When I told Snake the three hill repeats I did yesterday went well, he said good. Today you're doing four. The fucking bastard.

I haven't told him about the rain that came in this afternoon. I rode in the garage, on the rollers, rather than go out in that shit. Three eight minute 53x12 efforts later the rain let up. I rode around the neighborhood for about a half hour. And yes, I rode through the puddles. Almost every single one.

The things we do for love.

From: Randy Subject: I guarantee Dubya is behind this shit somehow sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/news/archive/2004/09/28 Check this shit out... Can you fucking believe it? Tear down your houses to make a new Wal-Mart?? Disgusting

I've been reading about that one a bit today. Since when is the public interest generating more tax dollars?

More of the same at cnn.com. And, if you feel like reading about the Fifth Amendment, eminent domain.

What a bunch of shit.

From: Big Gay Randy Subject: B.G.R BENOTTO track bike EBAY Jonny please list my bike!!!! I'm broke and I need to go on a 2 weeks sanity trip. Its has 2 days left on Ebay. But if it doesn't go I'll sell to the highest offer. Its hella bitchin and needs a good home. B.G.R cgi.ebay.com

The only reason I haven't talked to a brother about that sweet ride is it's only a 57 cm. If it was any taller I'd own it. And the first thing I'd to is rotate those goofy looking bars down about three degrees. Just look at that shit. How you gonna impress the ladies with yer bars all turned up? This ain't the Tour. This ain't even Tucson in the winter.

This is the big time.

I can't believe he's going to sell that thing. Jesus. That is one nice bike. Someone will come away happy I'm sure.

From: Sabel Subject: basque mob Jonny... from multiple intimate encounters with the 'orange basque mob" i've learned that their drink of choice from bottles is called cali-mo-cho (phonetice spelling ...oh i've spelled phonetic wrong) it is a home made mess of red wine and coke-cola....it is awesome. when they offer you a drink they are testing you too see if you are a pussie and scared of their passionate rowdy bunch....... some shy away from the homemade looking drink cuz they think that it is full of piss as a joke or something like that.... it is super good and they welcome you in with open arms..... however, one time i freely drank from a 1gallon glass jug and the one guy told me it was some different drink.....i figured out the translation and it was called Rat Poison and Aids Death..... for a minute i was a bit nervous ...and then i learned it is the slang for what Fred Sanford calls Ripple or Mad Dog 20/20...... so when you see the orange...drink away. p.s. the other orange crowd is the dutch ....and they are fucking bonkers also.... between the dutch and the basque...and the drunken germans...and Belgians.... wow what a good time at the Grand Tours...... totally nuts behind the scenes.... totally nuts.

Right on. I think I love the orange mob. I am in league with the orange mob.

From: Jay Subject: greetings, bottletipper Just wanted to say hi. I was looking through my server logs and noticed we got some hits from your site. Thanks for putting up the link. We really appreciate it. By the way, I really like your site, it kept me entertained for a good while this morning. I would like to point out that your site doesn't quite read like an obituary, a drunken russian obituary with pictures of naked women is more like it. Thanks again and keep it coming,

And to think all I did was link: freezethaw.com.

Easy cheesy. Glad to hear folks enjoy my drunken russian obituary.

To that end…

From: Emily Subject: Anther Brother Run Down Hey Man - the only way your site could be better is if you mentioned PBR more often - either that or Old English. You should get on the Blog Route blogroute.net Anyway, thought I'd pass along a link to a site folks created here in North Carolina for a guy that got hit by some redneck POS. He was going to volunteer at Habitat for Humanity - "would you like a sharp stick up your piss hole to go with that sir?" active.com/donations/campaign_public.cfm?key=riders4drew

I should join the Blog Route. Just one more thing on the to do list.

From: Mark Subject: bummer Dr Breedlove, local rider from here in Des Moines. Sad. raceacrossamerica.org/files/newsarchive/062305.htm bikeiowa.com/asp/hotnews/newsdisplay.asp?NewsID=1040

Horrible news.

My condolences to his friends and family.

David Young talked with Snake on the telephone. Snake called the headquarters. Shit gets done.

Dave Young is out of the hospital and back home.

I hear he'll be doing El Tour this year. I think I'll be joining him.

The rain is really coming down now. Complete thunder, lightning and furious anger. What? Something I heard Samuel L. Jackson say once. Anyway, the dog does not like thunder. Not one bit.

So she's trying to crawl into my lap as I type this. Good times.

From: Andrej Subject: In the Den of the Chechens, Part One Susuman is a very little town, with a population of, I would say, 5,000 souls. The main street is called Sovietskaya, and that's about it. The Kolyma Highway runs along its southern border the mountains border it to the north. I managed to find lodging here through the influence of the Na-Chelnik Roos-Lan Nickolaievich. The real hotel was full. If you could see this place, you'd have to wonder how the hotel could possibly be full. But it was. So my buddy Roos-Lan gets me a room at the local goldminer's dormitorium The wallpaper of my room was Mondrian-esque Soviet print, and the the silence of the first night nearly drove me mad. I'll I had to listen to was the oddly regular movement of my bowels. I would sit in bed and look at my watch and time the various sounds that guts made. It was all too regular for comfort. Maybe it was all the fish scales and bones I had been eating, against the advice of the locals...but they're so salty and tasty! Sleeping is tough here because it's so quite, and because there is no darkness, and the curtains aren't thick enough to block out the day. In the morning I decided to walk around this wee town until I could find the leggy snow maiden Julia. I'm currently in the middle of a one-man boycott of the Russian telephone system. If any of you ever come here, learn to speak the phrase "I'm an outlander and I am unable to use the telephone, could you please dial this number for me, thank you." I had Julia's number but I couldn't reach her. I knew that if I walked around long enough I would find her. She's hard to miss. In the mean time I decide to go to the park and interrogate the locals about the road conditions for my further journey. So I buy a 6-pack of Klinsko lager tallboys and head for the park. It was a sunny day, rife with mosquitoes, and I knew that there would be many people there that could tell me about the road passed the town of Khan-ditch-Khan. On the way to the park I see Mohamed. STOP. REWIND On the plane from Moscow to Magadan, I met a very sketchy Chechen named Mohamed. He's wearing a dark brown pin-stripped suit, elf toed dress shoes, he has erie lime green eye's and gold front teeth. The first thing he does is hand me a 10,000 Turkmenistani note, and then he asks me for a gift. I had nothing I could give him, except a syringe and a needle. He reused this gift, saying that he was not a heroin addict. He showed me on my map his home, a region known as the Terek. He told me he was a gold miner in Susuman. And he asked me if he could share my hotel with me in Magadan. I politely told him I was staying with friends. He was very gregarious and impressed by my undertaking. FASTFORWARD to Susuman, So there I bump into Mohamed on the street, on the way to the park. "Hey why haven't you called me" says Mohamed. I told him about my boycott of the telephone system. He insists I accompany him somewhere. Along the way he asks every pretty girl if she speaks English. We get to a building around the corner and he makes the universal welcome gesture. As he does this I notice a huge hunting knife wedged into his pants, above the left hip. He leads me up three flights of stairs into an apartment. I know what you're thinking. Andrej you fool! How could you follow a complete stranger, knife-toting stranger, and a Chechen, into a building without back up. If there's one thing I know, it's Moslems. Not only have I read both volumes of Hodgeson, but I have also grown up in Lybia. I know that to be a guest in a Moslems home is to be as safe as a bug in a rug. Besides, I had Wolfsnoutchopper on me, mounted upsidedown along my spine and under my flight jacket, but I knew I wouldn't need it. On the way up the stairs, Mohamed turns to me and says "tell them you are an Arab." It would be difficult to convince them that I am an Arab, on account of the fact that I don't speak Arabic and I am carrying four tall beers in one hand and one open one in the other. In the apartment are four young Chechen toughs, all dressed in black. The walls of the apartment are covered in Persian rugs, so the place has the feel of a bedouin tent. They' re watching TV and their white skull caps are on top of the TV. So there I am, dear readers, sitting in the middle of five Chechens, drinking a cold one. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the Chechen nation, allow me to briefly fill you in. They are a small Moslem nation living in the Causasian mountains that have been having engaged in an on-again off-again war with the Russians for 300 years or so. They consider drinking alcohol harem (forbidden taboo), but the laws of hospitality supercede religious law. They were very cool. Mohamed insisted that I pay 40$ for me and him to have sex with two prostitutes. I told him that paying for sex was against my religion. He kept on insisting. Then the young boxer, Vaslan, stepped in and told Mohamed to shut his falafel hole. Vaslan wanted to give me a gift. He tells me that he knows a beautiful girl he will hook me up with, obviously a girl he had been going with, and/or, just fucking. He tells me that this is his gift to me. To refuse a gift is a grave insult, among Moslems, so your humble narrators agrees..... more to come

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

lucie   I   crissy   I   tallyho

Hump day. Yippie. Road out Lake Mary and did three repeats up the Marshall Lake climb. Why? Because Snake told me to. And he works for CTS. If I don't do what he says, they'll hunt me down and kill me like an animal.

A fucking animal.

I sent Snake this as a small token of my appreciation.

Hockey to return. Maybe. Kinda. Sorta. Hopefully.

I left out this link to one of Cody's fender sets while managing to link another set twice. Yeah, I'm running a real trainwreck over here. Good thing it's still just a hobby. If this was a job, I'd fire myself.

Step into my office. You're fucking fired.

Had to be done.

From: Kerri Subject: Zable Your comments on the shaft Zabel got from T-Moble?

It sure looks good for Ulrich. And Ulrichs fans. Like me. Chasing two jerseys is a waste of time. It's better to concentrate on one goal, and not two.

That said, Zabel it a complete badass and it's a shame he ain't gonna be there. But if Ulrich claims the top spot, I won't be shedding any tears for Zabel.

On to the heavy shit.

From: Ken Subject: Another Biker Down Jon, Carissa Nead received a bicycle for her 6th birthday last Tuesday. Last Wednesday she was struck by a truck and killed while riding her bicycle. What the attached article doesn't say directly is that her family doesn't have enough money to bury her. We're taking donations through the local mountain bike club in KC to help Carissa's mom bury her daughter. To donate to the Carissa Nead Memorial Fund, send your check or money order to: Bank of Belton ATTN: Carissa Need Memorial PO Box 770 Belton MO 64012 Make checks payable to the Carissa Nead Memorial Fund For more information about donating, call the Bank of Belton, 816-331- 4888, and ask to speak to Missy. There's no way to donate online or by credit card, and there's no website either. The fund is for funeral expenses and to help the family. From the KC Star 6-year-old bicyclist killed in freak accident On Saturday, Carissa Nead opened birthday presents. On Wednesday, she was killed. Carissa, 6, knew the bicycle safety rules by heart: wear the pink-flowered Barbie bike helmet; only ride in front of the house; keep to one side of the road, and look both ways before crossing the street. But on Wednesday, Carissa died in a freak accident when she crossed her street as a pickup truck was backing up, Belton police said. Carissa apparently was in the driver's blind spot and was struck. She died later that night. The accident was reported at 8:12 p.m. in the 500 block of Cactus Drive. Carissa's mother, Karin Nead, said Carissa had been biking with her 8-year-old sister. Nead said the driver of the pickup apparently was watching the sister to make sure she was biking safely when he ran into Carissa. "I feel very badly for him," Nead said. "He's a great kid." Nead described her 20-year-old neighbor as a conscientious man who looked out for the neighborhood children, told them to wear helmets and cautioned his friends to drive slowly. "He was absolutely devastated," Nead said. Nead described Carissa as a tomboy who also had dainty interests. She fished for bass and bluegill, "and if she got bored with fishing, she'd play with the worms," Nead said. Carissa also enjoyed playing dress-up with her sister and goofing around with makeup. Nead's fiancé, Arcenio Velez, said Carissa was wild about Dora the Explorer. She had a Dora bedspread, pillows, dolls and sleeping bag. She even wanted a Dora piñata for her birthday, but had to settle for SpongeBob SquarePants. Carissa loved catching fireflies during the summer. She would put them in a jar and watch them glow, but then free them because she didn't want them to die. "She knew they'd be back the next night anyway," Velez said. Carissa won the "Most Responsible Award" from her kindergarten class at Gladden Elementary School, Nead said. The school is setting up a fund at the Bank of Belton to help the family with expenses, Belton school officials said. Police are continuing to investigate the accident. No charges are expected.

Damn. I'm utterly without words. Horrible stuff, the death of a child. Jesus.

From: Mike Subject: Dirt Bag Dream Job Jonny, Here's a chance to get your summer vacation sponsored…5-6 weeks of traveling through CO and UT doing what we do best, playing…we are looking for crew members to go on the road trip. It is a paid position…Check it at expedition4am.com

Sounds like a plan.

From: 100 Meter Johnny Subject: Bicyclist shot at in San Francisco Big Jonny..... Man, this is scary: kron4.com/Global/story.asp?S=3504626 I feel bad for the bystander who was shot. Our for a jog along the Embarcadero, one of the most scenic places to go for one, minding your own business.... and you get shot. Who knows if the bicyclist or motorist was the person who was being the initial jackass and started it all. But, geez..... This is the sort of shit that reminds me to be VERY careful about mixing it up with dickhead motorists while on my rides: you never know when someone is packing.

Ok, one more from Andrej and I'm out of here.

From: Andrej Subject: The Gunmen, Part 2: The Friend in the Bucket Not long after I joined the Mountainbusters, the ZIL shit the bed. We pulled over and made camp. I was passed out will the boys were building a fire and getting dinner ready. From the window of the ZIL cabin, I see that they are busy preparing for the night to come. I wanted to contribute something, so I dig in to my backpack and pull out a two foot long, whole, smoked Chinook salmon. They boys hadn't hooked up the ladder one usually needs to exit the ZIL, so I had to climb down with the beaked head of the Chinook in my teeth. The boys were very amused and they cursed a lot. That night we stood around the little fire and ate salmon, white bacon, little cucumbers, salted bread and apples, and drank Speznaz (Special Forces) brand vodka out of tin cups. The mosquitoes were everywhere. As we chat, we are constantly slapping each other in the face, to kill the little lords of the taiga. In the morning, I find Kol-Ya using a pair of scissors to cut a make-shift head gasket for Pet-Ya's ZIL. This did not work. We spent the entire day there, as the intrepid, pious, and foul-mouthed Pet-Ya toiled in the six-foot high engine of the ZIL, completely covered in mosquitoes. I declared to all there that Pet-Ya was my hero, for work so long and so hard, all day. They told me there is no alternative. There is no such thing as a tow service out here. Either we fix it or we walk with the mosquitoes. During this down time, I explored the surrounding area. Below us, about one hundred feet down, runs the little Cascade river. It's about six feet wide and three feet deep and it cut through a very steep and narrow canyon. On the walls of this canyon are ice formations, like shelf fungus, twelve feet long and ten feet thick, just hanging out over the little river, extending from both sides, alternating. The ice is white with blue stripes and it drips sweet cold water. Me and the Na-Chelnik, Roos-Lan Nickoliaevich, went down to gather water for the camp. He took some pretty sweet pictures of yours truly, but the next time he'll have access to a PC will be in September. He took an especially nifty picture of me with WolfSnoutChopper that I hope to have published in Blade magazine. The Na-Chelnik, Roos-Lan Nickolievich, ask if he could take my bike, the Riddle of Steel for a little ride. We pulled it off of the TNT and away he went, awkwardly: I think the seat was a little too high for him. I told him he looked like Butch Cassidy with the Sundance Kid's moustache. After a lot of vodka and a lot of cursing, somehow, with the grace of God, after 12 hours, we were under way. OK. I'm about to relate to you, dear readers, the hardest part of my journey, so far. At one point, the Na-Chelnik, Roos-Lan Nickoliaevich, asks my if I want to sit up front with him and Pet-Ya. I couldn't refuse. Besides, they had a better view. I'm sitting between PET-Ya and the Na-Chelnik, and PET-YA is as mad as a wet bobcat because his machine is all fucked up. And he is cursing up a storm. Here's a little sample: "Bled (whore), when I get my bled (whore) hands on that bled (whore) mechanic in Magadan bled (whore), I'm gonna smash his bled (whore) teeth on the bled (whore) intake manifold bled (whore). Are you listening to me Roos-Lan Nicoliaevich, bled (whore)? I told that bled (whore) to check the compression ration bled (whore)...(brief pause)... sukka (bitch)!!!!" And your humble narrator had to sit through about 30 minutes of this without laughing. It seemed inappropriate to laugh in this situation. I almost wet my biking britches, no lie! Thank god the ZIL broke down again, and I could crawl back in the rear, with the hyper explosive gear and laugh with impunity. After many mechanical trials and tribulations, we get to a little pas-EE-o-lock (wee village) where my hero PET-Ya has a crash pad. There we ate mashed potatoes and hot dogs and salted bread. The vodka, this time, was drunk out of china tea cups. Quickly, the Na-Chelnik, Roos-Lan Nicoliaevich, got sloppy and spilled his cup so it was time to put him to bed. PET-Ya quickly followed. That left me and the seven foot tall OO-Ra at the table with half a bottle of vodka, and plenty of hot dogs. OO-Ra told me about his experiences in the Chechen War. He described how Russian tanks, under fire, sometimes drive over their own dead, to prevent the Chechens from mutilating their bodies, in the most unspeakable ways. He told about how he pulled a friend of his from a burning armoured personnel carrier, only to have that same friend get cut to pieces by machine gun fire, just two days later. He described collecting the remains of his friend and putting him in a bucket. I asked him his friend;s name. He looked at me and his eyes squinted, his face contorted, and in a high pitched voices, he said Nickolai, and began to weep. He then told about standing over a hole in the ground, Nickolai's grave, as his bucket and guts filled coffin was being lowered into the cold cold ground, and across from him was standing Nickolai's mother, staring at OO-Ra. OO-Ra, then and there, pray that I would never have to live through having to look into the eyes of my best friends grieving mother. I shed a manly, or two for Nicky, and we drained a couple of more cup in his honor. Then, somehow, after the tears, the subject of conversation turned to single combat. OO-Ra could see that I was built like a brick shithouse, and so he asks me, "you think you can take me?" I tell him that I can brake him like a twig, and I made the international twig-breaking gesture. He immediately challenges me to a brawl, either here in the little apartment, or outside on the sooty grass. I declined, telling him that I knew that it would get ugly. I can't imagine either one of us surrendering until a major bone was broken or severe lacerations require a trip to the doctor, if the was one. But OO-Ra was persistent, he nagged me for what seemed like an eternity. Finally I agreed. How can your humble narrator refuse a little of his favorite pastime, what I like to call La Violencia. So we both began to remove our gear, so as not to cut each other. Then I go to remove the little silver icon of St.Seraphim, that my good buddy Boris gave me in Moscow, from my neck, and it suddenly dawned on me what the fuck I was about to engage in: a drunken vodka induced brawl with a great freind...that is seven feet tall, and an experienced killer. Thank you St. Seraphim for saving one of us from some possibly serious harm. Parting with the Gunmen of the Kolyma was very very hard. We exchanged bear hugs and I had to quickly turn and walk away, to hide my sorrow. They haven't heard the last of me....

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

luna and trisha   I   jesse capelli   I   crush guts

Paddy White's not dead yet.

Hot damn, the summer solstice. Maybe today is a good day to enjoy the magic of Stonehenge with twenty one thousand of your closet friends and associates.

I should send the Gnome out there next year. With a case of Pabst and a big stick. He'd take out the slack. Oh yes he would.

I've got a bunch of links to post in no particular order:

freezethaw.com
works.bepress.com/robert_cooter/articles.html
malignant.blogs.com
ateam.blogware.com
in-souls.com/index2.html
uschristianflag.com/yes.htm
patriotboy.blogspot.com
thorntree.lonelyplanet.com
enriquequinterodesign.com/podtender.html
store.rushlimbaugh.com/product.asp?ProductID=433315
nerve.com/screeningroom/tv/shelbyknox
bju.edu/prospective/expect/dress.html
superiorpics.com/ubbthreads/showflat.php/Cat/0/Number/993043/an/0/page/0
stuffmagazine.com/cover_girls/girl.aspx?id=468
washingtonpost.com

From: Heath Subject: sup fucker Yardsale called me the other day. He is coming up to pennsaltucky for the SS worlds. He is stopping in the burg to ride the real shit. After that I am piling in with his stinky ass and rollin to Penn State. You know what that means fuker? CARNAGE! You know how we roll it! DC for life! I cant wait to watch you fuck wads with one gear bash yourselves on the rocks of good old Pa. Also coming up in Pa. is our next race the Course of Dark Hollow (July 24)(gettysburgbicycle.com/racepage/raceindex.htm ). One of the hardest races on the east coast. If you don't like lots of pain and rocks don't fucking come. I don't want to hear your pussy ass complain any way! Fuck off.

Heath = Hero.

And can't wait to destroy central Pennsylvania. Crush all.

From: Michael Subject: Cyclists hit but continuing fund-raising ride They used "derriere" in an article about these women getting their asses kicked by a semi. Nice. e-news.hutchnews.com "She does hope Colorado motorists will be more respectful of bicyclists." Me too.

Me three.

From: Cody Subject: More sweet fenders--- check these out dude Hey Jonny I have some more really cool fenders on ebay right now. Check out the shot of my bike with your sticker on it. I had to do it man. ebay.com/...ViewItem&rd=1&item=7165024034 ebay.com/...ViewItem&category=7295&item=7164017992&rd=1 ebay.com/...ViewItem&rd=1&item=7165022251 ebay.com/...ViewItem&rd=1&item=7163811769

Those are some nice looking fenders.

From: Conrad Subject: LIKE HE HAS NOTHING BETTER TO DO Like our asshole prez has nothing better to do than bash minority groups. I can't even put into words how angry such an intolerent group of people as the "Southern Baptists" led by such an intolerant president makes me. A week after the Senate makes an official apology to one minority group we start stringing up another. We're all fucked msnbc.msn.com/id/8303545 Fuck

Culture of life, my ass.

From: Sergio Subject: cnn.com/2005/AUTOS/funonwheels A good idea? or a good idea with flawed thinking, or a good idea gone wrong. I just clicked on that grolsch pic... damn...

I'm still up in the air on that one. And no surprise the folks buying the damn things already use the most efficient cars. "We fully expected to target SUV drivers with SUV guilt, it just doesn't exist" said Tom Arnold, TerraPass's chief environmental officer and sole full-time employee.

Complete lack of care, understanding, compassion or guilt. It's their God given right. Yee haa.

One from our man Andrej.

From: Andrej Subject: The Gunmen of the Kolyma, Part One The nights on the south slopes of this mountain range are as cold as a witch's teet. And so it came to pass that your humble narrator hitched a ride on a dynamite grooz-avik (truck). Yes, you heard right. It was a two grooz-avik convoy. The first grooz-avik was the mighty OO-ral and the second was the only slightly smaller ZIL. You can tell them apart because the OO-ral has a big polar bear hood ornament. They are both six wheel drive and the CV joint on these son's of bitches is bigger than my head. Allow me to introduce the cast of characters: PET-Ya: driver of the ZIL. PET-Ya is a Virgo, and his hobbies include Jesus, dirty magazines and cursing. OO-Ra: demolitions expert and general all-around outdoor's man. OO-Ra was the MC. He loves to play the guitar and drink and smile. He is seven feet tall and dressed in full camo with a green handkerchief on his head. His weapon is the knife. OO-Ra rides in the back cabin with me. Roos-Lan: this was our Na-chelnik (boss) and geologist. Roos-Lan is a Gemini and his hobbies include hunting, photography, doting on his lovely daughter, and blowing the shit out of mountains. Roos-Lan sits up front in the drivers cabin, with the foul-mouthed PET-Ya, and he carries a double-barreled shot-gun. Roos-Lan is a Ukrainian and he really looks like one. He has a shaved head, sunglasses and a blond Turkish handle-bar moustache. He is wearing green camo and, like a real cossack, rubber slippers. Slava: gunman for the ZIL. He carries a TOKAREV in a shoulder holster and is wearing urban, black and white, camo. He also rides with OO-Ra and myself in the ZIL. In the other grooz-avik (truck), the OO-ral: Kol-Ya: Kol-Ya is a Gemini, and enjoys laughing and visiting the dentist. And with him is Andrei: Andrei is armed with a AK Combat Shotgun loaded with 24 gauge manstoppers. Andrei was very quiet during our trip. He seemed to have a lot on his mind. The moment I jumped into the cabin with OO-Ra and Slava, OO-Ra busts out two small cucumbers, an apple and a plastic bottle of samagog (moonshine). Now I been warned, by many, many, people, about drinking samagog with the yahoos of the Far East. But, I figured, I'm already drinking beer, vodka, not to mention smoking and playing with live ammo, in a dynamite truck, how much more danger could I possible bring upon myself by drinking a little samogog. The Russians always ask me how old I am, they all say the same thing: "you are like the Christ." Apparently all Russians, including the Muslims, are acutely aware of the age of Jesus when he was Transfigured. 33 is considered to be a man's prime, and a lucky age. Well I survived the jolly dynamite truck. At one point we were passing through an extremely fucked up little village. Between shots of vodka, Slava points out of the window and tells me that a few years ago a truck, just like this one, had accidentally detonated and annihilated this town. I looked out the window and, indeed, the town looked like Hiroshima. I began to laugh maniacally and I could not stop for a very long time. Why I laughed so hard I do not know. Maybe it was because I was happy to be alive, even though I knew that I was on the razor's edge. (Probably incommunicado for the next ten days. I got a thousand very lonely miles to go until I reach Sakka territory and to big city of Yakutsk.)

Monday, June 20, 2005

petra   I   morgan   I   wtf

So much for the afterglow. Man, I love a Monday. That nice kick in the nuts feeling of heading back to the Salt Mine. Breaking great big rocks into little ones. Big Pun calling me at nine at night from the bar telling me I suck. It's all good.

All of it.

RAAM came through town today. And I didn't see one damn rider.

I feel like crying.

Ok, not really. But it would have been cool to see anyway. You can see the race is progressing over at raceacrossamerica.org. Time checks and that sort of thing up at raceacrossamerica.org/racestats/...RacePosition.

From: Frank Subject: no subject I dunno about you guys out there in AZ, but here in TX almost every other vehicle, which also happens to be an SUV of some sort, has some flavor of 'dubya' sticker slapped on the back. Talk about salt on a wound - we hate seeing that shit every day. Feeling a bit left out, we made our own, with a slight twist. wtfsticker.com Props to the site, my brother.

My internet is completely fucked tonight. I just don't get it. I pay for this shit, and it doesn't fucking work.

But hey, I'm not bitter.

Like hell I'm not.

From: Brian Subject: I don't think cycling penalties work like this What the public doesn't know about professional mainstream sports. online.wsj.com Nice porn by the way.

Glad you like it. The porn that is.

From: John Subject: Extreme Cycling I have enjoyed the reports from the guy cycling in Siberia. I want my own albina half-breed. Between a frightening ride in the more urban part of our state last week and your too frequent reports of fallen cyclists I'm beginning to wonder if the real adventurous and daring riders are those out on the roads in the USA.

We all want our own Tartar half breed. And the line starts immediately to my left.

From: Ack Subject: "Glock" bike jerseys Hey DC, I was having the conversation about drivers hitting folks on bikes with a cop the other day, and he suggested "packing" with the butt of the pistol showing. Now not all of us can or wish to carry, but a bike jersey with the grip of the pistol silk screened so that it appears to be protruding from the middle pocket might garner us a bit more space on the road. Could be another DC exclusive. Just thinking out loud.

Yeah. A good idea. I was talking to a buddy of mine about riding with a pearl handles, nickel plated .45 in a holster on my stem. Right out where people can see it. A big old hand cannon would sure get someone attention, now wouldn't it?

Kinda figured it would just get me in trouble.

Like everything else that is fun.

Oh the horror, the horror…

Friday, June 17, 2005

stephanie   I   zetta   I   three way

Bad news about young David Young. I met the kid a few years back down in Tucson when he was staying over at Wolf's place. Many of you who hang out down in Tucson come winter time might recognize the name. If not, check the link at the end of the email. A smile like that kid has you won't soon forget.

From: Snake Subject: FW: Young US cyclist loses leg 22 year-old David Young, an American Cat 1/2 rider and the recent winner of the 74 mile Tour de Phoenix, has lost his left leg below the knee (and may lose the knee as well) as a result of a motorcycle accident on June 6. Young was riding with a friend in Kenosha, WI, when the two collided with each other and crashed. David tried to leverage himself and the bike from falling by extending his left leg out toward the pavement, ultimately leading to his severe leg injury. He got up and tried to walk when he realized his left leg was incorrectly positioned. David was immediately air-evaced to Froedtert Hospital in Milwaukee, WI, where doctors decided to amputate his leg from just below the knee. He also severely dislocated his knee to the point that it will be a challenge to save it. His other injuries include lacerations and road rash on his arms, leg, and head. David's family, friends, and team (Vision Quest LLC) have rallied around to assist him pay his large medical costs, as he was not insured, and they are asking for support. More information can be found at: visionquestcoaching.com/DavidYoung.asp

I'll post more information as I get it.

Thursday, June 16, 2005

sex   I   girl   I   another girl

Feel like blogging your way to the Tour? I don't much feel like it. I'd rather stay here, drink beer, ride my bike, update this pill party website and look at pine trees. Now, the Giro on the other hand…

That's a race I'd like to go to.

That said, I'll throw my hat in the ring. Shit, they send me it's going to be Fear and Loathing across the Continent. I plan on getting so fucking blotto I won't even know what day it is. But I will cheer for Jan. Probably even run around naked, drinking cheap Merlot out of the bottle with the Orange Basque Mob and ass stabbing sheep.

Maybe forget the part about the sheep.

With three days of actually "riding" under my belt this week I'm subject to get a little gnarly.

Hey, shit happens.

From: Troy Subject: MTB Party FYI: MTB party from Saturday morning (6/18) till sometime Sunday up near Shultz tank. Drive or ride up Schultz Pass road and turn left on the dirt road just before Schultz Tank and look for the bicycles. It is the dirt road that will take you to Orion Springs and eventually becomes Freidlein Prairie Rd. Should be a good ole time! Bring your bike, beer and food.

Since I'm on antibiotics, I don't imagine I'll be too fired up to either a) ride very much, or b) drink very much.

Gimmie a few days, and I'll come around.

From: three cat zoo Subject: dodging dodges How long do you think it will be before the TV ads for these fuckers will just go ahead and show a couple of "Ram tough" corn-fed rednecks running a cyclist into a ditch? More pricks per capita than any vehicle on the road. Do they put the Bush stickers on at the factory?

Good point. Fuck a Dodge truck.

Deejay Birch is coming to a bike shop near you. Hide your dildos.

Time to focus on Iraq?

Hopefully so. Because the numbers don't lie.

The Downing Street Memo gets fresh attention.

From: Mike Subject: check check this out ... the bike decoy officer getting cut off in the pic ... sltrib.com/utah/ci_2805159

Yeah, that would be a good one, eh?

I like the idea. Get the cops out there to protect cyclists.

From: JZ Subject: Sometimes the cops are on our side Just thought I'd pass on a little story. Last night riding along avoiding the heat of the day here in Phoenix. A car full of teenagers came rolling up behind me. They got really close and started honking the horn. Then they swooped out around me and darted back into the lane and stomped on the brakes. This forces me dive into the second lane on Thunderbird rd. As I was engaged in the evasive maneuver one of the hooligans leans out the window and throws a beer bottle at me. He missed thank God. Now for the good part. All of this happened in front of a dark parking lot. No sooner had I dodged the car and beer bottle then from the corner of the parking lot red and blue lights start flashing. The Honda that had started to speed away didn't get half a block. Reckless endangerment, assault, and dui were the words the nice officer was using :) I'll wait and see what the victims advocate part of the court process finally makes out of it. But it's the first... and only time I've ever known of that someone got pulled over that didn't actually hit or kill a cyclist. So perhaps the tide is changing. Keep the rubber down and glad to hear you are back on the road and feeling better.

Right on. And I'm getting better every day.

From: Jimbo Subject: Berlin Bike Rally radzeit.de Evidently this rally is to draw the attention to the need for bike friendly cities and biking as a means of transportation.

Well right on.

From: Mark Subject: More cowbell Will Ferrell wanted more cowbell... gorillamask.net/morecowbell2.shtml How 'bout a shout out for HealthNet? Kicking ass, taking names and chewing bubble gum...and they seem to out of bubble gum!!

Cowbell. Sweet.

And HealthNet rules. They have So Pro Jones on the site.

He liked Diet Cola and talking to me when I can't talk or climb any fucking faster. The bastard.

I'm an idiot. Three more from our boy Andrej and I'm going to bed.

From: andrej Subject: Sweet Margo and the Tartar Princess So last night I'm sitting in my little room in the Hotel Ocean, and I'm a little restless. It's midnight and the sun has just set. The tuman clouds are wondering the streets with the shariks. Cravchenka is missing in action. I decide to explore the nightlife of Magadan solo. I put on my new hat. It's called a too-b-take-a. Its the headgear of the Kazan Tartars. Its basically a black four cornered pill box hat with four white paisleys on the crown. It's looks very on my shaved head. The folks here stare at me and ask me if I am a filthy Tartar. So I'm walking the deserted streets, hacking my way through the thick terrestrial clouds. All of a sudden these two girls start following me. Half a mile later they call out to me and I walk over to them. They ask me for the time. Then they ask me if I would like to come with them, where to I have no fucking idea because they don't speak any English. Allow me to describe them. Julia is wearing a white vinyl coat and white vinyl go-go boots. She is six feet all, without the boots! She is blond with eyes like ice on fucking fire. She tells me that she is a model and will soon be competing in a beauty contest for the title of Miss Siberia. Nice! Her friend is named Albina, and she is a Tartar half breed that is so pretty she makes my eyes hurt. She has Pantene perfect red hair, a few freckles and a Mongol's face, and a body that makes you want to break a cinder block over your head. Nice. So there I am dear readers, walking down the erie streets of the Russian arctic with two perfect female exponents of the Russian nation. I was like a pig in slop. They took me to an apartment where they served me a drink they call Margo, which is made by combining condensed milk, instant coffee and grain alcohol. We ate Kamchatkhan crab and I got to know them. They are both from the town I will be going to tomorrow, Susuman. They showed me pictures of Susuman and told my the lay of the land. The more Margo I drank, the more I stared at the indescribably stunning Albina. I have completely given up on trying to restrain myself when it comes to staring. Julia showed me her portfolio, and let me tell you this: she has perrrrrrfect legs! Those of you that know me, know that I wouldn't say this lightly. She is simply Olympic. I'm not really sure how I got back to the Hotel Ocean.

You ever get the feeling Big Gay Randy should seriously consider heading out that way? I mean, these are his people. He belongs there.

From: andrej Subject: Better than sex Today I fixed the Riddle of Steel (my bike). I took all the saddle bags off and headed up into the hills where there is an auto mechanic. Riding the Riddle without any gear was better than sex. I got the greasy mechanic to weld my read rack directly to the frame. Problem solved. No more 3mm motherfucking nightmares. Now I must face the larger problem of the pain in my right leg. I've been thinking about this problem for the past three days, and I think I have found a solution. When I was training for this mission, I would climb up and down puny Winter Hill in winter, as fast as I could. But I did it without any gear. When I bike is loaded with crap, you cannot stand up in the pedals and pump. When I was training I would stand up and pump when confronted by a hill. Therefore, I was not developing the little muscle, or ligament, that is now fucking me and my mission. There are three options: A) surrender...not likely, B) continue as before, or C) ditch all of my gear and continue on very light and very fast. I like option C. The situation with the 3mm motherfucker taught me that you can never bring enough crap, so why even bother trying. I'll just bring the bear essentials, get it? Today I will spend more time with leggy Julia and the Tartar half-breed Albina. How will I ever be able to part with these people?

Better than sex?

Um, what?

Half breeds… so sexy…

From: andrej Subject: Daroga I came here with plenty of Romantic delusions. Some of them included fishing for salmon in the desolate krebet around Xanadu (Xandiga), or cooking up a delightful fish stew in my little camp surrounded by an alarmed tripwire to warn me about any honey-eaters or tundrawolves in the area. I now know that these things will not happen. First of all, I have never fished in my life. Second of all, humping my charming little caldron up the krebet will expend more energy than to food I will eat from it. I am in the process of purging my gear. Everything must go. I'm gonna do this thing messenger-style I mean do I really need 2000 ft of high test fishing line and a tackle box? I will give this to the first worthy looking little malchek I encounter. Do I really need a Japanese signal flare, two packets of napalm AND a flamethrower? I think the flamethrower will do. Do I really need two types of survival matches, one Russian and the other American? The Russian ones are immense. The phosphorus part is as big as my little finger. I think they'll do. Do I really need four bottles of bug repellant? One will do. I'll get more along the way. Do I really need a bottle of vodka....? I'll get back to you on that one. One, or two pairs of undies, two socks, and I'm good until Yakutsk, in the Republic of Sakka. When I get to Susuman, I will hang with the Husky-eyed model Julia. Susuman is very strange. It's like 500 miles north of Magadan, something like 4000 ft high than Magadan, and yet it is much much hotter there. So the trip from Susuman to Yakutsk will be warmer, but much much more desolate. For about a thousand miles there are only two villages: Om-Yeah-Con and Xanadu (Kan-di-GA). Nobody here, that I know, seems to know if there are any trucks that move between Susuman and Yakutsk, but they all agree that there can't be many. Right after Xanadu, the mountains turn into the might Central Siberian Plateau. Here it will be flat sailing, but flooding of the massive Lena river could be a problem. In Yakutsk City, I hear there is a beach filled with jaw droppers. The salmons run here in July, so the bears are hungry right about now. So when you all get this message, your humble narrator will be on the daroga (road) and incommunicado for a while. Now it's just me, the Riddle (my bike), and Wolfsnoutchopper (my blade). And a funny aside. When a got to Sokol (Hawk) on my first attempt up the krebet (mountain), and my knee was killing me, I decide to go to the little airport there and buy a liter, or two, of beer. But there was a security check point at the entrance and I had Wolfsnoutchopper mounted Turkish-style on my belt. I walk in tell the guard " I have a big nozh" and I pull aside my trench coat so he can see it. Then he asks me "is that all you have" and he waves me through.

This guy should run for President. He's got my vote(s).

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

tiny pink dress   I   girls of home depot   I   stupid hot

Rode for an hour again. Felt 100% better than I did yesterday. Just about ready to start calling myself a cyclist again. Never thought that would happen, eh?

How does it feel to make that contractor money now?

On Monday I was going so slowly that I was caught and passed by some guy on a beach cruiser. And this was no ordinary beach cruiser. This one had big old ape hanger bars. The rear wheel was bent to shit. And I swear it was rubbing on the frame as Mr. Fast overtook me and stood to gap my pathetic little ass.

Ok, pathetic big ass. Just a slip of the tongue. A loose phrase. Nothing more.

Anyway, I hear him coming before I see him. The thing was a rattle trap and a half. And he was catching a lot of rattles. I said, "hey" and he just grunted on down the road.

Two kids on skateboards witnessed my shame and sneered at me.

Oh great, schools out. Not there are little bastards all over the place. Maybe we should consider year round schooling? Give them something to do. Rather than annoy me.

A few miles down the road, a guy on a recumbent overtook me. He showed me RaW UnlimITED PoWER. Damn. I almost had to stop and wipe the tears from my eyes.

Today was different. Today I was not caught and dropped.

Of course, I didn't so much as see one cyclist heading the same direction I was either. But I still feel good about it.

Don't follow the money, follow the bait and switch.

DC Hero John Lieswyn gave it some stick at the Nature Valley Grand Prix.

On the the letters.

From: bikescag Subject: Cyclist killed in SC- point to bring up Jonny Shouldn't the one eyed bandit be charged with a false police report? He claimed there was another car, then changed his story? That fucked up nurse(do you notice how many nurses are nuts) got charged or was going to be charged or they were considering charging her after she falsely claimed she got abducted and banged by a hispanic when she really had cold feet before her wedding- what makes this blind guy any different? He gave one story/report to a police officer, than changed it. Might as well get my cardio by staying inside and jerking off 25 different ways. Might be safer than riding my bike

Yeah, no shit it's safer to stay home and beat off. I think I'll just ride my trainer in my garage from now on. Fuck mixing it up with these psychos that run into cyclists on purpose.

And, when they do, the get community service as a punishment.

Because raking up leaves is more than enough punishment for using your automobile as a weapon.

From: Brian Subject: Just wrong - SMU prof won't go to jail for hitting cyclist SMU prof won't go to jail for hitting cyclist Dallas: Jury agrees she hit cyclist deliberately, gives her community service 12:28 PM CDT on Tuesday, June 14, 2005 By ROBERT THARP / The Dallas Morning News A Southern Methodist University law professor who was found guilty of aggravated assault will not have to go to jail. A Dallas jury today sentenced Jane Dolkart to five years of probation and two years of community service. On Monday, that same jury determined that Dolkart intentionally struck bicyclist Tommy Thomas with her car at White Rock Lake last May. Jane Dolkart Jane Dolkart bowed her head and sobbed after the verdict was read, and bailiffs began taking her fingerprints. She was allowed to post a $2,500 bond until the jury decides her punishment today. The tenured labor and employment law professor faces probation to 20 years in prison for the second-degree felony charge. Witnesses said Ms. Dolkart was visibly upset and honking the horn of her Volkswagen Passat as she followed cyclist Tommy Thomas and a friend along West Lawther Drive near Mockingbird Lane in Lakewood. Mr. Thomas testified that he feared for his life when Ms. Dolkart's car struck the rear of his bicycle and dragged him under the car several feet. He suffered bruises and abrasions to his left forearm and a sore shoulder. A police officer who investigated the incident testified that Ms. Dolkart acknowledged "tapping" Mr. Thomas' bicycle because he was blocking her way as she drove to meet friends to ride her own bicycle at the lake about 10 a.m. on a Sunday. During the trial, Ms. Dolkart denied making that statement. Testifying in her defense, Ms. Dolkart said that she did not intend to hit the bike but that Mr. Thomas slowed suddenly as he pedaled in front of her. In closing arguments, attorney Mike Gibson said the incident was nothing more than an accident and disputed the argument that Ms. Dolkart's car was a deadly weapon. He said the victim's account of the collision was "exaggerated and full of mistakes." "If distracted driving was a crime, we'd have to build five courthouses because people do it every day," he said. Prosecutor Danny Oliphant said witness accounts and physical evidence from the accident proved that Ms. Dolkart's driving was deliberate. "It wasn't just an accident. It wasn't just a mistake. This was an intentional act," he said.

Ok,I'm a bit lost here. The "Jury agrees she hit cyclist deliberately", the cops testifies that she "acknowledged "tapping" Mr. Thomas' bicycle because he was blocking her way…" and she gets, fucking community service???

What the fuck?

You can drive into someone, on purpose, without any substantial penalty?

From: Brian Subject: Hey big Jonny, I'm a long time reader of DC, yup, even us up in the frozen fucking north (Canada) read DC. I have been seeing way too many e-mails and reports of cyclists being hit and killed by asshole drivers down there in the states. Some days reading your site is like looking at the obituaries in the paper. I think some of you boys down there need to start tracking these morons down and fucking them up in dark alleys. Maybe after a few end up in the hospital and on the national news, making sure it is known why they got beat down, people will start having more respect for cyclists on the roadways. Keep drinkin.

This site is starting to read like a fucking obit page. Jesus. Never thought that would happen. But it has. I'm not sure I can condone outright violence. But I do get your point.

From: Marty Subject: Kilo aye-aye. the UCI really are a bunch o' cocks for axing the kilo. they seem to have something against scottish cyclists, first Obree, now Hoy. any chance you could bung up a link to an online petition which www.bikebiz.co.uk have set-up? petitiononline.com/1000k/petition.html

Consider the petition brought up.

One more and I'm out.

From: Phil Subject: Mother of dead soldier vilifies Bush over war. The president of Gold Star Families for Peace, a mother who lost a son in Iraq, criticized the United States' "illegal and unjust war" yesterday during an interfaith rally in Lexington. The full article will be available on the Web for a limited time: kentucky.com/mld/kentucky/news/local/11888623.htm

From the Lexington Herald-Leader article:

Sheehan ridiculed Bush for saying that it's "hard work" comforting the widow of a soldier who's been killed in Iraq.

"Hard work is seeing your son's murder on CNN one Sunday evening while you're enjoying the last supper you'll ever truly enjoy again. Hard work is having three military officers come to your house a few hours later to confirm the aforementioned murder of your son, your first-born, your kind and gentle sweet baby. Hard work is burying your child 46 days before his 25th birthday. Hard work is holding your other three children as they lower the body of their big (brother) into the ground. Hard work is not jumping in the grave with him and having the earth cover you both," she said.

Monday, June 13, 2005

ashton   I   chrissy moran   I   lesbians rule

Rode my bike today for what can only be called "training". I guess it could also be called fun. But you know what I mean.

I haven't even so much as gone to work on the bike much these last two weeks. Something about being sick. Anyway, coming out of it now. Finally. Felt a lot better today.

Snake said ride for an hour. An hour. One hour. Just an hour.

So I did.

The first half hour was brutal. My legs would not go in circles and my ass was killing me. Amazing what a couple of weeks of not riding will do to you. I was a fucking trainwreck.

After a bit the legs started to figure out what a circle was. Seems they should have caught on quicker as I rode a fixed gear to work before I took the road bike out. Isn't that supposed to teach you how to spin?

Not me. No circles here. Big, stupid, efficient squares. All day long.

For thirty minutes anyway.

I'll just go with a couple of emails from my man Andrej. And, yes, all of these came on the same day. All four. I guess when he gets rolling, he just lets that shit fly.

From: andrej Subject: Hot Toilet, and Tears The first thing I do when I step into my hotel room is touch the toilet. If it is hot I know that I have no cold water. Then I run down into the lobby in hysterics and yell at the pretty receptionist Natasha. I enjoy finding excuses to interact with Natasha. The big day finally arrived. It was time for me to hit the ole dusty highway, of bones. Julia and Lena came to see me off and we drank coffee and smoked a couple of butts. As I was riding out of Magadan, as very strange thing happened. I started crying like a little bitch? This is a very serious problem because the mountains around Magadan are very steep and one's throat becomes very constricted when one is crying like a little bitch. It was hard to breathe. And all the way to Sokol (Hawk), every time I would think of Julia and her shariks (dogs), Lenckek and her Koshka (l'tle cat), and the misbegotten and magnetic wild Ukrainian strawberry Cravchenka, I would start crying again. (And this Cravchenka is quite the phenome. She refused my marriage proposals, even after the second bottle of vodka!!??) But why was I crying like a little bitch??? This town has gotten into my system very fast and with great vigour. It is very difficult to leave. Thirty miles north of Magadan I'm already about 3000 feet above sea level, and I stop to have a smoke. As I chillin, like Bob Dylan, enjoying the majestic view, a massive teal KRAZ flat bed truck pulls up to your humble narrator. Out stumbles a big dude with an Arctic tan and the kind of teeth you can only read about. In his hand is a half finished 40 oz. of Drink beer. He's half in the bags and in the mood for a chat. His name was Androosha, my name, and he offered me a lift to Palatka (Tent), a town on my route. I told him that I must complete this trip on the bike. He didn't understand me. The only Russian word I could think of, to describe why I was refusing his offer, was "princeep", principle. Everytime I pronounced this word, Androosha would say "bled", whore! Androosha was very wise. He thought I was afraid of him. So to prove to him that I was not afraid of him, I grabbed his beloved bottle of Drink beer and finished it. Androosha was very amused. About five minutes after we parted, and Androosha's big-ass KRAZ disappeared into the mountains, it began to rain. Cold rain. I immediately regretted not getting into Androoska's mighty KPAZ ore hauler. The only thing on this truck was a small cardboard box containing three skinny chickens. Twenty miles up the road, I see the teal KRAZ again!! It's rain and it's cold and I think to myself that Androosha is waiting for me to take me to Palatka. I pull up to the KRAZ but I cannot see Androosha. So yell his name, thinking he's in the Lee-Yes (forest) taking a number 2. Nothing. So I have a smoke, I took some pictures of the skinny chickens. Finally I climbed up the KRAZ look into the window and I see good ole Androosha in a beer induced coma. Ten miles later I encounter a very serious teknikal problem. The little 3mm fucking bolt that hold my rear rack to my frame popped out and now my gear was rubbing against my rear axle. But my problems were far far worst than that missing bolt. PAIN!!!!!

From: andrej Subject: Pain and Epiphany On the outside of my right knee, I have a serious problem. In Sokol, fifty miles north of Magadan City, I noticed this pain. Because of it and because of the missing 3mm bolt I had to return to Magadan City, population 18,000. What could it be? I am invincible. I am The Grand Tourismo! I cannot be damaged. What the fuck can this pain be? Could it be all the years of recreational drinking catching up with me. No. I can't let myself think crazy thoughts. I must apply my primate mind to this problem. Going back to Magadan City was bitter sweet. I was looking forward to seeing my comrades and all the sweet street shariks (dogs), but I felt defeated. I was chewing the cud of bitter fancy all the way back to town (my thanks to Anne Bronte, Tenent of Wildfell Hall). I became wicked introspective. Looking north from Sokol, I could see the magnificent cloud formations snaking their way between the snow cover peaks, and beyond that is Xanadu, waiting for your humble narrator. But he is damaged and ill equipped. Then I thought about my mission. What was I really doing here? That's when I realized that up till now, my work for the American Anti-Slavery Group was motivated almost entirely by hatred. Yes, sad but true. Hatred for the slaver. Somehow, on the ride back to Magadan I realized this. But why did I reach this conclusion here, and why now. It must be because of the strong feelings I have developed for my friends here, yes love dear readers. Now I have a completely different relationship to abolition. Trying to imagine my little Lenchek in bondage is literally unthinkable to me. But not to long ago this might have been her fate, here in this place, under the Mask of Sorrow. Somehow the combination of ego-ism, failure, pain and love led to my mountain epiphany.

From: andrej Subject: Metallic Bitch Party This morning shaved my head, put on my black wifebeater, flight jacket and Turkmen four-cornered pillbox hat and went outside. When I opened the door of the hotel, I was completely blown away by what I saw. The arctic sun was blasting, the harbor was ultra blue and there was a cloud slowly moving through the center of the town. The sight took my breath away. I immediately RAN back up the stairs to my room to get my camera. The cloud here are four stories off of the ground. The Russians call it Tomtor, and the dictionary translates this word as fog or misty, but this is no fog or mist. It is white and thick and it moves as a compact entity. Maybe some of you nautical types out there know what this is called. Anyway, it's fucking gorgeous! I bought a 40 and head down to the beach. This charming little beach has more scrap metal on it than a vacant lot in Roxbury. And more empty beer bottles than a UMASS party on frat row after the Red Sox won the pennant. But the view is to die for. The harbour is classic, horseshoe shaped and the entrance of the habour is crowned by a volcano named, aptly, Crown Mountain. I quickly became friendly with a hot blond single mom there with her son, grilling swine on some drink wood. I spent the rest of the day chilling (yes it cold on the beach) on the beach. After the yummy mummy left (yeah..I got her number) I was joined by three beautiful 18 year olds that had many questions for yours truely. Like "have you had sex in Russia yet?" They also were unable to pronounce the word beach, they say it bitch. So there I was, at the Metallic Bitch Party. Oh yeah. And I got THE coolest souvenir EVER! On the beach I found a matching pair of leadlined gloves, the kind they use in fussion reactors! How cool is that?

From: andrej Subject: The Cravcheskaya Mafia My friend, the misbegotten, and beautiful, Cravchenka, has all the sweet hook ups in Magadan City night life. Cravchenka is a local cub reporter. She interviewed me when I arrived and we are now thick as thieves. The looks like the stereotypical Scottish lass. She also has a hollow leg. Last night I hit the sauce with her and her friends. To them I preached abolition. They had a hard time believing me. They think I'm a fugitive from American justice. When I tell them about the enslaved Russian girls I saw in Cyprus, their attitude is fuck em, they knew what they were getting into. Why should they give a fuck about strippers and whores that go overseas to make some cash and then end up as chattel. I tell them that there is nothing wrong with being a stripper or a whore, hell some of my best friends are strippers and whores. The problem is that these girls, country bumpkins really, are tricked by the pimps into leaving Russia with promises of real work and once they are in the clutches of the pimp, they are separated from their passports and beaten constantly for a month until their spirit is broken and at that point rebellion against the filthy pimp is unthinkable. I try to use the analogy of the volunteers that came here during the time of the DALSTROY gulag combine. They came here to work in the gold mines as free citizens of the USSR. But quickly the distinction between convicts, political prisoners and freemen was lost, and they were all fucked. They think I'm crazy, but at least now they might think about it a little more. I told them to ask their elected officials about this problem and what they are doing about it. After my fifth Baltica tallboy, it was time to chill and enjoy the company. Some dude shows up, dressed in a track suit, tall and well formed. He sits to my left. As time goes on I notice that he's talkin a lot of trash about the USA, as he's listening to Aerosmith. I didn't give a fuck because all I was concerned with was staring at the beautiful shorthaired blond, named Lena, sitting directly across from me. After my eighth Baltica tallboy he challenges me to an arm-wrestling contest. I smiled. Little did this silly malchek know that I am an arm-wrestling wunderkind. With my right arm I finished him without any opposition. With my left in 4 seconds. Then he kissed me three times and we celebrated with congac shots and more Baltica lager.

Saturday, June 11, 2005

jones   I   denny   I   kitty

Need some new electronic beats to rock your box and get you through the day? I recommend checking out AtlantaMix.net. Shit is on fire down in the ATL.

I got tipped off to the website by some cat I ran into at a bar in Covington, Georgia. About a month back or so. It was poker night as some strip mall sports bar hell hole. I was looking for some entertainment, and buddy, I found it.

Yo, if Niki Gudex were any damn hotter, she would burst into flames.

Hey Snake, she's heading out to the Springs. And she's a CTS client. Check it out, man. Oh yeah, you and Hoyt are busy practicing nautical knots on each other out there in Chattanooga. Hey man, whatever your into, it's Ok with me.

BMX is cool by me, and I'd love to see it in the Olympics. But eighty sixing the Kilo race to make room is bullshit. I hope this one gets sorted out. 'Cause this is re-god-damn-diculous.

Today's book link:

The author glowingly idealizes "self-propulsion" as liberation, urging on the nascent bicycle with all the gritty locomotive spirit of its early proponents. "This particular type of 'self-moving' vehicle . . . would run on that most abundant and accessible of all resources: willpower,"

Sounds good, eh? Check it out here.

From: Response Subject: Jerk it You gotta check this site you big fag. madville.com/link.php?id=102948&t=3 teaches one alla the different ways to jerk off. 25 different ways?!?!? Who'd of thunk? Anyway, it's funny and possibly educational, but don't click the links unless you want to see dick, which of course you do. R Rumsfeld

Jesus. That guy needs a girlfriend. In a bad way. Fucking a fat chick is way better than making a website with pictures of yourself jerking off 25 different ways.

And the shit with the broom? Gay. 100% percent.

Not that there is anything wrong with that.

And they forgot "the stranger". That's when you sit on your hand till it falls asleep, and you wack off with a numbed extremity so it feels like a stranger.

I guess it's also known as dead man's shuffle. More beat off tips here and over here.

From: Eric Subject: State of Cycling in South Carolina Just a little article to let you know that South Carolina is an absolute fuck-up when it comes to cyclists ~ you had a mention of the slaughter back on March 11th, 2004...guy was a damn good rider. clemson.edu/~cyclng Partially blind driver gets probation in cyclist's death Published on 05/24/05 BY SCHUYLER KROPF Of The Post and Courier Staff MONCKS CORNER-A partially blind driver who sideswiped and killed an aspiring Olympic bicyclist was sentenced to probation Monday, an outcome prosecutors reluctantly agreed to after learning that the man was qualified to hold a driver's license. Theodore Borck was sentenced to two years of probation after pleading guilty to a single count of reckless homicide in the March 2004 death of Garrett Patrick Wonders, who dreamed of participating in the 2004 U.S. Olympic Team trials. Prosecutors wanted to try Borck, 52, on charges of intentionally disregarding the safety of others when he drove a vehicle knowing he could barely see. Deputy Solicitor Blair Jennings was forced to drop that route of prosecution after a state licensing official said despite Borck's blindness in his right eye, he was physically qualified to drive with glasses because he had some vision in his left eye. Wonders, 25, was struck by the right side of Borck's truck March 10, 2004, as he rode along Old U.S. Highway 52. He died at the Medical University of South Carolina. After the collision, Borck called 911. He told authorities he accidentally hit the cyclist while trying to avoid another car. He later admitted his right-eye blindness to a state trooper, saying there was no other car and he never saw the rider. A doctor tested Borck's corrected right eye vision strength at 2-0/200, which some eye care professionals consider blind, although drivers might be able to recognize some landmarks, such as the letters on a "Stop" sign. The state's case against Borck began to weaken, Jennings said, when the Department of Motor Vehicles said Borck was street legal because he has 2-0/40 corrected vision in his left eye, the minimum required by the General Assembly. Jennings said he was stunned to learn that having only one minimally good eye is all it takes to drive in South Carolina. The revelation led to the plea agreement, which was accepted by Circuit Judge Markley Dennis. If convicted at trial of the reckless homicide charge, Borck could have received up to 10 years behind bars. As part of the plea agreement, Borck must complete 80 hours of community service. Borck gave up his driver's license after the accident. His i lawyer said he had been hiding his handicap for some time and was driving only on roads he knew by heart. "He felt insulated by the fact the state of South Carolina said he could drive," added lawyer Jay Masty. Wonders, an Ohio native, was an instructor at the Naval Nuclear Power Training Command school at the Naval Weapons Station in Goose Creek. He was a fixture in the flourishing long-distance bike-riding community around Charleston, and was widely regarded among enthusiasts as the fastest cyclist in the Lowcountry. Wonders' widow, Terri, a pre-school teacher on Daniel Island, and his parents attended the sentencing. Afterward, they said they hoped the case would trigger a tougher look at driving test requirements in South Carolina and bring more respect for bicycle riders. "It's the public perception that cyclists don't belong on the road," said his mother, Shelley Wonders. "That's got to change." She asked drivers to think about safety, not rage, when they come upon a cyclist who is already in a dangerous position on the side of the road. "Everyone should be more respectful of cyclists," she said. "They are not doing anything illegal."

There isn't much else to say, is there? Not after what Shelley Wonders said so well.

Friday, June 10, 2005

chrissy moran   I   loriann   I   heidi

Already the tenth of June. Jesus. Time flies when you're having fun, eh?

Or in my case, time flies when you never leave the house.

Sad but true. I go to work. I go home. I take a nap. I do nothing. Just feel like shit.

Whatever.

Hey, get your hands off public broadcasting already.

New article for reading pleasure.

Rick Santorum: Sick Fuck.

It's all about spreading the Santorum.

Depleted uranium is your friend.

Axel Merckx takes the stage, Leipheimer kisses his dogs, hits the deck and loses the lead in the Dauphiné.

More from DC Hero David McCann.

From: DMC Subject: You don't think the LiveWrong looked a bit Gay in the photos when it pushes half way up your arm at 35mph? I have deep concerns about this. Too fucking skinny!

Shit, just wear three of them taped together, tough guy.

And just think, keeping that shit skinny keeps it aero.

You wanna know what rocks? Queens of the Stone Age fucking rock.

Bike messengers on the track. I hope those boys kick a whole lot of ass.

From: James Subject: TV-B-Gone That shit works. My boss got me one for Xmas. It is great fun to walk through Best-Buy or some other store with lots of TVs and turn most of them off. It's fun in bars too. We had planned on going out on Superbowl Sunday but we chickened out at the last minute.

Sweet. I wondered if anyone has actually used one of those things.

Can you imagine shutting the t.v. down in a sports bar during the Super Bowl? Jesus, those pigskin fans would murder you.

Same with NHL finals.

It'd be suicide.

Of course, you could always just blame someone else.

Just a thought.

A lot of grumbling out there after the SSWC registration filled up quicker than you can say "get me a good pic of a cock." Which, interestingly enough, is every word of an email from the Gnome I got today. Don't ask, we're evil men doing evil things.

From: Velomech Subject: Yo, help me out here Maybe you can shed some light on this fiasco for me... SSWC registration closed in three friggin hours, WTF? I have talked to Brad Q, Steve-O, and some guy from Bike reg.com. I'm just trying to get ahold of ANYBODY at the event. The number they gave on bikereg.com is totally bogus. Any Idea's? I know reg is closed, but I figure if I can donate a bike or a frameset or a set of wheels, anything is possible. You know it sucks that I missed out on this thing in all the years before, but DAMN, I was sooo close. Hook abrutha up my friend, drop me any info you think might help.

one more.

From: Eric Subject: what the hell Seriously what the fuck!! the sswc registration got slammed shut in just a few hours and some seriously ass kick'n booze drink'n mother fuckers couldn't get on the roster..their should have been some minimum requirement of scrotal girth to weed out some of these no life having ass licks that filled the roster. I mean I'm pissed, first off my main man Danny O , takin first in the ss category at the wilderness 101 last year. mtntouring.com/...results.htm the man should get put up in the nicest econo lodge western Pennsylvania has to offer for christ's sake..not to mention the other Bicycle depot crew that kicks ass on a single speed. This is their home turf, and a bunch of turds that don't have a fuckin life register in the first five minutes... What the fuck

Hey, I registered in the first five minutes! Just kidding. But I was within the first half hour. It sure did get swept up quick like. Good thing I sit around wit a computer most of my day. Otherwise, I'd have been up shit creek.

Shit is always fucked up when riders are capped at a couple hundred. What is it for this one, four hundred? I'll be their permit won't allow 700 people. It's a shame really, because 700 will probably show up anyway.

Of 402 registered entrants, there are only two drunkcyclist riders. Kinda slim, eh?

From: Dr. Bike Subject: Re: A great Arizona cyclist / tri-athlete hit and run death. Woman arrested in hit-and-run KINGMAN The Arizona Department of Public Safety has arrested Karla Marie Moore, 52, of Kingman for allegedly leaving the scene of a fatal accident in connection with the hit-and-run collision that claimed the life of former City Council member Richard Tomlin on Saturday. Tomlin, 58, was fatally injured when he was hit from behind by a motor home at milepost 59 while he was bicycling along U.S. Route 66 Saturday morning. He died at University Medical Center in Las Vegas that afternoon. Witnesses said the motor home stopped and then fled the scene, possibly accompanied by two people in a red convertible. "The DPS vehicle theft officer, a DPS Mohave County Area General Narcotics Enforcement Taskforce officer and a large number of DPS highway patrolmen conducted a street-by-street, door-to-door search of the east side of Kingman and located the motor home," which still showed physical signs of Saturday's deadly collision, said DPS Sgt. Ray Butler. The DPS crime lab is processing physical evidence from the motor home, and the vehicle is being held as evidence in the case against Moore, he said. DPS officers arrested Moore at about noon Monday at the Golden Glory RV Park on Route 66 and booked her into Mohave County Jail. Officers also arrested an acquaintance of Moore's, Wendell Burn Cherry, 64, of Kingman on unrelated felony possession of drug paraphernalia charges after questioning him about the hit-and-run, and booked him into Mohave County Jail. The investigation into the hit-and-run fatality is continuing. Funeral services for Tomlin are at 2 p.m. Thursday at Grace Lutheran Church.

Well, at least they found the bastard. Even if it is a 52 year old woman.

Thursday, June 9, 2005

flick shagwell   I   tatiana   I   lucie

First up, I'd like to thank all of you who wrote in with suggestions for dealing with little Ms. Skunk Killer and her current issues with stench. I'd say a whole lot of you boys out there have had to deal with much the same thing from time to time.

That said, the tomato juice worked wonders. Wonders I say. Check out the pic. She looks like something out of that movie Carrie. Oh well, horror jokes aside, it worked well enough that I could actually sleep through the night. Still a lingering odor, to be honest.

Second, DC hero David McCann sets a new Irish 10 mile time trail record time of 19:04. Ladies and Gentlemen, that is 31.58 miles per hour.

This spoof is better than Episode III. Hell, it's even better than a couple of drunk cops.

And now the bad news.

From: Scott F. Subject: A great Arizona cyclist / tri-athlete hit and run death. Dick Tomlin a former National Champion.Has been killed by some motor home shit head In a hit and run in Kingman AZ on Sat June 4, 2005. He was a great friend and the strongest athlete I ever knew. The man was just a good guy. He was killed on his bike and left for dead. I cant say any more but he is very much missed by me. I hope all is well for you John. tell everyone hello for me. keep up the good work. Scott, AKA drbike.

That shit is horrible. More on the story.

From: bhance Subject: Another one, in Kingman kold.com/Global/story.asp?S=3433381 Story is still developing. Father of a coworker of mine. I hope they find the driver and crucify him.

Hit and run by a motor home. Jesus Titty Fucking Christ. You have got to be kidding me.

What a God damn waste.

From: Bob T. Subject: 3x more rollerbladers than mountain bikers? wtf? These numbers seem a little off to me, but if they are true, it highlights the sad state of affairs in this country: there are three times as many rollerbladers as mountain bikers. Either way, it's reassuring to know that I am being "extreme" whenever I go mountain biking... skipressworld.com/...inline_skating_still_rules

My only hope is that the population of inline skaters is something along the lines of 85% female. That I can live with.

From: Ruben Subject: WTF is up with the dopers? What it be like Big J? Reading up on the Dauphine Libere and can't understand why Nozal and d'Abusco are juicing it up. Nozal especially since Saiz already fired that other dudes ass. I just don't get it man...Anyway, it's good to see Hincapie and Leipheimer go 1-2 in the prologue, maybe there is Life after Armstrong.

Good question. And remember, 52% is obtainable just by living at altitude. Am I saying I don't think these guys are on the juice?

Absolutely not. I think most of them working with very good doctors. And they are doing what they have to do to be competitive.

That said, here's to life after Armstrong. Today's stage was a mother. A good win by Vino. That kid is solid.

More from our man Andreg, who is currently riding across Siberia to raise money for the American Anti-Slavery Group.

From: andreg Subject: Magadan Rocks I visited the Magadan Geological Museum I I saw some amazing things. Here's a brief list; a shiny iron and nickel meteorite the size on a huge sack of potatoes a large floor mad entirely of green striped dalolite crystal tiles photo realistic crystal mosaics of the local sea coast, amazing a baby mammoth and I got to handle real mammoth leather. I saw a stuffed wolf that looked EXACTLY like the wolf in American Werewolf in London, last scene when he's tearing apart Piccadilly Circus. Yesterday I bought six huge Kamchatcan King Crabs and me and my new friends glutted yourselves to excess on borsht and sweet crab meat and beer. They tell that there is a species on HAIRY crab here. I've looking for it at the fish mongers but I can't find it. Apparently they are immediately shipped to Japan where they command a high price. More interesting local lore. The most common Russian name for a domestic black cat is PINOCHETT. When a man touches a women inappropriately, the women will scream at him "Keep you hands off Honduras!!!" After I was on TV I was contacted by the local Society of Disabled People. Here they are called invalids. They are planning to ride tandem bikes along my route next year and they asked me if I would be their scout. The gave me classified ultra detailed government maps and they would like me to describe the road conditionsfrom Magadan to Moscow. Of course I agreed. They hope to raise awareness of their plight here in the Far East and petition the central government in Moscow for more assistance. Imagine a group of blind people biking across Siberia! Now I am their eyes, in sense. They gave me letters of introduction I can use to get help from invalid groups across Russia as well as veterans groups. They local head of the ruling party also gave me letters of introduction I can use when cops hassle me. He also loaded me up with campaign trinkets. Now I have the whole political spectrum covered. I am friends with the Limonovists and their enemies the One Russia Party. I think if the local party boss knew about my association with the Limonovist he would not have been so friendly. At the Regional Museum I got a taste of the GULAG system. I got to see all kinds of fantastic documents and physical objects from the regional slave camps. I topped all that off with a visit to the Mask of Sorrow, a huge monument to the men and women that perished here under the regime of DALSTROY, the state enterprise that ran the slave camps here from roughly 1931 to 1951. It's on top of a mountain and the weather was appropriately erie and foggy. At the rear of the monument there is a statue of a women kneeling covering her face and crying. I offered libations to all the dead homies by sprinkling her with sunflower seeds and beer. I was all very sad. When I tell the people here about my work on behalf of the AASG they seem to have trouble believing me. The only way to get people to believe you, it seems to me, is to do something really grand and stupid, as a demonstration of personal conviction. The Russians understand this philosophy well. Tomorrow morning I'm taking off. Later

That guy fucking rocks.

More on Great Things.

From: Jennifer Subject: Ride Hi Big Jonny-- I guess I missed the boat-- it seems like last Friday was the day to shout out to all of our friends doing great things for great causes (Siberia & the AIDS ride). But I thought I'd give it a shot anyway. My friend Len Burman is doing a ride across America w/ his son Paul to raise money for Partners In Health (PIH), a group that is providing high-quality health care to people in the most remote parts of Haiti. He's organized this all on his own, paying for all his and his son's flights, hotels, etc. so that all of the money that he and his son raise will go directly to PIH. I was hoping maybe you would put a link up for their site: ride4haiti.org. The date of the ride is getting close and they are trying to raise $100,000 (as of last weekend they're at 70%!). Thanks for your help. Get healthy (I feel you on the sickness thing, I've been down for going on 3 days), ride hard, rock on.

Looks like they are just about at 81% as of tonight. Good looking out.

From: j. carnes Subject: Re: can you help a local guy? jonny- thx for the reply about AIDS Lifecycle. i'm in SF tonight & ride on sunday, but i still have a ways to go to raise my $5,000. any help that you can provide would really be awesome. if you'll include me in your next update, perhaps you could let readers know that they can donate @aidslifecycle.org/6348. i really appreciate your e-mail. Thx.

Don't mention it.

Now some more on Husky's recent visit out east.

From: Casey Subject: Some things never change. Thank God I failed to read your update before sending you a letter. I will NOT come over and bloody your nose if you don't post this. That is not my style. I MIGHT come over early morn and wake you up for work with a Kentucky Wristwatch Alarm Chime. He was in North Carolina. The Husky Midget, that is. I'd like to share with you (for ol' times sake) the sequence of events that transpired within his last 18 hours in our pretty good state. First, I got the call. "Dude, I'm back in Chapel Hill. Come have some beers before I leave tomorrow." Fair enough. Nervous as I was, I was thankful he didn't show up on my doorstep with his duffel bag of terror. (Speaking, of course, of his portly midsection.) So over to Yard Sale's I went, to bid a much beloved Amigo farewell. Upon Arriving at Yard Sale's, I found the house hauntingly serene. Noticing the glowing chiminea in the back garden, I made my way around to find a stack of Icehouses in the grass, and nary a Husky to be found. Just YardSale and our buddy Jr. "He went with Julie and Nat to the ATM," Yard Sale informed. Fair enough. I'll take this time to tape up my ankles for the inevitable binge that lie ahead of us tonight. Much time passed. About 2 hours. I could not help but run through the list of available ATM's in our area thinking, "Jesus Christ, where in the fuck is that motherfucking midget?" Well, He finally returned with his entourage of spoken-for-women-that -he-seemed-to-think-he-had-a-chance-with. Turns out "ATM" is Husky Midget Spy Code for "Adonis Time Machine". Knees wavering and starstruck, Julie and Nat turned him over to us. Yard Sale and Flakeman. Now we were getting somewhere. At 12:30. On a work night. At the bar round the way, we treated ourselves to several sobriety vaccinations such as Bourbon, bourbon and some bourbon. Husky had enough. It was time for him to ask in his polite, but insistent way if he could please come behind the bar and punch the shit out of the mini fridge. Please? And Punch it, he did. With the force of a full duffel bag of terror behind it. Upon noticing the cute little dent he put in the door, He asked with the panache of a prince, "Dude, can I sign the dent? Gimme a marker." This continued until last call. Whooping, cavorting, raising hell. Showing off to every one in the entire bar. In other words, NOBODY. It was a Tuesday night. We found ourselves two doors down the street at my place of work. (Not too smart, Flakeman) Thirty grams of weed and thirty unregistered memories later, I felt very warm. HOLY SHIT warm. You see, when the boys of 1429 South Roberts Road get together after so long apart, we are bound to take our shirts off. There is nothing gay about this. By that I mean we are totally comfortable with our homoerotic behavior. So chests a-bumping, pipes a-blazing, It is only natural to see what fun can be had with the Captain's lush chestoral pasture of hair. As it turns out, Flakeman's Patch is a volatile, chemically unstable swath of land. As a matter of fact, the reason I felt so warm is because, yes, my chest had gone ablaze in a purple, wretched to breathe flash of glory. Upon extinguishing the inferno, I reasoned that Husky had really done me a favor. With the dog days of summer right around the corner, this thinning will prove to be quite comfortable. Now I wake up on a paltry Wednesday morning cursing the drink and spewing the stink. Motherfucking Husky. I praise the Lord for his leaving today. I don't know exactly how much more of him I could take. He does. As I am sweating and puking my way through a death march of an afternoon hangover, Yard Sale being the considerate bastard that he is, calls to inform me of their recent wake up call (at like, 1:00pm) and the imminence of a trip to the Paradise Club. Not enough time to give you the full back story on this place. Just know that if you put five ones on the stage, those bills may out number the teeth in her mouth. "Sorry guys, I'm trying to get through this fucking day. No strippy strippy for me, must worky worky." Fair enough. Just as I was forgetting how far away from 5 o'clock I was, who comes screaming into the parking lot with the e-brake on? You guessed it. Husky Midge. He parked his rental car right into our neighbor's outdoor chemical storage cabinet. Gravel falling, dust settling, and shit dripping out of my shorts, I walked out the garage door to assess the damage. What damage their was. It appeared at this point in the week that Yard Sale and Husky shared between them one dented, badly worn brain cell with at least 5 tube patches on it. Still going, though. We said our goodbyes, and laughed some more at how white my chest looks without all that hair on it. As the skies began to wet the streets and my eyes began to wet my cheeks, he galloped off like a cowboy in a rented Chevy Cavalier. It's not quite over though. Before being gone for good, you know the midget bastard had to do a couple of donuts on the freshly wetted pavement. And a couple more, and a couple more. Until every one in my little work neighborhood was standing outside with 9 and 1 already dialed. "Everyone, It's okay. That's the Husky Midget. He is our friend. He means no harm and will protect us from terrorism. When His Talons of Democracy pluck the last remains of terrorism from the spiderhole of evil, you will see that he is our Savior." God Bless the Husky Midget. Over and Out (your ass) Cap'n

Wednesday, June 8, 2005

tavia   I   sally   I   lori ann

Early this evening, 'round about the seven o'clock hour, the dog found a skunk in the yard. They commensed to "playing". Fuck. I should just call it like it is, the dog went on a god damned seek and destroy mission.

And mission accomplished.

I got to stay home and rake what's left of the skunk into a garabage bag. My wife drove over to the store for a couple gallons of tomato juice.

You ever wash a dog with tomato juice? It fucking sucks. Dogs do not like tomato juice. Not one bit.

Not that the average dog enjoys a bath all that much, much to the contrary. But a bath in tomato juice is really off the chart.

It's been a fun night. Kinda makes me want to put the dog in a garbage bag.

Tuesday, June 7, 2005

brooke   I   wayward women   I   lonnie and friends

Its been a couple of days since I updated the site. I've been busy being sick. Yes, the big man is still down. Whatever I caught, it's a real mother. I feel better on day, and then way worse the next.

After a week I figured I had better go to see the Doc. That was yesterday. Now I'm to take 500 mg of Erythromycin every eight hours for the next ten days. Fuck me, that is going to suck.

Seems there is a whooping cough outbreak here in Arizona.

Ever wonder what happens when you write something other than your own name when you make a credit card purchase? Well, wonder no more, the question has been answered.

It sucks to be this guy.

I got this email with a follow up phone message. Husky said if I didn't post his email, he'd be over by 8:00 am tomorrow to "bloody my nose". Thanks Husky, good to know you care.

From: Husky Subject: SSWC A little msg going out to John from STL: I find it very stimulating that you would like to pit your big pun against OURS at the SSWC. I believe we will have many different categories in which they can compete. There is only one thing, I hope you have a Husky Midget because you crew from STL will need one. I got Big Pun's back til all the beer is gone.

I'd make a crack about Pun having a new boyfriend, but Husky knows where I live.

And I thought he was in North Carolina anyway? What was that all about? And, who am I asking exactly? It's not like anyone except Husky would know what the hell he's doing, and it's debatable if he knows.

He backed up the telephone call with a personal drunken visit at 11:00 pm last night. Fucking kid was way loaded, running around the house with his shirt off, screaming about Big Pun and the STL. Jesus. It was insane.

He capped off the production with a couple of vaults over the stair railing, down on to the living room floor. I just stayed on the sofa and watched all that shit happen.

God Bless the Husky Midget.

Friday, June 3, 2005

hello nurse   I   hello nasty   I   lonnie waters

Single Speed Worlds Championships, this August in State College, Pennsylvania.

It's going to be one hell of a good time. Even if it is a death march.

Speaking of which:

From: John Subject: SSWC yo. first thing is why haven't you posted the sswc roster yet? --> bikereg.com/races/ConfList.asp?ID=2372 second is where is the evil contingent? third is, we have a big pun here in the STL and i would like to run my big pun against yours. after snake tore him that new ass i think it only fitting that we hand him a new one, ass that is. our big pun is faster, stronger, meaner, drunker, and generally more likeable because of his propensity for william wallace quotes at a volume of 11 at approx 2AM when camping. your big pun should watch his back... word is born.

If we bring the two big pun's together, the world could tilt off his axis and hurl off into space.

And it just may be a death march.

From: Tom in Carlisle Subject: SSWC05 Course Recon FYI. A group of 4 semi-locals hooked up with group of 4 true locals. Couple of stout climbs. Some rocks here and there. 9 Flats. 1 rider bailed after balling it up at speed. 1 rider rode/fell off a foot bridge (me). 5 hours to make it around the loop.

Good times.

I need me one of these: TV-b-gone.

With one of those in my hand, I could do great things.

And I do like great things.

Like, for example, riding across Siberia to raise money for the American Anti-Slavery Group. I'd say that counts as a great thing.

More in the Great Things category.

From: j. carnes Subject: can you help out a local guy? big jonny- i am a local guy here in flag. in june i'm riding my bike about 600 miles, from san francisco to LA, to raise money for AIDS services, care, and education, and trying to to raise $5,000 for the san francisco AIDS foundation. i wonder if you'd consider placing a link and a good word on how to donate to my cause on your site. if you'd like to check out more details, go to aidslifecycle.org-- i'm cyclist #6348. i hope to be in touch with you soon, maybe for beers at the pay n take.

You can go directly to the j. carnes website it you would like to make a donation.

From: Corey the Courier Subject: RELoad April Fools Race First Place Overall: Corey the Courier There were two big races in Philly this weekend. A messenger alleycat and the Philly 2-Day. I made the decision to do the messenger race after seeing it advertised in the Philadelphia Weekly. As much of an affinity I have for the Philly 2-Day (it's my idea being used by someone else), I also had an obligation to represent Drive Sports as they were one of the sponsors for the event. The race was a scavenger hunt with over 50 checkpoints around the city. Each checkpoint was worth points. The difficulty of the task required or distance away from Center City determined its point value. There were many fake checkpoints, "April Fools" tricks by the organizer on the participants. There was a tie for 1-3 place. I won by the nature of going to more actual checkpoints for the same point total. I raced through North Philly, Univ. City, West Philly, Center City, South Philly, Northern Liberties and South Philly again in 2.5 hours. I was forced to eat hot sauce, wear some smelly homeless dude's pants, play with dogs, drink cold beer, whiskey, warm wine and a few other newly invented cocktails during the adventure. Somewhere along the route, I picked up an out-of-towner buddy, Andy Z from Washington DC who followed my route and earned a respectable 7th place. Bragging rights are mine. I won a track frame and a sweet custom RELoad bag with 2005 Champ embroidered on it. Despite the overwhelming urge to start trash talking with my buddies, I will be focusing on members of the opposite sex for a while. Alpha Male thing...

We can always count on Corey to represent.

<repeat advertisement>

by Michael Barry If you've ever wondered what life in the U.S. Postal team whirlwind is really like, Inside the Postal Bus is your ticket to ride. Michael Barry, Lance Armstrong's teammate since 2002, opens the door and invites you in to share a coffee and meet the guys. Barry, with help from fellow pros George Hincapie and Christian Vande Velde, will take you into the world of the professional cyclist and the final season for America's favorite team, shedding light on the good, the bad, and the ugly sides of the sport. Descriptive stories of the rituals and rigors of the team make this book an entertaining and refreshingly honest look at the riders and life on the road. A must-read for fans of the team and the sport. Paperback. 16 page color photo section and black-and-white photos throughout.

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Ok, since some of you have asked, I did read the book. In fact I read the whole thing last night. Hey, I'm sick and I was in bed. Alone. What the hell else was I supposed to do? It's a pretty good little read, not to hard on the brain, but a fun little collection of stories all the same. Good review over at thesunlink.com

Like my man Joey says, "I have seen my future. And it still involves drinking and beer." Get yourself an ice cold Miller High Life. You're earned it.

From: peas and carrots Subject: adverbs and gooder english so, i'm sure there are plenty of miscreants out there with their bones to pick over the whole live-strong moniker. let me present my sorry and myopic detail - it's bad english, and a common grammar error. one does not 'live strong' but instead must live /strongly/. you know, adverbs, those pesky but oddly consistent extensions to verbs within the english language. I call a foul here, not because i'm some avatar of language structure, but because it's such a large campaign based on such a poorly crafted phrase. live strong? really? that's all it took to sell millions of those infernal things? i want to die. i certainly cannot wait for the watter/oil/etc to run out and contend with these ham fisted bludgeoners... of course, 'strongly' does not carry the same resonance with the fools who like to wear those silly yellow trinkets around their fat wrists (b/c it's easy wearing yellow band; it's hard to stop eating potato chips). whatever. what i desire is a black band with the less catchy variant on the phrase: LIVE WRONGLY. i'm sure one is not available. i'm sure nothing i say matters and i'm sure nobody here cares. but this is one of the few sites that i've bumped into that's called a certain bullshit to the world and so i write. i hate you all, i love you to pieces.

You had me at "hello"…

If you are easily bored and distracted as I am, check out net disaster. So far I've sat back and enjoyed the show as Mars attacked my website, dinosaurs stomped all over it, meteors rain down from the heavens and flooded the bitch. Destroy all.

Good times. Have a go at the urinal test.

Josh sent in this next one with the line, "I came across this and thought of you."

Thanks.

Here ya go, the Fixed Gear Enthusiass. (Yeah, that's the way they spell it) And I must say, it seems like a pretty good idea.

A little something for the ladies.

Yee haa.

From: Colin Subject: Hate to spread bad news. Just thought I would send this out as it is as close to feeling like I was there when a fellow rider was struck down. Again, sorry for sending something so disturbing. If you don't know, this just happened the other day. Just so you know I did not write this. The poor cyclist who was the other rider in the story did. Life is Fleeting. I write this today because I need to write this. I watched my friend die on his bike today. We were riding side-by-side on an ample shoulder / bike lane on Hwy 36 - a north / south corridor that hugs the foothills of the Rockies and serves as the gateway to any number of canyon roads climbing up into the mountains. I rode near the white line and Scott rode to my right, at the outside of the shoulder (near the dirt / grass. An Explorer driving southbound at around 60mph (the posted speed limit) was driving toward us. It started to veer across the road. At first, I thought it was to pass traffic. When it then veered into the northbound traffic lane, we knew something was up. We both said some expletive as we realized what could happen. Then it veered into our bike lane and was speeding right for us. All of this and the following details happened in 2-3 seconds tops. I look at Scott, look at the Explorer and realize my only way to live is to swerve my bike hard out into the northbound traffic lane. As I swerve out, I look back at Scott and pray that he was able to dive his bike down into the grassy ditch. The Explorer was heading straight down the bike lane, so the grass would have been safe. As I look back at Scott, I see the Explorer hit him head on. I feel the very close rush of wind pass me by as the SUV narrowly misses me as well. I screech to a halt, screaming and crying. I throw my bike down and run back to Scott's body. As I'm running, his bike is still spinning cartwheels in the air. I check for his pulse and touch his abdomen and chest to feel for breathing. He's dead. I look up and the Explorer is finally coming to a stop after running through some farmer's fences and it hits a ditch, a couple hundred yards away. Then I notice that below the knee, Scott's left leg is missing. I stayed with him for over 2 hours until the coroner came and took him away. The accident happened at around 7:50am today. It's not nearly 3:00pm. I've grieved with many, many people. I'm about to go show his widow as much strength and support as I possibly can. The driver had fallen asleep at the wheel. Unfortunately, whenever we head out the door, this is a stark, horrific reminder of what can happen to each of us, no matter how safely we ride. Please, please, please be safe out there.

Thursday, June 2, 2005

oh my god   I   lolly   I   natalia cruze

I came home from work an hour early and went straight to bed. I'm laying with the windows open and my laptop open. No internet connection as I haven't quite got around to setting up a wireless network in the house. I imagine I'll be tackling that project soon enough. The use of a laptop all about the house is a good thing.

And I do like good things.

My head feels like a fucking ballon. Good times, let me assure you. Not good times like last weekend in Durango, but good times like hitting your thumb with a hammer.

Not so much funny ha-ha, but funny oh-no.

From: Bernadette Subject: Scott Scott was strong ...Scott was true ...Scott was a friend ...He was our brother 9news.com

My heartfelt condolences to out to his friends and family.

From: threecatzoo Subject: Another cyclist down oregonlive.com

Hit by a drunk 18 year old. Jesus.

I haven't the words…

I've got a few glass pieces by this nice fella Zion. Kinda looks like Hunter S. Thompson, don't he? He lives up in the woods, outside of Boise I supposed I should say. I don't know if there is a bigger town that is closer to his property.

I'd like to head up Boise this summer. Spend a week up there hammering my brains out on sweet singletrack.

As it stands, I'm sick and I'm not going anywhere for a bit. At least a week.

Ho ho, no rest for the wicked and all that.

From: Carson Subject: Shoot'n on the web Jonny - I'm all for keeping the Feds away from the Internet, but how fucked up is this?: cnn.com/2005/TECH/internet/05/04/internet.hunting.ap/index.html

Check out Store Wars.

From: Dave Evil Subject: Bullshit Rockin' the Livewrong, rocking the Evil, rockin' the DC socks...all's well. But not really. Seems we had a little incident at a criterium in Iowa last weekend, and I'm shooting mad over it. Please run my riders account on the site, if you will. I am going after the USCF for a refund and an apology, and I could use the help of the DC faithful to make a stink. Besides, I fucking hate religious fuckers. Please read and post the following from our esteemed Professor R. So there I am, lined up as number 4 at the Melon City Criterium last Sunday, sporting my virgin Evil gear. And we begin to start lining up, per order of number (keep in mind, I'm in the front). And I'm pumped up, ready to ride. But then once everyone is lined up... low and behold, the USCF official for the crit. (we'll call him "USCF pig" for short) points to me and says, "Number 4, Evil... you either have to turn your jersey inside out, or you're not racing." I'm like, "What? What's the problem?" USCF pig: "Please, the word." (trust me, there was a cute ass smirk to his statement as well) Prof: "What word? Evil? You're kidding, right?" Seriously folks, I thought he was joking. USCF dick: "Nope, either turn your jersey inside out, or remove yourself from the line." Another rider points out that I'll have to re-pin my number, which would take time. Still, this official didn't budge. And mind you, I'm somewhat taken aback by this. WTF? I can't ride cause I have a word on my chest? So I look up to the officials stand and say to another MUCH MORE REASONABLE USCF official,... "Can I petition this? This is a bit unreasonable, esp. since everyone is ready to go." Reasonable USCF official: "You have to talk to the young guy." Clearly, this dude didn't like the call of the officiating ref. either, but wasn't going to step on his colleagues toes. Okay, so I look back to the officiating ref. and said "You're really going to pull me? For wearing a uniform?" USCF dick: "You can turn your jersey inside out, or leave." Prof: "I'm not even going to be in contention this morning. I'll go in the back line even. Give me a break here." USCF dick: "You can turn your jersey inside out, or leave." At this point, I realized that was the only ruling I'd hear that morning, no matter what the case. Prof: "I shouldn't have to change my jersey or leave. This is wrong, and you know it." Clearly, I wasn't going to hold up everyone else. But I refused to remove my uniform. Why should I? Why should any of us? So, I stepped out of the lineup. After the race started, I immediately went over to this guy and wanted some clarification. Prof: "I did two practice runs through here, but you didn't say anything then. Why not?" USCF pig: "I can't see everything." Nice attitude. So I'm like, really dude, what is the problem here? The word? What it represents? Seriously folks, what if we wore white uniforms with "GOOD" on the chest? Do you think we'd be pulled? HELL NO! Oh sorry, for HEAVEN'S SAKE NO! But the USCF pig's official justification was, "Evil is trying to pretend to be a team, without paying the team fee." I'm like, dude... we ride together sometimes. And I stated that we were more a club then anything (we'll come back to this). I also pointed out that the two days before, I had worn my other club's Skull and Bones uniform. No words, no advertising, just a skull and some bones. Was that not allowed either? He actually said, no. Prof: "So why wasn't I pulled then?" Gotcha. USCF Pig: "Well, I wasn't officiating that race, but you should have been." What?! And he wasn't there at that race? I SAW HIM THERE... SAW HIM LOOK STRAIGHT AT ME AT SNAKE ALLEY! WTF?! Right, so I pointed out to this guy that I also saw a USPS jersey in the Melon Crit. lineup that I had just been pulled from. But was that rider pulled? Of course not. And the Friday and Saturday before, I saw Phonak and Fassa Bortolo uniforms. GEE, HAVE THOSE RIDERS ALL OF THE SUDDEN DROPPED OUT FROM THE GIRO? HAVE THEY DECIDED TO DROP DOWN TO CATEGORY 4, AND COME TO THE BURLINGTON ROAD RACE AND SNAKE ALLEY TO SEE WHAT ITS ALL ABOUT??? Give me a break. Its clear to me that his ruling was unreasonable, wrong and without question discriminatory (esp. given the USPS jersey I saw in the CAT 4 lineup that morning, since he pulled me but not that guy). He didn't like what I represented (read what WE represent). And what can't be put into words here was the clear prejudice and disdain that I saw on the face of this USCF official. This dude clearly didn't want someone like me riding. And he used the rules to justify it. Well folks, I invite you to read page 30, sections 1L3 and 1L4 of the USCF Rules and Bylaws: usacycling.org/forms/2005_USCF_rulebook.pdf It says nothing about CAT 4 representation or name affiliation, other than having team members wear their own team's uniform. So really Mr. USCF Pig, what gives? And jeez, WE'RE TALKING ABOUT CATEGORY 4. Like I'm going to smoke this race and run off to CAT 1/2 competition? Yeah, sure. And so I didn't get to ride that day. Nor did Evil.

All the more reason to make Evil an actual USCF team. Put on a parking lot crit, jump through the hoops and stick it right back to him.

Wednesday, June 1, 2005

cherry   I   keyboard for sale   I   stretching is key

The Giro turned out every bit as exciting as we had all hoped. I put down Savoldelli as a surprise winner. Because he sure surprised me.

I've come back from Durango with a nasty head cold. I was coughing a bit over the weekend, with a runny nose as well. Chalked that one up to allergies, which is a safe bet this time of year. The pollen was coming down like snowflakes up in Colorado. Damn near everything seems to be blooming.

Sure it looks nice. But it's a real kick in the head for me.

So anyway, I've got a low grade fever, a dry, unproductive cough and a runny nose. In short, I'm in heaven.

The War on Terror continues to go just swimmingly.

From: Mitchell Subject: Wal-Mart posting I was reading the wal-mart posting and I agree with it all. However when Bill consistenly used the word "there" instead of "their" it really calls question to the reliability of the author. Maybe you could inform bill that if he will publicly posting things then there is a lot of credibility to be lost from small gramatical errors.

I'm not one to alter or correct the emails I get for spelling or grammatical errors. That said, there have been a few I've had to alter a bit so you could actually read the fucking things. But, they are still mostly 100% true to original form, right or wrong.

And, I would like to point out, I leave 'em wrong even if I agree with the point of it. I'm not playing favorites around here. For example, in the email from Mitchell the word "consistenly" and "gramatical"" are both misspelled.

But maybe that's his whole point.

Speaking of sex parties, Ann Coulter has a fan base.

From: Brad Subject: ANN The messed up thing is that Ann is just using the same tactics you Democrats use!! DUMB !!!! This is why you hate her and I hate bitching liberals! SO SImple

Er, no. I hate her because she is an insane bitch.

Just like I hate all insane bitches.

Since when is it a Democrat tactic to be an insane bitch?

Did you ever take a look at Al Franken's book? His footnotes actually support his arguments. Coulter's do not.

She gets away with a lot of misrepresentation, inaccuracies and out right lies. You should call her on it.

You can pick at Democrats, such as Clinton, without having to pull it out of your ass. The guys an easy target. Whitewater? Lewinsky? Easy pickings. Like shooting fish in a barrel.

Anyway, thanks for the email.

Check out stopanncoulter.com.

And then send a friend a card.

Yee haa.

It's a bit old, a few weeks anyway. And it's a long video with a few dry moments to endure. But click here to watch George Galloway deliver a blistering attack on the US Senate.

It's good to see a man with some balls.

From: Thomas Subject: Yale ?!?!?!?… On May 31st, our illustrious president Bush replied to a reporters question about the recent Amnesty International report web.amnesty.org with this shining example of proper usage of the english language: "It seemed like to me they based some of their decisions on the word of -- and the allegations -- by people who were held in detention, people who hate America, people that had been trained in some instances to disassemble -- that means not tell the truth." Funny thing is that on May 30th, dictionary.com had the word he was trying to use, dissemble, as their word of the day: dictionary.reference.com Here's the transcript from the White House: whitehouse.gov You'll find the quote not quite half way down the page.

Ah yes, Amnesty International condemns the US because, are you ready for this, they "hate America".

For fucks sake.

Now go check out some Zabriskie interviews. The kid's a crackup.

And hey, at least I got something up on the site today.