With Teeth

Have you noticed how often you use your teeth? No, seriously. We use them a lot, especially as cyclists. At times, my teeth are my other set of hands. They're great for opening gel packs, holding gloves and sunglasses, or even for biting hobos when they think they can catch a ride on my handlebars. The truth is that cyclist could benefit from having another pair of hands or an increase in handless stability

More Hands
Just imagine being able to give someone the finger without having to remove your (other) hands from the handlebars. Or being able to steal a water bottle from a rival team and throw it in their face mid-sprint. The benefits are obvious when considered in the context of the bike shop. I could do so many things better with an extra set of hands. It wouldn't necessarily translate into increased efficiency, but it would increase the number of black eyes I gave to the morons at the shop, customers and employees. [ed - that number currently stands at zero] There's a lot of potential for good here if you don't mind the accompanying freakish appearance, like an anorexic Goro.

Less Hands
You know how I'm going to teach my kid how to ride a bike? None of that training wheels BS. He's gonna ride a unicycle first. Sure its a bit avant garde and a totally cirque du soleil, but if he can ride that a unicycle, he can ride anything. Cycling culture should strengthen good riding habits by rewarding with more equipment, instead of taking equipment away. "Congratulations son! Here's a pair of handlebars. Now, if you can jump the bike over that creek, I'll give you a stem next!" I know it sounds nuts, but you underestimate the potential a pair of handlebars has without being shoehorned into a life of service bolted to a stem. This method, let's called it the Cyvant Way, if applied on a universal scale would make us all safer cyclists. With the Cyvant Way, no only do we eliminate all Cat 5 racers and triathletes, but any survivors left would save tons of money on dental work having not gnawed their way through 16 million GU packs in his lifetime or chipped a tooth biting down on a pair of Oakleys.

This is an important issue with real risks but also with great potential to improve the cycling world. Ruling out instant evolution, it would seem the Cyvant Way is our only hope for cycling nirvana and cheaper dental care. Either that or I'll just stop smoking, chewing tobacco, and using two-day-old espresso as mouthwash.



Aside:
Is instant evolution an oxymoron?

News: Riding bikes is good for you

When Pez dropped the ball on their Look 586 report with claims that the new Sram Red rear derailleur's advantage over Force was its "exact actuation" I let it go. I figured I was just a overzealous bike nerd that knew too much for his own good. Sram only pioneered Exact Actuation technology with their off-road rear derailleurs eons ago, which make me an expert in ancient bicycle history.

Today they posted an article titled "The Health Benefits of Training". Out of shear boredom, I took a glance at it. I was hoping to read something about how just riding a bike is physiologically different from maintaining a strict training regimen. I had to read the article twice to make sure I wasn't missing anything. To summarize the article: Biking is good for you. Apparently, biking can often take the place of "exercise", a practice which usually involves a lot of unhappiness indoors on elliptical trainers and grunting around circular steel plates pierced kabob-style by various types steel rod. In fact, sources say that this activity can be better than the penultimate form of exercise, running. Running has been the archetypical definition of exercise and fitness since the very first runner caveman beat the fat caveman in a foot race. Granted, that foot race was not very well thought out. It's only requirement was to be at any place not nearest to the hungry saber-toothed tiger. Over the years, the sport of running has evolved. Its goal no longer focused on survival but rather on who can look the coolest at 7am in line at Starbucks for a Soy Frappalappadingdong "reward" for a hard 30 minutes of work. But alas, years of parading around cookie-cutter coffee joints like a scone-eating peacock are no more because you can ride a bike. Thank you, Pez! Thank you for publishing this ground-breaking report on behalf of all cyclists who had previously suffered from unbearable guilt due to the common notion that they were indulging in an activity so amazing that must have been bad for them. We can all rest a bit easier now. No longer are we pressured to maintain a fine balance between improving our performance and being healthy. It turns out the two are pretty closely related. Whowuddathunkit?




Endnotes:
- The Sram Red r.d., in addition to being a few grams lighter than its Force counterpart, also features hybrid ceramic bearings in each pulley. Whoopdeedoo.
- The person that looks the coolest is at Starbucks is the one with Fuelbelts filled with Gatorade, fanny pack, generic Walk-a-thon t-shirt, running shorts with a sagging testicle hanging out one side, and cotton socks that are pulled up to his shins.
- I don't really read PezCyclingNews for cycling news. I read it like I read Mad Magazine, as a parody on the cyclist's lifestyle if all we did was ride ridiculous bikes that all had the most "vertical compliance and lateral stiffness" and travel around Europe taking pictures of anything near a bicycle with a vagina.

Tour de Failure

If you were in the DC area last night, you'd know that it kind of rained and there were flashes of light in the sky, allegedly known as 'lightning'. And because of said meteorological phenomena, Tour de Franzia was a flop. Southern Comfort, Old Balls, Powerlegs, and myself sat around waiting for something to happen whilst drinking from one of four five-liter boxes of garbage wine. After being bored for a minute, we mounted our trusty bikes and headed to The Tombs in search of meaningful conbrosations and celebrote the miserable failure of Tour de Franzia. While there, I kept my eyes trained on my beer to avoid making eye contact with anyone who might think that I was there to have fun. The last person to have made that mistake went straight from my sixth birthday party to the emergency room mortally wounded with a He-Man birthday candle. A few beers later, OB answered the call of the jungle, in which cougars were to be found. In this case, "cougars" is a term that loosely refers to female business school grad students. Drunk late-twenty-somethings pointed and laughed at slightly buzzed early-twenty-somethings as they marched through the townhouse with their bicycles. More drinking ensued as well as awkward standing-around (aka "chilling, bro"). Biking home in the wet road in sandals was interesting, but far from epic.

Tour de Franzia is rescheduled for next weekend.
BELIEVE THAT!

Also:
Old Balls is bad at quarters. I am not. [insert mental picture taken at party of OB's face of agony as I sank quarter after quarter into beer cup]

Today's Ride: Rock and Lol

I rode bikes today off-road, and it wasn't just my road bike on packed dirt. I actually drove somewhere to ride bikes (which by the way, I hate doing). Packing up the Surly, lights, helmet, etc I rolled on out all by my lonesome on the boring neighborhood playground known as Wakefield with my iPod buzzing in my ears. A few new things struck me about the trail. First, where the hell did all the grass go? Its like riding down a pornstar's money maker out there. Its dry, bumpy, and its obvious many people traveled where you are about to go. After feeling like I was riding in a nuclear wasteland, I sought refuge under the canopy of the adjacent woods.

It was there that I discovered what Santa's elves do when it's no longer Christmas season. They build trails at Wakefield. There are a few new ones that popped up and their freshness reeks of gravel, gravelly berms, 2x4 bridges, and rock cots (the lesser known annoying little brother to rock beds). I did a quick run through this trail and was slightly impressed. It's somewhat technical. Taking into consideration that we are talking about Whackfield here, it's technical in the same way a baby's first couple of steps are technical compared to him rolling around on his face all day. Also it's not very dirty, in the sense that the trail wasn't hacked out of the ground and composed of earth and mud. Rather a majority was formed by shoveling gravel over what used to be patches of dirt and grass. Gravel is loose but she's also a skinny prude. She won't let you go fast and if you try any funny business, you end up off the trail and probably into a tree. Also, her retard brother, the Rock Cot, likes to get in the way of all the fun too. Seriously though, who actually makes a rock cot? Don't people know that rock beds are formed naturally near dried up creeks and other related geological shenanigans? If I see whatever elf built those rock cots, I'm gonna punt that little fucker by his nut sack.

I don't understand why someone thought it was a good idea to put annoying rock cots on the trail when there are plenty of roots and rocks in the woods. You know why they're in the woods? Because thats where they come from; NATURE. I went out for a ride today looking to ride in a natural setting. Instead of being on mediocre Par 3, I felt like I was in a mini-golf park with guys from the PGA Tour. It's lunacy what some people have chose to ride around here. Is Tiger Woods and Gunn Rita Dahle's lovechild coming to Whackfield? Putting a rock cot in the way of a perfectly good, albeit gravelly, trail isn't going to impress anyone. Those rocks are probably nothing more than someone's justification for buying/riding an overkill full-suspension high-tech monstrosity. I'm not ruling out a conspiracy to increase per capita spending on mountain bikes, but the scenario below is probably closer to the truth.

Dude: "Well I just bought this trick new 140mm full-suspension cross country bike...Hmmm where am I gonna ride it? "
Bro: "Dude, two words: Rock Cot."
Dude: "Bro! Totally bitchin' idea!"
Bro: "Dude"
Dude: "Bro"

Here's where I get to be a rigid single speed snob. I built my bike with the purpose of riding it around this area. Sure, it does have its weaknesses. It isn't always the easiest thing to ride uphill. It can be uncomfortable. And it's hardly the "fastest" thing out there. But I don't really care, because last time I checked bikes were human-powered and we don't live anywhere fucking near Whistler. It's an efficient ride, mechanically uncompromised, and didn't cost much. What more could you want? Nature came first. Then there was the bike. Riding a bike that is appropriate for the particular setting is essential to fully enjoying the experience.


Endnotes:
- As if I didn't have enough bruises and scraps from my crash Sunday, a damn tree ran into me. I managed to stay on the bike, but my shoulder's a bit raw now. I keep telling myself "What's another small scar? There's still 95% of your body that is unscathed". But the truth of the matter is that the ratio of skin unscathed to scathed is dwindling quickly.
- No, riding a rigid SS doesn't make me better than anyone. Just ride your bike for God's sake and stop thinking so much about it.

Weekend Racing Update: All Things Considered

This weekend was the last weekend of the ACCC regular season. I had a lot of fun all things considered. The phrase "all things considered" is a euphemism that many of us used this weekend, though I sense that few of us ever take the time to fully comprehend the meaning of the phrase. So let's consider all things good and bad about this weekend.

Bad
Driving seven fucking hours to Winston-Salem, North Carolina.

Good
Saturday morning's weather was gorgeous for the road race.

Good
Riding up front for a majority of the RR with Supa-G from AU, chasing down breaks, joking around, wasting energy, etc.

Bad
Big Red's wreck. One Carbon tubular front wheel wrecked. One giant redhead covered in road rash.

Good/Bad
Saturday afternoon's rain during the TTT. Bad for those racing. Good for me, Big Red, and Dr. Hot Pants who got drunk in the parking lot at the race site.

Good (x2)
Saturday night's debaucherous night of drinking and eating at Mellow Mushroom with BR and DHP. Afterwards, We got lost en route to the ACCC banquet and arrived two and a half hours late. Everyone had left by the time we got there so I took a few pictures of the ice sculpture and stole some cake to eat on our drive back to the hotel. (Bonus: drunkenly chatting up random chick at Benson Hall information desk. Call me!)

Bad
Puking in hotel lobby bathroom. I could've sworn I wasn't that drunk...

Good
Falling asleep by 10:45pm

Bad
Waking up at 4:30am and trying to sleep sober for a change

Good/Bad
Waking up at 6:35am to race at 9-something, thankfully not hungover at all.

Good
Racing in a crit finally

Bad
Crashing in said crit going too hot into an off-camber semi-gravelly uphill corner. Hindsight is always 20/20, no? My hip looks like ground beef right now and I ripped my skinsuit on its maiden voyage.

Good
Getting back in the race and finishing.

Bad
Big Red's wreck (again). One tubular tire failure (rolled off the rim). One more ass cheek covered in road rash. (He fell on the other side this time.)

Good
Mellow Mushroom after the race.

Bad (x2)
Six and a half hours of driving in torrential rains in DHP's car with 1.25 windshield wiper blades and a broken headlight.



So considering all things (like how I mixed that up?), I'd say it was an alright weekend. I got to travel. I got drunk. I got to ride bikes somewhat fast. Sure, I was off my game mentally and crashed. Sure, Big Red's bike stuff is a mess. But in the end, you just have to ask yourself: Was the juice worth the squeeze? I'd say hell yeah. Cheers to a happy end to the collegiate season. (I'm not going to Nats because I suck.) Time for USCF races. CRASH FOURS!



Mentionables:
-Strawberry Mike & Ike's taste like fruity soap
-My arm is turning bluish-purple now
-My hip/ass looks better with Tegaderm on it
-Total time Big Red spent fully clothed while on bicycle is grossly disproportionate to the amount of time he spent practically naked wearing a shredded kit.

Sickness

I'm fighting a bit of a cold right now. I guess racing in the freezing rain Sunday and the crappy sleep I've been getting have taken their toll. The allergies aren't helping either.

I was reading an interview of a pro cyclist on one of the million websites that I frequent each day. He was talking about how difficult it was for everyone in the peleton to stay healthy especially during the spring classics. They're riding in cold torrential downpours through farmlands and country roads where there's runoff from the rain that full of fertilizer and shit that gets sprayed in their mouths. It's far from the most glamorous portrayal of pro cycling life, but I tell you what though. I'd rather have dookie spit when it rains than to constantly have DC's carbon monoxide shoved in my face everywhere I go. It would cut the number of times I want to vomit on a ride in half, unless there were triathletes around. Nothing can keep me from blowing my chunks when I see fatties rocking aero helmets on training rides.

Also:
Somebody apparently makes dimpled water bottles... We're all going to hell.

All In A Day's Ride: Holy Papal Visit, Batman!

If you were downtown today around noon, you probably saw a lot of unusual DC traffic. Lunchtime in general is pretty nuts, but this was a step above. After slowly weaving through traffic for a few minutes, I stopped to check out the massive crowd forming down K Street. Everyone was lining up to see the Pope and sure enough 5 minutes later the Popemobile rolls on through with the pontiff chilling in the back waving to everyone. That was my little 15-second brush with something holy today. Pope-ilicious! Coming back from my ride was pretty interesting as well. The roads were free, but the barricades hadn't been taken down yet. It felt like I was on a closed crit course racing with cars and completely safe from stray pedestrians wandering into the street. The cars won eventually, but only by a hair.

For my ride today, I decided to go down to the Lunchtime Hammerfest at Hains. It was a blast. And by "blast" I mean stupid fast and painful. I caught onto the main pack and found myself in the company of two Harley riders, Big Red, and a few DC Velo guys. I knew I was in trouble, but decided to hang with it as best I could. And by "hang with it" I mean suffer immensely while poorly attempting to take a pull at the front. Having me pull these guys around is like a toddler teaching the cha-cha to a dance company. There's a lot of ass shaking, pointing, and laughing. Once they're bored with the novelty of watching a sugar-high 3-year-old jumping around, they get back to business. Today's agenda (and everyday's agenda) at the LH was going really really fast. Holy hell. I want to be that fast. Gotta ride more with fast people. Also, there's one thing I'd like to point out. Attempting to come around Big Red in the final lengths up to the "finish" line is never a good idea. It hurts. It's crazy. Like Gary-Busey-in-a-straight-jacket crazy.

Also:
I just realized that I got sunburned a little. Sweet!

Newsflash

Is this funny to anyone else?
Since when did CyclingNews start using nipple-pierced hipsters to test bib shorts? I was under the impression that hipsters only wore girl's sized jeans to ride in.

On Real Bikes

Of my favorite things about Paris-Roubaix I am most fascinated by the bikes. Everyone knows that the cobbles of P-R are ridiculous and heavily taxing on both man and machine, but did you know that people used to race bikes constructed of this wonderful and strong material called "metal"? After consulting with several experts, I discovered that "metal" is French for "doesn't break easily". I was surprised to find that even wheels and shifters were made out of this stuff. Apparently, it's pretty useful for building bicycles that are intended to withstand the effects of things like riding over bumpy roads and time. TIME! Imagine that! While there were only a few "metal" bikes out there Sunday, it's always interesting to see the equipment choices and adaptations made to the bike that serve as somewhat of an homage to the bikes of an earlier era. Its a little like how Ford and GM are modeling their current line of cars to mimic the style of muscle cars from yesteryears [ed - even though they're still complete pieces of crap]. The P-R riders are typically seen on rigs featuring hand-laced, box-section wheels, aluminum bars and stem, and frame modifications for greater tire clearance. They could almost be mistaken for bikes that normal human beings could afford. Its serves as a reminder that sometimes our perception as consumers is skewed. Cycling has an incredibly fast trickle down effect from what the pros are riding. Sure, it's what keeps the industry alive and interesting, but we run the risk of buying bikes under the wrong assumptions. You don't need the carbon bike, deep dish wheels and superlight gruppo to compete at your local Cat4 race. If you have the money to spend it on a bike that rides phenomenally, by all means do it. But if you start trusting in the composition of your bike to carry you to the finish line ahead of the other guys because some pro rider is riding the same stuff, you're sadly mistaken. Man up, people. Be the stronger rider. Racing bikes is far from comfortable. Gaining an aerodynamic advantage for a 55mile road race is retarded. Just check out Hincapie's "mechanical" last Sunday. Paris-Roubaix is a 160-FREAKING-MILES. If you ever needed aero shit it'd be here. But instead people rode real wheels because they wanted to actually finish the race. Hincapie was cruising around the cobbles on Hed's carbon deep-dish blahblahblah when his wheel failed (surprise!). What a poor sucker. He just can't get a break (or has too many, depending on how you look at it). Why can't people just tough it out and simply be the faster rider? You're already at the race risking your neck dealing with a million other variables. Why would compromise yourself further with a poor equipment choice. The Hell of the North. The Queen of the Classics. Paris-Roubaix earns these titles because it takes a truly strong rider to endure its vicious course. And no matter how you slice it, there's no way you can sneak your way into a victory with aero this or superlight that. It's a race that simply and indiscriminately weeds out the poseurs in both the bikes and riders.

Sponsorshipped

How many times have you heard a cyclist say "I wish I was sponsored by [insert anything here. seriously anything]"? Its ridiculous. There isn't any rhyme or reason behind it. We'll take a sponsorship from anyone. I'd take a sponsorship from the Virginia Department of Transportation and dress like an orange safety cone if I thought they could swing a little cheddar my way. The truth is that we as cyclist are desperate. We know that our sport hasn't reached the popularity seen in Europe. We desperately want the attention. We want our bikes, clothes, and gear to be "ugly chic" or "flashy dirty" and we desperately need money to do so.


Here are a few reasons why cyclists are so desperate for sponsorships:

We need money (aka the main reason)
-Bikes in general are expensive. Bike racing (even without an addiction to the lightest and most aerodynamic gear) will cost you a pretty penny. Race fees and travel expenses are like blood-sucking leeches on any unattached riders income, and it doesn't get much better until you're on an elite or pro squad. Even eating becomes a financial liability. We ride and burn a kajillion calories, then come back famished. We could eat cheap processed garbage all day long, but (nutritional values aside) they just don't cut it. I'm not saying that all cyclists eat caviar from a silver spoon, but a bag of Cheetos doesn't fill you up like it used to when you were a ADHD second-grader jacked up on pixie stix.

We don't know how to talk like normal people (the other reason)
-As an expert in discommunication, I've discovered that with cyclists "I want to be sponsored by" actually replaces "I like" in most cases. While not quite as dumb as some professional fighters (it's not a tumah), we cyclists, who think we're clever when picking non-black bar tape, are still not the most creative bunch. Our vehicle for self-expression is the logo of a random company on our jersey or shorts. Even the devil is sponsored by a company that has no practical application for cycling. If I were sponsored by all the companies that I personally love, I'd have sunglasses with lenses covered with translucent stickers for Fig Newtons, my chamois would be a hermetically sealed Chipotle burrito, and the Pillsbury Doughboy would be my directeur sportif who doubles as my soigneur (Happy endings would be executed via the baking of cinnamon rolls). Oh, and my shoes would be manufactured by a Birkenstock, Chaco, & Crocs triumvirate.

All In A Day's Racing: April Showers

As soon as I got home and unloaded from today's racing, I needed a shower and a beer. This typically raises quite a conundrum. Does one shower first and delay gratification from a refreshing alcoholic beverage or down the beer quickly and risk clumsily falling in the shower? The answer to that riddle is do both at the same time. Drinking and showering is amazing. Its a combination of two of my favorite things, showering after a cold day's racing in the rain and drinking beer in weird places. There are a few nuances that must be mastered before enjoying this experience. Obviously keeping your beer from the shower's spray is important, but what's more important is making sure not to mistake your beer for shampoo or your shampoo for beer. Neither ends very well. Also, even though alcohol tends to dehydrate you, resist the temptation to drink shower water to rehydrate. No one's racing you in the shower. You're not going to bonk in the shower. [ed. - Wow, there was a good bit of innuendo there. Feel free to write your own responses to that in the comments section.]

Aside from trying to get drunk in the bathroom, I did ride my bike today in a relatively vigorous and painful fashion while I was in West Virginia. While a 48mile Men's B race doesn't sound particularly challenging on paper, its usually not the actual distance that makes a race hard. The lollipop course featured a 20-something mile loop and two pretty substantial climbs. The descents weren't exactly fun either. My brakes don't very well and combined with the 40-degree weather (and super cold windchill) and intermittent showers that numbed all of my extremities, I figured I'd play it safe and not risk certain death eating shit into a field with some hillbilly's mutant canine. All things considered, the race turned out ok, but I still didn't finish as strong as I would have liked (despite not going off the front in the first five miles as per usual). Oh well, it's something to ponder as I get ready to jam out in USCF races. Booyahkasha!

In Other News:
Paris-Roubaix was today. If you don't know who won, ask a cyclist. He will be the skinny one stuffing his face full of food and, if you look closely enough, will smack you in the face for disturbing his "Me Time". I'm a huge fan of that race, mostly because the trophy is a huge rock. Damn I want that rock. The closest thing we have to that here is Poolesville, where the winner get a glass cube filled with pebbles (there's a mile-long gravel section in the race). Unfortunately for me, the Cat 4's in this area not only race like idiots, but also snipe local races on BikeReg as soon as registration opens. I got online an hour after registration opened for the race and both Men's 4/5 and 3/4 races were closed. That's a total of 150 spots gone. Holy hell. I'm waitlisted for that race, but not really concerned because I'm signed up for the Bank of America Wilmington GP and BikeJam/Kelly Cup. Crits baby! Hell yeah

Another one:
I finally shaved my head last week (I hadn't in a while). The temp was averaging in the high 70's and low 80's all week. Then it gets cold and starts raining (with spots of ice, hail, and snow). Mother nature thinks she's funny. Well, I got jokes too. Just watch. I'll grow all my hair out until I look like a yeti eating a bicycle. What do you have to say about that, huh?

"Sincerest" Apologies

Apologies to all five (maybe six) readers of this blog for my unexpected absence from the blogosphere. There must have been something in the air. Hmm... Could it be spring? Is it love that's in the air? No, sir. It is the lovely pollen that has come to invade my nostrils as the 75-degree weather beckons me to the outdoors. Sure, It's impossible to breathe for the first ten minutes in the saddle, but it is just an irresistible feeling to have bare newly-shaven legs slicing through the wind and feel the warm sensation of a sprouting cyclist's tan on your arms and thighs. You might not have known this about me, but I love riding bikes and despite having an unparalleled gratitude to the people in all parts of the country (even in Colorado) who read this blog, it is still not enough to keep me from getting out there.

So, SSSSSsoooOOOooooorrrrrrEEEEEEEYYyyyyuh, JEEZ!

Quickly: Shift Dammit

Despite many years of faithful service, my Trek has been somewhat a pain in the ass lately. The major gripe that I have with it isthat no matter what, the shifting is never dialed in. I've recently replaced all the chain, cassette, the derailleur hanger, and all cables, but think that either my rear derailleur or shifter is busted (or my frame might be bent). So I've just set the shifting so that it shifts up faster and shifting down to easier gears is a little more hesitant. I don't need a bike thats superlight or equipped with trick components, but it's fucking annoying to have one that doesn't shift, or worse ghost-shifts when you're not expecting it during a race. Also, a tooth on my big chainring is bent and my chain got rattled off three or four times during the race too. I recovered fine, but it's still a shitty situation.

But let's focus on the positives here and put the "can" in "mechanic"
I can make just about anything on a bike operate. If my shifting fails completely, I'll just replace it with a friction bar-con shifter or devise some abacus-like system to index my derailleurs using beads or valve caps. Also, I'll hopefully be getting a new bike soon. I'm not sure which one, but it'll be infinitely better than what I'm riding with now.


Newsflash
New E-Campy shifter now more phallic than ever!

In Other News:
Do all Battley-Harley guys wear the same sunglasses? Is that their watt-boosting secret? Damn them.

Quickly: I'm going to bed

I registered for Bike Jam/Kelly Cup yesterday. I'm too fucking poor to being doing these things. It's time for to join a local team (and getting good) so that they can pay race fees for me. Poolesville registration opens Monday and I really want to do that race too. So if you know anyone doing the Cat 3/4 race, sabotage their computer tomorrow night. Thanks.

Today's race at Virginia Tech was awesome. It was a long race (58miles). The rain held off. The weather was perfect. I raced like a douchebag. And Old Balls took ninth in his first race after upgrading to B's. Siick. [Note to self: Stop dreaming! Early breaks never stick!] Also, I miss crits. We've only had 4 so far this season. I missed the first due to cycle-cide. Flatted in Phoenixville. Was hungover at Navy. And missed the final move at UMD. ugh.

I stopped at a McDonald's that serves double cheeseburgers as part of a happy meal....

I'm going to bed. I'm thinking about riding the Poolesville course tomorrow, but that means waking up before noon and I'm not really sure I have it in me.

Pressure Wrench?

Continuing with the TV food shows, I was checking out a few episodes of Pressure Cook and came up with an uncreative epiphany. In the show, Ralph Pagano, a chef from NYC, basically gets dropped off in an unknown country. After being handed a mission statement he finds out where he is and is given 72hrs to earn enough money to buy a ticket back home. He has to adapt his cooking to the local cuisine, but also adds some New York flair as well, usually in the form of his incessant chatter. He boasts that he speaks the language of food and. with that particular skill, he can find work anywhere. He also carries around an attache case of knives, like some kind of Emeril-James Bond lovechild. Think of it as Man vs. Wild, but instead of a British mountain man, you get a slightly annoying, more-than-slightly overweight New Yorkah and without the whole "I gotta drink pee to live" stuff. So, taking from a show that takes from another show, my uncreative epiphany obviously involves bikes.

Starting on a slightly smaller scale, I'd travel the country and work for bike shops, dealers, distributors, and immensely wealthy individuals. Sprinkle a few short stints working for domestic pro teams and we've got the makings of a TV show; mind you, not for a real TV channel, but a fake one, like Versus or Oxygen. Of course, I would ideally be racing for money, but I suck at that pretty hard and am much better at turning a wrench. Now that I think of it, this wouldn't really be much of a change from my current life, but all the moving around would probably make me more irritable. Increased irritability wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing if I were going to do a TV show. It'd be entertaining. I swear. So if you're a TV show producer and would like a preview of what the show would be like, all you have to do is get 20 customers in line for repairs, get me drunk, and tape mittens to my hands. Hell, that could be a show in and of itself. I'm still thinking of names for it though.

Hell's Bike Shop

I like to pretend that I don't like TV. I'm not sure why, but I seem to get my kicks off of saying "no, I didn't catch america's fattest fatties last night." The truth of the matter is that we don't have a TV here and I love TV. Thankfully, the internet here works perfectly, so I'm free to download or stream whatever I like. Hulu.com is going to be the end of me. So far I've watched 30 Rock, Arrested Development, a handful of movies, and my current favorite, Hell's Kitchen.

Goddamn, I love that show. It combines all of my favorite non-cycling things: food, yelling at fat people, making bitches cry, throwing food and plates, cursing, and fire. I wish I could run a bike shop like Gordon Ramsay. I could scream my head off at little salespeople and mechanics, throw a Madone against the wall or shove someone's aerobars where the sun don't shine, all while customers just look on and laugh. Sure, a few of them might get pissed, especially if I had just thrown their $5000 bike or when they simply don't get any service at all. Also, I doubt there would be any incentive for employees to work at Hell's Bike Shop. But the concept of being a brash, arrogant shop owner is just so damn appealing. Unfortunately, I can't do that. Not only because I don't own a bike shop, but also because I'm a genuinely nice guy. Ok. You got me. It's only because I don't own my own bike shop. I think I'll become an undercover mole at the Bicycle Pro Shop and sabotage their operation. I'd have to go under a pseudonym though. Maybe I'll go as "Lance Armstrong". Surely a shop like that would never recognize the name. After completing my mission, they'll more than likely try to find out a little bit more about "Lance" and then feel extremely silly.

On second thought, I'll just go with "Rordon Gamsay". They'll never suspect a thing.

Idiot Cyvant's Fortune Cookies for the Daft Cyclist

"Cervelo does not mean 'aero' if you are fat and slow."

"Sleeveless Jerseys. Breezy Comfort? Or marked for death?"

"Watts are for powering light bulbs. Bikes are for fun."

"Lube your chain, dammit"