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Saturday, July 30, 2005
hola chica   I   she scares me   I   lesbians rule

Today was the Big Mother. The Last Big Ride Before Leadville. The King Of All Hurt. The Three Queens of Flagstaff.

I set out to climb everything worth a damn in the Flagstaff area. And in succession. Line 'em up and knock 'em down. Just like that.

I had some simple criteria: It had to be over a half hour effort (for me) and it had to be on dirt. I did the same ride two weeks before Leadville last year. I thought, how much harder can the race be?

Ho ho, a lot fucking harder than you can ever imagine, my friend. Finish up your pussy little training ride, slam your dick in a drawer a couple of times, drink ten beers in two minutes, throw yourself down a flight of stairs, and go ride what you just finished backwards with two water bottles full of rocks and no food.

Then you'll know how much harder Leadville will be.

Here's how it went down: I rode up Elden to the clearing by the towers. On the way up, I was turning an easy gear, thinking of what lay ahead for the day. I got caught by a rider about half way up. I was able to keep him in sight, and I began reeling him in after his initial push to overtake me. At the false flat at the first turn for Sunset Trial, and Upper Oldham starts, I caught him. We rode together till it got steeper as the road turned left. I was able to put some time into him by the top. I figured that was a good sign of fitness.

I turned left and headed down Sunset. The last picture is what the top of Sunset looks like. NIce, eh? Finished off that bitch, crossed Schultz Pass Road down at the tank and started up Waterline Road. Took that up to Abineau Canyon where the road ends at the Wilderness boundary. I'll write more about how much I hate Wilderness boundaries some other day. Suffice to say, I think it's ludicrous that I have to ride through piles of horse shit all the way down Sunset, and I can't pedal my bike up as high as fat people can sit on a horse and let some poor beast do the work. If I'm pedaling, I'm earning it.

This map shows the road ending at the Bear Jaw trail head. Let me assure you, the road continues on way past that point. It could be two or three miles farther. And I have no idea why I even bothered to link a map that isn't accurate. Could be a sign I really need some rest.

I turned around at the top after surveying some of the damage from last winters avalanche. It straight up wrecked the place. Impressive stuff, trees snapped off like match sticks and lined up down the canyon and around the bend. I put on my rain jacket and started back down.

Filled up two water bottles and a 100 oz bladder at the spring, then continued back down Waterline. On the way down I ran into Firefighter Cory and his brother coming up the hill. We stop and chat. I notice we both paused the timers on our heart rate monitors. He's not doing Leadville this year, instead he's going to check out the Durango MTB 100. He told me last year there were only something like 16 people that finished the event.

Holy shit, that's a hard one. I'll take my licks at Leadville, thank you very much.

I saw they have a 100 k race, maybe that would be more my style. I guess its the first two laps that the 100 miler uses. Yeah, that would be a good idea. Sorta like ending the pain of Leadville at Twin Lakes on the way back. Coincidentally, that's right about where I wanted to die last year.

I got to the bottom, turned right on the pipeline. Worked my way over to Weatherford Road, turned right and started climbing. Topped that one off, turned left on Freidlin Road and worked my way over to Snowbowl Road. All this time I'm eating good and keeping my energy levels up. Another good sign for Leadville, also known as the Stupid Fucking Bonkfest Race From Hell.

Can you tell I bonked last year?

Anyway, right about here is where it started to rain on me. Not just a little teaser, but full on angry as fuck, torrential downpour. I hid out and stayed under the meager protection offered by a pine tree for a few minutes before venturing out in the deluge. After four minutes of feeling cold and just standing there, I decided it was time to get on with it. Down the road for another half mile till I hit pavement.

And, you guessed it, I turned left and climbed Snowbowl. I felt pretty good even if the rain and grit were giving me a nice case of baboon ass.

All told it took me seven hours and forty five minutes door to door. It was hard. And I feel I'm ready for Leadville.

At least as ready as I'm going to get.

Friday, July 29, 2005
aurora   I   anya   I   romona

Thank God it's Friday and all that jazz. I thought the weekend would never come.

And, of course, now it will end in a blur.

  From: nate
Subject: sorry, just one more thing…
I was just listening to the news about CAFTA and the energy bill passing the house. So, GWB has some more laws to sign, how many has he vetoed? I believe it's one, in five years of presidency. Some of the provisions in the energy bill include subsidies ($11billion) for oil companies to drill in the gulf. Oil companies are recording record profits, why do they need subsidies?

It's no wonder that npr needs to be censored, it's causing trouble. So, what exactly is the problem? the policies of our administration? or the media reporting it? There would be alot less dissent if the public was kept ignorant of the complicated inner workings of our sophisticated government. It's really too complex for us to understand. Just fill 'er up and go buy milk. I'm pissed. (but i do love milk) thank you for your attention,

What is it about a Friday? The fact that it comes like a reprieve from the governor saving a condemned man from his untimely end? Or, is it the promise of a new beginning?

  From: jaime
Subject: is it just me?
or does it seem like whenever there's a story like this, the driver is some kind of slack-jawed booger eatin' moron, while the guy on the bike actually has something on the ball? It's like reverse Darwinism or something...

Check the story: boston.com/...repeat_offender_tied_to_crash

The guy's kid must be thrilled: heroin-addict Dad gets busted after running down the Harvard prof & gives son's name to the cops to stay out of the clink. Thanks, Pop! At least the cyclist is OK....

Keep liftin' 'em, Jonny. You're doing God's work...

I like the guy who "tried to act like a bystander at the scene..."

Yeah, that one always works for me.

Dumpin' some links.

consumptionjunction.com nbc5.com/irresistible/4781774/detail.htm

  From: Corey the Courier
Subject: Kent Peterson
That's one badass dude, not in the kick your ass way like Tex Cobb in Raising Arizona (now a Philly resident), but the same dude who won the Alleycat from San Fran to Portland a few years ago then rode home to Seattle afterward 'cause he had to go to work. I was a shell of a man after that ride. Him, doing another hundred or two miles to shower and go to earn some cash. I need to be drinking from his flask...

Corey the Courier
Philly Phorever

Two weeks ago, I had never heard of the guy. Now all I hear is the same thing: He is man of iron.

  From: Kate
Thanks so much for posting this Jonny. My college's cycling team is in bad need of some sponsorship-- freakin' Dartmouth is sponsored by everyone at interbike and their mothers, while we are forced suckle from a single LBS. We have the phattest kits east of the Mississippi; if you're in NE you have probably seen those weird ass purple cow spotted kids at races. You know you want your company's name on them. Check out our website for details.

P.S. Any bets for which ProTour rider is going to be the first to start sporting the black? My money's on Floyd--he's still wearing those goddamn Elvis aviators. He is the AntiLance. All hail Floyd.

I'll say this much, the Williams College kit is unmistakable in the bunch. Check out their illustrious race resume. If you can help out this small band of determined overachieves, you'll be doing a very good thing.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005
dirty birdy   I   kennedy   I   I am at a loss for words

What is this, hump day? I'm not humping. More like fuck day. Not that I'm fucking.

Never mind.

I've spent the last several hours diggin' in the crates. It's amazing what you can find in your garage when it comes time to build up a new bike. I've got so much cool shit, I forget half of it's even there most of the time.

Life is like that sometimes, isn't it?

I guess it's true what they say: You don't miss it till it's gone. Like all those seven speed freewheels I pitched back in Tempe six years ago. That one impulsive act haunts me to this day.

Now I try not to throw out anything. Keep it all. Nice and safe and hoarded. Like cats.

Ok, not like cats.

Mostly what I regret lately is the stuff I've sold. I've love to have half of that back at twice the price.

Go figure.

When it comes to bike parts, I'm my own worst enemy.

  From: Carl
Subject: LiveWrong hits the big time
So I was thumbing through the August edition of Reader's Digest the other day and I found this tidbit under a section called 'Only in America': "......The Lance Armstrong Foundation and Nike have sold more than 50 Million yellow "LIVESTONG" cancer awareness bracelets so far. And they inspired pink ones for breast cancer, and a black "LIVEWRONG" spoof." Now I'm sure that since you are not a woman who is 60 or older you wouldn't come across this mention on your own. The only reason I found it is because my Grandmother, who means well, put me in for a subscription. Now my

First we were in Cyclesport. Then USA Today. Reader Digest and now the NY Times.

Step back baby, Poppa's getting his groove on.

  From: Sean
Subject: black is the new yellow
And if you were president, would you really say to the nation, in the face of the chaos in Iraq, that "if our commanders on the ground say we need more troops, I will send them," but that they had not asked? It is not what the generals are asking you, Mr. President - it is what you are asking them, namely: "What do you need to win?" Because it is clear we are not winning, and we are not winning because we have never made Iraq a secure place where normal politics could emerge.

Oh, well, maybe we have the leaders we deserve. Maybe we just want to admire Lance Armstrong, but not be Lance Armstrong. Too much work. Maybe that's the wristband we should be wearing: Live wrong. Party on. Pay later.

Friedman swings for the fence and puts that one in the bleachers, ladies and gentlemen…

  From: Jonathan
Subject: yet another mention of LiveWrong
Interesting article on Lance's changing feelings about the War in Iraq and a headline mention of "Live Wrong"...

The transition from sportsman to political will be an interesting one. For a man who is as hungry for victory and completely driven, as Armstrong is, he will be a force to reckon with.

  From: Kevin
Subject: Livewrong in the news
Pittsburgh Post Gazette this time
later skater

Would you believe I got all of these emails today? You'd think I has saving them up for one big push. But no, they hit me all at once, just like an avalanche.

  From: Moishe
Subject: GDR pics
I noticed you linked to Kent Peterson's pics from the GDR... just want to call out that he's the first guy ever to ride the Great Divide on a singlespeed, and he did it in fine style. He rode his goddamn singlespeed a few hundred miles from his house in Issaquah, WA to the start in Montana -- then did the race, apparently subsisting entirely on M&Ms and PayDay bars. And missed 2nd place by just a few hours.

A few days later, a bunch of us met him for coffee in Seattle. Since he hasn't owned a car in 20 years or so, he rode out to meet us -- that's a 50 mile ride, all told, on that same heavy-ass Monocog, a few days after finishing the Great Divide Race, just to get coffee and shoot the shit. Kent keeps it real.

I knew anyone who participated in that event was a complete bad ass. But now I have even more respect for the guy.

  From: Joey
Subject: A free plug for LiveWrong
Hey, is it ok if I call in a favor? For several years now I've been sending you funny, stupid or political shit for you to post & I sport the DC gear proudly. I'm riding in the Pan Mass Challenge, the gold bar standard of athletic fundraisers (nearly 97% of money raised goes direct to Cancer research), & could use a little extra help to hit my goal.

You can read about the ride here.

If anyone wants to help out they can do it here.

If you can post the link I'd appreciate it, if not I understand. Thanks man.

Good looking out. And of course I'll post that email. Click the links, and help a humble man raise some bucks for a good cause.

Link dump time:


One in from Ragbrai.

  From: Dave Evil
Subject: Weather has cleared
Weather has cleared, the organ harvest has begun in earnest.

I can't close my eyes…

Tuesday, July 26, 2005
cuties   I   hey now   I   kinda sloppy

Another day, another dollar. Isn't that what they say? Sure. Whatever. I'll take that dollar.

And you can shove it up your ass.

I've got nothing. All I did today was work, pick up some used tires from Bensy to try out and get a new Dueter (or something) pack from Nik the Dick. Yeah, I'll look back years from now and wonder how I managed to do it all.

And do it all so well.

At least I rode my bike to work today. I'm already ahead of the curve with that one. And I didn't get rained on to badly. Just a little rained on.

Just call me "lucky".

  From: Big Tex
Subject: No Regrets on January Decision
Juan Grande,
Thursday, I reentered the world of racing NORBA nationals after a 3 year hiatus. I entered the Snowmass Marathon, which so happened to be exactly half of the distance and climbing of the race you entered called Leadville 100.

Wednesday night I got off of work and drove 3hrs to Independence pass--12,041 feet and slept in my car. The next morning, I rose with the sun and drove down to the local grocery store for some pre race eating and coffee. I got my number, 621, and warmed up by looking for a place to stash my feed bag. The race consisted of 2 laps so I figured 3 bottles per lap plus some needed carbs.

At the start, I saw old friends and rivals like J. Henry, T. Brown, and Little Fabio. The field was small but stacked and it was mass start----men, women, children---GO! One thing of note, racing is Aspen is very steep. The start was muy tranquilo. I wanted to hold back with the race being long. I expected a 4 hr finish time. Brown and Henry quickly established a small gap of less than a minute. I stayed with 3 others including Etough. On the descent, Etough and I separated from the others and then I went on alone to bridge the gap to the leaders----I'm riding a full suspension Voodoo Canzo---How can I not descend faster than most.

So I'm riding with the leaders. We're talking having a good time on some killer single track with creek crossings, roots, rocks, dust, everything you want in a MTB ride. We start up and with in 10 minutes I realize this is faster than working man's speed. I let the leaders go in hopes that I'm saving myself for the last lap. At the end of the lap, four riders had caught up to me. Not bad, I can ride with these guys. I stop to feed my self with a few more water bottles and powergels. I never see anyone again till the finish.

At the 2hr mark, my legs quit. I can't breathe hard or even push myself because my legs don't have the strength to push the pedals fast enough to breathe hard. I paid $65 to suffer like this?---I finishing the race. There's the downhill---I'll be fast on this section. That goes well but I still have 1500 feet of climbing to the finish on a barren ridge line with high altitude temperatures above 90 degrees.

I begin to wonder when the women will catch me. I ride my granny gear 24X34 for the next hour and still no one catches me but I see the finish at 4 hrs 10 minutes. Whew! It was good to blow my legs out like that and to get back into the racing scene a little but it sure did hurt. I immediately thought of you and I wish you the best of luck in a few weeks as you ride double my distance and climbing. I'll cheer from the sidelines or I'll be somewhere else cheering---there's a nice little Fat Tire Festival in Los Alamos that same weekend.

Good looking out, tough guy.

Today's funny videos:


  From: Tall Paul
Subject: Lance Armstrong's War
A really interesting article about who lance really is...

Tonight's joke:

A man scanned the guests at a party and spotted an attractive woman standing alone.

He approached her and asked her name. "My name is Carmen," she told him.

"That's a beautiful name," he said. "Is it a family name?"

"No," she replied. "I gave it to myself. It reflects the things I like most - cars and men."

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Beerfuck," he answered.

Ho ho ho, Merry fucking Christmas with that one.

  From: Bike Punk
Subject: Introducing the New Comeback to Anything
Dude... this one is so far, the best. I do miss living in a big city, and especially one where shit like this gets said in a language I understand.

Title: Introducing the New Comeback to Anything

And the hits just keep on coming here at K-Billy, super sounds of the seventies.

  From: Marco
Subject: who's muthafuckin next?
"Make some room for the next generation of American talent. Who's it going to be?"

bitch, I'M next! 1 win, 5 GPMs last year with tha muthafuckin real pros. betta recognize muthafuckin game when it's in your face jonny ;-)

EU's most wanted, muthafucka! straight outta muthafuckin northcentral italia, baby! fuck tha carabinieri!!!

of course, now that i've got my muthafuckin italian citizenship, i guess i'm not a true muthafuckin american.

just haven't gotten around to muthafuckin "ex-pat"-ing yet...yet.

i'm muthafuckin out!

The Great Divide race is in the books. God damn if that ain't a hard one. Check out some blog entries here and some pics here.

Link Dump:

seattlerandonneur.org/.../100km_1 _2005.html

I'm going to wrap this on up with a short update from Ragbrai.

  From: Dave Evil
Subject: Violence and murder
Violence and murder. The weather has broken, Evil has begun the slaughter of the innocents. And by innocents I mean beers. Fuck all.

Kill 'em all. Let God sort 'em out.

Monday, July 25, 2005
redhead for dave   I   looks like trouble   I   anika

And the Tour is over. Done. Kaput. Just like my man Jan.

Jesus. What a beating.

Lance. Seven. Total domination for years. And years. A record that will stand for a long time. It's been like watching Michael Jordan play basketball. Just a man head and shoulders above the rest. Unreal.

Next year he'll be gone. And in another year or two all the "new" cycling fans will be gone too. Just like how you don't see Bulls jackets everywhere anymore. Or Lakers gear. Or whoever else was driving the bandwagon for awhile. Less Trek and less Trautwig. It'll be a good thing.

Make some room for the next generation of American talent. Who's it going to be? Danielson? He's got the talent, but he's bit old to jump into the whole Euro thing and not get eaten alive. Discovery is the best possible team for him to develop. Top notch program and support staff. Emphasis on the "program". He'll be fine.

Hincapie as a Tour contender? Bitch please. He's a good rider, great in the classics. But win the Tour? I don't think so. That is a whole different animal. Same with Landis. Crazy talent. But top rung at the Tour? Yeah. Sorry. Don't think so.

It may be a few years before we see another American claim the top spot. It's going to be another countries national anthem choking up the man in yellow. And that's ok. We've had it for seven years. We can spread it around a bit.

It's only fair.

And speaking of fair, here is another couple of pic of Basso's sister. Say hi to Elisa.

Can a brother get a witness?

  From: sarah b.
Subject: rocking out
i almost got run over by a fucking hummer today who passed me on the road and then decided not to use their blinker while turning into the gas station to fill up fo the fourth time today. the fun really never stops here in Bend, OR. How about flagstaff? i was thinking about trying my hand in northern arizona sometime in the near future. we'll see what happens. not much going up here these days, i'm homeless and looking for a change and who needs a new house when you can have a whole new state?. although i would be leaving my fabulous job in a daycare at the ritziest health club this side of the rockies. it's such a joy to hobnob with the bigwigs in this town, jonny...it's just this whole different world i've never experienced in my life growing up in middle america. an eleven year old boy was talking to me the other day about square footage of his friends house. i believe the conversation went something like this, "it's like a five thousand square foot house. we're going to get one like that, well ours is going to be 4700 sq feet so not quite as big and they have like 20 video cameras and a lock down room, it's pretty cool." eleven. i don't even now the square footage of my house now. you just have to laugh sometimes...when it doesn't scare the shit out of you because here comes another generation of hummer driving republicans.

We'd be glad to have you around.

I heard the Live Wrong bracelets make OLN the other day. Maybe there is hope for those guys after all.

"History shows that the willingness to curtail America's freedoms during national challenges ultimately leads to regrets about betraying our fundamental values," Lisa Graves, a senior counsel for the American Civil Liberties Union. Read the rest here.

Linky dumpy:
you suck dick like a pornstar

Andrej is the man.

  From: Andrej
The time had come for me to pick up my ticket for Montenegro. The JAT office is near Arbatskaya, in the belly of the Moscow beast.

The weather alternates between rain and sun. I am in my traditional attire and I am lost. The streets here aren't marked, and a compass is very helpful.

I'm practically naked and walking in an underpass. At the end of the underpass is a stately old woman wearing a Soviet army uniform, sitting on a box and begging for change. As I approach her I'm already fishing around in my pocket for change. Then she suddenly comes to life and shouts "Hey sportsman...nice pecs!" "you look like you're new in town." Yes dear readers, she was hitting on me.

She tells me that she's 80 years old and that if she was a few years younger, she'd just love to jump my bones. I tell her that she too is a hot little ticket. She is flattered, and she tells me that back in the day she was a champion sharpshooter and that she personally killed 27 Germans in the Great Patriotic War. She says that she begs as a hobby; something to do to get her out of the house. She is saving her beggng money to buy a new set of teeth so she can be beautiful again. I can tell that she must have been incredibly sexy back when she was one women slaughterhouse.

I give her one hundred roubles, because she is the first Russian girl that hit on me. Finally!!!!

(Remind me to tell you guys about O)

As I'm naked and chatting with one-shot-one-kill Natasha, two wicked hot young blonde hotties approach me from behind.

"Spechenzee Duetch!?" they ask

"Nyet." I say

I could not believe my luck. It was like a tag team hit-on-Andrej Ho-Down in the underpass. Russian girls are usually very shy and they seem to be afraid of me.

God bless German girls (and Irish girls). They truly are the salt of the earth.

I tell the two little hotties that I'm an American and that I also speak Serbian. Their giggles fill the underpass. I'm giggling too. They also speak a little English.

Turns out they are Russian, not German, and they study languages at the university, and they are eager to practice their English. So I insist on buying them some beers. I say good bye to Natasha and go above ground with my new little friends.

And so there I am, in my underwear, in an outdoor cafe in the Arbatskaya, sippin a cold one and giggling with the ersatz-Olsen twins.

One of them was exceptionally attractive: Anna is her name and yes, I got her number.

From there I drift in to Sector Southwest. As I leaving the Sector Center, it begins to rain, hard. But what do I care? I'm naked.

I think that walk through Sector Southwest, in the rain, ranks in the top ten of the greatest days in my life. As I walked, I meditated on Rutger Haurer's improvised and haunting last lines in Bladerunner.

If you haven't walked naked through the rainy streets of Moscow, you haven't lived. I've done the Paris in spring time thing, and it doesn't even come close.

Then, suddenly, I enter a huge square; it isn't really a square, it's more like a gigantic intersection of five eight lane roads. And in the middle is fucking super cool monument to my nigga Gagarin. This is definitely my favorite monument in Moscow. And across the square is the extremely interesting looking Soviet Academy of Sciences. I don't know how to describe this building. Imagine Viennese art nouveau meets David Lynch's Dune. I explored its court yard.

From there I entered a mighty wood and walked for two hours until I reached Moscow State University. There I sat, on the dry fountain in from of this awesome building in the middle of a forest, and meditated on my own academic future.

And, for reasons I cannot explain and barely understand myself, I am not done with tonight's update yet. Kill me please.

  From: A Bomb
Subject: DailyCandy NYC - Run for Your Life
July 22, 2005
Run for Your Life

Calling all wannabe assassins. Your mission, should you choose to accept it: win a three-week, citywide water-gun assassination tournament.

The dossier: You will meet an agent of the Shadow Government in an undisclosed location. The agent, upon verification of your identity, will disclose your target's name, photo, contact information, and home and work addresses. The game is afoot.

You will eat, sleep, and breathe the name and likeness of your victim until you terminate him or her with your weapon of choice (Super Soaker, water balloon, water glock, gat).

Choose your method wisely: e-mail alias (imgonnakillyou@gmail.com), disguise (fake mustache and accent), phony death threat (beware the tricky reaper).

Your mark is safe at work (and the surrounding one-block radius), in the subway (the MTA might not appreciate your sense of humor), or a bar (a haven in more ways than one). Everywhere else? Fair territory. Attack at home. On the street. Day. Night.

Most of all, when it's least expected.

Once you successfully snipe your target, report it to the Shadow Government within 24 hours to receive the profile of your next victim.

Just be warned, soldier: At all times, someone will be trying to nail you, too.

This e-mail will self destruct in five seconds.

The deadline for registration is Monday, July 25. For more information, go to streetwars.net. Team options are available. Should you have a complaint about your experience, you can hunt down Team Candy - unless we get you first. Which is not to say we endorse killing of any kind. We're talking squirt guns, people.

The registration may be full, but the inspiration lives on. Throw an event like this in your town. Fun till the cows come home.

I like the Santa's Bitch shirt. Not so much the girl, but the shirt is the tops. Maybe that's what I'll get Bensy for his birthday.

I mean, what else do you get the guy who has everything?

Oh shit, it's the Cult of Scalia.

  From: John M.
Subject: Brownie Death March
So, you actually bit on the preservative-laden convenience store brownie. Those never even look that good to me. In one town where I used to work there was a company which stocked little honor system boxes of snacks in various offices. One of the featured items was the "Fudge Brownie", a nasty little square about 3" by 3". or so. I have it on good authority that one office actually staged a "Fudge Brownie Death Match. There was a near -choking incident involved. Sorry, no pictures.

Yeah, I ain't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. If you catch my drift.

Check out the Republican Nemesis, a site called buyblue.org, and this NY Times article, Eight days in July.

Hooray for Canada. I especially like the following line from the article: Maybe we should discount remarks from the president of the Toronto-based Automotive Parts Manufacturers' Association, who claimed that the educational level in the Southern United States was so low that trainers for Japanese plants in Alabama had to use "pictorials" to teach some illiterate workers how to use high-tech equipment.

Oh, you can't make up shit that funny. Trust me, I try to.

Last thing up tonight, an update from Ragbrai.

  From: Dave Evil
Subject: Tornado in camp! one dead
Tornado in camp! One dead, lots of damage. My tent collapsed and I had to stay in the bus. Everything soaked.

We weathered the storm with Old Milwaukee. Evil camp in ruins, personnel intact. Keeping the powder dry. Joints solve everything.

And to think I'm missing it again.

Saturday, July 23, 2005
maritza   I   nella   I   pauline

Looks like the Tour is in the books. Sure, there is one more day to Paris. But at this point, nothing short of a plague of locusts and floods of biblical proportions would knock Armstrong off the top rung. He's far and above the best rider in the Tour full stop.

Also in the books in another edition of the Taylor House benefit ride. A brand new course this year took us east of town instead of playing with traffic on the west side. We dicked around off Cosonino Road before crawling over the hump on 89 then dumping down and around the Wupatki National Monument.

If you've not ridden into, and climbed back out of, that big old hole, you simply haven't lived yet. I was completely overhauled on the climb out today.

It was hotter than fucking koika down there. And, in case you're wondering, that is pretty damn hot.

I was pouring water over my head, unzipped the jersey all the way down, didn't matter. Still hot.

Once I got to the last sag stop for two full bottles, the rain came. True to monsoon fuck-you-in-the-ass style, I got hammered. Wind, rain, pain. I got hailed on. Again.

Fucking ice cubes falling out of the sky. Yeah, that's fun.

I went from being uncomfortably hot to being uncomfortably cold in the span of about a half hour.

Anyway, rode the last 15 miles in better weahter, even dried off a bit. Made it over Cedar Hill in fine form, down the other side, finished up, had a brat. And it was a good brat. It's allways a good brat at the end of a century.

Another fine event by the fine folks at Absolute Bikes. You should definitely make an effort to check this one out next year.

  From: theneech
Subject: good Iraq info
Have you seen:

We have a good radio station in Berkeley, CA..... KPFA that is a member of the Pacifica network. It is one of the great sources of English language reporting on the real situation in Iraq. Also see:

How about that George Hincapie? I love to see such a hardworking guy get a little glory in the Tour for himself. keep up the good work.

Right on.

  From: Sov
Subject: Ragbrai (you pussy)
Dearest Jonny,
We at Evil feel great woe for your gigantic puss-filled oozing ass sores. Surely this is the reason you have ONCE AGAIN denied the Ragbrai rider inside you.

Perhaps you, like the retarded Texan winning the Tour, have a raging bout with testicular cancer going that you're too courageous to share. You are so brave.

Maybe you've been incarcerated and are now a pretty prison yard bitch.

Have you developed an allergy to alcohol and fun?

We will lift one (or maybe a half-a-one) in your honor. Your courageous battle with (insert courageous battle) will forever motivate us to ride, drink, shit, and barf.

Oh damn it all to hell. Time for another link dump.


One from Andrej and I'm out.

Like Eddy Limonov, in "It's me, Eddy," I have undertaken an epic walking tour of mighty Moscow. I have divided the city into five sectors:
1. The center around the Kremlin
2. Sector Southeast
3. Sector Southwest
4. Sector Northeast
5. Sector Northwest

I got an ass pack, my red short shorts, my short goggles, a compass, a blade, and a fist full of babki (grannies=money). I still have my Arctic tan, and I am determined to maintain it.

Day First: Sector Southeast

It's hot and humid and overcast. Blue sky and clouds fight for territory. From my residence in Sevastopolskaya, I walk due east.

The roads here are extremely wide; easilt eight lanes wide, and few stop lights. So crossing them is perilous. There are plenty of underpasses everywhere. As a result, women here are forced to climb lots of stairs, and that probably accounts for their fantastic legs. (They should change the name of the this country to Leg Show.)

Every block, there is a playground, where I do a set of pull-ups or dips. Eventually I get to a huge park. This park sits on a 300 foot bluff overlooking the third bend in the Moskva River. On the bluff is a little heavily wooded hill. In the midst of this thick forest is the pogoda like Cathedral of the Beheaded Forerunner; that's what the Russians call John the Baptist. It's interesting that the very tall trees grow almost to the walls of the Cathedral, so it is impossible to get a full view of it. On the key stone of the brick arch gateway is an adorable little mosaic of the Forerunner's head in a bucket.

But there many little fairy tale churches in this park. Pick up a stick, chuck it, and there's another one!

And it's hot and I need a beer. I see a girl standing next to an ice chest under a big Lowenbru sun umbrella. A cop is hitting on her. I walk up and buy a Klinskoe lager tallboy. There is a new law in Russia banning public drinking. I wanted to see if this law was being enforced. I take a sip and continue along my merry way. The law is a dead letter.

I continue up Andropov street, and into the center of Moscow.

By the time I get there, five hours latter, I looked like a Socialist Realist sculpture. Along the way I had done two hundred pull-ups and one hundred dips, and the sun had turned my skin bronze.

(And I had about three liters of beer in me.)

In Red Square I sat and stared at the men restoring St. Basil's. I wished I was restoring St. Basil's. But those guys probably wished they we me, chillin and drinkin a cold one in the furious heat at the foot of the Kremlin.

I haven't been inside of the Kremlin yet. I'm gonna wait until I come back and speak Russian, so that I can appreciate it a little more.

On the northside of the Kremlin, there is a little narrow and deep fountain, filled with statues of Russian fairy tale characters. The place is swarming with hot chicks. I see a kid in the fountain. And that was all I needed. And so there I am, in deep emerald water, enjoying a cold one. Next to me is a statue of a maiden mourning a drowned lover. In front of me are the battlements of the Kremlin and the Eternal Fame.

After a while I realized that no one else was in the fountain with me. So I thought it would be best to move on.

But I was hot

Thursday, July 21, 2005
erica 1   I   erica 2   I   samantha

Thirsty Thursday and all I am is tired. Go figure. At least the Tour is exciting. Not. Ullrich closing in on the Chicken. That's about the whole enchilada right there.

I'd never make it as a Tour commentator. I'd be trying to fill in the slow spots by ripping tubes and getting lap dances. I don't image OLN would much go for that. Although, I could give a rats ass what OLN would go for.

Next year, when Armstrong is working on his golf game and singing backup vocals for Sheryl, OLN will air a half hour recap show which will consists of Al Trautwig muttering incoherently about Trek bikes and Armstrong's superior training methods. The train will have left the station, and Al will still be stammering on about the gum on his shoe.

In a fair world that bastard would be damned to pumping gas for the rest of his days. Hey Al, I would say was I rolled up in the shit box I lovingly call the Big Gray Whale, check the oil for me, won't ya buddy.

Even that may be to kind of a life sentence for scum like him. He should have to work the Carnie Circuit, always trying to squeeze one more weekend of life out of some clapped out death trap thrill ride. Sucking dick for one more tank of gas. The next town. The next carnival. Just trying to get over that far horizon and the promise of a better tomorrow for ever and ever. But never really getting any closer, all the time wallowing in shit like the rest of us.

Mother fucking link dump:


  From: Rich
Subject: Basso's Sister
I'm touched to see she's still wearing that belt buckle I gave her after our magical evening together....

Shit, if it had been me that shit would say "poor".

  From: John
Subject: Livewrong @ tour Day Frog
I was watching the extended coverage and they did a little ditty on mechanics. The gerstoliener wrench appeared to have a livewrong bracelet on his right arm.

Cool. Glad to see it's getting around. Like a disease.

It's road bike month at Mile Wide Sports.

A new one in from our man about town, Dejay.

  From: dejay
Subject: cookie new
when the sun is in your eyes, don't stare straight ahead, you wo't see it coming

Not exactly a race report, now is it? In fact, I have no idea what he's talking about.

  From: Matt
Subject: Great photos
Check the douche getting his shit creamed by the motorbike!
He got what he deserved.. glad it was well documented!

Jesus. That was pretty crazy.

  From: Richard
While looking for information on something I am interested in I came across this story.

The guy was riding his bike across the street in the crosswalk and one of the cops had this to say, "Bicyclists should be reminded that bikes are to be walked, not pedaled, in pedestrian crosswalks." Which I would like to know how it would of prevented the accident. He would of got smacked either way.

You have a very good point there.

  From: Bike Punk
Subject: Shocker seen round the world
Me throwin down between Moutiers and Courchevel. I wonder if Lance saw it and thought "I gotta try that with Crow later..." ? I bet he did... I bet he did.

Like my man Anthony likes to say, two in the pink, one is the stink.

Good looking out.

I'll be winding it up with this one tonight.

  From: Angela
Subject: A little reading for you
An essay by E.L Doctorow

Edgar Lawrence Doctorow occupies a central position in the history of American literature. He is generally considered to be among the most talented, ambitious, and admired novelists of the second half of the twentieth century. Doctorow has received the National Book Award, two National Book Critics Circle Awards, the PEN/Faulkner Award, the Edith Wharton Citation for Fiction, the William Dean Howell Medal of the American Academy of Arts and Letters, and the residentially conferred National Humanities Medal.

Doctorow was born in New York City on January 6, 1931. After graduating with honors from Kenyon College in 1952, he did graduate work at Columbia University and served in the U.S. Army. Doctorow was senior editor for New American Library from 1959 to 1964 and then served as editor in chief at Dial Press until 1969. Since then, he has devoted his time to writing and teaching. He holds the Glucksman Chair in American Letters at New York University and over the years has taught at several institutions, including Yale University Drama School, Princeton University, Sarah Lawrence College, and the University of California, Irvine.


I fault this president (George W. Bush) for not knowing what death is. He does not suffer the death of our twenty-one year olds who wanted to be what they could be.

On the eve of D-day in 1944 General Eisenhower prayed to God for the lives of the young soldiers he knew were going to die. He knew what death was. Even in a justifiable war, a war not of choice but of necessity, a war of survival, the cost was almost more than Eisenhower could bear.

But this president does not know what death is. He hasn't the mind for it. You see him joking with the press, peering under the table for the WMDs he can't seem to find, you see him at rallies strutting up to the stage in shirt sleeves to the roar of the carefully screened crowd, smiling and waving, triumphal, a he-man. He does not mourn. He doesn't understand why he should mourn. He is satisfied during the course of a speech written for him to look solemn for a moment and speak of the brave young Americans who made the ultimate sacrifice for their country.

But you study him, you look into his eyes and know he dissembles an emotion which he does not feel in the depths of his being because he has no capacity for it. He does not feel a personal responsibility for the thousand dead young men and women who wanted be what they could be.

They come to his desk not as youngsters with mothers and fathers or wives and children who will suffer to the end of their days a terribly torn fabric of familial relationships and the inconsolable remembrance of aborted life.... They come to his desk as a political liability which is why the press is not permitted to photograph the arrival of their coffins from Iraq.

How then can he mourn? To mourn is to express regret and he regrets nothing. He does not regret that his reason for going to war was, as he knew, unsubstantiated by the facts. He does not regret that his bungled plan for the war's aftermath has made of his mission-accomplished a disaster. He does not regret that rather than controlling terrorism his war in Iraq has licensed it.

So he never mourns for the dead and crippled youngsters who have fought this war of his choice. He wanted to go to war and he did. He had not the mind to perceive the costs of war, or to listen to those who knew those costs. He did not understand that you do not go to war when it is one of the options, but when it is the only option; you go not because you want to but because you have to.

This president knew it would be difficult for Americans not to cheer the overthrow of a foreign dictator. He knew that much. This president and his supporters would seem to have a mind for only one thing --- to take power, to remain in power, and to use that power for the sake of themselves and their friends. A war will do that as well as anything. You become a wartime leader. The country gets behind you. Dissent becomes inappropriate. And so he does not drop to his knees, he is not contrite, he does not sit in the church with the grieving parents and wives and children.

He is the President who does not feel. He does not feel for the families of the dead; he does not feel for the thirty five million of us who live in poverty; he does not feel for the forty percent who cannot afford health insurance; he does not feel for the miners whose lungs are turning black or for the working people he has deprived of the chance to work overtime at time-and-a-half to pay their bills --- it is amazing for how many people in this country this President does not feel.

But he will dissemble feeling. He will say in all sincerity he is relieving the wealthiest one percent of the population of their tax burden for the sake of the rest of us, and that he is polluting the air we breathe for the sake of our economy, and that he is decreasing the safety regulations for coal mines to save the coal miners' jobs, and that he is depriving workers of their time-and-a- half benefits for overtime because this is actually a way to honor them by raising them into the professional class.

And this litany of lies he will versify with reverences for God and the flag and democracy, when just what he and his party are doing to our democracy is choking the life out of it.

But there is one more terribly sad thing about all of this. I remember the millions of people here and around the world who marched against the war. It was extraordinary, that spontaneously aroused oversoul of alarm and protest that transcended national borders. Why did it happen? After all, this was not the only war anyone had ever seen coming. There are little wars all over the world most of the time.

But the cry of protest was the appalled understanding of millions of people that America was ceding its role as the last best hope of mankind. It was their perception that the classic archetype of democracy was morphing into a rogue nation. The greatest democratic republic in history was turning its back on the future, using its extraordinary power and standing not to advance the ideal of a concordance of civilizations but to endorse the kind of tribal combat that originated with the Neanderthals, a people, now extinct, who could imagine ensuring their survival by no other means than pre-emptive war.

The president we get is the country we get. With each president the nation is conformed spiritually. He is the artificer of our malleable national soul. He proposes not only the laws but the kinds of lawlessness that govern our lives and invoke our responses. The people he appoints are cast in his image. The trouble they get into and get us into, is his characteristic trouble.

Finally the media amplify his character into our moral weather report. He becomes the face of our sky, the conditions that prevail: How can we sustain ourselves as the United States of America given the stupid and ineffective warmaking, the constitutionally insensitive lawgiving, and the monarchal economics of this president? He cannot mourn but is a figure of such moral vacancy as to make us mourn for ourselves.

E.L. Doctorow

Wednesday, July 20, 2005
ember   I   jones   I   julia & kristina

So I missed a day. Shoot me. The Taylor House Century is this next Saturday. Check it out.

Yesterday afternoon a group of five wheeled up Snow Bowl. And I was the fifth wheel. I didn't suddenly find any climbing form that's worth a damn, but I did feel at the bottom like I could sure do it again.

And that in and of itself if an achievement for Fatty Beerbuckle.

What did Vino jump today, two spots on GC? And that's what we're reduced to, watching seventh, eighth and ninth place shuffle on the leader board.

On Saturday I think we're going to see a lot more shuffling on the lesser CG spots. The only action is whether Ullrich can make up the better part of three minutes on Rasmussen. And how far Mancebo will drop. My money says he'll drop like a stone, but my money has been wrong before.

And it'll be wrong again.

So it goes…

Monday, July 18, 2005
hello nasty   I   wendy   I   redhead for dave

The Gnome and I rode out to Clint's Well Saturday morning. Since we're both suffering with the thought of actually riding Leadville in another couple of weeks. Jesus, what did we get ourselves into.

He dropped me on the first climb. Not the steps. The one where the feed zone was for the State Championship race last year. Don't worry, I somehow managed to drop him on the second climb. Then he was drilling it on the way to the turn around I had to drop off and ride my own pace for the last mile. My heart rate was 158, 164, 162, etc over those last few rollers. And I really wanted was a Pepsi. Just one Pepsi.

Actually, I forgot about the Pepsi and bought a .50 cent brownie instead. I told Gnome as I ate it I didn't know which part I liked better; that it really didn't taste all that much like chocolate, or the fact that it was making me want to throw up.

Call it a tie.

Gnome stared drilling it again after 5 minutes of easy riding reprieve, and again, I had to back off. That brownie was in my throat and wouldn't sit down like a good brownie. I rolled up along side of him and told him I would ride my own pace and I'd see him back in town. In about 50 miles. Whatever.

I thought I was going to puke for about a half hour. I went slow and sipped water, wondering why I ever ate that fucking brownie.

It's because I always eat the fucking brownie. And usually they are good. Great even. Next time I'm sticking with Little Debbie. None of this off-brand bargain basement shit for the big man.

Somehow I didn't puke. And I started to get my stomach in order. Then I could start revving it up. And rev it up I did. I felt pretty good for the next two hours. Then, I caught back up the Gnome, who had made it all the way back to the boat docks and turned around to find fatty.

We rode together, trading jokes for the last hour or so. The first part was hotter than shit. We were both getting low on water. The Lake Mary Store was just ahead a couple of miles, and we could see the storm clouds boiling over Flagstaff. The shit was coming.

We get to the store, I pony up for some water and a Gatorade. We sit down and chill for a few minutes. So it's about to rain. It's going to rain whether I sit here of not. At least if I sit here my feet will stop hurting. At least for a little while.

We start up again, and it promptly starts raining on us like all hell was breaking loose. Hail too. And that shit hurts. I but it in the big ring, stayed in the drops and took it on home.

And went straight to the shower.

Seven hours ride time. I've done it faster. But then, I've been in a group of five or six guys as well. Riding by myself and trying not to puke up shitlog brownie doesn't exactly burn up the miles.

Sunday, I rode up Waterline Road to the Cabins. Topped off my water bottles and went home. Don't sound like much, but it took me four and a half hours.

Yeah, big weekend for fatty.

Check out Jan's journal.

Dead man walking. Soul Ride coming. Registration for the one and only Soul Ride is open. Get some over at gearwerks.com today.

Check this one out by Greg Palast. And don't miss this one by Frank Rich.

Rove Death Watch Part Three.

Why Wilson was thrashed? Maybe.

Something about marriage.

  From: Big Pun
Subject: Big Pun Weekend Adventure Posting
Big Pun here.
Seems as thought there has been a whole lot of political commentary on your site as of late and not too much drinking. I will therefore attempt to merge the two in a symbiotic relationship as only I can do. The current race breaks down as follows:

Pun electoral votes: 219
Gin electoral votes: 219
Undecided alcoholic votes: 100

That's right folks, it's a dead heat with the tie breaking votes falling to whiskey sometime tonight.

I just got back from a road trip to Salt Lake City, SLC as the local drunks might refer to it. I happen to know all about the local drunks since I have just spent the last few dozen or so hours sitting on a porch overlooking aforementioned city and drinking gin and tonics mixed by an 18 year old superstar skier who evidently thought that a 50/50 ratio of alcohol to mixer meant put the gin in halfway and then add ice and tonic whenever it was convenient. But I digress, as per usual. Let me start from the beginning.

I convinced Fitty's bitch ass to take a road trip this weekend in order to meet some fellas in Utah for the weekend. Now, one might think that a trip to Utah is a safe haven for sobriety with a guy like me in a place like that. Turns out that one would be wrong. Utah is fucking drunk. Now, I don't know how many of your readers are of the Mormon persuasion, but holy shit, they haven't evidently found the house on Campus drive. These guys are going straight to hell on the fucking express train with one of those ACME rockets that the coyote gets strapped to the locomotive. I now know, based on experience, that there is a fairly substantial population of people in Salt Lake who are there for the snow and who ski all fall, winter and spring and then drink all summer. There were a few skiable areas visible from I-15 up in the Wasach Mountain Range; however, skiing was not on the agenda…drinking was. We rolled into town at around 7:00 pm after deciding that it would be a good idea to drive 4 hours to Hurricane, UT, ride bikes on the Tour of the Storm TT course for an hour, and drive the rest of the way into Salt Lake from Flag. All went well until we got suited up for a ride in Hurricane and I started sweating my balls off. Just imagine how hot a rotund fella such as myself would get in weather that makes a skinny son of a bitch like Fitty whine like a hooker getting short changed for a blowjob.

So, anyhooters, we made it in to Salt Lake, Senior Sty-tez greeted us with enthusiasm and mirth. We brought a couple of cases of local and favorite beers as payment for a few nights stay. The Senior returned the generosity of our gifts with offers of gin purchased straight from the local state liquor compound. We proceeded to get absolutely welded. From what I have heard, I decided to take the small motorscooter that these fellas use for beer runs down to the 7-11 and for a spin around the block for a bit. Word on the street is that I returned to the garage rather calm and collected and politely asked that they close the garage door since there was a police officer chasing me. To be quite honest, I don't know if there is a governing body out there that records time in Utah before the cops try to pull you over, but if there is, I would hope that my 5 hours deserves at least an honorable mention. Following that introduction, we get to talking about things. Keep in mind that I have only met these friends of Fitty's that night and I am therefore still the social equivalent of a high school slut at a college frat orgy…pretty and enthusiastic, but still just a novelty. This is only true until either Sty-Tez or M.C. mentions their allegiance to www.drunkcyclist.com. Fitty, in all of his misguided wisdom proceeds to then ask if they are familiar with the Big Pun of Drunkcyclist fame. After both of them affirm that they are indeed familiar with the mythical Big Pun, Fitty introduces me and all hope for sobriety crosses back over the border into AZ. We drink our way into oblivion that night cursing you and your sand filled vagina for being sober as of late.

Next thing I know, Park, the 18 year old skier/ pro bartender, is inviting his girlfriend's sister over and we are pounding G&T's like fucking kool-aide at a mass suicide.

The details are severely blurred after that, I recall proclaiming my never-ending love for the girlfriend's sister followed by the Senior or Alex telling me that she is all of 16 years old. Turns out that "never-ending" can also be Pun-code for ending real fucking quick as soon as you find out how old she is. From what I can piece together this evening, I then proceeded to call my pool to make sure that it wasn't overflowing from the rain back here in town (not a typo by the way, I didn't call a roommate to make sure that all was well, I called my own fucking above-ground pool. The pool's lack of opposable thumbs made it physically impossible for the pool to call back even though I'm sure that it really wanted to. I can assume that it wanted to at least since I was yelling loud enough into the answering machine for both the pool and all of my neighbors to hear my pleas for attention)

All in all, a trip well deserved and spent. I will forever be indebted to drunks on Campus Drive in SLC for there hospitality. I hope that you can appreciate the level of self-control that is obviously required for a guy like me to not call your sober ass on a Saturday night and to instead call an inanimate body of water.

All well, fuck the bozos. The guys in Salt Lake told me that you need to drink more. I concur.

Holy shit, will you look at this folks, the electoral votes are swinging all over the place, both the Pun party and the Gin party were in a dead heat for the victory. It's however beginning to look like the Whiskey party is a serious competitor now that the race has moved back to Flagstaff. Our newest exit polls show Whiskey in a close third with just under 100 electoral votes as an independent and threatening to make this a tough race to call until the last vote is counted.

OK, seriously, this political shit sucks. Get back to drinking and I'll buy you a round or five, don't make me say it again, I will pull this car over and whoop you ass if I need to, don't test me.

Peace Love and Otterpop flavored blowjobs.
-Biggus Punnis VII

Big Pun. Keepin' it real.

  From: Andy
Subject: Tour Humor
Hey Jonny
A buddy of mine is posting commentary on the tour as he watches it on TV while housebound with the second baby. The dude is absolutely hilarious. Thought you might like it.

Like it? I love it.

Sorta like Playboy's topless joke of the day.

Some really lame news out of Maine. A car somehow ended up driving straight into the field at the 25th annual Yarmouth Clam Festival Bike Race. I'm not joking, an 88 year old driver swerved around the two cars in front of him, and straight into the race. He "apparently did not understand earlier instructions from officials directing traffic."

Yeah, I'll say he didn't understand.

It was an open course, and one can only assume there was a center line rule. So either the cyclists or the car crossed that center line. Or, maybe even both.

What a horror story. An absolute nightmare. You're in a race, two laps to go, and all of the sudden the riders in front of you are bouncing off an oncoming car like so many bowling pins.

It's enough to keep you awake at night.

  From: Brij
Subject: bracelet sighting
Not sure what to make of the graffiti-writer-turned-Nike designer, but in any case it appears Lenny Futura is down with Livewrong, at least I hope so. Check out the pic and interview:
cyclingnews.com/… lenny_futura05/IMG_0294_futura

Live Wrong baby.

Friday, July 15, 2005
claire   I   hello girls   I   deborah

Another day, another dollar. Isn't the the way the saying goes? I am also a bit fond of the line, thank god it's Friday.

If you know what I'm sayin'...

And , oh my fucking God did you see the news today?

"Rove told the grand jury that by the time Novak had called him, he believes he had similar information about Wilson's wife from another member of the news media but he could not recall which reporter had told him about it first, the person said." From cnn.com/2005/POLITICS/07/15/cia.leak.rove.ap/index.html.

You have got to be shitting me. That's the line? That's what they're going with?

I never cease to be amazed at the way these shit merchants can flip the script. First, say Rove wasn't involved. When evidence comes to light that he was discussing some very sensitive issues with members of the press, say he heard it from the press first. And not the other way around. And if he did tell a reporter anything, well, that was just to correct the reports inaccurate assumptions. If fact, Rove was setting the record straight. He is a hero.

Which, of course, is ludicrous. If he confirmed that Valerie Plame did indeed work for the CIA, he is guilty. I can't see how it matters whether he was the first to tell the reporter or not, if he discussed it at any length, and offered confirmation of the fact, he is guilty.

It's all smoke and mirrors. What to these people have to do, fucking kill someone before the American public gets upset about this?

Rove and the rest of them must think we're nothing but a bunch of stupid fucking idiots if that's the line they feed us.

And it's playing great in the flyover states...

More of the same at the following websites: TPM, Krugman, New Donkey, Bull Moose, and Just One Minute.

'Who controls the past,' ran the Party slogan, 'controls the future: who controls the present controls the past.' We have always been at war with Eurasia... 1984.

The old Baghdad Bulletin.

And the new Baghdad Bulletin.

Because we got ourselves a real cowboy.

Thursday, July 14, 2005
one   I   more   I   time

One month to Leadville. I am so going to die. Whatever. I put in two hours this morning before work. From the looks of things, I ought be be putting in twenty.

Not like that's going to happen any time soon.

But fuck it, I'll do what I can, when I can. That's really about all you can do when it's all said and done, isn't it? Some hard hitting stuff on Guantanamo, Abu Ghraib and the rest of the water boarding fun over at Andrew Sullivan.

  From: deejay
Subject: angle fire
Well for all that didn't know we had a world cup event here in the good ol' u.s.a. this passed weekend. I was lucky enough to attend and tempted to race, but the pooch got screwed.

I had a problem with my brake so i dropped it off to Jude at the Magura tent and set off to watch the 4cross event. The 4cross ran a little longer then i thought, so by the time i got back Magura was all packed up and nobody home. Given that i had a 7am start time(what the fuck) on sunday, i missed my start, do to the fact my rig was locked up in the trailer. Oh well, i guess i'll drink!!

I made the best of things and worked the #3 feed zone(9.300ft highest point of course) for the pro races, Trek and Fisher being my responsibilities. 4 gals and 6 guys good thing they were not on course at the same time. all went well and no one got mad because i missed them, sorry nick.

But on the funny side, Chris Sheppard rolled threw and yelled the words have you ever cramped so bad that you almost shit yourself. Dam thoughtful for a guy who just rode 20miles and 4000ft. But i'm going to have to give best in show to Todd Well. He came through lookin pretty bad, so i asked if he needed anything. as he was spitting sweat he spoke the words porta potty, the only reply i had was sorry. In between feed #3 and #4 Todd fell of the radar, only to give up several spots and shed a pair of gloves. Again sorry Todd almost made it.

Makes me feel like taking a link dump…

swarthmore.edu/NatSci/cpurrin1/evolk12/posse/chazhasaposse.htm zoobidon.com/drunkcyclist

  From: Brian
Subject: CSC Documentary
this looks pretty good. Apparently playing in theatres in Europe right now and available on DVD by the summer. Don't know if it 's going to play in theatres over here.

I've been hearing a lot about that. And it ought to be good, if the trailer is any indication.

The GOP southern strategy turns the corner.

  From: Jonathan
Subject: 5 Cyclists killed in Portland so far this summer.
Man...I know you already posted something about a guy dying in a race in Portland a few nights ago....but can you believe he's the FIFTH fatality we've had this summer already!?

The other four where all car-related. This is craziness. What can we do? I went ahead and posted this "Freedom from Cars" Declaration - freedomfromcars.blogspot.com (initially did it to sort of coincide with the Fourth of July). Not sure what will come of it, but it felt good to get those thoughts out into the world. Hopefully people will sign it and pass it on.


That is some very depressing news.

And I really like the Declaration you wrote.

  From: C.
Subject: Dude
I was watching the Tour this morning. Damn, I didn't know Lance had Cancer.

Yeah, me neither. But I'm stupid like that.

So much for taking the fight to the enemy, eh? Kinda hard to do that when the suicide bombers were born and raised in your own damn country.

And what will George Bush say when it happens here?

Yeah, I know, it'll be my fucking fault.

  From: Chris
Subject: Holy Fuck
So my stoney email last week was wack eh?

Sorry man. I fucking hate listening to Carmichael and Frankie. What a couple of dumbasses. Where did that dude with the Oakley Scripps and the goat go? And I hate to say it but Roll is tired. What was the latest from Chris? Oh yea, about nutrition and bonking.... "They go hard, the Alps are hard, They have to eat a lot and digest it. They use re-hydration drinks better than Gatorade..". errr uhhh out.

Did you see that Kirsten Dunce in a Brunette now? She looks fat in that wig.

Prediction: OLN goes to weekend coverage without Lance next year.

Your favorite Lab Rat Jan has nothing. He has got to retire too. Or go to Riis at CSC.

Why did Riis pull the "Luck" card? Memo to Mr. EPO: Dude, Riding at the front and pulling until guys explode one by one is not luck. That is called laying the wood.

Vino to Discovery? Holy fuck.

Holy fuck indeed. And Yaroslav Popovych is the fucking man. That kids got skills.

And, speaking of my favorite lab rat, Jan ain't giving up quite yet.

  From: eric
Subject: Yet another WTF from South Carolina
This story came out two weeks ago, but the local Fox affiliate (who else) has an update on it. I really don't know what to say other than that I must get out of this state immediately after I get my degree...counting down the days until next May.

Blind people killing cyclists and getting off essentially scot-free F'ed up kids raping dogs.

I'm just waiting to see what's next in good ol' SC.

Jesus titty fucking Christ…

That one takes the fucking cake. Absolutely the worst ever.

I'm out.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005
redhead for dave   I   another redhead for dave   I   I'm all a twitter

I was supposed to ride tonight, and I didn't. A little too hot today for my tastes. Not too hot to ride, but too damn hot at work. And it killed me. I came home in a daze and passed out for a good hour. Just like that. An hour studying the back of my eyelids.

So much for riding this afternoon.

Rove Death Watch. Parts one and two.

Just a matter of time, right?

No way in hell Bush fires that fatback slime merchant. He's way to valuable. What was it the Bull Moose who so eloquently stated: "For Bush to get rid of Rove would be like Charlie McCarthy firing Edgar Bergen."

Well said indeed.

And while I'm throwing quotes around like it's going out of style…

"What we know is that we're looking at another scandal about the White House and a woman…
But this time, it's the woman who got blown..." From the TPM Cafe.

So much easier than actually trying to be funny myself. I'll just piggyback on the comical phraseology of others. Because I'm a wheel sucking pig.

  From: mud flap
Subject: clam digger
This fool you call Clam Digger... If he detests all that is current in the state of professional cycling, maybe he should become an accountant, and leave his job, whatever it is, to someone with a love for the sport who would enjoy working in the industry.

Yea, sure, Sheryl Crow is a jackass and shouldn't be anywhere near a Tour camera. And sure, there are probably plenty of better cyclists than Lance out there, and in the Tour... but the problem is that as of yet they still have to prove it. Clam talks like Lance is somehow at FAULT now for being good, and for having the right team. Jealous?

Speaking of jealousy, as far as Bob and Phil are concerned, they have done great things to increase the viewership and overall fanbase of the english-speaking minority. Any announcer out there can be ridiculed for any number of misgivings, but at least this isn't baseball where you can almost hear the spray of Jim Beam hitting the microphone. If a guy like Bob beat you to the announcer's booth, and you think you have more and better things to say, then instead of bitchin you should probably just try harder.

I just appreciate that all these guys, despite their shortcomings, increase the popularity of a sport I love. Oh, and as far as little regional anecdotes every now and again... I personally prefer they break up 3 hours of a flat stage with something more interesting than stats of first time domestiques. I happen to like sausage, just ask Jonny.

Rick Santorum is a complete and utter tool. Did you hear the one about Liberals are behind the Catholic Church sex abuse scandal? Yep. He said it. And he stands by it.

And Kennedy just slammed him on it.

Good looking out, Teddy. Keep both hands on the wheel there boy.

  From: Robert
Subject: Here's your pocket watch…
Great site, BTW. Bikes, booze, pron, and liberal politics; what's not to like?

Yo, Fixie!

Looks like the bidding is over on that one. No matter, it's still fucking funny.

  From: drew
Subject: el courto supremo
Juan Gigante-
Someone who has Satan's ear should tell him, "confirm Andrej for the O'Connor's spot on the bench." This will be cornholed into Cheney, who in turn will whisper it sweetly into Dub's ear during one of their festive circlejerks around a warm pile of fresh Halliburton contracts.

Forget that, make Andrej ambassador to the UN. He has got to be the slickest, sickest, most pimpingest diplomat this world has recently seen. Anyone who throws down high-octane fortified beer, only to chase it with "the dreaded KGB-style road trip" and survive could certainly handle a room full of nambypamby fruitloop suits.

Perhaps in a perfect world...

I must admit, I *miss* OLN Tour coverage. Why? I live, sans cable, out in the motherfucking boonies. OLN's NBC Olympics-style suckfest is pure cycling sex compared to the dreck CBS puked up for us on Sunday.

Keep rocking the 'penos, dude. You'll eventually build up a tolerance akin to that which I imagine you must have for The Booze. Either that, or you'll burn your ring out and be shitting in a bag for the rest of your life. A bonus to the latter is that you'll always have a bag of poop with you, perfect for those times when some stupid fuck in a H2 tries to run you off the road.

Andrej is mother fucking going places. If ever there was a man who should be given the keys to the city, who is the heir apparent, and the devil incarnate, it is him.

Bow down.

  From: Woodward N. Bernstein
Subject: The Tour sucks
O Icon of Immensity and Inebriation,
Never, under any circumstances, respond to anything a "sports writer" scribbles on a page, whether digital or torn from an actual dead tree. It distracts them from tugging on their withered genitalia while slobbering over pictures of Barry Bonds and wishing there were some drug, damn the cost, that could make a player out of a short, fat, bald honky with bourbon breath, a hacking cough from the three packs a day of whatever's on sale at the Quik-Mart, and the literary skills of a crack-addled gang-banger tagging a freeway overpass with a stolen can of Krylon.

I have worked with a veritable herd of these swine over the years, and only met two who knew the difference between sports and entertainment. One was a tennis player who became a cycling fan once I filled him in on the Tour and started covering the local scene for free in my spare time, and the other was an amateur rugby player who thought American pro ballplayers were poofs, girly-men and wankers. Quite a difference from, say, the fat bastard who actually had a monstrous sandwich named after him at one of the local grease troughs. He finally got his stomach stapled, trying to lose that first ton, then ate so much that he popped the staples.

Hacks like this revel in outraged letters; the angry correspondence lets them know that someone is reading what they type, other than the undercover coppers who are pretending to be 13-year-old girls in some Internet chatroom frequented by hairy-eared child molesters. Give them no pleasure. Deny them all recognition.

But by all means, find out where they live and deposit flaming dung-bombs on the porch after shoving Idaho spuds up their Ford Probes' tailpipes and shooting out all their windows with a Ruger Mini-Thirty. Just don't leave a note saying why you did these things. It makes them crazy.

Yours for better urinalism,

Woodward N. Bernstein
Deep Shoat Book Club, LLC

What happened to unilateralism? Is it no longer in vogue? When did I get out of the loop?

Can you say GOP hit list?

I wish someone would write these things for me to use. Flip 'em. Bounce 'em. All that shit. I mean, think of all the time and effort I'd save. The way it works now is I have to get all worked up, hot and bothered, search out links and rant and rave until I get something together that kinda makes sense. But not very much sense to be honest. Honest like a Mormon. Word to Moroni. With the help of my own GOP slime machine, maybe even a printout like that, I could just cut and paste the damn thing.

That's pretty much what Fox News does, right?

And TPM is taking out the slack on that one.

  From: Z.
Big Jonny,
Come on, somebody has got to call him out on the Sponge Bob bracelet-->

keep fight'n the good fight!

Ain't it the truth. If I knew where to reach him, I'd just give him one of the damn things.

Looks like the fine folks at Soldier Ride are going for a repeat performance.

  From: Chris
Thought folks on your drunkcyclist site might be interested in this item:

What do disabled veterans do after coming back from the war in Iraq?
Ride their bikes across the country of course.

These soldiers and friends are raising money and awareness for disabled veterans.

Pics and info from the 2004 ride. And more of the same from 2005.

  From: J.
Subject: first time
So here I sit reading the site and I realized that there is nothing left to do but quit "working for the man that don't even know my name" and ride. This is of course after I read the lifeaftertheoilcrash.net a book entitled The End of Oil and Blood Oil.....I look at my bike and realize there is no way I would have a bike without petro and tons of it. Tires, tubes, carbon fiber (and you purists, steel doesn't come from "magic") all petro. So what the fuck am I going to ride when we stop using oil for everything?

In other news: I too have wondered what the hell is going to happen next year when Lance ain't riding....and Tell Al Troutwig that a fucking Trek Madone 5.9 is not the greatest bike ever.....his comment on going to a bike shop in NYC and the shoppie telling him they had better bikes was "Stupid and arrogant" was only proof as to why this numbnuts shouldn't be commentating on our sport. I too have grown tired of the Sheryl Crow bullshit....didn't LA have a wife before this idiot tried to revive her career? Hell I own a bike shop and could give a fuck about Lance (my shop is in Texas no less)....I just wish I'd thought of the Livewrong sooner than you guys. I rock my everyday on the opposite arm from my Wipperman chain bracelet (took that off my bike after I got T-boned last year)...

So there you have it my first time sending something in and I've had a link to your sight from mine for about three years now....

You rock and I'm fucking cool.

  From: Cody
Subject: sad news
Jonny this kind of story sucks to hear about but I thought everyone should hear about this:

My buddy Jon was in the same field as this guy. From what he heard the front tire blew on the guys bike and he went into the barrier. Freak accident. I don't know what else to say. Sad sad day in P-town.

My condolences to his family and friends.

One from Ambassador Andrej and I'm out.

  From: Andrej
Subject: Atom Tan
When I say I'm going to Metallic Beach, you all have to remember that I'm wearing a fur coat to the beach. The city is on a steep hill and the beach is just a little stretch of sand at the base of a 90 degree cliff. There I go to collect my thoughts. And meet the ell-gathering underbelly of Magadan society.

I recently learned that this beach is very radioactive, particularly in the exact location I like to sit and enjoy the view. You're probably asking yourselves; "how radioactive is it Andrej?"

I'll tell you.

On a Geiger counter, a virgin forest reads 12. Downtown Manhattan reads 30. My Metallic beach reads a whopping 420! Nice. As I'm catching rays from above, the ground is seething with Cesium ash below me.

No biggie though. The locals don't seem to mind.

So what do I do here when I'm not street fighting, preaching abolition of absorbing radiation?

I've started translating a 9 year old issue of Russian Cosmopolitan. It's fun! So far I've translated an Estee Lauder ad, and now I'm working on an article about legs.

I have six more days in Magadan. Then I'm off to mighty Moscow.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005
lonnie   I   zdenka   I   kill me

So I buy this can of jalapenos. 'Cause I'm a man and shit. And men eat jalapenos with their burritos. I'm having a burrito for dinner, and munching away on the jalapenos. Happy as a pig in shit.

So far, so good, right?

I'm chomping away, having a grand old time. Now I'm all out of burrito. Still got some jalapeno.

And the shit starts to burn. I mean really start burning. I'm like, oh shit, maybe that was a bit much. I'm on fucking fire.

I'm in the kitchen. Standing in front of the fridge. What do I have the will stop this agony? I start eating ice cream. Right out of the carton. Spoon full after spoon full. Just make it stop, please Jesus, save me.

Then it happens. I get an insane ice cream headache while my lips and tongue are burning off.

I'm dancing a jig around the kitchen saying, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

My wife is loving it. Funniest thing she ever saw in her life, judging by her response to my situation. Even the dog looked at me sideways and left. Ah, the level of entertainment I was providing.

Good times.

Some guy ripping on the Tour. Cycling is not a sport and all that. Yeah buddy, what the fuck ever. There is one every year, isn't there?

  From: The Most Factory Blog
Subject: jagbag journos
"It's as though the Chicago Marathon were a bunch of 3- to 4-mile races spread out over nine days" motherfucker puuuhllleeaassseee.

Happens every year. some douche reporter has to spout off about cycling not a sport, le tours' not a race, yada yada.

he really wants your feedback: ericzorn@aol.com

The poor bastard. Oh course, you'd be wasting your time to actually email the guy. It's always just a bunch of horse shit, some assbag trying to rile up the masses and show his online editor his "stories" get tons of readers and he's really got his finger on the pulse of American. Whatever. If that guy was on fire, I wouldn't piss on his leg.

Or maybe I would.

  From: Andrej
Subject: A Rough Ride to the Balls
The Onyx Bar is very small. There are two seats at the bar and three tables in a small room with a TV hanging from the ceiling. There, I know, I can always find the two Maxes; Handsome Max and Big Max. They are both big, but Big Max is extra large. And Handsome Max is handsome, if you ignore all the scars. The Onyx Bar is on the edge of Gorky Park, where I recently mowed down a band of aggressive little malcheks.

So one cold night (which is day, here), I'm sitting in Gorky Park, with eyes in the back of my head, enjoying a refreshing two liter bottle of Far East malt liquor. The girls are wearing mini skirts and stillettos despite the weather. But they fear me; on account of my beat up Soviet-era bomber jacket, shaved head and goggles.

Then I remember the Onyx, and I head over.

Handsome Max is at the bar pawing Xhenia, the lovely bar maid. He greets me and congratulates me on my victory in the park; somehow he heard about it? He asks me what happened. I tell him that a malenka sukka (little bitch) malchek clocked my friend Pavel, so I laid into him, and all his friends, like Mormon at a pizza party. Max told me the special word for coming to the aid of a friend, but I have forgotten it.

He orders a vodka and milk.

Yeah...just like in the movie.

I must admit that this is an unexpectedly refreshing combination. Then the KGB arrives. Now they are called the FSB. Two guys: Andrei and Serge, off duty, and drunk, and they're full of cash and looking for a good time, and they're full of that certain feeling that comes with knowing that you're untouchable. Andrei is a real charmer ace. He has a ghoulish scar running down that middle of his jug-head forehead, and his upper front teeth are black stalactites.

After a couple o'drinks, it's midnight, and the sun is just beginning to dip behind the mountains.

The four of us go next door to the little convenience store and buy vodka, tomato juice, pickled gherkins, bread, and tomato juice. This could mean only one thing...ROADTRIP!!!! The dreaded KGB-style road trip.

I felt as though anything could happen.

We jump into Andrei's YAZ, pronounced ooo-Az. This is a Russian made jeep, with very interesting triangular doors. It retails for about 7000$, new. And off we go, out of town east, and into the mountains. I ask Max, who sitting next to me, and offering me a Baltika tallboy, "where the fuck are we going?"

And Max says "To the Balls" and points his index finger into the air. Magadan is surrounded by mountains on three sides. Directly south is the radioactive beach and the mouth of the harbor. On the ridge of the eastern mountain chain, there are three white balls, some kind of radar installations or observatories. Whom ever I ask tells me something different.

We come to the edge of the city, and get on a trassa (gravel road). Andrei is driving very fast. Then the trassa ends and Andrei warns me that things are about to get "extreme."

Now we're in a dried up river bed, full of boulders the size of love seats, and Andrei is still driving as though this was a company car. It is impossible to describe the shaking I experienced that night. I was sure that the YAZ was going to shit the bed. I was willing to bet my return ticket on it. After the third time my head smashed against the headliner, I realized that holding on to the little handle above the back door, with white knuckles, was not enough. So with the hand that wasn't holding the frothy Baltika, I reach down under the seat a feel around for something to hang-on to. Thank God I found a bar down there and clutched it for dear life. It was like riding a mechanical bull, while drinking.

Finally we reached the summit.

And the view can only be described as science fiction.

Ok here we go: I'm standing on a mountain peak, the sky is clear, I'm facing west and the sun is day glow orange three degrees above the horizon. On my left is the mouth of the harbor and the Pacific. Below me is Magadan. But the tooman clouds have completely swallowed the city. These are weird terrestrial clouds that roll in from the ocean. But in the middle of the city, the tooman clouds form a huge vortex. Wow! Behind me is the other harbor, known as Nuclear Beach, and off in the distance is the Horses peninsula. Oh, yeah... and I'm standing next to a three huge white domes. The domes are abandoned. It looks as though they were never used. Inside the largest one, I entertained the others with my famous Chevy Chase impersonation. The echo in the dome made it all more amusing. I think Andrei wet his pants, just a little.

There is always something to do in Magadan.

Snake finally cracks the top twenty out at Super Week.

Twentieth is top twenty, right?

Didn't see Hoyt mentioned anywhere. Musta been covering breaks all day. Or taking breaks. Your pick.

Looks like those two Krystal boys will be working for John Murphy, currently in tenth place overall with 38 points. That is, if Hoyt can get out of his own way.

I am so going to catch hell for that one.

I can't help myself.

Its funny when friends hurt, isn't it?

And it's really funny when the worm turns and Rove fries like the slab of fatback he is.

Bring on the clam!

  From: "Clam Digger"
Subject: lance's gym
Jonny: when checking out the link to why the tour coverage is so boring (and it is) I found another article from slate.com. Good stuff.

I am late for work so don't have time to fully expound upon my true feelings. Maybe an Ice-T type rant will suffice: "Fuck Lance, Fuck OLN, Fuck Al Trautwig, Bob Roll, and that washed up hack Phil Ligget."

Naw, really, I do like Phil Ligget, but he should let Paul Sherwin do most of the talking. That said, why not turn the sound down and listen to some good music instead? Those guys have been doing a horrible job announcing this year. On the third stage when they couldn't find Boonen in the sprint, right in the middle of the screen? Okay, his green kit might have looked similar to the C/A kit, but come on. Then when Bernucci was away and they kept calling Kirchen? Okay, I didn't recognize it as Bernucci straight away, but it sure didn't look like Kirchen.

Oh, yeah, late for work. I really do want to rant about this.


-featuring Sheryl Crow, unless you will also feature other girlfriends and wives. See, you don't want to see that, so nix Sheryl.

-stop 'interesting' features about local sausage makers. I think the guy that did that story (Hochman?) was looking for some other kind of sausage. How cool was it when he tried to open the champagne bottle with the sabre? At least Bob Roll can do one thing moderately cool.

-Phil, stop winging it. When Dekker passes under the 2km to go banner, don't tell me they are at 1.5km. When the sprint is winding up, don't tell me it is 'about 1km' when they have just passed 500m. And stop taking the piss out of Paul, only to have him politely one up you. When is the last time a Dane won a stage of the Tour?

-Bob, the way you say Tour 'dee' France is not cool. Say Tour of France if you must, or just Tour. We will know what you are talking about and it will not result in us having thoughts of killing you with a broken champagne bottle or rusty sabre. I must continue to refer to you as 'Bob-key' since you said in your first book that this is not the correct way to pronounce your nickname.

-If you insist upon showing us never-ending stories about Lance's comeback from cancer (Apparently I was wrong, they didn't make it up and it was not filmed on the same sound stage where they supposedly shot the lunar landings) then how about a story on Beloki's comeback from the crash in '03. Even just a 15 minute show including his physical therapy, his adamant claims that he needed an inhaler to perform and that he couldn't race effectively for Brioches because the French doctor would not write a script, his return to Manolo Saiz, and a story on how tubulars should be glued to aluminum vs. carbon rims. Many viewers could benefit from that as there is a slight difference between the two and it is believed by some that his tire rolled simply because it was not glued properly. Similar theories abound for tires rolling at Track World's this year in LA.

Oh, yeah, the mountain stages are steeper at the Vuelta and Giro both. Yes, I have worked races in all three countries in question and have worked with other mechanics who have done all three grand tours within the same year. Sure different riders focus on the different races and yes, maybe some countries have been more lenient on dope controls in the past, but that doesn't change the gradient of the roads.

Lance has been great for the sport in so many ways, but his continued dominance has skewed the coverage and all the hype too far to one side. Will OLN even know what to do when they can't give us the Lance/Sheryl split screen? Who will they 'chronicle.' Heck, maybe that is why Jean Marie Leblanc is retiring; without Lance, what is there left?

Sorry for the F-bombs. I will put on my yellow bracelet, my Discovery jersey, 10/2 ball cap, tune in to OLN and return to the cult, er, Tour coverage.

(Jonny, I am still working in the sport, so if you can, don't list my last name as sender. Thanks pal.)

Don't mention it, Clam Digger. I do it all the time.

Bring on the Heff!

  From: Heff
Subject: The Cheap flavour
I am very, very humiliated.

I've been riding for a long time. I'm also one of those cunts who walks into your store, holds the fucked component in your face and says "I need a replacement". as I've never had the $$$ to go "tell me what's good" its always been the "i'll take the cheapest one you have".

This has given me false impressions.

so, I'm cruising for cycle parts. I just dug my old frame out of the shed, and yeah, the rims are fucked, I need to replace the tyres and probably the brake and gear cables too. not a big deal, right?

so I go online, hunting for parts, cheap. 3 bits of wire. 2 rims. 2 rubber tubes and some treads. not a big deal, right? I mean, I used to walk into the store, hold up the part and go "gimme", and some dude who woulda been a surfer if he lived by the sea squints at it for maybe half a second before laying it out for me and asking my money.

I've just had to go back out to my bike with a tape measure. I now know I have 24" rims. I've got to go out again because I have no idea how many spokes the hubs take. I don't know the type of gear shift I have. its a derailleur. its a shimano. after being on their website I'm now very confused. my brakes are pads. apparently I need more information than this, too. What the hell is a roller brake? I'm hopelessly lost.

I feel confused. I feel very dirty and ashamed of myself, and I haven't even had any fun, and I'm still sober. this is a first for me.

Worse still, I know I'm going down my local cycle store with the fucked bits in a bag. I'm gonna slap em on the counter, and say "gimme the cheap flavour".

I need a beer.

Ah, yes, The Cheap flavour. I know it well.

What are you having? Whatever is on sale for me, than

Monday, July 11, 2005
kristina   I   kristzi   I   ellie

Monday, Monday, Monday, big friggin deal. Weekend over, back to work and all that noise. It's all overrated as far as I'm concerned. At least we have the Tour to drool over. And that may just be enough these days.

Tomorrows stage from Grenoble to Courchevel is going to be an absolute killer. One that will undoubtedly separate the wheat from the chaff.

Link dump:

  From: Bill G
Subject: slate writer
love the site, and the frequent philly tips (I used to live there, now in Lancaster county).

anyway, so, I wrote this article for Slate.com about how the Tour has gotten boring. it seems to have stirred the shit:

yes, I say: boring. nothing happens for the first week, and then for the last week (or two!) the outcome is not in doubt. at least that's the way it's gone since Lance started winning (except for 2003). that spells boring to me. hell, even michele ferrari thinks the french climbs are for pussies. meanwhile, the vuelta and the giro have served up cliffhangers lately.

anyway, it seems our fellow cyclists are quite angry about it. it also seems they haven't read it carefully. I'm not slagging cycling (I ride, I race, road mountain cyclocross and singlespeed), I'm saying it's boring compared to other bike races.

And they way they cover it on TV is just shitty. I mean, even NASCAR does a better job, with car-mounted cameras and team-radio listen-ins. Talk about a boring sport.....

so, I'm hoping you'll at least give it an intelligent read, whether or not you agree.

They did seem to get a little testy in the comments section, didn't they? Well, tomorrow's stage ought to give us some proper fireworks. Geezers need excitement. Common sense, simple common sense.

No more Jens Voight in yellow I'm afraid. He's got about as good of a chance of maintaining the lead as I do.

And that ain't a very good chance at all.

Speaking of chances, what odd do you give my hero Karl Rove of staying around? Is it time to send Rove back to Texas? Is Carl Rove going to take a fall for outing Valerie Plame? I mean, finally going to take a fall.

Check out this brush up on some past statements vouching for Karl Rove. Yeah. Good stuff. Even more on Rove over at talking points memo. Video up at crooks and liars.

And finally, three more links in no particular order: billmon.org/archives/001989.html, rawstory.com/news/2005/TRANSCRIPT_WHITE_HOUSE_GRILLED_0711.html and whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2005/07/20050711-3.html.

That fat bastard is going to sizzle like Sunday morning sausage.

It's a grand conspiracy isn't it?

And fuck Brit Hume.

  From: Drew
Subject: the "ism"
Juan Gigante-
First off, I'd like to thank you for drunkcyclist in general. The information, entertainment, and sticky pink pictures all help my days flow all that much more easily.

Second, I'd like to bring up something many of my cohorts and I noticed about the way the UK bombings have been portrayed on the news. To the best of my knowledge, the TV was attributing these horrible acts to islamic militants before any group claimed responsibility. Comments along the lines of "there are lots of Muslims in London" were common.

According to the BBC online article you linked: "UK Foreign Secretary Jack Straw said the bombings had "the hallmarks of an al-Qaeda-related attack." Perhaps IRA bombs smell differently than Islamic extremist bombs. Having smelled neither, I cannot say.

I am not trying to say that al-Qaeda or its fuckshit ilk are not responsible for these atrocities; rather, I am alarmed by the immediate "let's blame the Muslims!" response. The number of different groups who might want to perpetrate such violent acts, especially considering the G8 meetings and announcement of the 2012 Olympics, is vast and varied.

The big media outlets have fully puckered up to the succulent asshole of the Dubya Administration, providing an alarmingly unfiltered conduit by which its venomous rhetoric can flow like the diarrhea it is. Irresponsible reporting is doing a great job of waving the stinky digit at the billion or so law-abiding people who happen to subscribe to Islam. While every article has a "we know all Muslims aren't terrorists" cliche' thrown in for good measure, the overriding stench of "we don't care that they aren't all terrorists, we'll pretend that they are" is unmistakable.

Anyway, that's my rant. My thoughts and sympathy go out to the unfortunate souls harmed by these vile acts. I just don't see an end to such violence if we keep buying what the warmongers are selling.

All the best-
-on an island in the Puget Sound

My man, I'm short on answers and long on questions these days. Check out the latest antics from our man about town, Andrej.

  From: Andrej
Subject: RE: The Bandits
I traded my 30-year old Nikon F2 for a shit load of really cool but worthless Soviet cameras; including a KGB tiny document camera called the Kiev Vega, and a 75mm Iskra 2, and a 105mm Moskva 5, among others. Besides, pictures are liars. I could show you pictures of Magadan and all the hotties here, but on your monitor they would be diminished some how. I remember seeing pictures other bikers took of this region and they all pale in comparison to the real day-to-day charm of this city.
And guess what, my beach, Metallic Beach, has a Gieger counter reading of 420. That's almost 40 times above normal background radiation! Sweet?! A little Cesium never hurt anyone?
Today I will tan and drink fortified beer.
There are three types of beer here:
svetlo (light): light 3% booze
klasichno (classic): 5% booze
krepko (meaning unclear): 10% booze

I try to stay away from the krepko for obvious reasons. But I do enjoy Moloko Plus. You heard me right. A bar called the ONYX serves vodka with a milk chaser. I haìó grown very fond of this combination. You should all try it, and raise a glass to your humble narrator, out here on the Arctic circle.

Sunday, July 10, 2005
kathy & gabriela   I   alissa   I   threesome

A good weekend with a couple of good rides under my belt. I can rest easy tonight. I did more repeats up Marshall on Friday, two half hour efforts Saturday morning down on Schnebly Hill Road, and a ride around the late by myself this morning.

Chicken Run. Nice ride Rasmussen. And Voight in yellow? Forget about it.

  From: Gordon
Subject: Thursday's Porn Links
What the fuck? Just cause some fuckheads blowup a few Brits you post no links. Terrorism does suck but, when you discontinue your routine because of their actions, they win.

You are absolutely right. That was mostly because I was pressed for time and wanted to get something, anything, up on the site. I'll try not to be so neglectful in the future.

Actually, I'd rather not face the whole issue again, if you know what I mean.

  From: Erik
You should take a look at this.

It is a history of the Tour de France that takes a short aside into the Dreyfus affair and makes unfavorable comparisons about our own government. Then goes back to the Tour. (Look for the indented paragraph about a tenth of the way down the page)

Actually there is a ton of good information on the site.

Link dump:

  From: Richard
Subject: London Bombs
I'm a 'long-time listener, first-time caller' kind of guy and I work in the West End of London. I commute by train from a town about 30 minutes away every day. Yesterday, my journey was perfectly normal. I got a cup of coffee at just after 8am, read a paper for a while and walked to my office. I arrived at work about the same time the first bomb went off, a couple of miles away near Liverpool Street station. The first I knew that anything was wrong was that a couple of my team were half-an-hour late for work. They arrived with stories of power-cuts and evacuations. Then the radio was turned on and we started to hear about explosions, casualties, deaths. At this point, one of my team members still hadn't arrived for work. We called his home and his mobile but got no reply. We started to seriously worry. About 10.30am, he called in to say that he'd be late! He had been stuck in a tunnel on an Underground train, for two hours with no light and no air. Horrible; but we were just relieved he was safe.

That will be just one of the thousands of lucky escapes from yesterday. Unfortunately, hundreds were not so lucky and were injured or even killed.

For many Brits, terrorism is nothing new. I grew up in the 70s and 80s when the threat of the IRA was always present, but never more than at the back of your mind (at least, in most people in England). Even then, the IRA would usually give a coded warning so that evacuations could be completed before the bomb went off. The threat lay in their ability to infiltrate society, destroy at will and get away with it -- not in taking life.

Whoever did this -- and that hasn't yet been properly established -- are just out to kill people. It's ugly, really ugly.

Thanks for showing restraint on your site today, Johnny. But the message from me is that these guys have won if we stop doing our everyday stuff. So keep on keeping on.

I'll keep keeping on on this side of the pond.

  From: Heff
Subject: London
Its fucked.

4 explosions , various knock on effects.

30 confirmed still a number being used here, estimates of up to 70 being touted around. a lot of people over at BritishMedicalAssociation [BMA] which was just across the street from the bus blast are still not out of the woods.

judging from the state of the bus, some of those people are paste. literally. the top of the goddamned bus is ripped off like a can of sardines.

I'm amazed london got off so lightly. 30+ plus people died, and that really fucking hurts, but I'm amazed it wasn't in the hundreds.

I'm no longer in london, I'm 3 hours north of it and on the east coast now, but...

...jesus. its fucked, man. has the whole world gone fucking crazy? The towers, Bali, Madrid, and now this. its fucked. its all just... fucked.

Yeah, it's fucked. Straight fucked.

  From: Drew
Subject: London
Hey man, I just wanted to send out my condolences to anybody affected in the London bombing. My girlfriend is currently in London working an internship and takes the one of the bombed lines to work every morning. Luckily she was 10 minutes late and didn't get on the underground that she normally would have taken. I have never felt luckier in my life. My thoughts go out to anyone affected.

I've read a lot of stories like that. People running late, sleeping through the alarm, etc, and missing their usual train or bus.

Think about those who were late, missed their usual train, and got on the, ahem, wrong one.

Heavy stuff.

And now on to some more upbeat stuff.

  From: John
Subject: Greetings
Another great victory by one of your loyal readers. This humble reader was 1st overall in the prestigious Adventure (off-road) Triathlon held on the 4th at a Church camp, no less. OK, so it's not so prestigious but there were like 40 people competing and most were able-bodied. I even refrained from swearing. Good to be a big fish in a small pond.

The lawyer idea is good, but Johnny Cochran is in fact taking a dirt-nap

Good looking out.

  From: Brad
Subject: CMWC
Went to the CMWC this weekend in NYC specifically to shoot pictures, and here's what I've got.

One of Corey. Philly represent!

And then the rest of the gallery...

Yeah. See you at the worlds.

Yep, see ya at the Worlds. And here's one from Corey himself:

  From: Corey the Courier
Subject: Cycle Messenger World Championships
Me and a merry bunch of messengers decided to ride from Philly to New York to compete in the World Cycle Messenger Championships. There were 13 of us doing the group ride to the 13th Annual CMCW, what a coincidence.

Our great pal Claire drove Stewey's van as the sag wagon so we didn't have to carry a ton of crap on our backs for hours. That was great news for me as I closed Sisters, the lesbian club the night before. (There is nothing more thrilling for a man than to be in a room full of two hundred drunk women all singing B-A-N-A-N-A!) We set out from downtown Philly around 9:30. The first flat 9:45 two miles up the road. I was concerned about our group making the entire trip in one day considering the shape of a few of the bikes. Nice guys, but they had junk bikes for a long distance trip. We fixed the fixies and resumed our journey to the Big Apple.

We were ordered to walk our bikes across a bridge from Pennsylvania to New Jersey by the constables. Somewhere between Trenton and Princeton some roadie on a titanium road bike in full spandex rode along our bold group of adventurers. He asked what was the deal with all of the track bikes. I told him we were headed to the Cycle Messenger World Championships. He shrugged and harumphed, clicking up a gear and rode off as if we were a bunch of chumps. I didn't take it well. My pride wouldn't have it. I am the champion of Philly. Damn if I was going to let this dude show me up. I clicked up a gear, took off, catching him quickly and shooting past him in a show of angry defiance. He countered and sped up. I sat up laughing remembering I was on a group ride with guys on junky bikes. When I looked back two of my comrades were right behind me. The first words out of their mouths: "Let's get him". The chase up the bumpy road resumed. The roadie began looking back, and seeing the scruffy couriers gaining ground took a turn off of the road. We regrouped and ate lunch in Princeton.

Two of our group competed in the R1, a stage race for messengers from Boston to New York a few days earlier. There were three road stages and three alleycat stages. My buddy Brian was telling me about the trip as we were cruising up the road. He told me that he had the edge on the road stages when the group hit the hills. His track bike enabled him to go uphill faster. Just then a hill came into view. Brian took off. My ego kicked in and so did I. We laughed about it and then another hill came. That crazy damn Brian took off again. I wasn't letting him go anywhere. Pride took over. Chased him down. Sharky and Early Flat guy caught us and the break was formed. Matt chased like hell for a couple of miles to get on. The poor guys in the back could only watch us ride away. We kept the pace high for quite a while. Somewhere we eased off the pace. I informed Matt that in big time pro races, this is where the team cars come up with food and race strategy. Afterward someone from the back of the group makes an attack. I demonstrated, ripping away from the group laughing knowing they couldn't catch me. We stopped at a Dunkin' Donuts and regrouped.

I was satisfied with the eye candy behind us in line: Beautiful blonde with big real tits and thin legs. She smiled and waved to me as she drove away in her convertible. Aaah.

The ride broke up again with me and Brian riding way way off the front. We got lost. We asked locals for directions, but no one knew a thing. We found our way and got lost again. We found a friendly policeman who gave us directions. We resumed our way along rough roads. As we got close to downtown Newark, we caught up to the group we dropped over an hour before! We regrouped and took the train across the Hudson River into Manhattan.

Registration was a reunion of couriers from all corners of the globe. People we'd seen at other alleycats and championships. The registration crew misspelled my name on my ID card. My nickname is the Brown Hornet. For the weekend I became the Brown Horney...

Due to difficulty getting permits in Manhattan because of security issues, the main race was in Jersey City. The roads were rough as a day in the Paris-Roubaix. There were 9 checkpoints in the maze. One checkpoint was a flat fix stop. Everyone had to remove the tube from their tire before going to the next checkpoint. Two other checkpoints had fake poles. While you thought you were locking up your bike, "thieves" would undo the poles on the scaffolding and take your bike down the street.

During my qualifier, upon returning from getting my papers stamped, I saw a little guy walking off with my bike. I started to chase him. Helpless I was. Fast as I could go but couldn't catch him. No wind in my lungs to yell while at full sprint. He laughed and gave me my bike a block later. I continued and finished my race sprinting to the finish line. As I turned in my manifest sheet, I puked. It was a damn fine ride. I qualified third overall for my manifest sheet. Third overall for my heat.

For the finals the 700+ couriers were whittled down to the fastest 150 men and women. Despite their best efforts, only my buddy Sa(n)tan(a) and Elena were the only others from Philly to make the cut. It was awesome to be at to the front for the line up. The start was the usual mayhem of bikes and bodies rushing to make the hole shot. Along the way some woman decided to change the course. As I burned through the maze she told me I took a wrong turn and was disqualified. I wasn't stopping going to stop mid race to discuss someone else's misunderstanding. Next lap, she yells out "I don't know why you are still riding. You are disqualified". I flipped her the bird at speed. I never slowed down. A few laps later I was approached by someone with an official CMWC Staff shirt telling me I was DQ'd. It took every bit of patience not to use bad language, but I explained to the gentleman I didn't cheat and showed him a copy of the official course map. (Thank goodness for carrying my clip board!) He nodded in agreement after lobbying my case. As I got back on my bike I yelled a growl to release the frustration of STANDING around while the competition was flying along at full speed during the championship finals. For the rest of the race I continued to fly along passing slower riders on the rough stretches of road.

Final results: Basel, Switzerland wins the men's race. Brown Horney Philly, USA middle of the pack. It was a let down not to make the top 10, but I gave my all and had a great time seeing old drinking buddies and making new friends. I've got a year plus to prepare for the 14th CMWC in Sydney Australia in Oct/Nov. I'm part of the organizing committee for the 2006 North American Cycle Courier Championships in Philly May/June. Next year won't get easier for the crusty veteran, promoting and racing the sport from the front.

Corey the Courier
Philly Phorever

PS Most importantly there was a new world record for skids. Squirrel from Texas slid his track bike 509 feet.

Five hundred and nine feet? What did he skid down, a fucking cliff?

Thursday, July 7, 2005
terrorism sucks

Explosions in London this morning. More than 30 killed. The radio has it at over 45. Approximately 350 injured. Story here and updates as they happen at BBC.com and CNN.com.

No news as of yet from the many DC readers across the pond. I will post any updates I receive.

Wednesday, July 6, 2005
lonnie   I   hottie on a bike   I   lesbians rule

No ridey ride today other than to work and back. I guess I did run a few errands, so I did turn the legs over a little bit. Not enough to call it more than a day off.

And after last weekend, I earned it. Looks like Bush earned himself a day off as well. Well Bully for him. Here's how my shit played out.

Friday, One Eyed Cross's Canada Party. I played street hockey and got two goals for the US of A. I should have been the MVP. Then I drank a shit load of whiskey right out of the bottle with Brinky and DK. It hurt me.

Fitty took the title with 13 1/2 minutes in a City recycling can full with at least a dozen bags of ice in it. Then we carried him upstairs. Jesus, he was a mess.

Saturday, I did two hours with the group. Felt pretty good and all that, after the first hour of being totally and completely hung the fuck over. When I first woke up at ten till nine, I said fuck the group ride. At five after nine I decided to go for it and chased all the way to the mail boxes where I finally caught up. See, the ride leaves at 9:00. Funny how that works.

Sunday, rode up Waterline Road to the Inner Basin. That last pitch past the cabins and into the basin proper is a total fucking whore. Then we rode down Challenger. It's a whore and I had to walk a lot of it. We all did. 5 hours at least. Maybe even 5 1/2. Oh, up and down Schultz to the tank as well. Good times.

Monday, Cruiser Nation was fun. I didn't race it, I just took some pics. Rode out and up Moto on a rigid one speed. It takes a while to get out there from the side of town I'm living on these days, so I got a couple hours in. Mostly just spinning along on a one speed. Felt pretty good on the climb, even passed the kid who ended up winning the damn thing. Rigid forks climb really nice. Rode down and thought I was going to die about 40 time. Rigid forks decent really badly. Like whores.

Knocked a couple of beers back, eat a burger and talked mad shit with the boys. Rode home went to bed.

Woke up a 9:00 pm with the Worst. Headache. Ever. Up to 1:30 drinking and eating. Lots of salt. Lots and lots of salt.

And here I am. Not knowing really what just hit me.

  From: Gentleman Jonny
Subject: that shit ain't water, bee-ach!
Big Jonny, Here is your pal Jonny the Cat enjoying a recovery drink after the Boat Street Crit in Seattle. Instead of magnums of crappy champagne the team that puts it on, Recycled Cycles (my squad), gave out forties of malt liquor. photos by Amara

You sir, are a gentleman and a scholar.

Race report from the Amateur Nationals in Park City, Utah.

  From: Love Dog
Subject: Race
I was 6th in the TT.......I was hoping to do better, I was up in the night with a stomach bug, but felt fast on the bike, but it did not stack up.........I think it was just some really good competition.

In the RR I was 9th but my fitness was better in comparison to the rest. I lit it up on the last climb, and after some regrouping on a short decent we were 6......and 1 move later it was 3 on 3 ( I made the front group) and things looked really good to me, but the riders behind were bolstered by regrouping on the approach into town (headwind and slightly uphill)...we were caught with about 1.5K to go and it was too tough to respond to the repeated attacks after the efforts already made so I faded to 9th.

Gotta wait 1 more yr.

One more year…

Link dump:


  From: DeJay
Subject: going deep
101 + 107 = geared bikes go to hell!! montazuma, co 009= mt. gunnison from kebler pass, co

i made it to crested butte only to barely ride my bike around the 10 mile lap 3 times. topping out at 10,500ft..ouch. what a beautiful place. then on to eldora, co for the ss state championships, again another 10,000ft+ effort. i managed a 4th and jake took 3rd. check this out $65.00 for third and a free burro. dam a ss'er could live off that for a month. oh yeah then to breckinridge for the firecracker 50. this time i decided to watch all the others suffer. it was jake that took third again, about 15 min behind 1st.
not to bad for a weeks worth of riding..huh

i will be digging my claws in at the angel fire world cup this weekend, then back to good ol' colorado for aspen.

balls and all,

Tuesday, July 5, 2005
redhead for dave   I   flickr   I   kill me

Best flash ever. Do podium girls wear livewrong bands? Check the pic down at the bottom of the page. Sure looks black to me.

Arizona is on fire. Literally. Check out Mt. Lemmon. Ouch. Looks like Summerhaven is getting hammered. Again.

And they make the best pie up there in Summerhaven...

Bret Lamberson took the 2005 Cruiser Nation in style yesterday. He took it back in 2000 and told me he's waited all these years to beat Rhino and take back the trophy. Beat Rhino he did. That's him on the right.

Good looking out, Bret.

Check out these fine looking shirts over at pilderwasser.com.

  From: Cosmo
Subject: Boonen/Mangina
What's the deal with Boonen and the mangina? He does that shit every time he puts his arms up. Is that his trademark celebration, like with Richard and the finger kissing?

I don't get it.

You win like he does, I guess you can do whatever you want. Show a little mangina, even dance the macarena.

And why are you looking at his crotch?

Man assaults cyclist, gets arrested in Washington. Strike one for the home team.

  From: Jordon
Subject: Supa Dupa Fund
Clifford has got a hell of a point. Cyclists? Working together? Why didn't we think of that earlier?

Ok, that's it were starting the super-fund, here's how its going to work:

Everyone who reads the site has two responsibilities, (a) to tell EVERYONE they know that they need to read the site, (b) to donate $100 to the fund every year in the month of their birthday. We will make this retro-active to the beginning of the year to make all things fair. Call it 'life insurance.'

Ok, now we got a shit-load of money, Big-Johnny, I vote for you to be the executor of the fund. We will use the money to keep oh, say, Johnny Cochran on retainer for when next soldier falls in battle. Then Big-Johnny Cochran goes in, takes the driver for everything, and leaves a wasted shell of a human being behind stuttering, "but the last guy got away with it..."

I guarantee a more courteous driving population after that shit hits the news stands. Then we will see who is watching out for who when those fuckers in their lifted Dodge trucks figure out that we've got Johnny C on retainer, just waiting to collect the keys to that piece of shit car... and their house... and their wife.. you get the idea.

Winnings will go to, as Clif said, the families and to keep the fund going. Simply brilliant. Who's in?

You had me right up until I became the executor of the fund. Good chance it ends up in the till over at Pay-n Take if I get the keys. If not there, it'll be some strip club…

And isn't Johnny Cochran dead?

One from our man in the field, Andrej.

  From: Andrej
Subject: The Bandits
OK. Time for a little confession. Please refer back to my story about the Bear and the Skunk. That night somebody took my passport. It was in my blue flight jacket (given to me by my beloved ex-girlfriend Nina) and when I took it off to arm wrestle the Russian Bear, someone must have picked my pocket.

This is a major problem over here. Ivan loves to look at passports. I cannot leave Magadan without a passport. I cannot board a plane without a passport. I am completely fucked.

There is an American consulate in Vladivostok, but how will I get there? Not on a plane. I tried to get passage on a freighter, but I failed. I tried to hitch a ride on a cargo plane, and failed. I tried to find a groozavik to Yakutsk. No groozaviks go to Yakutsk.

Your humble narrator was in serious trouble. Faith, I tell myself, faith, I must have faith, like the centurion.

Six days later, I'm walking down the street, the day is sunny, not a cloud in the sky, and the tooman clouds are racing through the city 20 feet off the ground: spectacular.

Towards me walk two men. One is seven feet tall and the other is six feet tall. The taller man removes his sun glasses, and I immediately recognize his piercing blue eyes; it's the Skunkman! I found him!

That night in the Karim sashlik bar, I was with him when I bested the giant Russian Bear in feats of strength.

"Where is my passport?" I ask him.

He says he doesn't know. He says he gave me a ride home that night and that was that. His name is Serge. The guy with him is Misha. He looks like the classic Russian tough: pin-stripped black jeans, caesar hair cut, pointy elven (hatabitch) shoes, and a black 3/4 leather jacket. He says I am a hero for beating the Bear. I tell him about my missing passport, and he says "Beers and to the Park!"

I buy a whole smoked salmon and two 40's of fortified beer and we sit in the Arctic sun and hatch a masterful plot.

That night, at the Karim sashlik bar, after I left with Serge, Misha stayed behind. He and two other guys were jumped and beaten by ten other dudes. Misha tells me he thinks these dudes picked my pocket and took my passport. Misha tells me he is a part-time bandit, and that he know the Magadan criminal underground well. As we drink more and more fortified beer, Misha's memory begins to clear. He stares into the distance and stays, Da, Da Ya pomnim!! (Now I remember!)

It appeared as though he now remembers the exact person responsible, both for stealing my passport and for kicking his ass (he has a nice bruise under his left eye).

He is now rather drunk and pugnacious. He says he will get me my passport in two days, maximum. The three of us jump into a cab and begin the hunt. To make a very long story short, we ended up back at the Karim sashlik bar, where the gold toothed Caucasian was not too excited to see me. Me and the Bear apparently broke his table while arm wrestling.

We sat down and ordered three large skewers of sashlik and three 40's of fortified beer. The man that grilled the sashlik had a grizzly scar across his face; he looked like a baseball. On the TV, there was a talk show about white slavery, and I demanded that my two companions watch it. Unto them I preached abolition. What we were doing in the sashlik bar remained uncertain, to me. Remember, I speak no Russian.

After much much sashlik, Misha steps outside and comes back with my passport. It was a miracle! I ordered another round and we celebrated. Misha rules!! I gave him my ultra-cool knife as a gift and we went back to my apartment and threw knives into the cement wall and danced.


Saturday, July 2, 2005
crissy   I   x 2   I   kim

Armstrong caught and passed Ulrich? What the fuck happened to my boy? Day one and he's dog meat. God damn it.

The upside is Zabriskie is in yellow.

That's fucked up like Guantánamo Bay .

The Canada Party was a blast. Street hockey, beer and hamburgers. In short, heaven. I scored two goals, ate two burgers and drank way to much. The ride home was interesting to say the least. The headache this morning would have killed a horse.

I got up late and chased the group for the first few miles. About five. Caught 'em at the mailboxes on Lake Mary. Put in a good two hours, bye bye hangover.

And so it goes.

At least there is always trucker bombs.

  From: Pistol Pete
Subject: doping
I am tired of hearing about doping. I'm of the opinion that if you're not doping you're wasting your life. WTF? Which one of you motherfuckers doesn't swill some good ol' malt before a ride? After? During? I'm not even asking about a little wake n' bake. Hippie Speedballs? And who gives a rat's ass about those pro prima donnas in the news anyway? How many of' em would be good neighbors? Or even roll a fattie for the ride? Those bigshot names mean nothing. Any bro out there on his(or her)old rattle rig would be a better companion for the Dharmic roll we do. As for me I'm gonna chug some of that faggy yuppy french press boosheet,pull a couple tubes and hit the trails on my bald tire,stretch chain,new front pad POS fixie...
Pistol out

If you weren't wasted, the night was…

Cycling and nudity go together like peas and carrots.

  From: James
Subject: RE: I need to bring my camera
About a month ago I put a "drunkcyclist.com" sticker on the back of the Lion's Lair urinal. Tonight is was paired up with a plasteredbastard.com sticker. It is like chocolate and peanut butter.

Nice. Chocolate and peanut butter.

  From: David
Subject: Peak Oil Info: essential links
Jonny, You should broaden your outlook on the decline of the world we have known. Get into Peak Oil and crap yourself.(The US forums are too "go and shoot the b%"*^rds to get their oil")

The original "killer" link to start understanding the issues:

The best UK based related energy news bulletin site:

The main related uk forum:

A customised Google news link, sorted under various headings (headings are in black, eg,"oil", "crude", "iran", etc):

An on-line powerpoint book that gives a simple explanation of issues:

Also see this guy's site, if you haven't already (I've linked his bulletin page; home link is on the page).It should have a link on yours. He's great, in the true original Rolling Stone mag tradition.

Friday, July 1, 2005
irina   I   jade   I   cop?

July one, bitches. Tour starts tomorrow.

It's official. Hydrated Cyclist is live. Bitches.

Deep thought for the day....

Some people are like Slinkies. Not really good for anything, but they still bring a smile to your face when you push them down a flight of stairs.

  From: Thomas
Subject: no subject
not cycling related but good for a few minutes of entertainment thechump.com/neverendingfall.swf

Would you believe I just got the fall to end? I stuffed her up in some three bubble trifecta.




I'm out. Time to go the the Canada Day Party. It promised to be a good one.

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