Drunkcyclist.com

Well, here it is, a beautiful Labor Day in North Carolina. The hurricane weather has decided to chill out long enough to let come to the surface a cool, sunny day. Work is done, and as I drove home, the smell of grilling was everywhere. There’s nothing I’d love more than to be sitting out on the front deck knocking some back, and letting the afternoon usher in a night of revelry to help celebrate the passing of another humid, shitty summer.

But I’m sick. So’s my girl. I’m watching the Dog Whisperer Marathon, and Allison’s taking a nap. So, whatever. Sometimes you win. Sometimes you have a great time on an inconsequential holiday such as this one. Other times, you let it pass by and just wait till the next one comes. No biggie, I just wish it were time to get hammered.

Hey - at least I didn’t send Jonny another picture of me in a jockstrap.

Happy Friday everyone. Now go gouge out your eyes.

From: Snake Hawk
Subject: yeah, bro.
get it. i’m feeling super hot today, king of the world, top of the food chain. after i made my breakfast of frozen waffles with canned peach wedges on top, and did my push-ups and crapped, i thought that i should take a picture of me. i’ll probably end up using this for craigslist m4m section, but wanted to kind of get your soft touch and input on it. what do you think, sailor? is that shit hot, or what>>>>>?

poodles & vodka,
cassssssey

Small packages

Cigarettes are never as fun as you think they’ll be when you light one up. Nothing but disappointment in a small package.

The full moon split the tree tops and I sat on the back patio facing the moonlight. I found her cigarettes where I thought they’d be, in the center column of her car. I popped the top of another cold one. It just felt like the thing to do.

The sound of passing semis on I-40, gearing down for the hill, making all kinds of noise. But to them, its no different from any other hill between where they woke up and where they’re going to sleep. It’s after eleven at night, and they’re not allowed to drive more than nine hours. One wonders just where could they be going at eleven fifteen pm.

The moon light splashed across the patio, the bricks on which my daughter played. She wouldn’t know I stood here and pissed in the lawn while she was sleeping. Or so I told myself as I went inside.

14 scheduled repairs at 10am. Walk in, try to take it in stride. First custy I help shows the dim bulb response. After minutes of contemplation over combos or keyed locks, he brings up the key version and asks, can you open this so I can test it out?”

I knew the day was on the downhill from there.

11am, 15 repairs. One snuck in from behind. Lucky me, shop hack, and the only one on for the day. I snapped the lock out of its package with a blank stare and slid it over the counter. I walked into the back of the shop where I just stood for a moment in an attempt to regain my Zen. Things aren’t hard here. U-locks, cables, keys or combos. You need to make a choice. Need education? OK, here it is:

• Combos have numbers. Keys have keys. Which one are you most likely to remember?
• U-locks are stronger. Heavier. Limited on what they can lock to.
• Cables. lighter. Easier to cut, but lock to almost anything reasonable.
• What bling factor does your bike have? How much do you love it?

It’s not a hard choice. All seems obvious. Maybe I’m too close to the fire though. I Walked back out, and sure enough, the “test” worked. The lock opened when he turned the key. Sold.

Next up: A dumb ass walked in with a taco’d Bontrager wheel, a 28 hole unit at that. He said “sorry for not having a shirt on”. Precious asked if he needed a bandaid he was so obviously proud of the chiseled work he put in on his pecks. Nice work Douchebag. Hey, would it be cool if I jerked off right here while I check you out because you’re fucking hot pal? Oh, and sorry, no 28 hole rims in stock. I’m sorry your disappointed. Believe me, I am too.

4 hours later, he returned without a shirt still, and asked more stupid questions. All I can think is “You have got to be kidding me”. I say that to myself over and over again, and it doesn’t help. It just festers. The next time some Too-Awesome-D.B. rolls in and shows off his manhood, or begins to tell me how good they are at hucking, or how they mash gears like nobody can, I’m snapping pics so I can post visuals of the shit I have to shovel. It is fucking ridiculous. WTF is wrong with people?

How Beer Works

On Sunday I got in another ride of one hour. I went _maybe_ 10 miles.

It is better than nothing I suppose

El Grande Link dump:

• [tucson's off the heezy] tuconweekly.com
• [gringo central] theblack13.blogspot.com
• [time fuck] michaeldorf.org
• [watch for bikes] photobasement.com
• [learn how to dope] granfondocyclingtours.com
• [Intelligent] bike for sale on craigslist
• [bicycles & mowing] craigslist
• [sacrifices at the AMC] picasaweb.google.com
• [beer with friends] uniquedaily.com
• [How to get there, in N.Y] Ridethecity.com
• [Cannondale SS for Sale] milewidesports.com
• [Get your Topo on] mtbguru.com

All that and hail that hump day happened, & nobody died. All that is evil shall once again wane. And the weekend shall shine it’s light out our door.

Until that day, my friends, until that day.

I present to you, in no particular order, the emails from the last week or so:

From: Sparkle
Subject: [from DC...]
Hi mate,
Here’s a link to a film my 15yr old son did of ‘Hit the North’, a 12 hour Enduro based in Manchester, England. Watch in high quality, FFS, as YouTube pixellate it to buggery. www.youtube.com Check out the soundtrack - some quality ‘Madchester’ choones! Enjoy.

Right on. I don’t know about “chester” but I’ve been pretty “mad” of late.

From: Walt van Wasatch
Subject: this shit is unreal
www.cuttingedgemuscle.com/…forumid=9

and

www.cuttingedgemuscle.com/Forum/…threadid=20034

It’s a dopers site. We must know these guys. The ‘expert’ Realgains, is a one man Paul for doping.

About all you’re going to find on that site is doping info. I can’t say I’ve seen much in the way of “coaching” that was new or exciting.

The Wagon

I sat in the front seat,
she was driving.
On a small back road
we passed an Idaho farm.
Mostly dust now, and sparce brown grass.
There was a broken, withered wagon
abandoned in the front yard.
Now midday sun blasting the shadows out,
just gone in the brightness.
Every crack and busted plank
of that wagon was illuminated.

I saw myself in this.
Much older, wrinkled, grey.
Alone, but illuminated.

After Saunier-Duval pulled the plug, Scott bicycles was joined by American Beef. Talk about strange bed-fellows. Now it seems that Scott bicycles has had enough and is discontinuing sponsorship. What now? In lieu of dopped up Italians, the team will now be riding doped up cattle?

Source: www.cyclingnews.com