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Sunday, August 31, 2003
what?   I   erica campbell   I   logan = brick shithouse

Yee haa, it's almost the end of the month. Ain't I just plah'lezed as punch. Hey rent money, where the fuck you at? Word.

I can't get into my email anymore, thank you virus laden penis mail very much. Fucking hate that shit. Ah, at least I had six people staying in my apartment last night. My one bedroom apartment. We was like peas and carrots all up in this bitch.

So why do people walk past my bedroom window all friggin' night long yelling stupid shit at each other? What, is it fucking fun or something? Shit.

I'm going to bed.

Friday, August 29, 2003
ashley robbins   I   jessica   I   take me now

Big Tex's bbq has come and gone. Good times had by all in attendance. At least from what I saw, which incidentally, wasn't much. I was drunker than twelve Indians. And no offense meant to the Native American readers of the site.

It was an absolute suffer fest this morning at work. I thought I was going to fucking die ten times over. My landlord told me, "I heard you got run over by a forty train last night." He wasn't kidding.

My man Big Pun showed up with a case of Old English forties. They were big, they were bad and they were warm. It was a labor of love. I didn't make it through the second one.

I was at home puking my gut out by ten o'clock at night. And I was still throwing up in the morning. Yeah. I went big and got shut the fuck down.

Big Pun brings the Big Pain.

My friend and yours, Bill O'Reilly wants you to shut up.

When is this O'Reilly douchebags fifteen minutes going to end? Aren't people seeing through his tired retoric yet? The guys whole shtick is to invite people on his show and then shout them down while just about breaking his own arm patting himself on the back for a job well done. If there is one thing Bill O'Reilly has, it's talent.

Thursday, August 28, 2003
kyrstal steal   I   veronica zemanova   I   jesse capelli

This showed up in my inbox this morning.

  From: Big Pun
Subject: Big Pun ain't a player, I just crush a lot.
Yo, Juan Grande
I don't care what the fuck you're wearing to Tex's bachleorette party, you could wear a damn clown suit and spurs for all I care. The Big Pun is feeling like showing some fellas what real drinkin' is like. I couldn't give two shits about how fast he can ride that damn mountain bike of his. When I show up tomorrow, I'm in the proverbial big ring of drinking and I'm looking to climb over some fools.

Bring your helmet, you never know when shit like this is going to get out of control.

I had better bring an extra liver.

Wednesday, August 27, 2003
crystal   I   lisa marie   I   milf hunter

God damn, I took a lot of shit today about that fucking letter of fucking Tex's I made the fucking mistake of fucking posting. Jesus fucking Christ, I am not gay.

Not that there is anything wrong with that…

  From: B450
Subject: "i only wish marcia were here"
What kind of crybaby shit e-mail is that? I want to know why Big Tex didn't stop and make that bet in Vega$ and get himself a table dance. He probably didn't want Marcia to wonder why he smelled like vanilla perfume! The publishing of that e-mail was a real let down. I expect letters about two strippers in a hotel room making a double-ended dildo disappear, not a Hallmark card about some guy missing his girlfriend. You miss your girlfriend when you're in jail not on a road trip heading towards Vega$.

Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. Fuck Tex. Bastard.

He's having a bbq tomorrow night as his "going away" from Flagstaff send off party. The fucker actually sent me instructions like, "Wear a Cowboy Hat get a Gift. Wear a Dallas Cowboys Logo get a better gift."

Fuck you. I'm wearing an Eagles hat and a fucking Dallas Sucks shirt. Man, I'm gonna slam you like your name was Michael Irvin.

Fuck it. This guy is totally nuts.

Tuesday, August 26, 2003
yeah baby   I   ashley   I   barbie

My man Jack sent in this.

Hundreds and hundreds of fucking emails and they're all fucking virus laden death bombs. Great. Good thing I've built up some pretty good walls, or else I'd be in trouble.

As it stands I'm staying one step ahead of the game. Somehow.

I am having tons of trouble to tell the truth. Two peeps I would have liked to respond to, but for some unknown reason can't, are Sov, and Jon in Norristown. Got the emails, read 'em, can't fucking get anything sent back to ya.

Just so you don't think I'm ignoring ya or anything like that.

Also, while I'm on the subject, if J. Daunie is reading this, dude, I sent you some stickers, and the envelope came back with an "insufficient address" stamp on it. So, email me with the proper place to get at ya and I'll send you the stickers you paid for.

And it is raining like a mother fucker up here today. God damn, I'll bet the whole east side of town is ten feet underwater right now. What the fuck do I care, I live on the west side. Word.

And the talent is back in town, straight up. This shit is just killing me.

  From: Chef Leon
Subject: Warning!!!
just wanted to extend a little courtesy:
be aware that the number of fine little hotties on campus has exceeded the safe carrying capacity. it is dangerous out there. DO NOT ride across campus without a helmet, dark shades and handy jizz rag( hey man you never know)
the Hottie Bomb has been detonated -- Take cover.

You ain't kidding. A brother could get hurt out there. This ain't for the pretenders, this is big boy stuff right here.

And Danielson is riding for Fassa Bortolo. Word. That guy is gonna rock shit next year.

Like he didn't rock it this year, right?

The good news is that I've got the internet up in this piece again. What a fucking nightmare. How is it so hard to buy something from these people? It's not like I'm asking them to hold back the tide, just fucking push the right buttons in the right order and bingo. Not that hard, is it? Fuck. Now I can sit on my ass, in front of a computer, and accomplish a grand total of nothing all day.

Sounds good to me.

My new side job as of today is house painting. Now I have, lets see here, three jobs. Yep, I'm in a mountain town sucking cock for beer money.

Monday, August 25, 2003
nikki nova   I   veronica zemanova   I   young talent

Can a brother get a table dance, or what?

For fucks sake, I am getting so god damn sick and tired of this whole internet thing. I've been trying to get some action out of those cocksuckers at msn since the first day I stepped up in this new shanty I'm renting.

Fucking guys just cannot get it straight. Number of times I've signed up for access through msn this summer: 2. Number of modems they have sent me: 3. Number of nights I've gotten loaded out of the last week: 7.

The last thing I want to do right now is set foot inside the beer hall I got absolutely polluted of my fucking mind in last night. But, I'll be throwing a leg over one of my five clapped out townie bikes here in a few minutes, pedaling my happy ass down there and bellyin' up the bar 'cause they have internet access and I don't.


One of these days I'll be all wired for sound up in this bitch and I can sit around buck ass naked and "work" on the site. Just like I used to back in the day and shit. Word.

Funny thing is, they generally frown upon nudity down the street at the internet beer parlor. I can't for the life of my figure out why.

Check this shit out.

  From: Scott
Subject: Moab Fat Tire Festival 2003 - Press Release
The Moab Fat Tire Festival is returning to its roots this year, riding into Halloween to shout down the spirits of winter from October 30 to November 2. Come out and be part of Moab's biggest party time!

Six local bike shops and tour companies have worked together to plan a "cornucopia" of events including: Bike Expo, Halloween Costume Party, Movie Night, Pancake Breakfast, Slideshow, Freeride Clinic and, of course, Group Rides. New single-track trails will be high-lighted along with the classics you've read about. Experience the natural beauty of Moab while rubbing shoulders with mountain biking celebrities - both local and international. Participants can expect great riding, great parties, and cool schwag.

Registration costs for the 4 days are $69. Proceeds will go to the Moab Trails Alliance to up-grade Moab's growing trail system.

For more information on the festival, check out our website at www.moabfattirefestival.com, or call (435) 260-1182. In addition, any of the sponsor shops can help.
Chile Pepper Bicycles (888) 677-4688
Moab Cyclery (800) 451-1133
Poison Spider Bicycles (800) 635-1792
Rim Cyclery (888) 304-8219
Rim Tours (800) 626-7335
Slickrock Cycles (800) 825-9791

Sounds like a good time to me. Here are three totally untested links from my pal and yours, Laura from Holland. I hope there are good.


  From: Big Tex
Subject: 3 Day in the Red Truck
Last week, Wolfe asked me to fly to Portland, Oregon, to retrieve his massive F350, diesel, 4-door, longbed, 4x4, red, Ford Truck. It's been sitting in a Super 8 motel for the past month. In the summer, Portland is one of the hippest towns I've ever visited. I love it. So I quickly accept.

430am arrives early Friday. I awake to the NPR alarm and kisses from Marcia. No time, I need to be out the door. I grabbed my loaded backpack, a rain jacket and started an early morning ride on the cross bike to Flagstaff airport. The gate closes at 530am flight for the 600am flight to PHX. I barely arrive in time only to wait. It seems the airline gas man didn't wake up as early as I did. Hurry, hurry, fill up the plane. I have a 735am connection to make.

Finally, security opens the gate to screen everyone. Flagstaff has the tightest security of all the places I've been. Every passenger must remove their shoes and half of the passengers must disrobe. I am one of the lucky to stand naked as a wand scans our cold pale bodies. Ooh, that's cold. Then, security completely unpacks my tightly stuffed backpack----one sleeping bag, one bivy sac, one set of clothes, one book, one journal, one rain jacket, 3 liters of water, trail mix, one headlamp, one toothbrush, one tube of Colgate, and one Texas size wallet. He even opens my journal and flips through the pages for who knows what. I board the plane last.

Quick flight and we land at 725. I have ten minutes to run to the other side of the airport. Good time to test my new Salomon adventure race pack and shoes. I begin to jog and realize that I'm that guy running through the airport. I get to the gate and ask, "Have you started boarding?"

"They are about to leave. Hurry!" He has trouble opening the locked door to the boarding ramp. Great, I'm going to miss my flight because he can't remember the 3-digit combination to the door. All right, I'm in.
Now walking down the aisle, a passenger fumbles with his bag. I just want to sit and sleep. I'm stuck in the aisle and the girl sitting next to the aisle is staring me down like a piece of meat. I glance back at her and yes she's still checking me out. I smile and quickly get to my seat at the back of the plane. I only mention this because this never happens to me. Good. I have all of row 22. Nap time.

No coffee, no breakfast and 2hrs later, I arrive in Portland. I flag down the Super 8 motel van for a free ride to the motel. I pay the storage fee and walk out to the truck. Did say this vehicle is big. I manage the truck through Portland only to leave Portland. I'm on a mission----the Oregon coast. After finally getting some food and good coffee, I wander through Barnes and Noble in Beaverton to find a book on a certain hike on the Oregon Coastline. It's been 4 years and I don't remember the details on how to get there. I find some information and begin to drive.

330pm and I'm at the Hart Cove trail head. I found my favorite hike of all time. It's short----2.7miles out and 2.7miles back. I'm not a good hiker so I run the trail. Dense old growth forest surrounds me in infinite greenness. About half way, the air is filled with the sound of hundreds of seal lions barking beneath me. I can't see anything but green. Finally the trail opens up into 4-foot grasses on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. I hike to the end of the bluff and find Hart Cove---waterfall and all---250 feet beneath me. Awesome. I only wish Marcia were with me.

After some time, I run back to the truck. It's still there. I drive to Lincoln city, get gas, and continue down the coastline. The Oregon Coast is a must see. It's like a pirate movie with lighthouses, waves crashing down on rocks, and hidden coves everywhere. Dinner time and I stop at "Mo's"---Oregon's finest seafood with 4 locations. I can barely walk but make it down the pier to the restaurant door. "How many?" "One." She gives me the strangest look. It's Friday night and this place is slammed with hungry Oregon rednecks. This is my first experience of the seafaring redneck. I guess the American stereotype is essentially the same all over. Just little differences like boats, horses, and race cars. Mo's is a "fried only" seafood place. I have the chowder, and a plate of fried fish, oysters, and clams. A little scoop of instant mash potatoes garnishes the plate.

Back on the road. Coos Bay is only 87miles. Sounds like a good place to get some shut eye. Motel after motel and "no vacancies." Next town and same story. I'm getting tired fast. I start to look for nooks and crannies to park the big redness and sleep. Nothing but driveways. Then I see Airport road with a "dead end" sign. I drive to the end and sleep at Black Cape Pt Trailhead. I sleep to the sounds of the ocean waves washing up the beach and intermittent seal lion barks.

I wake early with the sun and decide to make my way to the ocean. A half hour later of running---I can't walk, I get to another bluff. Awesome squared. Good to be alive and planting visions in my head. I gotta bring Marcia. You need to see this.

Back to the truck and to the harbor where the Rogue River meets the Pacific Ocean. Eggs, hash browns, and bad coffee. I keep heading south. Through Redwood National park and where are the trees you drive through? Up and down and right and left. Fill the gas tank in Arcata and get ready for the venture through Big Foot country----not the pick up but the 8foot hairy unseeable beast.

This two lane road traversing the Trinity National Forest is beautiful ruggedness. Looking at the terrain I understand why there is limited evidence of Big Foot. I stop at a rest stop. I can feel Autumn just around the corner---A slight cool breeze gives scents of the end of summer. Big Foot could get me so I load back up in the red tank.

More ups and downs and winding roads following Trinity River. This would be an incredible ride on the bike. Lots of rafters and kayakers. Should I stop for a swim? No, I need to make Carson City by this evening.

Redding comes quickly and I need some fuel for the mind. My CD's are worn out and Wolfe's Ricky Martin CD is looking better and better. I get a smoothie and check out a B&N for a book on CD. Books on cds cost $30-50. I guess I can listen to Modest Mouse a couple of more times. Now the road winds again and Highway patrolmen hide in every dip of the road.

Susanville and I'm too tired to eat. I stop in a Taco Bell. I order a Grilled Stuft Burrito with Chicken, a 7-layer with no sour cream, and a big Dr. Pepper. I get a Combination Burrito no sour cream, a chalupa with Chicken, and a big Dr. Pepper. Whatever. I eat and drive with more two-lane traffic to Reno. I use the massive power and quickness of the big redness multiple times. I confuse other drivers with my demanding size but acceleration of a Porsche. It's fun to be intimidating.

Reno and Carson City is only 30miles away. One motel, two motel, ..... ten motel and nothing---"No Vacancy." You got to be kidding. I turn around for another pass at retiree gambling paradise. I make a turn down a local street and find the Nugget Hotel. One room left and it's smoking. I don't care. I just need a bed. $70 later, I open the door the roach infested smoke filled room. Ten minutes go by and I pass out asleep.

Twelve hours later, I get up and shower. No hot water so I'm awake. Now, I do something I never do. I head North-----the opposite direction of which I'm going. But I need some good coffee. I hit up Albertson's for some Starbucks coffee, Krispee Kream donuts, a bagel, a banana, and a juice. I fuel up. Should I fuel up the truck? I don't see a gas station with diesel on my side of the road so I keep truckin'. I'll find some fuel.

South on 395 almost to Mammoth and I turn on Hwy 120 to Benton. I'm at 8000 feet with no trees. Only sage brush lines the road and this road has more curves than a woman. And this road has cyclists. I pass nearly 50 cyclists along the way. Where are they going? Why this road? Dips come and go. No jumping in this truck.

Benton Hot springs has a gas station but no diesel. It's 80 miles to Tonapah and I haven't fueled since Arcata, CA. No problem. I start east but at a conservative 2000 rpms---about 70mph. 30 miles outside of Benton the gas light comes on. What does this mean? The manual states "The vehicle is low on fuel." But how much fuel? One gallon? Two gallons? I catch a semi and draft hoping this saves me. It's a long hot desert. Uphill the last 10miles to Tonapah. I make it no problem. I get 33 gallons of fuel, .25 gallons of Coke and a box LemonHeads for the 3hour straight shot south to the city of lights---Las Vegas.

The roulette table calls me for $100 on red. I could double my money in less than a minute. I keep driving and stop at Toto's Mexican restaurant in Boulder. I found this little restaurant gem a couple of years ago. It's next to Fry's at the light.

Hoover Dam and road blocks. Luckily, I'm white and the Deputy Sheriff waves me through. Never mind the long bed of the truck could carrya ton of explosives. Crossing the dam, I notice they are building a Hoover Dam bypass. This is going to be more impressive than the dam. The bridge will become the crown jewel for base jumper's with the river bottom thousands of feet below.

Kingman and I need coffee for the last two hours. No coffee anywhere to be found so I try the Starbuck's doubleshot----not bad but I don't like the sugar. Next leaving Kingman, westbound traffic is backed up. Looks like the Highway patrol are looking for terrorists heading west. Traffic is backed up 14miles all the way to the Petro Truck Stop. Longest traffic jam I've seen.

Put the big red on cruise control and here I am Flagstaff.

Trip Stats
# of pitstops-16
Curviest Road---CA HWY 120
Biggest # of miles without refueling-623
# of miles with gas light on-50
Caffeine count---three coffees, two Dr. Peppers, one double shot, one Frappa cino, and two shots of espresso
# of times I listened to Ricky Martin---1
# of hours driven---27

Sunday, August 26, 2003
lesbians rule   I   michelle   I   jenna

My attitude is shitty like G. Gordon Liddy.

Chillin on a Sunday waiting for the morning ride. An early day at the shop, sort of like an early realase from prison. Time off for good behavior. Go out there and make us pround, Son.

Right-0 Dad.

Friday, August 22, 2003
courtney   I   neriah   I   nikki nova

Just back from an after hours bike building session. Five went through my stand, and I went beer for bike throughout. Maybe leaning a little on the side of beer over bikes in the end, but that's just my little thing now isn't it?

Of course, we left the door wide open and all kinds of shit blew through. A couple of looky looz, a couple of talkers, and one really entertaining girl. She told me about the pearls droppin' and the onion ass.

What the fuck is and "onion ass"?

It's when she walks by and her ass looks so good it makes you cry.

And, I imagine, you'd probably like to take a bite out of it as well. Whatever transpires between two consenting adults is no business of mine.

Drunk as a skunk, sitting in my kitchen in a pair of boxer shorts. Yeah, it's like that. I'll be up at six for little ride before the lid blows off this mother fucker. We're gonna sell bikes like you wouldn't believe. It's the Saturday before classes start and the university crowed needs wheels.

And wheels we have. We're gonna sell bikes like you wouldn't believe.

Fuck it.

Thursday, August 21, 2003
dixie bubbles is a trainwreck   I   kate frost   I   lesbians rule

I've just now found out some one was making a mount that put a downtube shifter on your handlebars. And they ain't making 'em no more. Read about it over at singletrackworld.

Looks like I'll be talking to a certain machinist friend of mine about getting me some of dem nugs right dah.

End of summer, back to school, sell the bikes. I'm feelin' for all my brothers in the shops all over this mother fucker. The boys back east, the cats in the midwest, and all my nizzles in Az. Back to school means bust your ass and make some money.

Sell the bikes.

Shout out to the Cutters. Anyone who doesn't know, doesn't need to.

That's what my man says. We'll just call him The Kid, just 'cause I fucking can.

I'm on tilt with a few of the boys. So much so I can barely type this shit. I could talk about big important things like the upcoming Presidential election, or I could just keep drinking and say fuck it.

Fuck it.

A girl just asked me to see my site. I showed her. She told me it's all porn. I told her I write too. She said, "I question, like, you know, how good the writing could be, 'cause of all the porn."

Um. What?

Wednesday, August 20, 2003
yowza   I   nikki nova   I   aria giovanni

Well, what can I say? Some asswipe drove a cement truck full of dynamite into the UN headquarters in Iraq today. Decidedly not funny.

You can read all about here.

I think we all know where I stand on this whole "war in iraq" thing. I don't like it. Not one bit.

And now we're really in it. A total fucking mess. Jesus Christ, how are we gonna figure all this? Is there any good way to fix what we've started?

One the bright side, last night was my man Snakes and my man Big Pun's birthday. Big Pun can pour a pint down his throat faster than I can check the time on my watch. Fucking unreal. He's a talent.

The birthday went well. We all got drunk as fuck and generally had a good time. Damn good thing I didn't have to work today. I slept in till 10 in the morning, no shit. I haven't been in bed that long for months. I think I kinda liked it.

Check out the top speed challenge over at kinesistech.com. Pretty cool shit if you ask me.

And, this little ditty comes in highly recommended as well. Good for a laugh and then some. Don't believe me? How 'bout a quote?

  "Personally, I'll hold myself up against Lance Armstrong any day. Sure Lance is a multi Tour de France winner and a one-testicle cancer survivor. But until he rides his bike home from the Virginia-Highland at 1:37 a.m. on a Saturday after a night of drinking PBR that has left him fucked up as a lab rat, he ain't jack."

Yeah. Its like that.

All the "talent" is showing up back in town this week. The dorms are open and classes soon to start. Ah, how we all love the talent.

Now, the return of the drooling buck studs, that we could all do without. These fucking jackpoles have been back at Mom's working all summer. Back in town for fall with a pocket full of money and nothing between their ears 'cept one lone marble rolling around.

Side note: Why is it naïve stupidity is so damn sexy on some tanned and trim 19 year old, and so totally annoying in a 21 year old guy?

I'm surrounded by young guns ordering up Coronas and Rolling Rocks.

Yeah, you can suck on that shit that I piss through.

Monday, August 18, 2003
victoria   I   lorissa   I   sanja

Sunday night. My fucking bar is closed 'cause peps is on vacation and shit and brotha's don't feel like workin' long hours. Fuck me. No update for Sunday then.

A lot of good letter about the whole "did Ulrich wait" drama over at cyclingnews.

Seems pretty clear to me. Folks that understand cycling know how it goes out there on the road. The group waited. It doesn't much seem to matter who decided to wait first, who said what, and what you think someone's face looked like on the tv.

The group waited and Ulrich was in the group.


  From: deebo
Subject: emailing posts
it's just amazing to me that the neocons are still vilifying clinton when GWB sold his soul to the saudi's, the oil companies, Cheney's energy policy (worst blackout since 1965) and his poppa's carlyle group (Making a skadzillion dollars a year in Iraq)

One of my closest friends in the world is in Iraq right now. He went to war as a firm beleiver in the cause that the Bush administration sent him there for, and now, he's having to seriously rethink that.--

Lying to Congress and the US public is 1000000 times (one million) time more serious than lying about getting a blowjob.

There was no 45 minute capability to deploy WMD's by Iraq. There were few, if any, WMD's. There is NO CONNECTION between Iraq and Al Quaeda.

There was no reason to go to war with Iraq other than Bush's misguided desires to finish what his father started and didn't have the balls to finish, and Schrub's advisor's fascist plans to convert the entire middle east into an American Empirical playground.

The fact that KKKarl Rove and the Scrub are touting the idiot Arnold Terminator to replace the legally elected Grey Davis in CA is but one more example of the absolute lack of respect of the US Constitution that the current presidential administration displays on a daily basis. The fact that the pussy democratic party and the supposedly "Liberal" press allow it to happen is mystifying. Hmm. Maybe all that deregulation of the Media so four or five rich mother-effing bastards own all the stations wasn't the best idea for free speech...

The fact that the media was exponentially more interested in Clinton's alleged misdeeds that GW's confessed outright lie's to the US Congress as well as the nation is a massive veto of the myth of the so called "liberal media." The fact that the loathsome Rush "I'm not deaf yet" Limbaugh has been signed to do football coverage is but another sign of the impending apocalypse: Noted Non conservative Dennis Miller was chased from the airwaves because all of the yahoos in Davenport Iowa couldn't follow the 7 obscure references he was allowed per Monday Night Football broadcast.

With another obvious White House Shill taking over on Monday Nights, we can only expect to see this country's descent to fascism accelerate.

I only hope I'm wrong about all this.

"It is not a toomah, and ah am goint to be da guvanah, Kurt Valdheinm the Nazi was in my vedding party, and I vill grab all de wimmen's asses, and Hasta La Vista, Democracy"

pissing people off since 1970

Go check out happy fun racing some time soon.

And, I was just informed that I have been tooling around town on none other than a MCS Magna Cruise. You can see a pic of one all cooled up and smooth like butter over at vintage bmx. You'll have to scroll down and find it in the list as I can't very well just link to the pic and not mention the whole site, now can I?

I'm thinking my bike needs a little something something. Maybe some new bars or some shit. I've got some swept back cruiser bars on that bizacth right now, it's cool and all. But it could be cooler.

Way cooler.

Cool like this shit right here. I've been hearin' of some new drinking games lately. The first one up, Pump Jack riding.

To play this one you need a friend, a case of beer and an oil pump, called a Pump Jack. Ya put the beer in the middle and shimmy your thin white ass out to opposite ends. Then you start drinking and bullshitting to the beer is all gone.

I've heard from a quality source it's "brutal".

The next game, one I think we're playin' Tuesday night on Snakes birthday, is called Edward Fortyhands.

In this fun game, all idea of social interaction between folks at the party get thrown out the window for just getting' shitty. The required equipment includes, but is in now way limited to, two forties per person and a roll of duct tape.

Yep, you tape the fucking forties to your hands and get busy.

You can't piss, you can't answer the phone. You can't run game with the ladies. Or, maybe you can, I don't know. Just as long as you're drinking like a mother fucker. 'Cause a forty will get warm as a mother fucker if left unattended for to long. And you can imagine the pain when you got two of these big ass bastards stuck on ya like flypaper.

And I've actually met guys that have played this retarded game. Unreal. And, when asked how the game goes, my man says, "I'm a pro."

I am so gonna fucking die on Tuesday.

Check out heartland race. Sounds like a good old time to me.

  From: C
Subject: Accident Report
Possibly the funniest story in a long while. This is a bricklayer's accident report, which was printed in the newsletter of the Australian equivalent of the Workers' Compensation board. This is a true story. Had this guy died, he'd have received a Darwin Award for sure.......

Dear Sir,
I am writing in response to your request for additional information in Block 3 of the accident report form. I put "poor planning" as the cause of my accident. You asked for a fuller explanation and I trust the following details will be sufficient.

I am a bricklayer by trade. On the day of the accident, I was working alone on the roof of a new six-story building. When I completed my work, I found that I had some bricks left over which, when weighed later were found to be slightly in excess of 500lbs. Rather than carry the bricks down by hand I decided to lower them in a barrel by using a pulley, which was attached to the side of the building on the sixth floor. Securing the rope at ground level, I went up to the roof, swung the barrel out and loaded the bricks into it. Then I went down and untied the rope, holding it tightly to ensure a slow descent of the bricks.

You will note in Block 11 of the accident report form that I weigh 135lbs. Due to my surprise at being jerked off the ground so suddenly, I lost my presence of mind and forgot to let go of the rope. Needless to say, I proceeded at a rapid rate up the side of the building. In the vicinity of the third floor, I met the barrel, which was now proceeding downward at an equally impressive speed. This explained the fractured skull, minor abrasions and the broken collar bone, as listed in section 3 of the accident report form.

Slowed only slightly, I continued my rapid ascent, not stopping until the fingers of my right hand were two knuckles deep into the pulley. Fortunately by this time I had regained my presence of mind and was able to hold tightly to the rope, in spite of beginning to experience pain. At approximately the same time, however, the barrel of bricks hit the ground and the bottom fell out of the barrel. Now devoid of the weight of the bricks, that barrel weighed approximately 50 lbs. I refer you again to my weight. As you can imagine, I began a rapid descent, down the side of the building. In the vicinity of the third floor, I met the barrel coming up. This accounts for the two fractured ankles, broken tooth and several lacerations of my legs and lower body.

Here my luck began to change slightly. The encounter with the barrel seemed to slow me enough to lessen my injuries when I fell into the pile of bricks and fortunately only three vertebrae were cracked. I am sorry to report, however, as I lay there on the pile of bricks, in pain, unable to move, I again lost my composure and presence of mind and let go of the rope and I lay there watching the empty barrel begin its journey back down onto me. This explains the two broken legs.

I hope this answers your questions.

Saturday, August 16, 2003
heather   I   nikki nova   I   milfhunter rules

The best thing about coming back from a vacation is how you get to work your ass off for the next two weeks so you can barely make rent. Am I right?

Yeah, it's like that.

What I wouldn't give for some financial security once in a while. For fucks sake. I'm so poor I can't pay attention.

Boo hoo, poor me. Fuck that shit. I've got beers in me. I ain't repentin' nothing. I regret nothing. This is the road I would take again if given the chance.

Fuck it.

All I know is riding my bike(s) and drinking beer(s).

It's gotten me this far, right?

You want to feel bad for someone, feel bad for my man Phil, he's the Horse don't cha know.

  From: Phil the Horse
Subject: it hurts being this good
Damn it hurts being this good, just figured out why my mail may not have been behaving properly, and if you have not heard already i managed to break my leg on tuesday evening riding at a local skatepark, so six weeks in a leg brace sitting on a couch should be interesting with my bikes sitting opposite me taunting my brokenness! ahh well porn it is then.

This link was up in the forum and I like it, so check out nemo. Yeah. And then hit up this shit if for only the movie reviews. I'm talking 'bout Paul Buceta.

And this link speaks for itself, pussy.org.

Any questions?

I saw a sticker on a rail road crossing today. It said the following.

Hate traffic?
You are traffic.

Jimbo's been updatin' like a mother fucker over at flight of the pigs. You should check it out as its well worth your time.

Yeah, and then, you know, stuff. Fuck. I'm fucking bored as fuck. Nic the Dick is in town, friggin' somewhere. I think he's sittin' up on a hill somewhere smokin' wacky tobaccy and ironing out his plans for world domination. Or dinner.

Take your pick.

This is just plain ugly.

I'll leave ya with this.

  From: Big Tex
Subject: Los Alamos Fat Tire Festival
Los Alamos Fat Tire Festival takes you back to your roots of mountain biking or introduces you to what mountain bike racing is all about(or should be) if you have no roots. I paid $50 for a race T-shirt, goodie bag, pasta feed, live bands, and 3 unbelievable race courses.

I showed up late on Friday for the 4k TT. Luckily, the start list was "start when you're ready and we'll time you." The "Bridges" trail in town took us over two bridges, thru some awesome technical single track, and a couple of steep climbs to spread out the field of 15. I took the race lead with a time just over 7 minutes and about 25 sec over second place.

Stage 2 started with the race participants leading out the Los Alamos County Fair Parade. For a minute, you really believe cycling has fans in America. The race stayed neutral until the air horn sounded about 50m before the start of the single track. The start was important due to the race being a mass start, some beginning single track, and the promoter prime(the promoter started riding the course 20min ahead of the field. The first rider to catch him receives $75. Thank you.) Cat 1 Roadie Ryan Blickem led the field to the single track and I hopped around him as the trail narrowed down. So I put some pressure on the field to see how many people wanted the $75. 5 min into the race, I was alone making the 7mile 3000 foot ascent up the Pajarito Punishment climb. I passed the promoter, exchanged handshakes and kept the pace. 45 min and I finally reach the top. The descent was fast and loose and I flatted at the bottom. Not good but I remained calm and 3min later I was back on the bike and still in first. Now you climb single track up to the ski resort, hit the ski resort and climb some more. It was worth it. The last descent was an amazing creekside single track called the "dungeons."---Lots of triple arrows. I won the stage to increase my lead to 2min 50sec.

Stage 3 looked easy on paper---5k loop 5 times at the ski resort. I was thinking 1hr tops. But the pre ride took me 27min going easy. This was 95% technical single track with super steep climbing like Sunrise Ski Resort. I immediately went back to the truck for another water bottle and gel. The race started and I just wanted to set an even pace. First lap, I'm over the bars into the woods. I catch back to the leader and sit on for another lap. Then I went for some insurance time----you never know in a MTB stage race. I won by 5 min over 2nd.

In short, this is an awesome event. The BLUR is 4 races with 4 wins. Good job to Grant on his 4th. We all can use a little radiation.

Friday, August 15, 2003
veronika (?)   I   kenda jade   I   nikki nova

Good lord. Glad to be back and all that. What a fucking whirlwind. I was supposed to be back on Wednesday, but my America West flight out of Cleveland was canceled. As in the plane never showed up.

How do you like that? I'm at the airport and the fucking plane never shows up. Great.

So, one free night in a hotel and a couple of meals later, we caught the morning flight out of that stinking shithole. What a cultural wasteland they have out there. For fucks sake.

Ang looked at me at one point and said, "I have never seen so many ugly people at one time in my entire life."

Yes sir, Cleveland.

And, of course, the airline offered to put us on the later flight, the one that took off at five in the afternoon with all kinds of little incentives like a couple of hundred bucks in vouchers and the like. Now, of course, if I had taken that offer I would still be in Cleveland as the power outage that hit at 4:00 pm shut everything down.

For all I know, it's still out.

Good times.

One thing I did learn, due to the immense amount of email I've received on the subject, when I leave town again and wont' be able to update the page, I should really spell out that little detail from the get go. I won't leave ya'll hanging on like this again. Even though I did take a laptop with me, and was planning on spending mad time on the web. But, it didn't go my way, as it often doesn't when you go to visit family.

Anyway, fuck ya'll, I'm drinking beer. See you in hell.

Thursday, August 7, 2003
teanna   I   katalina   I   jeanna rules

Uhlerstown Hill: 2. big jonny: 0.

Two years. Two big goose eggs.

Fuck that hill.

I was close this year, I was really close. I came back to my hometown with a bit more fitness than last year. Or, I didn't come straight from Ragbrai this time.

It's all a matter of perspective really. Last year I could ride for 8 hours and drink 30 beers day after day. After day. And so on. Sure, I managed to get totally swilled up in the Phoenix airport and basically remain numb for a four hour flight. But that cannot compare to the Ragbrai training camp I missed this year. Not even close.

Turns out I wasn't near numb enough to find any redeeming qualities in some jackass Adam Sandler movie they played on the plane (huh) about anger management. Maybe it was even called anger management. I don't know. I ain't in this thing to review crappy movies, it's just a side job. Comes with the territory. Anyway, that pretty much sucked dick. But, I'm talking about riding here damn it.

Last year my lowest cog was, I think, a 25. Pretty sure that was it. It was dry last year, pretty much anyway, sorta, and I spun out my rear wheel on some gravel and that was that. Clipped out. Stuck. Didn't make it. The hill is a fucking cliff, I swear to God.

This year, it's been raining like a mother fucker back in Pennsylvania. Although, not when I was on the hill. The pavement was wet, still, as it's under a complete canopy of leaves, and I think it actually made it better as it's mostly not that well paved to begin with.

Better, my ass.

My lowest gear this year is a 21. That in and of itself is a big jump, but let me tell you the rest. I just got this cheap ass piece of shit bike from that big Jackass Justin. I phoned him up and pretty much just asked him if he had a "cheap ass piece of shit" he'd like to sell me. I can almost see him stumbling out into his parents garage, the Tempe equivalent of the catacombs of Rome, and looking over the carcasses of twenty odd bicycles. Yeah, he said, I've got something for ya.

Money talks and bullshit walks. Usually. Sometimes bullshit rolls apparently.

I picked it up Tuesday of this week and it was well worth the price. Not free, no, not that cheap, but at a buck fifty I ain't complaining. She's one of those old Trek frames with the bonded carbon front end, and an aluminum rear end. Yeah, I'm trusting my life to glue.

Glue that's been hammered absolutely fucking senseless by Jackass and probably his whole family for the last ten years. I am so going to die.

Anyway, she's just what I was looking for. Seven speed downtube shifting. Friction even, no index option of this Superbe stuff. Remember Superbe? Yeah, me neither. Just kidding, it works great.

Well. Kinda. I put on some new meats, my pedals and move the seat down 'cause I'm not nearly as leggy as Jackass. And two bottle cages. Pump came with the bike. I'm stoked.

I'm cruising along and it occurs to me I should try shifting. Seems to work. Although, this lever is about impossible to friggin' move. I spin back that wing nut looking bastard that holds the whole thing together and lighten up the action a bit. Oh yeah, now I'm working across that cassette like a hot knife through butter.


The first time I start down one of the countless clapped out half gravel Pennsylvania country road I find out why that lever was so tight. It has to be or the damn thing shifts down to a higher gear when shaken around a bit. Not too much of a bother really, only while it's in that clumsy "in between" stage. When it works to the next gear, it seems to stay put and be satisfied with only one ghost shift.

Now, this little problem becomes a total mindfuck on a hill like that cliff Uhlerstown. Jesus Christ, cut me a fucking brake already, eh? I'm in the 21, a mother of a gear given the present situation, I'm standing, and I'm giving it everything. I'm Andre Tchmil handing out the wood. Take that you bunch of bitches.

The bike start skipping and popping. It has decided to try the 19 tooth cog out, without my permission, and it's not being very quick about it. The chain is between gears, and I can't exactly soft pedal or reach down to shift. I'm way up on the hoods giving it everything I have.

Thank God the chain finally finds the 19 and I'm working again. This whole episode took at least 50 yards of road and years, mind you, years, off my life. I'm thinking, the 19? Are you joking? This is just about impossible. I wonder if I can make it? I am making it! I'm doing it in the 19!

The chain starts moving down a gear. Pop, creak, pow.

Game, set, match.

I clip out. I am defeated. I still can't see the top of this thing. Fuck it, I'm turning around. I start down and now I'm really scared. I'm skidding. I can't stop skidding on this impossibly steep road for fucks sake, fuck, fuck, fuck.

I stop again. Fine. If that's the way you want it. I turn the adjuster back way past where Jackass had it. I crank that son of a bitch down so tight that I had to stop later and loosen it to change gears again.

I've got this fucker absolutely pinned in the 21. You are not moving again, whore, you understand me? I'm riding up this son of bitch hill and I'm doing it right now.

There isn't much else to tell 'cept my eyeballs popped out of my skull and my heart exploded in my chest.

Two years, stopped twice. Fucking whore. I'll get you next time.

If anyone ever puts on a road race in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, or even western New Jersey, consider including a couple of runs up the Uhlerstown hill. I want to see a Pro field hit that bitch about ten times.

You want a race won by a hard man? Or one tough woman? Sent 'em up that son of a bitch. It'll sort out the group like you won't believe. Makes the Manayunk Wall look like a fucking wheel chair ramp.

Now I'm going to dry and drown myself in a bucket of Yuengling. I'll see you all in hell. If you beat me there, save me a seat by the fire.

Wednesday, August 6, 2003
patricia   I   lana   I   amy

Home is where the Yuengling is. Which in this case (ho ho), is Doylestown, Pennsylvania. Yep. I'm heading east.


I'm currently sitting at thirty thousand feet with one hell of a buzz. Nothing like an airport bar where they don't meter out the shots with some fancy electronic gizmo. Just pour that sweet nectar out, buddy, I ain't here to whistle dixie. You want to get shitty at ten in the morning with a couple of your new best friends? Try an airport bar.

Hey, where you heading? Yeah? You got family there? And so on. Good times.

A fool and his money soon part ways it seems. I'm burning through my low cash like nobodies business.

Sunday, August 3, 2003
sandra   I   petra   I   jenna

God damn, how I love putting checks in the mail. It just makes me feel all good inside and shit. Like a fucking winner.

Yeah. I win.

Try that one on for size.

I'm trying to pull my life together enough to actually leave town for a few days. Fuck, I might as well be trying to build a rocket ship over here and be trying to fly to the moon and shit as well as this is all working out.

Just kill me.

  From: Armand
Subject: Dave Watson jumps over something somewhere
Big Johnny,
How are ya buddy ? Bummer but the shot of Watson jumping the tour is a hoax. It went down but the shot isn't the real deal. (see E-mail below) I'll send you the goods when I get the real shot. Would be a good idea to lay a heavy diss on whoever was fucking around.

-----Original Message-----

Sent: Friday, August 01, 2003 1:32 PM
Subject: Dave Watson jumps over something somewhere
Hey everyone,
I just got off the phone with Carey at Freeride Entertainment and he wanted me to spread the word that the photo of Dave jumping the tour peloton that's circulating now was doctored and is not real at all, they don't know where it came from. The real photo is being prepared by Scott Markewitz and Sports Illustrated right now. This is just FYI, please pass the information on to anyone who asks.

We won't be using this picture in our online press release.

Yeah, heavy diss. What the fuck are you jokers thinking jerking me around like this, with these photoshoped pics? The fucking jump happened, is it too much for me to ask that we get to see the real shit? Stop fake'n the funk. You know we don't get down like that.

Now I got to wait on Sports Illustrated for this. Fuck. It's like waitin' on babies.

My man Jack sent in this quote from OLN:

  Lance: Actually Champagne gives me a headache...
Phil: For me as well, around the 5th bottle.


Ullrich. On the poduim again at the HEW Classic.

  From: Sad Cow
Subject: Bla Bla bla blabla bla
this dude below...he's a good guy and dealing with a glitch in the media (so it sounds from reading below). Thought it might be of value to your readers...maybe, maybe not, I suppose your the judge.

Please forward this to anyone you know in the cycling world!

Because Velo News wrote a one paragraph note in last months Issue that The San Rafael Cycling Classic was cancelled, OOPS, before getting all the facts, it has caused a great deal of confusion!! I have received over a dozen emails and phone calls in the last 2 weeks!

The San Rafael Cycling Classic is happening 100%, no matter what else you hear. It has been taken over by Consortium event management and Groundzero Sports Marketing Group.


The date is set for Saturday September 13, 2003, the day prior to the San Francisco Grand Prix/T-Mobile Intl.

Registration opens Friday August 1 at either the event website www.srcyclingclassic.com or www.active.com

Please feel free to reach me with any questions or concerns.

Any support we can get to spread the word is much appreciated. And if any of you would like to make a product donation for our Friday evening auction for The Breast Cancer Fund, please contact me as soon as possible.

Thank you everyone, lets keep growing the sport!

Fuck it, it's a race. You know it's got to be cool.

One more and I'm out.

  From: Tom
Subject: Ragbrai
Dude, You really missed out. But you know that. Ragbrai was a blast as usual. I just wanted to send you this pic. There was a day when there was 4-6 girls running around just like this. Who knows if they actually rode bikes, But WHO CARES!
Plan now for next year!

Yeah, yeah. I know. Believe me, I know. Biggest mistake of my fucking adult life not being there this year.

I suck.

Saturday, August 2, 2003
angel   I   sydney   I   bike + girl - clothes

Saturday. Finally. A day off from work. I think I just pulled six in a row. Now, I know that's nothing for a lot of you fellas out there. But for me, it was a biggy.

They needed the help and I needed the hours. 'Cause they ain't no fuckin' money tree in this here backyard.

A couple of day this week me and my man Andy worked late at the shop getting bikes put together and repair caught up. Funny thing about a bike shop, it ain't so bad once you get rid of all those damn customers. Sorta like being a teacher ain't so bad 'cept for all the kids.

When you have to go downtown to a bar to get online after a good ten to twelve hours of standing around on a concrete floor, after getting up at 5:30 so you could ride for an hour or two before work, well, you all can see it didn't happen. I came home and passed straight out most nights this week. I haven't read any email, I haven't sent any email. I haven't returned any phone calls, I haven't paid my bills.

Yeah, I'm skating on the thin ice of life these days.

But, I did get a nice fat pay check out of the deal. Yeah, I'll take that.

Sleeping in till 7:30 feels like you really treated yourself to something special when you've been fully kitted out and pumping up tires at a quarter of six for the last three days. I'll tell you what buddy, an extra couple hours of shut eye can really save ya.

I should try this more often.

  From: King Kelly
Subject: You Suck
You must have no pride.
How could you miss RAGBRAI? Sure you tried...did you try robbing liquor stores? Did you try to scam any of your relatives with a fake ailment? Well then I don't think you tried very hard.

Liquor stores? Why didn't I think if that? Shit, that'd be like one stop shopping.

  From: Reverend Kim
Subject: life in iowa, july, 2003
i don't know about you, but it isn't just "tall corn" that we grow here in iowa. i spotted this patch of, ahem, "ditch weed" by the road on the way to the start of ragbrai. life is just grand out here...

Oh good lord. I've got that pic as my desktop wallpaper right now. Does it get any better than that? Well, maybe. Read on.

  From: Chainsaw
Subject: my favorite Ragbrai story
You missed a good one this year. Hills sucked, but the parties rocked. My favorite story:

Doing a sag at the end of day 4 to avoid some hills (and 'cause I'm pretty drunk) when our bus driver yells at mile 60 of the ride, "I think I saw a guy going down on a girl in the ditch." After a great 3 point turn with the school bus we go back to see a nice blond in an official RAGBRAI jersey on her back, shorts down, and a guy munching away! She must have been embarrassed then from our shouts of approval 'cause when we came back for the 3rd time she was covered in shame and he was waving us on.

Absolute classic sight that breaks a long standing RAGBRAI rule: you can't go down on biker chick after the ride over on Saturday, let alone at mile 60 on day 4.

Now, that sounds like a good time. Get some.

And, up last but definitely not least, I get called out by the reigning masters world champion. That fucker. And I paid him that five spot. That fucker.

  From: Big Tex
Subject: rides
I believe you owe me $5 for my Tyler Hamilton impression on Saturday. I made my escape with 32 miles to go and never looked back. I'm going to call my time the unofficial record for the Taylor House Charity ride at 4hr 14min 47 sec for 106mile----that's from the hospital to the city limit sign and ride time because we stopped for cokes at Red Lake. Sorry we missed you there but you know.....

Yeah, I know…

Friday, August 1, 2003
jenna   I   jenna   I   bike chickies

Jesus H. Christ, August first already? Man, time is just flyin' by this year. Does it start snowing next week?

My life has been pretty fucking nutso lately. I haven't been online in almost three days. I have no idea what's going on in the world. I've been working mad hours down at the shop. When you're short on cash and long on time, you gotta do what you gotta do I guess.

And since I'm heading back to Pennsylvania for a couple of days next week, the extra hours this week will help ease the small paycheck blues on my return. Thems the breaks when you work by the hours. You ain't there, you ain't getting paid, brother. Simple as that.

I'm sure I've got an inbox full of shit about how I missed the best Ragbrai in years. I can't wait to start wading through that shit.

I've got tomorrow off and I'm pretty sure I won't be riding much. There is a hill climb race up Snow Bowl that I'll be missing. Even though I am a climbing specialist. How I wish those guys from Euskalte would stop phoning me up. Look guys, I don't look good in orange. It's just as simple as that.

And then you have the Toy's for Tots ride to the Grand Canyon. On dirt even. Yeah, I'll be missing that one too. I'm a little lean for an 85 dollar charity ride, and I think I'd just as soon not make the effort. I suck.

I'm planning on sitting around on my big fat ass and drinking coffee. Let's hope I can accomplish that much.

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