I had been wondering where that great big douchebag Randini was in his efforts to conquer that great divide race on a fucking fixie man. I think he said something about setting the brake drag to 20% too, you know… in order to really fucking feel it man. Yea.
I said no way. But then, you know, I just wanted to keep the tabs because he could and I can’t. I knew he’d been sick up there in the Teet Tons. Something about too much sugar in the pussy you know…
Then so like yesterday, me & the Girl and the bambino were enjoying a nice bevi at our favorite Pay N Take, and all the sudden, I see that Randy guy riding down Aspen all cool. I’m like, hey man? Your start line is in fucking Montana man, and you’re here. wtf holmes?
He kept sipping from his sippy cup. He had his pinky in the air too, all on a fix gear. Thas talent man.
Because you know, at least you can look cool while whittling out of your obligations and from all that riding but no coasting.
So that reminded me of the time when the Juan and me was chill’n in the T-town at the ranch. One day, Randy wanted to head south. So we headed south. He was on a walkabout in the Patagonia Wilderness. He had some shit like 80 pounds of grain on his back and some poles and some shoes and you know, whatever. We left him that day. Maybe it was a Saturday, fuck I don’t know. We didn’t expect him to be around for a few months.
But, you know what happens in 3 days right? Well, besides Jesus getting up on high, Randy had hitched a ride back to town, broke into Juans apt and was cold chillen on the couch watching cable & eating his extra granola.
So I guess there’s an answer to the “Where’s Randy” question yea. It’s that wherever he is, he’s probably trying to figure a way out of it.
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