting up hammered supply sergeants from Fort Carson.

But still, damn.

The root of the problem, naturally, is the law of supply and demand. There is an endless supply of monkeys trying to pound out a little Shakespeare on their laptops, and thus demand is low - newspapers and magazines replace us like light bulbs as we burn out. But stunning women who dance in the altogether are long on demand and short on inventory, and thus bring top dollar, no matter the state of the economy.

Similarly, mainstream-sports pros such as Michael Jordan, Kurt Warner and Tiger Woods are big earners because nearly everybody wants to look at them and they're willing to spend absurd quantities of folding green for the privilege.

In contrast, the consumer whose idea of a good time is standing in a driving rain to watch a minimum-wage saddle tramp stuff it on the "No Fear" section at Mammoth has wandered far afield from Madison Avenue's ideal marketing demographic. He paid 20 percent below wholesale for his bike and wants everything else for free, carries a cooler full of ale so he doesn't have to buy the watery beer at the venue, and sleeps in his truck, like half the pro men's field and two-thirds of the journalists, thus doing little to further enrich major corporations.

People paid to perform for ham-and-eggers such as this, like pro cyclists and velo-scribes, either learn to lower their expectations or switch to some higher-paying gig, like migrant labor, collecting discarded aluminum cans, or squeegeeing motorists' windshields at stoplights. After all, there's no rule that says you should be paid handsomely for doing a job you love. In fact, I suspect there is some regulation that mandates quite the opposite.

The fact of the matter is that there is always going to be somebody who gets paid more than you and me, and while many of these lucky people are attractive women wearing little in the way of clothing, and a few are marquee athletes or renowned journalists, many more are sagging, miserable old men slumped in tiny cubicles, sentenced without parole to undistinguished performance evaluations, hefty mortgages and family lives you wouldn't wish on Saddam Hussein.

I don’t know which of these guys I love more, the gnome or O’Grady. Good times.

  From: Steve
Subject: here is a good one!
The teacher gave her fifth grade class an assignment: Get their parents to tell them a story with a moral at the end of it.

The next day the kids came back and one by one began to tell their stories.

Ashley said, "My father's a farmer and we have a lot of egg laying hens. One time we were taking our eggs to market in a basket on the front seat of the pickup when we hit a big bump in the road and all the eggs went flying and broke and made a mess.

"What's the moral of the story?" asked the teacher.

"Don't put all your eggs in one basket!"

"Very good," said the teacher.

Next little Sarah raised her hand and said, "Our family are farmers too. But we raise chickens for the meat market. We had a dozen eggs one time, but when they hatched we only got ten live chicks, and the moral to this story is, "don't count your chickens before they're hatched."

"That was a fine ! story Sarah. Michael, do you have a story to share?"

"Yes, ma'am, my daddy told me this story about my Auntie Pat.

Aunt Pat was a flight engineer in Desert Storm and her plane got hit. She had to bail out over enemy territory and all she had was a bottle of whiskey, a machine gun and a machete. She drank the whiskey on the way down so it wouldn't break and then she landed right in the middle of 100 enemy troops. She killed seventy of them with the machine gun until she ran out of bullets. Then she killed twenty more with the machete till the blade broke. And then she killed the last ten with her bare hands."

"Good heavens," said the horrified teacher, "what kind of moral did your daddy tell you from that horrible story?"

"Stay the fuck away from Aunt Pat when she's been drinking!!!"

I can’t believe all the fucking mail I’m getting. Too much funny stuff. I only wish my message board was half as fucking interesting. But, it isn’t, so check this out.

  From: Hank
Subject: yo
I drove all the way to my local trail yesterday, about 20 miles. Put front wheel on bike and found out I forgot the fucking bike shoes. Clipless pedals are your worst nightmare here and here only. I can see why you like the simplicity of a single speed "sans crap." Oh well, I was able to bust one out to Sweet Suki on your links page.
Thank God for porn.

The "sans crap" idea is worth going with. But, I gotta tell you that most of us are riding with clipless pedals on our singles. Shit, even the single speed I had with a rigid fork had clipless. Go figure. There is always Sweet Suki.

  From: mudflap
Subject: keep it safe, man
hey, jonny, here is something just to remind you that no matter how useless you might find your existence, you can always throw on a dick slicker and be a hero in the eyes of the world. one more thing, life gets boring without updates, quit fuckin around and get to work...

andigraph.free.fr/animation/pageanimationseb/pagepapabite.htm

peace and jimmy hatz,
mudflap

Mudfap rocks and so does RS, who sent me this rad site. Don’t forget to use the pull down menu to check all the galleries at that site. Enjoy.


Saturday, May 25, 2002
julia miles   I   alexus amore   I   chirssy m

Fuck you guys, I’m back.

I’m all set up in a new place and all that type of shit. And I’m now using a fucking dial up. Great. It’s so fast I just can’t believe it. I am so lucky.

I’ve got mail totally coming out of my ass. You know the drill. I’ll write back to each and everyone of you in turn. It will just take me a bit. I’ve been working every day since I got back on Monday and I don’t have a day off until Wednesday. It just doesn’t fucking end.

But I do appreciate all the mail. You guys all provide valuable input, criticism and the like. It’s rad.

You know what else is rad? Watching Cadel Evans ride in the Giro, and ride well. Good damn, that’s badass.


Friday, May 24, 2002
nikita   I   vladka   I   lesbians

I have no internet connection at the moment, so I’m talking to myself. Or typing to myself. Talking and typing, typing and talking. Something like that anyway. Friday night flavors on power 92.3 rocking on the dial. Hip hop all night long all by myself.

Caught up with Amazing Andrea tonight. Or, did she catch up with me? It’s all a matter of perspective I guess. What isn’t, right?

Well, we had dinner and watched Big Nic tremble under the flirty onslaught of one giggly hostess. A hostess with the mostest you could say. And I'll bet some do. It’s fun seeing friends charm there way into a free meal for three. How does he do it? He just has game.

That and he gave her a bike. Gifts will get you far in life it seems. Look where they got me. Nowhere.

I’ve really got to get online and get at my email. There isn’t even a phone line in this place anymore. It’s all been shut off. Scary. What’s next I wonder? The electricity? Could happen. Every time I flush the toilet I think it may be for the last time.

Tomorrow I throw the rest of my shit in the car and drive to Tempe to stay. It ought to be good times. Me and you and the bottle makes three tonight, babe.


Thursday, May 23, 2002
  I got nothing this time baby

It’s good to be home. Back at the wheel. Back in the saddle. Back at the helm. I have had my fill of German tourists, antelope and concrete for a while. In that order. I miss this shit sometimes, even when I’m having a grand old time on the road.

Hell, I saw ‘ol Faithful on this one. Ya just can’t beat it.

What I also can’t beat are these fucking email virus things that keep fucking up my system. Now I got some shit called Klenz, or some shit like that. From what I’ve read about it, my anti-virus software can’t stop it from invading my system. Even previewing and infected message can transmit the virus to my system. And, once it gets here I can’t get rid of it very easily either. It beats the system by getting into the files the anti-virus software doesn’t access. Fuck me.

So, it looks like I’m just going to fucking nuke this whole Windows ME bullshit. Again. Full restoration. Burn it. Burn it all to the fucking ground, baby. And start over.

Hell, it worked last time.

And I’ve had lots of practice reloading all kinds of programs, figuring out what I need and what I don’t and all that shit. It’s a grand old time for sure.

If anyone knows and easy way for me to get something other than Windows ME running on this piece of shit, please tell me about it. I’d love to know.

I am also in the process of moving. Again. Good times. I’ll be all set up by Saturday night. And, to top it all off, my internet access has dried up. Again. I’ll be bumming some DSL time off my sister tonight to get this update to the light of day. Good times.

By this time next week I’ll be balls deep in dial up. I can’t wait.

I’ve seen all this before somewhere along the line, but fuck it. Check it out. Just because I love all you guys and girls that much, I’m going to share a list of really sicko sexual positions. Don’t try this at home.

Who am I kidding? Try it if you want to, but if you do, take pictures and send them to me. I need the distraction. Trust me.

  1. The Tea bagging sex position- The all time classic maneuver of tapping your cock on a chick's forehead whilst she is sucking on your balls, & uttering the timeless phrase- "Who's Your daddy?"

2. The Houdini sex position- Going at it doggy-style until you are just about to come, then pull out & spit on her back so she thinks that you have. When she turns around a blast is unleashed into her face & she is left shocked & amazed, wondering how you managed it.

3. The Angry Dragon sex position- Immediately after you blow your load in a girl's mouth, smack the back of her head & make it come out her nose. When she gets up, she'll look like an angry dragon.

4. Cum Guzzling Sperm Burping Bitch sex position- The once in a lifetime act of blowing a hot steamy load down the back of a girl's throat & then proceeding to give her a large cold bottle of your favorite carbonated drink, making her guzzle it down. Then, shake her head vigorously back & forth to create the Cum Guzzling, Sperm Burping effect. A great way to impress your friends.

5. Dirty Sanchez a.k.a the SHOCKER sex position- A time honored event in which while laying the bone doggy-style, you insert your finger into her asshole. You then pull it out & wipe it across her upper lip, leaving a thin shit mustache. This makes her look like someone whose name is Dirty Sanchez.

6. The Donkey Punch sex position - Banging a girl doggy style & then moments before you cum, you stick your dick in her ass & then punch her in the back of the neck. The blow to the neck will stun the muscles in the female's ass, which will constrict the penis & give you a tremendous orgasmic experience when you ejaculate.

7. The Flaming Amazon sex position- This one's for all you pyromaniacs out there. When you're screwing some chick, right when your about to cum, pull out & quickly grab the nearest lighter & set her pubes on fire, then extinguish the flames with your jizz!

8. The Flying Camel sex position- As she is lying on her back & you are hammering her on your knees, you very carefully move forward & prop yourself (without using your arms) on your dick while it is still inserted in her vertical seafood taco. You then proceed to flap your arms & let out a long shrieking howl, much like a flying camel. Strictly a class move.

9. The Screwnicorn sex position- When a dyke puts her strap-on dildo on her forehead & proceeds to go at her partner like a crazed unicorn.

10. The Zombie Mask sex position- While getting head from your favorite, unsuspecting, trash-barrel whore, tell her you want her to look right up at you with those "pretty little eyes" when you blow your load. Then, just when you're ready to spew a good weeks worth of goo, blast that hefty load in both eyes. This temporary state of blindness will produce the zombie effect as she stumbles around the room with arms outstretched, & moaning like the walking dead.


Tuesday, May 14, 2002
susana   I   devon and tabitha stevens   I   budonkadonk.mp3

This will be it for a few days my friends. I’m leaving town again, heading north to see the wife. I’ll be living the good life and giving my all for the boys that died at Iwo Jima. You better believe it.

I’ll make this a big old update to help hold ya over. In case your wondering why I do this site, as I do myself sometimes, look no further than the Tao Te Ching.

The sage is self-effacing in his dealings with all under heaven, and bemuddles his mind for the sake of all under heaven.

The common people all rivet their eyes and ears upon him, And the sage makes them all chuckle like children.

Am I to be a sage then?

I don't know. But I can tell you this much, I’ve got email out the ass. Again. Still. More even. Some good shit, some good enough to share. I’ll spare my buddy Jeff the long ones. He does hate to read all that. I think he just wants me to hurry up and get to the ladies.

Like this little sweetheart right here Mail. Love it or leave it.

  From: cyc co
Subject: yoooooo
hi,
Here are some cool cycling links;
cyclingforums.com
cyclelab.com/messageboard.asp
cheers man
PS - how bout some more vids?

Thanks for the links. I'll get some more vids up when I have the time. Unfortunately tonight is not one of those nights. I'll see what I can get together for ya in the future, all right?

  From: Carney
Subject: Mario!
Is Mario the man or what? Tour De France screwed themselves when they didn't invite him Saeco last year and now they are kicking themselves this year. I'm glad that Mario said that he will never do another Tour even if they invite him. I don't think that anybody can beat him and Aqua & Sapone team in a sprint. Mario for World Cup and World Champ. Keep up the great work, and sorry about the old neighborhood being destroyed by the soccer moms and dads. It is probably a good thing that you didn't bring your bike back, because you most likely would've been led into a deep depression when you try to go ride your favorite old riding loop or trail and realize that you are taking your life into the hands of all the mothers driving their kids to soccer practice in their SUV's and thinking that they own the road or your favorite trail has the soccer mom's houses on it. Anyway keep up the great site.

Dude, you ain’t fucking kidding. I don't know what the Tour organizers are thinking. If you don't invite all the best teams and riders, your event will lose prestige. It's as simple as that. He can almost guarantee a stage victory. You just can't exclude him like that and say your race is the best of the three big tours.

What a bunch of bullshit.

And what happened in my home town is bullshit too. But, I guess people have got to live somewhere. It's just a shame it had to be there.

 

From: Si
Subject: The GayOmeter, Me n Death, and Goddamn Feeves
*mutters something*

23% Gay. Apparently Too Straight. Fuck that.

Hey dude. Me n Death are getting real close, yanno.

ITs getting real good. I got hit from behind while mostionless waiting to
turn out of a road.

Like, what the fuck? Are people blind these days? Broad fucking daylight,
shiny ass rims [Dont fucking say a word, I fucking hate shiny rims] and just
runs nice and slow into the back of me.

Dents rear rim. Shit, at this rate I should get fucking disposables or
something. Or maybe attack the bike like some people fucking up scooters and
stick 'coon tails and extra lights and about a million mirrors, but knowing
my luck, Id be replacing the fucking lights all the time because stupid
blind dicks in SUV's cant see for shit.

When the hell did death work out with Ford n Subaru to make stupid SUV's for
housewifes that are too sdamned short to see over the bonnet? like that was
a fucking good idea.

Not that replacing the lights would be anything new these days. Ive had two
pairs stolen since I got here, So I got a pair for the front and one for the
back one funky little release catch thingies. very cutting edge. I take em
off and put em in the 'sack.

only, some moron comes along and literally rips the little brackets off the
goddamn frame.

What the fuck is it with the kleptomaniacs around here? can you sell
fucked-up plastic light brackets for crack these days? is that part of the
new recycling drive? I mean, for Fucks sake....

Right, I had a fucking point somewhere along the line. Oh yeah, the whole
death thing. So, my rim gets fucked over again [One more and I'll fucking
WALK everywhere] and I get pushed out into the road. Thank god for the age
of ABS-as-Standard otherwise Id probably be a fucking bonnet ornament. The
poor fucker in the pickup who nearly ran me down went mental at me for like,
half a second before he figured out why, and then proceeded to go berserk at
the body-bag-fodder in the SUV. I chain the bike to a tree, and head off
into the pub on the corner. I come back out with a pint of good cold beer
and sit in the sun, wait for them to stop arguing and got given thirty
sheets to replace the rim.

So technically, Im ten sheets up. Yeah, I run cheap shit. Im a student. fuck
off.

ITs just going back to the same little fucking cycle shop for new rims.
jesus, they must think IVe got a fetish or something. Waiting for the dude
behind the couter to look at me at ther back of the queue and shout "the
usual?" me to nod, hadn him change which he wont count, grab a rim from the
rack and leave the shop.

Next time death comes close, Im picking her pockets. Or maybe I should pay
someone to follow me around? there must be some goddamn way of making money
from this.

The whole growing up thing. Fuck that. I live in a town of population coming
up for 10 000 now. Real population, of people you'll actually see buying in
loical shops and drinkin in local pubs and ordering from the takeaways and
shit? about 4000.

I live in a scruffy housing estate thats getting a bit elite these days.
careful gardens. funny extensions. conservatories instead of greenhouses. Im
watching a steady stream of very new, very expensive cars go deeper into the
estate.

When I was young, this place was fucking full of kids, street football, and
older kids too, with rucksacks full of beer heading for fields and an
afternoon of chillin and shit. Now, no kids. the Townines send theirs to the
private schools. they dont let em run wild round here. They raise kids that
dont seem to have sussed out beer and fields. Or even saying hello in the
fucking street. This pisses me off more than I think anyone can possible
imagine.

Came home last fucking summer, sat my ass down in my corner, with my usual,
drank a bit, talked a bit, shot the breeze. In walk some suspiciopusly tidy
looking people. One of them says "How quaint".

I see red and someone actually put their hand on my shoulder. I hate that
shit,.. My local has been where its been, how its been, since 1702. Its got
slavery shit hanging from the ceiling. ITs got the best goddamn barman in
the world. I love this place. and someone comes in like a fucking tourist
attaction and asks for a fucking white wine spritzer.

Not local. A local isnt Tidy. Wirksworth exports scruffyness around the
world. Local women Drink pints and watch football and can talk cars. Shit,
one of the local hotties restores old bugatti racers. They sure as hell dont
ask for white wine fucking spritzers.

Good things are coming though : gonna take Ton Bik and Ride my ass off
across the pennines when I get back, a few 40-60 mile rides will do me good
and get me a bit more fucking peace.

And El Carnival Arrives june 1st-3rd. Everyone heads back home for a weekend
of booze, sex, weed, and just taking it fucking easy. Im game. Its been
about goddamned time. I'll even take some fucking pictures if the weather is
good.

Heff.

p.s. Heres a picture of the laydee. Be jealous.

I'm glad to hear you're still alive. I was feeling sorry for you right up until the point I saw the picture of your girlfriend. Now I feel something different towards you. Something more along the lines of awe.

  From: jason tallous
Subject: the Big Bear
Johnny,
First, I made it through both the XC and STXC with no
tissue damage or bike damage. Next, Team Big Bear
gave us a much needed MTN Bike course instead a road
course on dirt. We also had the pleasure of climbing
7200 feet in 29miles with a hike-a-bike from hell----I
only have road shoes. For me the race was OK, with
old man Juarez sitting on my wheel. That felt good
till he decided to drop me on the last climb. I lost
6 places the last lap and I'm not a happy camper about
that. Now I'm trying to manage some way to travel to
Wisconsin to redeem myself. If you know any availble
riding spaces, let me know.
Also check out the latest Velonews article about the
"Working MTN Bike pro." Nothing against Frank or
Brandon, these guys are studs and deserve the sponsors
they have, but getting 10 and 15 thousand per year to
race your bike is not working. Working is 40 hrs/week
to pay the bills, training before and after work, and
somehow getting the weekends off to race. Look at
Wells or Hall. Or you could be like me and work 3
days/week, dream of 401ks and insurance, find rides to
races, and hope you make some money so you can eat.
Living the dream baby----living the dream.

My man, I know exactly a sum total of dick about Wisconsin. But good luck none the less. And you're right about the working thing. I met a local pro guy a few years back. I won't name him, but he was giving me some line of shit about how hard he had it. It went something like, "People don't know how hard it is. When you have a four hour ride and it's 105 degrees out in Phoenix, that's just like having a job."

No, wrong. Just like having a job is doing the four hours in the heat and then going somewhere other than you're bedroom for the rest of the day and doing something you'd rather not be doing because you need the money. It's having a job when your rent won't get paid and you won't eat if you don't spend 20 - 30 hours a week shucking coffee or fixing bikes or whatever because you have to.

Hiding out in your living room all afternoon is not having a job.

  From: Jake Rubelt
Subject: Me getting my ass handed to me
Well Ive been gone for a while ( at Big Bear) So I didnt get to see all the porn you threw my way until last night. hehehe.
Got to give props to Casey for a nice fork review. Sum of bitch is probably a good 5 min faster and he doesnt even know it. That whole thing with Corey "WTF" I was so fucked up and deep in the pain cave I dont really remember much. I know that he yelled something at me I just couldnt hear what because my eardrums were full of lactic acid.
and now for the news
Big Bear should be named The Big Bust. Just to set the scene for all the readers I have never done better than 28th or something. I aways suck there for some reason, and this year was no exception. Although I did get called to the line for the Semi Pros the start went fine. I placed myself nicely in the single track right of the start which was good. Then by the end of the first lap I was in 9th or 10th but with about 6 guys in a nice group. Then all hell broke loose and I started losing spots like nobodys business. So things started to slip just a little. Each person that passed me was like dying a 1000 slow agonizing deaths. So at the end I was placed in the 25th spot for another non top 10 finish (which was the goal). So all of the previous 5 months of work and 30 days of racing that I had done to get to this point were all for nothing. So moral of the story. Dont go to Big Bear.
Now for the Pro report.
Fuck Mr Hankey your nothing but a pile of shit.
If your giving props to Decker ( the dudes bad ass dont get me wrong) your an idiot.
The thing is Decker and Tullous race to win not for 16th and 19th. You can ask them both if they had a good race and both will tell you they were disapointed in their races. So if your going to gloat over who beat who then Green is the man. On the second lap he stopped to "retighten he cleat" on his shoe and in the same lap made it back up to the top 5 and then proceeded to drop Ryder and Zeranda and go on for the win. So stick that in your pipe and smoke it. And another thing about Decker who the fuck let him win with a single speed. Who was there? Anyone? Anyone? Buler? Buler?
Anyway props to L. Mason and D. Marks for their season debue at Big Bear. Mason with a 6th place in the XC and 12 in the STXC. D Marks with a 9th in XC and 5th in the STXC. Both personal bests for both pro riders in the Womens field. I know personaly that both these women worked thier asses of this winter to get these results so props to them.
And for you Big Jonny ........... Well get busy living or get busy dying

Snake
Until the blood on your sword is the blood of a king.

Is it bad if I pick dying? I've packed in a lot of this living crap and look where it's got me? I'm spending my days breaking rocks for the man down at the Salt Mine. You can hear the ocean if you put your ear up against my wallet it's so empty. I'm so Goddamn poor, I can't even pay attention. What did you say?

  From: tad
Subject: Triple digits = less scum on the trails
Hey Nutsack, Just rolled in from South Mountain & wanted all you posers to
know that you will not be missed. I'm talking about those of you who put
your bikes up on blocks for the summer cuz you don't want to melt in the
desert heat. I look forward to this time of year when Mr. Walkman wearin',
Hockey gear sportin' , Reflector laden , Dog of the leash Fuck gives us a
break from their stupid shit that we put up with for 8 months out of the year
. The trails out here attract some of the most Plastic, Ignorant Shitholes
imaginable Stay home this fall, it will make us all better people. Maybe
you can sell your Supergo Special & pay for your " Get in Shape for
Swimsuit Season Special" at Gay's Gym. I hear they have really cool
exercise bikes there. You can even watch Friends & giggle as you soft pedal,
but don't forget to carry a towel so you can wipe your asscrack sweat off the
tractor seat. Maybe you can show up next fall with a little less Shit
between your ears & help make our Little slice of Heaven a better place.
Jonny, Lets ride! I know where you work.
Peace, Your old neighbor & Bro of the
Angry Hippy, Tad
Oh Yeah, Jerry & Tomac miss that sweet smell of Sheba's brown eye.

God damn it Tad, keep those beasts of your away from my sweet, virginal little girl. Those two knuckle heads wouldn't know the first thing about a dog of her class. OK, OK, I give up, I'll ride with ya. I'll be back in a week or so. I'm sure I still have your number somewhere. Either that or I'll just turf your lawn (again) to get your attention.

Now that I've burned through all the mail, I want to talk about the things I’m not supposed to. Like how Cipo won Milan San Remo on Mavic wheels, but Mavic can’t talk about it. Like how much it sucks ass to be in the same town as a Supergo store. Like how much the whole "29’er" thing is all marketing bullshit.

Mario Cippolini’s team is not sponsored by Mavic. Yet, he chooses to ride their wheels anyway. And win on them, I might add. And no one is supposed to know. It’s bullshit.

Supergo sells product at pricing many shops pay at the wholesale level. It’s not like they beat you by 10 or 15 percent to make the sale. They undersell you by 40% and make you look like an asshole in the process. I’m not supposed to talk about it and it’s bullshit.

Twenty nine inch wheels are exactly the same thing as a 700c wheel found on road bikes for, I dunno, maybe forever. All these Northern California pot heads wanted to ride off road on something sturdier than a road bike back in the day, so they started putting gears on beach cruiser style bikes with 26 inch wheels and called them mountain bikes.

Now, twenty years on, some of the same people are reinventing the wheel so to speak. How? By reintroducing the same 700c size wheel they found to be inadequate all those years ago and calling it a 29 inch wheel.

I’m absolutely convinced the only reason these guys ever used a bike with 26 inch wheels in the first place is that they couldn’t find a wide enough tire for the 700c wheels they were already riding at the time. Now that these big name in the industry bozos have a little prestige and marketing power, and big money behind them things are different. They can buy enough big, wide 700c tires that it is profitable for a tire manufacturer to go through the trouble of making the damn things. Isn’t corporate buying power wonderful?

You move enough units and it’s amazing what you can get made. Purple anodized fucking everything, freewheels that mount on the left side of the bike instead of the right, three different headset sizes, soon to be a whole new bottom bracket shell size, and now 29 inch wheels.

Why don’t we just call them what they are? Maybe beefed up cross bike doesn’t sound good in a magazine review over at Mountain Bike Action or something. A few years ago Diamond Back manufactured a bike, with mountain bike styling (flat bars), and 700c wheels shod with knobby tires. So did Alpine Stars and probably a host of other companies. It didn’t sell and they stopped making it. If only they had the marketing savvy to call it a 29er and find some big ass tires to put on it. Man, they coulda made millions and convinced a clueless public that they made something totally new.

Maybe the 700c wheel, a size used for a damn long time, was the best size to begin with. Maybe we should have been riding on them the whole time. We’re just going back to where we started. This is nothing new. It’s all bullshit and I’m a dick for saying it, right?

Fuck it, I’m getting a new single speed frame, buying my old Kona back from Nick and selling my geared bike. I’m gonna go live in the woods with Big Gay Randy and I might even let him ass bang me for free Ramen Noodles and fizzy Emer’gen C packets. I just don’t care.


Monday, May 13, 2002
lexy west   I   autumn austin   I   felicity

I’ve got some more journal entries from my trip to Pennsylvania last week. It takes me about this long to actual type it out. I just ain’t worth a fuck. But at least I pay my rent and my bills. It’s a pride thing. As in my pride won’t allow me to do anything less.

7:45 pm
Sitting in what was my bedroom growing up. It’s the same room I guess, but different in so many ways beyond just the wallpaper. There are two beds in there now. This room is for guest, not children.

You can se houses through the window now. It used to be nothing but inky blackness out there at night. I’m not sure I like seeing a neighborhood of quarter million dollar "mc mansions" where there used to be cornfields and trees.

Mc mansions, my Dad calls them. Like so many game pieces on Monopoly. There are all the same. Big, square and expensive.

What was once soybeans, hay and corn is now an intersection of two streets. There is a street light as well. The real deal. Pole, light, the whole enchilada. Fucking wonderful.

My old man says he’s thought about shooting the damn light out. But, they’d just fix it and turn it on again. And they’d figure out who was doing it sooner or later anyway. It wouldn’t be that hard.

For all you PA boys, I’m drinking Yuengling Lager tonight. Good times. I can still remember the first time I had this beer. I stole a case of 16 oz. returnable bottles, the big ass heavy glass ones, out back of some dudes pick up truck. We drank them just down the street in one of those Mc Mansions while it was still under construction. I shoula burned the fucking thing to the ground when I had the chance.

But, they’d just build another one in it’s place. And they’d figure out who was doing it sooner or later. I mean, what am I Edward Abby and the Monkey Wench Gang?

The only thing that’s remained the same in this room is the dresser and the carpet. The rest of this is all new to me.

It’s funny how deep you get in this bike thing. It’s like all I wanted to do this morning was go for a ride when I got up. But, I didn’t have enough time before I had to get to the airport. And, I can’t imagine what I’m going to do this weekend if I don’t ride. I didn’t bring a bicycle on this trip. But I know that Yardsale brought his. Life really is a bitch.

Shit, I didn’t even bring a laptop. That’s why I’m scribbling all this crap in a fucking notebook. If I don’t to something, I’m subject to go crazy.

Hell, I might already be crazy. Ask around for a general consensus.

I didn’t mention in my last update that I managed to get good and loaded at the third annual Sinagua Cycles anniversary bash. So, I’m mentioning it now. Garro’s got free beer: I’m his best friend. And it was a going away send off thing for Dancin’ Dan Diaz. Have fun in Alaska buddy, watch out for bears and wooden nickels.

I also ran into an old buddy from a couple of years back at the party. Turns out since I’d seen him he got married and moved to Moscow, Idaho so his wife could attend law school up there. Which is exactly what my story is these days. Fucking small world, man.


Sunday, May 12, 2002
veronica zemanova   I   lesbians   I   titties and beer

The Giro started today. Happy times are here again. And thanks to OLN and Lincoln's money, we can watch that shit every damn day for the next three weeks. American hopeful Tyler Hamilton ended up in the barricades. Nice. First Hincapid in a ditch at Paris Roubaix and now Hamilton in the fence in the Giro prologue. Anyone else see a trend here?

First up, reader mail.

  From: Jim
Subject: Gay-O-Meter
Hahahahahahahah!!! I'm straighter'n you
Don't know what that means for me as, chicks don't dig me and I, apparently, don't dig guys...
"Mister Fabulous is 10% gay
You're a walking, talking, red-blooded hetero guy. Just way to straight for these modern times mate!"
jim
"He who joyfully marches to music in rank and file has already earned my contempt. He has been given a large brain by mistake, since for him the spinal cord would suffice." -Albert Einstein

I've got to tell you, I had my doubts about you. But now I know the truth. Go ahead and have my wife then, and my dog. You may as well help yourself to my slippers as well then. You rat bastard. Just don't touch my bikes.

  From: 10 ‘0 Hearts
Subject: tieing up loose ends
Jonny,
its been a few days, so i thought we might drop a note. On today's agenda, we have the gay test, big gay Jan, and being a hard ass. (you know what, this whole thing seems like its already going the wrong direction.)
my score on the gay test was a 26% (still all man, baby), so I decided to check it with the spark. A 34%! What the fuck, in ten minutes I increased my gayness by 30%. For the record, though, the spark says the average man has 39% gayness.
Also for the record, i'm an all pussy man. Just to clear that up. Not that I'm worried, because both tests said I was, as usual, below the avg.
Speaking of questionable, hows about our favorite archnemesis, Jan? This guy's a real piece of work, and my new hero. First, his knee goes bum on him, then he's out partying it up like he's still in college, and he and a teammate (vinokourov, no less) are about to pull a menage-a-four with two random groupies. Not only does he wreck his car, probably because he's already getting road head, or thinking about it, the guy's a drunkard, but he hits, of all things: a bike rack. i don't care what the police report said, there was sexual activity as a mitigating factor.
No Jan, Lance's TT rig wasn't parked there. Now, he's not riding, and his boss is bitching at him. Welcome to my world, bratwurst.
Finally, an update on the hard man riding thing. I've made leaps and bounds in my riding, and I'm getting my lazy ass back up around 30 miles a day, over an 18 mph average. And if the temps will stay up, and it would stop raining here in the midwest, the ladies will frequent the park a lot more. THAT'S hard riding.
By the way, there is a little pissant 4 mile race here in my town on the 4th of July, and I'm thinking maybe the switch to single speed is the way to go.
Point me in the right direction.

My good man, If you are thinking of racing on a single speed, you are already heading in the right direction. All I can do is draw back the string and let the arrow fly. Look into taking your existing rig and stripping it of all that unnecessary stuff like gears and derailleurs. You won't be disappointed. Liberating for the bike and the soul as well. Bikes don't like all those messy cables all over the place. Set her free man, she'll love ya for it.

If you are feeling just a bit more adventurous, check out one of the fine low budget but not low quality models from Surly and Kona. Bad ass shit. And, if you've got some money just burning a hole in your pocket like my man Dru did, get a hold of Independent Fabrications.

And yeah, Ulrich is played out his string to the end. What a bitch.

Did you guys see what his director, one very tough in his day Walter Godefroot? Click here to read it. And then things softened as they often do. And now we have this hugfest going on.

Fuck, someone needs to bust Ulrichs balls. That guy could win a whole lot of races if he would only stop concentraing on the Tour. Fuck the Tour. Lets have a run at the World Cup. Something with cobbled climbs and wind and rain coming down sideways. That’s what men do. Real tough guy shit.

Rene says to have fun and keep it between the lines. And look at this.

  From: Mr. Hanky
Subject: hidee ho!
Hey big jonny-
Big Bear XC results:

1 GREEN ROLAND (CAN) TREK/VOLKSWAGEN 29 MILES IN 2:15:00
2 MADRIGAL ALVAREZ- ZIRANDA (MEX) TURBO 01:10.0
3 HESJEDAL RYDER (CAN) SUBARU-GARY FISHER 01:10.3
4 KABUSH GEOFF (CAN) KONA 02:16.8
5 HORGAN-KOBELSKI JEREMY (USA) RLX-POLO SPORT 02:17.2
6 BONILLA BONILLA JOSE ADRIAN CRC CAFÉ DE COSTA RICA 04:14.0
7 SWENSON CARL (USA) RLX-POLO SPORT 04:32.3
8 BROWN TRAVIS (USA) TREK/VOLKSWAGEN 05:09.8
9 SHEPPARD CHRIS (CAN) HARO LEE DUNGAREES 05:20.3
10 BARRIGA SALVADOR (MEX) TURBO BIKE 06:15.8
11 ESQUIVEL BENAVIDE DEIBER CRC CAFÉ DE COSTA RICA 06:30.3
12 WIENS DAVE (USA) RLX POLO SPORT 07:39.4
13 MORTENSON JIMI (USA) BEAVER CREEEK 07:45.3
14 MCGRATH SEAMUS (CAN) HARO LEE DUNGAREES 07:59.7
15 WELLS TODD (USA) MONGOOSE/HYUNDAI 08:15.4
16 DECKER CARL DESCHUTES 08:47.2
17 JUAREZ DAVID (TINKER) (USA) VOLVO-CANNDALE 09:15.2
18 WEDGE PETER (CAN) KONA 09:29.6
19 TULLOUS JASON (USA) GIANT/DOME 09:30.2

Oregon's Carl Decker kicked your buddy Jason's hiney! He's so strong right now that he won last weekend's spring thaw race on a single speed! Amazing stuff. His Morati bike had a rigid ti fork, carbon cranks, a 32x15, and weighed a little over 16 lbs. Holy shit that thing was light.

Just letting you know, and tell Pete ("Carcass") I said howdee ho!

I guess 16th place is better than 19th, but in the end it ain't much to be braggin' about. I will say this though: I would still be out on the course if I was racing. I'm that slow these days.

Chaulk one up for the rednecks.

  From: Wallace
Subject: National Poetry Contest
The National Poetry Contest had come down to two semifinalists; a Yale graduate and a redneck from Texas. They were given a word, then allowed two minutes to study the word and come up with a poem that contained that word.

The word they were given was "TIMBUKTU".

First to recite his poem was the Yale graduate. He stepped to the microphone and said:
Slowly across the desert sand
Trekked a lonely caravan
Men on camels, two by two
Destination - Timbuktu.

The crowd went crazy! No way could the redneck top that, they thought.

The redneck calmly made his way to the microphone and recited:

Me and Tim a huntin went
Met three whores in a pop-up tent
They was three, and we was two
So I bucked one, and Timbuktu

The redneck won hands down.


Saturday, May 11, 2002
lesbians   I   body paint   I   britney

Lets make this quick ‘cause I’m tired. It’s 10:00 pm, I’ve been home for an hour and a half, showered and had oatmeal for dinner. It’s Friday night and I’m looking forward to sleeping. I am a fucking loser.

Remember a couple of days ago I posted a letter about a guy trashing his Surly by running into a rock someone put out on a bike path like a big "kill a cyclist" trap? Well, he’s getting some lovin’ from the fine folks at Surly. Just one more reason they fucking rule.

Here is the word from Zeke.

  From: zeke
Subject: RE: Bike paths safer than the streets?
Hey man thanks for the listing on your site. the dudes at Surly fucking rock! Dave set me up with a sweet deal on a crash replacement frame and fork. I built it up last night and rode it around. it kicks serious ass. And here I was worried that I wouldn't have any wheels for ragbrai. No longer a problem. I got an Underground race and a ping owe (pub crawl/derby) Saturday night and I am stoked to put the new machine through its paces. Great new color too...blood red.

Surly makes a great bike. My man the slugster Casey rocks one and the gnome is gonna get one. I’d ride one myself, but I’m about balls deep in Kona right now. Or, are they balls deep in me? I can’t tell anymore. Like most things in life, it is better to give than to receive. That included pipe.

So remember this kids. Give pipe, OK. Take pipe, bad. At least for me. What ever floats you’re boat and finds your lost remote is your business.

  From: JF
Subject: On the plane
Hey Jonny,
I'm an airline pilot, and your story about sitting on the plane had me pissing in my pants. Truer words were never written, and if things operated the way you said they should, the airlines would be rolling in dough instead of going down the tubes, pissing off people faster than they're being born.
You're right about the flight attendants, some of them are too fat to get out of their own way, let alone get you out of the airplane in a hurry.

Right on man, glad to see it wasn’t all just my imagination. Long gone are the days when we put our flight attendants on a scale and said, whoa sister, lay off the bon bons or it’s the highway. And no, you can’t get married. Have a kid, out of the question. Men need not apply. Only hot chicks, thank you very much.

OK, I suck. Good night.


Friday, May 10, 2002
devon   I   amber michaels   I   sydney moon

I got this in the mail today: And remember, it's "drunkcyclist" and not "alchoholiccyclist" because alcoholics go to meetings.

Well said my friend, well said.

The fine folks at Surly are lending a helping hand to one boy named Zeke who crashed the shit out of himself. One more reason why those guys rule.

Another good reason is that my man Casey has been pummeling the shit out of one of there bikes for damn near two year. Fucking think rides like a dream. Speaking of which, here’s his new fork review.

  From: casey
Subject: fucking fork review
Well, shit. I really hate to say that since my last rant (probably about how pussy shock-forks are) I bowed down to the ever-infringing cries of technology's advances and yes, bought a fucking fork. It has been three solid years, and countless miles of Arizona fuck-me-up-the-ass-with-my-seat singletrack since I had last ridden atop a fork with the power of bounce.

My last experience was with a Rock Shox Sid. Ms. Sid and I did not discover sparks between us as I had hoped. You see, she was similar (as far as forks go) to say, Sarah Michelle Gellar: Pretty, lightweight, flexy as hell, and frankly, a high-maintenance cunt. When I would throw her into a corner it was like I had her ankles tied behind her head and she was holding back tears like some poor asian girl in her first amateur porn flick. Sorry toots, that's just how big daddy likes it. After trying all types of ointments, band-aids and vinegar, her ego was too petite to handle the disfigurements I had dealt her and she pretty much bit the gun and pulled the trigger. Kind of like Savannah.

So here I am, years later with another Rock Shox setup. This time a mid-line Psylo. The SL, to be exact. She's a real peach, this one. Built more like Christy Canyons-- stout, burly, kind of hard to look at, but built to take the pains of a man with a poorly disciplined pimp hand.

This fork first intrigued me because it's got knobs that turn easily. Simple as that. Even the slightest rotational force will get x-dial to the next x-setting. This alone is a vast improvement over knobs of old, which seemed to require rawhide logging gloves to successfully operate. Now, the miracles that these handy little disco switches perform is even cooler. The one on the starboard side of the crown is red. This confused me. Starboard should be green, and port side should be red. I quickly got over this dilemma when I realized I was not aboard a sailing vessel. Anyways, once I had that sorted out I was thrilled to participate in the active adjustment of compression (on the right) and overall travel (on the left). Compression can be adjusted from fat-girl-titty to hot-bitch-abdomen in less than one full rotation. Wizard! And on the other side, travel can be adjusted from Big Jonny short (80 mil) to John Holmes long ( about 110 mil) in about 3.68436 rotations. Boss!

How's it ride, you ask? Quiet, goddammit, I was getting there. christ. It rides just as you might expect a fork built like Christy Canyons to ride-- You can flip it over, choose any hole you want, put her legs wherever, grab her hair, smack her ass, tell her "Shut up and do what daddy says, dammit!", and the look she shoots back is unwavering. The bitch loves it. "Yyyyyeeeeeessssss! Baby loves it!!! Oooooooh, ooh, oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh!!!" (that's what she says to me) Stiff in the corners, not quite rigid-fork stiff, but WAY better than Sarah Michelle.

If I were forced to formulate any negatives about the fork, I might mention that the cool, easy-to-turn knobs hit my down tube. So maybe I need to file them down, chew them, dump beer on them, or something. I'm not too worried. Another thing-- You can't take off the fucking sticker. You CAN get a can of black Krylon and hide it. Again, not too worried. The paint comes off pretty easy. So do Ms. Canyons' clothes. Get it? No worrying here.

I will conclude that although feeling slightly defeated by having to resort to the shock-fork in the first place, at least I can take comfort in having chose wisely. What a wonderous joy to be able to return from a grueling fuck-your-face bike ride and open a beer all by myself. I have once again discovered the joys of post-ride masturbation. I can even hold my own cup of coffee every morning. My ice bill is cheaper. I don't get yelled at anymore for getting the bags of frozen peas all sweaty. Yes, my friends, technology when applied in moderation to the modern bicycle, ain't so bad.

PBR forever. Robertsdrunk.

If that don’t make you want to rush out and buy something, I don’t know what will. God damn right on brother. And here’s a little something from a crazy hippie pikey bastard. This is actually all four of the email he sent me today wrapped up with one little bow.

  From: corey
Subject: no subject
beeeeeeeeeeeeeeer,thank you, finals are "final" ,(skool crap you know,)and beers are still beers (no """) and still not cheap like in idaho...............
loaded and finals are(you know done)...........still like bikes a whole lot and know that bro's like jason and jake and sisters like dara and lanie will bury me 10-15 minutes underground fer a while but i took my chance last sunday at the ROCK RABBIT, i sucked but my family cheered me like i was in 1st place (GOD and others bless them, THEY TRUELY RULE)
good stuff, terry,MY man from COSMIC CYCLES, We exchanged humor between laps . i tried to make him laugh and about puked doin' it...1st (non) single speed race fer awhile(boy i still suck at multi-speedin), but i finished(not last) and my ma, pa ,and bro gave me hugs like i won or somethin.woooooooooooo (fam. rules)
good stuff still out there, pass it on................cor
good see'in ya, keep it up.......

jonny, my new jersey got me to work 5 minutes early instead of 5 minutes late.. thank you, cory(cosmic cycles) flagstaff, az.... super sleek aero-future-fabric, amen...keep goin' to church sunday (dirty church) cor

hot (non gay) biker girls apply here..............doug, thanks........

man, snake , i yelled the heck at you ( go man, smelly slow hippy behind you( 4th lap-rock rabbit 2002)closest i'll ever git to snake,(crap,ok, he lapped me),whatever(damn pros)DAMN THEM.......ok done botherin' you jonny...later

What the fuck? Looks like someone had lunch in about six cans today and then decided to have ten more for desert. Coherent as the say is long. God damn, I love you man. Gimmie one of them beers.


Thursday, May 9, 2002
zdenka   I   massive tits   I   sydney moon

First off, lets find out who’s really all man around here and who isn’t. Randy, you’re excluded. Ruining the curve, you know how it is. Check yourself out on the gay-o-meter, and do it soon.

big jonny is 16% gay.

All man right here, baby. All man.

  From: Jason
Subject: Jerseys
Hey Jonny
I got my jersey yesterday, thanks. I wore it this morning for my commute to work. The people in the office got a kick out of it. I just wanted to thank you one more time for your help and patience in getting me my jersey. I shall wear it with pride. Keep up the great work on the site, and enjoy

Right on Jason, I’m glad to hear you’re out there enjoying that bad boy. Along the same lines, check out Kyle putting his to good use this past weekend. I hear he got third. Nice job. Looks like he had pounds of bounds back behind him. But where were Dru and the gnome you ask? We’re not going to talk about Dru and the gnome right now.

And you thought you had ridden some choice single track. Sniggy gnar gnar yadda yadda yadda.

  From: jon
Subject: Alpe D’ Huez
Hi again Big J

Yes you can ride trails at Alpe D'Huez, infact they are some of the very best I have ever ridden. There are trails that start waaay further up than where the Tour stage finishes, like up at well over 2000 metres, and descend on 100% singletrack to the valley below at 700m. The best trail takes about 1.5 hours, it has a little climbing in it which means you don't blow all your height in one go. The cool thing is that the chairlifts often don't work in the summer so you have to ride the Tour climb to get to the top. Downhillers obviously can't do this, so the trails stay pristine most of the time.

Also they hold the MegAvalanche race at A de H which starts at the very top of the mountain, on the glacier at 3300 metres (they do turn on the chairlifts for this). It is immense, a mass start DH race with hundreds of riders, only the French could pull off a race like that. Just look at the crazyness:

avalanchecup.com/megavalanche/alpehuez.html

How do you like them apples? I don’t think I’m half man enough for that frenchie snowfight downhill action. We may have come up with the marketing tool of calling them mountain bikes, but I think those guys might own the rights.

Wallace sent in a joke. And here it is.

I left Montreal heading toward Quebec City, when I decided to stop at a comfort station. The first stall was occupied, so I went into the second one. I was no sooner seated than I heard a voice from the next stall:

"Hi, how are you doing?"

Well, I am not the type to chat with strangers in highway comfort stations, and I really don't know quite what possessed me, but anyway, I answered, a little embarrassed: "Not bad."

And the stranger said: "And, what are you up to?"

Talk about your dumb questions! I was really beginning to think this was too weird! So I said:

"Well, just like you I'm driving east."

Then, I heard the stranger, all upset, say, "Look, I'll call you back, there's some idiot in the next stall answering all the questions I am asking you."

Oh God, please stop. My sides hurt. Oh my.

You can never have too many tattoos. Or ham fist. What did he do, break his wrist? How does he do that?

Oh, how I love a race report.

  From: jason tallous
Subject: Rock RAbbit
Very Big Johnny,

After last weekend, I gotta give you the "very." Little update on the Rock Rabbit race last weekend. First, "kudos?" to the MBAA for having a pro race last over 2hrs. The race went well with me winning but the course is brutal. Three laps in, I flatted. OK relax and just fix the flat. I suck at fixing flats. I had an audience and I got stage fright. Anyhow, I fixed the flat without any one taking over the lead but I now had a group less than a minute back. So, I charge the course again only to end up over the bars to no surprise to any one but myself. IN the process, I thought I broke my middle right finger---Just a bad sprain but I now have a semi-permanent "fuck you" message on my right hand. The crash did bend my derailler hanger causing some collisions with my chain and my spokes----Don't shift to the 34 in the back. So I settle back into the race but I have to ride a little gingerly over the rock gardens because I have no tubes left.
To make this long story short---I came out with a bent derailler hanger, an upright middle finger, and a rent paying victory check.

Until the next time,

=====
Jason
"It's not whether you win or lose, it's whether I win or lose."

Right on Jason. Way to bring home the gold. Sorry to hear about your finger, but think of it this way. Now you can walk around telling the world to fuck off all day long. Wouldn't that be fun?

Hell, I do it anyway.

  From: zeke
Subject: Bike paths are safer than the streets?
Check this shit out...
So Saturday night I was on my way home from work on a local suburban bike path. I was just about dusk I was still cruising along with my sunglasses on. At a little less than the half way point the path crosses under eight lanes of highway (435 west). I was cooking right along when in the semi dark of the tunnel I suddenly found my self flying off my bike and slamming face first in to the concrete and skidding along on my forearms and chest for about 10 feet. Ouch!

As I lay there attempting to suck air into my crushed lungs I noticed a couple of positives...(1) I managed to keep my head (and my scared yet pretty face) off the concrete...(2) for the most part it appeared that my forearms (or what is now left of them) sucked up the brunt of the blow.

What caused this horrible crash you ask...apparently some worthless FUCK (sorry mom) decided that it would be cute to set a 2'x3' 300lbs boulder in the middle of the tunnel. This rock was huge!! When I finally got up, and Schuster finally stopped laughing, we attempted to move it off the trail. It was so heavy that we had to slowly scoot it off the trail.

Now the real down side... my bike died that day. The favorite of my stable. My bean green Surly cross check set up as a fixed gear died at the moment of impact. the head tube is basically separated from the top tube... and the down tube/head tube connection is crushed. Damn!

So much for the idea that the bike path was safer than playing with cars.
zeke out

Zeke, my man, I don’t know how you do it. You never cease to amaze and astound with your trials and tribulations. You’re like the fucking Barnum and Bailey circus for Christ’s sake. I’m glad to hear your still alive after that one.

And if anyone from Surly is reading this and feels like throwing ‘ol zeke a little lovin’ go ahead and email me.


Wednesday, May 8, 2002
krystal steal   I   gun play   I   danni "fuck pig" ashe

3/2 12:05

Sitting on a plane for the first time since that bullshit in September. The fear and anger is still here. It’s real, so real you could almost reach out and touch it.

The two uniformed armed guards watched over the screening station as I came down to the gate. They look to mean business. Guns talk and bullshit walks, baby. The difference between what it’s like now compared to last time I flew huge.

The search of me and my bag was both thorough and complete. I was used to tossing my bag on the conveyer belt of the x-ray machine and striding through the metal detector with relative ease. Those days are long gone. Now it’s a big deal, as it should be really.

I got wanded with the metal detector and was asked to remove my shoes. Lest they be a bomb or something. And you know what? I didn't mind. I mean, c’mon. We shoulda been searching the shit outta people a long time ago.

I figure you could still beat it, but I’m not the man to try. At least in drug trafficking. The emphasis is on weapons alone. I think you could still stroll right through with a couple ounces of weed on you pocked undetected if you wanted to.

It ought to be OK to bring all the weed, pill, mushrooms, acid, beer and bicycles you want with you on a plane. Just no turbines or knives or bombs, please. Leave your hate and the gate.

On a side note, there seems to be a real difference these days in what is an acceptable size for a flight attendant. Let me just say that being able to walk down the aisle, eyes front facing forwards rather than shuffling along sideways between the seats should be a job requirement. It’s just a good idea for everyone involved.

Leave the walking off this thing like a crab to yours truly. I shall not disappoint.

Where’s that bitch with my drink?

If I ever where to own an airline, the chicks would be hot and the drinks would be free. There would be a hot ass, corn fed Iowa sweetheart standing behind a galvanized tin bucket filled with ice cold beer. She would hand out one, or two, to each and every passenger as you board the plane. Free of charge. Just like taking your bike with you would also be free of charge.

Just please remember to tip the ladies. Bambi is putting herself through school at ASU. She’s going to be a dental assistant and a damn good one at that.

Fuck I hate flying. There, I said it. Lest anyone doubt the big man’s weakness, it motion sickness. I take dramanine to quell the dizziness, but it a mixed bag. Sorta like most cold and flu medications; you feel different, just not necessarily better or normal. Just different in a disconnected, trippy sort of way.

We’re taxing now, making our slow, lazy way down to the back of the slingshot. Let’s draw back that elastic, boys. And point this puppy downrange. Land me in Pennsylvania my man, and make it quick. I’ve got a wedding to attend, and beer to drink.

I can’t very well leave yardsale to go at it alone. Not that he wouldn’t put in fine performance on his own. He operates oh so well without a point man, and without a net. He’s a player. I just need to be there to record all his antics for posterity. That, and I need a good laugh. The man does not disappoint either.

Cocktail, cocktail. I need a fuckin cocktail. Aisle seven, please miss and hurry. I’ve visions of twin towers dancing in my head and I don’t care for the reminder of human cruelty.

It’s the waiting that’s the hardest part.

I plug in my headphones and what’s playing? Marvin mother fucking Gaye. Everything is gonna be alright, baby.

Now, where’s the beer?


Tuesday, May 7, 2002
erica campbell   I   amber and danielle   I   autumn austin

A few days away and I always come back to a trainwreck. It’s the usual deal with the email, I started with 93 new ones. I fleshed out the junk and ended up with sixty odd messages I’ve got to go through. I am trying to respond to everyone as best I can, but some of you are going to get ignored.

Like Tall Paul who sent no less than ten separate emails himself this weekend will not be getting ten responses. Tough cookies, buddy. But thanks for all the forwards, links and pics. You, don’t change, ever.

And speaking of tall folks, hey Tall Todd, I lost your email. Get at me. I wanted to thank you for the birthday gift. Too fucking cool man. Really. I’m stoked.

I am now the proud owner of one 8 by 10 glossy photograph of the man, Ron Jeremy. It’s signed, to big jonny, breast wishes. Am I a pimp or what?

porn for snake   porn for snake   porn for snake   porn for snake   porn for snake

Fuck it, snake. Just click here for a whole shitload of porn. This ought to keep you busy for at least an hour. You poor bastard.


Monday, May 6, 2002
cherie roberts   I   alexus king   I   amy miller

I’m back from my trip back east and I’m crushed. This update will have to wait until tomorrow to see the light of day. I’ve just got to much going on. That, and I’m afraid to even open my mail.

I can’t believe the multimedia shitstorm I’ve created for myself with this website.

I also can’t believe the total morons that were sitting behind me on my flight back here. I figured out they were all dentists after a little while. It wasn’t like I was trying to hear their conversations, I just couldn’t escape. Damn loud ass sneaker head bastards. One of them had a beer gut, one had grey hair and the other was a former all-star football player in some midwestern town.

And, of course, the former all-star football player was the loud and obnoxious one. I fucking had to hear every God damn detail of this cocksucker life. Everything from the scorpions that scare his wife in the expensive new house on the edge of some desert preserve, to how great his fucking watch is, to how great the snorkeling is in Cancun or some shit, and how cheap the hotel rooms are at only a 100 a night, and about his fucking Oakley sunglasses and his fucking cell phone. God, I wanted to die. I couldn’t turn my earphones up loud enough.

He’s the type of guy that would make the plane spiraling out of control, in a brillant explosion of death and destruction plowing straight into an Iowa cornfield OK. I could sit and thank God he was going to hell with me. At least he would die too, you know what I mean? As long as he didnt die right before or after me so I'd be stuck next to him in line. I want to die way in front of him. Way in front.

And warning to those who leave there car in the east terminal parking lot. The buses that say "east terminal parking" on the front don’t actually cover the whole lot. Not even half of it. There must be like five of them. I grabbed the first one I saw and rode it out to the lot. The guy drives in and parks at the "w" section. He stays at the "w" section. Other passengers start asking questions. I notice the ripple of concerned and disbelieving voices. "What do you mean, this is the only stop?"

We all get off at "w", which stands for "wrong". As in this is the wrong end of the lot, asswipe. Tough shit. You can ride all the way back to the terminal and get another bus, or you can start fucking walking. I walked. We all walked. Some not as far as me, and some farther. That’s life I guess.

It’s warm. And dry. I’m thirsty. It’s good to be home.


Friday, May 3, 2002
taylor morgan   I   dorothy   I   debutante

Well, fuck it. I’m going to a wedding in Pennsylvania this weekend. Heath, the rotten apples is gettin’ hitched.

Yardsale is coming out from where ever the hell he lives in North Carolina. It’ll be a fucking train wreck for sure. It always is with that guy.

I hope all of you can manage without an update for the weekend. Just a few days to drink myself into oblivion is all I ask. Not too much when you think about it, eh?

How many days to ragbrai? Hey Dor, how many days to ragbrai? It's all I think about, really.

I haven’t replied to all the mail that showed up in the last day or so, and now I’m just going to get even more buried. Oh well. That’s life.

I would have some more time this morning, like in years past. But, now that someone figured out you can knock down a building with an airplane, I have arrive way before my fight for all the security bullshit.

Speaking of that, this is the first time I’ll be stepping on an airplane since, well, you know. It’s a bitch. That’s life, right?

I’m not letting some pissed off jackpole living in a fucking cave tell me how I can travel in my own county.

Any questions?


Thursday, May 2, 2002
superheroes   I   gina ryder   I   hot for teacher

Jesus fucking Christ, I go on one camping trip and I get 63 new mail messages. And I’ve already fleshed out the horseshit. Do you have any idea what 63 new emails looks like? It looks like a total clusterfuck, that’s what it looks like.

It’s gonna take me hours to plow through all this shit. Well, I might as well get started. I’m going heavy on the reader mail this update, so look out.

  From: filthy lover
Subject: FW: Pass it on
When Mark Shuttleworth (the very rich space tourist) returns from space,
everybody dress in ape suits. It will only work if we all do it.

Pass it on.

This is a great idea. I’m only disappointed in the fact that I didn’t think of it myself. Let’s break this guy. Make him cave. I want to see him crying, "You damn filthy ape!"

Richard sent in this site, and said it was, "on the strange side." What an understatement. But, it led me to this gem of all gems, the tube bar recordings. This is where the whole Bart Simpson pranking Moe thing came from. It’s the top’s, nothing better out there period.

If you’re not down with the whole reading thing, just click here to listen to this shit. You won’t believe your ears.

  From: travis
Subject: bright lights
Not sure if you care.
Hey check out the new cateye Ld-600. Brightest tail light out there (except for the niterider one). I have bene told it is blinding, and there are crazy settings. Some guy on the tuesday night group ride said i should not have such a bright light..fuck em. I run a vista and the ld600 for extra measure. QBP has them, and they are cheap for us. Good easy added protection... cateye.com

My man, that’s the ticket. I need one of those. It would solve all my problems, and how. I want to blind the people driving up behind me from now one.

How about a little joke?

  The other day I was in the Auto Zone part store.
A lady comes in and asks for a seven ten cap.
We all looked at each other and said, "What's a seven ten cap?"
She said "You know, it's right on the engine. Mine got lost
somehow and I need a new one."
"What does it do?"
She said, I don't know, but its always been there.
The Counter Clerk gave her a note pad and asked her if she
could draw a picture. So She makes a circle about 3 inches in
diameter and in the center she writes 710.

The Clerk turned it around.
And it said OIL.

Oh man, my sides hurt after that one.

  From: Mr. Hanky
Subject: hidee ho!
Hey bigjonny! You smell an awful lot like flowers!

Love your site. Just started checking it more frequently.

Say, some old friends of mine live in Flagstaff.... curious if you know either: Pete Prebus or Quecha Horning (badass climber and a hot ****)

Keep up the good work! Your site rules. By the way, last time Jason Tallous came out to Oregon, he kicked all our asses big time. Super star. Good luck at Big Bear tough guy.

-An un-named Oregon rider

I’ll bet I cause a few problems posting that email. Oh well. I saw Pete and Jason just yesterday. I don’t know if I’ve ever met Quecha.

Ya hear that, Tex? He called you a tough guy. And to think I only know you’re sweet side, ya big lug ya.

I’m feeling hungry.

  From: Wallace
Subject: Try this for dinner…
BAKED STUFFED CHICKEN
6-7 lb. Chicken
1 cup melted butter
1 cup stuffing
1 cup uncooked popcorn
salt/pepper to taste
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Brush chicken well with melted butter, salt and pepper. Fill cavity with stuffing and popcorn. Place in baking pan with the neck end toward the back of the oven. Listen for popping sounds. When the chicken's ass blows the oven door open and the chicken flies across the room, it is done.

And, you thought I couldn't cook

I’m not hungry anymore. Not really for chicken. I’ll have some granola maybe. 'Cause I like it that way baby.

I have photoshop and I am totally out of control. Please stop me before I do this again. And then you have this over here.


 
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