Crude Oil

It's 11:30am and I'm buzzin' pretty bad right now. I'm not drunk or high (on life or other substances). My buzz is coming from the shit ton of oil and engine degreaser that I am covered in.

I guess I should preface this entry with: I am a dumbass. It's a theme that I'm sure everyone is very familiar with, but tends to surprise even me at times.

A while ago, I saw that the oil and wiper fluids were running a bit low. My engine burns/leaks a bit of oil every once in a while, so I wasn't really surprised. Several weeks passed and I did nothing, until the frost and ice started coming and I couldn't see through my windshield, especially since I'm too lazy to scrape the ice off manually. I would rather forgo the car altogether and ride my bike. A week and a half ago, I pick up some pimped out wiper juice infused with Rain-X and some synthetic 5W-30. I was so proud of myself when I momentarily assumed the role of a normal, responsible car owner that I gave myself a golden star sticker and patted myself on the back, twice. But it turns out I am very undeserving of such high praises. I forgot to replace the oil cap. Then I drove my car. For a week. Hard. Sure, I smelled a bit of the oil burning from the engine bay, but simply thought I had carelessly spilled some excess oil on a heat shield or header and figured it would burn off eventually. I finally caved in and opened up the hood only after people had commented on the excessively large pools of oil that were forming under my parked car. Holy shit. Oil was everywhere. If you ever need to know how to waste two quarts of engine oil, just give me your car for a week and take the oil cap off. I drove (the other car) to Advanced Auto and picked up rags, engine degreaser, oil, and a new cap, but had trouble finding any dignity, as mine had obviously been sprayed all over my engine bay and left to die. One hour and 40-something dollars later, my engine is a good bit cleaner, but will probably never forgive me for what I've done. Also, my buzz has become a full-blown headache as I've been writing this. Like I've always said before, things that can shock me or explode make me very nervous and tonight I am definitely sleeping with one eye open.

Pictorial: Dirty Bike, Go Take A Bath!

Pictures from today's snowy biking adventure:









More to come. Maybe even some words.
Bring on Cross My Heart!

Bridging The Gap: Flurries and Fury

After yesterday's hangover debauchery, I felt a 'cross ride was needed and today's ride did not disappoint. I let my mind wander a bit as I rode out to my usual stomping grounds, slipping through the snowy air and passing over several frozen creeks. I couldn't help but think about the rumors that cyclocross might be added to the Olympic Winter Games. How awesome would that be for the sport? Being my usual skeptical self, I quickly wrote off the thought since people seem to very much enjoy curling and ice dancing and would never give up their beloved "sports" to make room for mud- and snow-caked cyclists, and (by default) beer.

And as long as we're putting quotation marks around things, I saw another "cyclist" out on the W&OD today. He was "riding" a Cervelo P1, resting comfortably on his aerobars wearing a helmet cover, puffy jacket, tights, and a facemask. I was hoping to dare him into licking his cold aluminum frame in the hopes that his tongue would freeze to it, but decided to quiet my raging hatred for all things aero with an Italian Store sub. Plus, I'm just not clever enough to convince a triathlete to get off his aerobars. They seem to be very attached to those things and any attempts would surely result in surly violence.

Sweetness, Sickness

I love sweet tea. It's fucking delicious. This is a problem because I was recently given a fifth of Firefly Sweet Tea vodka. Apparently that stuff is brewed just like regular sweet tea but using vodka instead of water. It is both delicious and, at 70-proof, relatively potent. So what did I do last night? I pour myself a nice tall glass of the stuff over 4 ice cubes and drank it like I would a sweet tea from Cracker Barrel. Mistake. I didn't really realize that I had drank an entire glass of vodka until the cup was empty and I had finished my fifth beer. Then I was drunk. Then I went to bed. Then I woke up and said "Fuck. Ouch." I had the hangover from hell and nothing makes me want to ride a bike less than a pounding headache, nausea, and being assaulted by bright lights and loud noises. So instead of riding, I dove into my obnoxiously large cache of bicycle components in an attempt to organize them.

I am not normally the organizing type. This is partly because I am a lazy piece of shit and partly because I have yet to build the rest of the Ikea furniture I got this summer, which includes a huge shelving system. But my collection of bike paraphernalia is getting increasingly harder to manage, making any attempt to find anything that I actually need nearly impossible. I separated bent and twisted bars from the straight ones, designated a new box specifically for cranks and chainrings, and stuffed all miscellaneous bolts, cables, and housing into a messenger bag that I'll use whenever I need to build a bike. At one point bike parts littered the entire floor around me and, yes, I was pretty much in heaven. Over an hour later, I think my stuff is as organized as it will ever be until I buy/build myself a workshop, stand and tools. Now I have to ice my head before it explodes.

Rockin' It

I recently went rock climbing. And by "rock climbing" I mean strapping myself into an uncomfortable rental harness and attempting to scramble up a wall with rock-like fixtures attached to it. It wasn't pretty but I've only been twice in my life; Sunday and Monday. Two days in a row, you say? Yeah, I'm stupid like that. The first day I took the basic skills class and learned how to tie knots, strap into a harness, and by default, present my junk very, very awkwardly. And I liked it so much the first day, that I jumped at the next opportunity to go again the next day. So after a quick 'cross jam session at my favorite equestrian park, Powerlegs and I headed to the gym. My arms and hands were still recovering (read: still a heap of smoldering ashes and worthlessness) from the day before, so I managed only to do half of an easy route and spent the rest of the day bouldering.

I fear that I might get addicted to this sport. This is bad news for me, as I'm sure you know by now that I'm pretty invested in the cycling lifestyle. Short of a hipster chain/crank/exploded hub diagram tattoo, aerobars, and a powermeter, I've probably amassed enough bike paraphernalia to last me many more moons. And yet I still crave more. I still have bikes to build, places to ride, and races to crash. Why would I pick up another sport that only causes me pain and embarrassment? I mean after a few hours of this climbing business, my callous hands became even more callouser, my legs cramped up, and I barely had enough strength in my hand to open the door to my car. In retrospect, I don't see how any of that is even remotely fun, but I've caught myself eyeballing new climbing shoes and a more modest, less junk-constricting harness. What's next? Am I going to invest in ropes, carabiners, gym memberships, and climbing trips? I have no idea. All I want to do right now is stop being sore from the waist up so I can get more vertical on some fake rocks. In the meantime, I suppose I can stick with this bike thing a little long but just until I can determine which one I'm worse at.

Untrained

It's January 16 and I have yet to be on the trainer or rollers this winter. I was pretty proud of myself until I realized that I don't actually own a set of rollers, my trainer may or may not be "broken," and I haven't been on a ride longer than an hour in several weeks. (Excluding any sober or drunken jaunt on the fixie) I'll get my act together sooner or later, but for now I'm content in my sloth, especially on days like today, when I wake up and discover that it's friggin 9-degrees outside.

Ride a trainer?? I don't know how people do it; Sit inside, on a gorgeous machine designed to take you places with the wind in your hair and a smile on your face. I'd almost rather be fat, or take up swimming. Today, I had a customer come in to have a computer installed on his bike. He bought it specifically to be used on his trainer, but was sadly disappointed when I told him that his wireless speed sensor would only work on his front wheel. He kept going on with "oh. Well, how come? Will I be able to use my heart-rate and cadence?" I quietly replied yes, trying desperately to maintain my composure while my brain was two-syllables short of exploding. All I needed to hear was "aerobars" and I would've had a shit fit. Fortunately, those words were never uttered and life in Arlington, VA continued without interruption. I really wanted to explain to him that speed is irrelevant on a trainer, that speed is damn near irrelevant on the road, and that he should stop talking or else I would be forced to choke him out. But to each his own and I'm pretty sure I'm sick with a fever or something. It might just be cabin fever, but I know that whatever it is the cure isn't riding indoors. It's hypothermia or nada.

Fixed Gear and Ass Cream

So I finally fixed my laptop. All it needed was a new cooling fan, but the combination of my lazy ass and forgetful computer store dorks left the problem unaddressed for several weeks. So this morning, I ate breakfast and proceeded to hack open my computer. It didn't take long, and the replacement fan works perfectly. No more keeping a fire extinguisher between my feet while I'm typing. I have to admit that I don't really know how to fix computers and that my ability to screw up electronics is on par with a bucket of water. But when the store geek asked if I would like them to install the fan for me, I couldn't help but go all Tim "The Tool Man" Taylor on that shit, despite having a less cool and alliterate epithet; Idiot "The Idiot" Cyvant.

I get a bit nervous when it comes to fixing unfamiliar things. I can usually trust my hands to not strip out screws or drop/lose things at inopportune times, but I'm always a little uncomfortable working with anything that isn't a bike. That's when I usually start thinking "Shit. What if this doesn't work?" It forces me to work slower and more carefully. Cars and computers take the longest because things that explode, electrocute, or spark scare me. When I'm done, it's somewhat a pleasant surprise to have fixed said contraption. It sounds kind of dorky, but I get a bit of a buzz from fixing the less bicycle-related stuff. It's always an adventure. I'm like the Indiana Jones of trying to fix stuff, except without the old balls and consistent facial hair.


In Other News:
I'm sick and while it's only a bit of a cold, it's still pretty sucky nonetheless. I just got DZNuts chamois cream. It is my first foray into the wonderful world of taint products and I want to give it a try as soon as possible, but riding in freezing weather with a cold is a recipe for disaster.

Una Bicicleta Comió Mis Pantalones (Otra Vez)

There are a few things that will always remain constant in this universe:

- Computers will always become worthless very soon after they are bought.
- Gmail will always be in a constant "Beta" state.
- I will always have an immense loathing of triathletes. (I saw an advertisement today that began with "Do you Tri?")

Another thing that is has remained uncannily constant in my life is the insatiable hunger my fixie has for drive-side pant legs. I rode the damn thing to work this morning and on the way home it claimed it's third victim, an elderly pair of super comfortable work jeans. It took forever to break those jeans in and to have them so suddenly taken away from me is nothing short of a tragedy. I guess that's why Satan invented fixsters and tight girly jeans. But it's not like my jeans were fucking 60's-hippie bell bottoms either. They weren't even remotely "boot cut". But as it turns out, there's no room for an old pair of normal, straight-leg jeans in this nut-hugging, coinslot showing fixster-crazed world anymore.

In hindsight, the art of winter pant leg rolling is very complicated and nuanced. Roll the leg too high and you're exposing enough skin to a blisteringly cold windchill that would make even a 1920's flapper cover up. Roll the leg too low and be warm, but suffer the consequences. Today the consequences included having my pant leg sucked into the chainring twice, having shreds of jeans lodged within the teeth and chain links, and subsequently having said shreds cause my chain to jump off the cog, wedging itself between the lockring and the frame of the bike causing the rear wheel to start skidding. But guess what? I didn't fucking crash! Hell. Yeah. Despite the fact that I was noticeably wearing less clothes, I was definitely still wearing all of my skin. Tegaderm? Gauze? A 40-ounce bottle of Steel Reserve? No thanks. Don't need it. I don't know what I'm going to do with the jeans. It seems like such a waste to throw them away. I'm seriously contemplating cutting them into a sweet pair of manpris. *ahem* I mean "knickers". Or I might just go all out and make a sickly/sexy pair of Daisy Dukes. That'll show my bike who's boss. But I'll have to shave my legs again. Dammit, Bike. You always get the last laugh.

Bridging the Gaps: Looking Back, Forward, and Fat

Apparently it's a new year. I know this because someone about a week ago said something to that effect and tried to kiss me. I quickly stiff-armed her in the face and continued drinking. But there were more clues, other than greasy facial hand-prints and angry women, that have helped my discover this amazing revelation:


Back:
People seem to be talking a lot about what happened last year. Boring things like politics, economy, and the monotonous drone of banished riders verbally repenting for their doping ways. If I were to look back, I'd see a lot of road rash, beer, and broken bicycles and think "Not bad, Idiot. Not bad."

Forward:
Talk about the past inevitably leads to talk about the future. If you filter out the normal, boring stuff, you'll most likely be reading about pro rider's 2009 goals. Other riders are anxious to return to the peleton after serving their sentences for controlled substances or general stupidity. Oh and CyclingNews is finally giving their website a facelift. w00t! (Pez did too, but I don't really care)

Fat:
Who's fat? Everyone's fat! Every fucking TV commercial is about weight loss, dieting, supplements, health, and body image. It tends to create a lot of confusion and self-loathing when I'm watching the boob tube, especially when Top Chef is on. What am I doing this year about my weight? Well, I just renewed my USCF license. I think that's good enough. In fact, it's actually too good a solution to leading a healthy lifestyle. So this year I'm also going to adopt a new motto: Just Add Bacon. (Chewy, not crispy)


Oh, and happy new years!

Stupid stupid stupid

I think I may have figured out how to blog with my iPod. This sucks but it can't suck more than attempting to update the president's 2.4gHz powertap disc wheel to work with ANT+ and ultimately rendering it useless. Or in simpler terms: I think I may have broken the president's bike. I hope they have WiFi in Gitmo, although it will be hard to smuggle this iPod in my rectum. Maybe some chamois cream will do the trick.

And other broken electronic things, like my laptop

It's frustrating when your iPod touch won't let you type in the text box... Especially when you've got something to rant about. Like broken powertaps