Sunday, December 30, 2007

A Sunday in Heck.

Have you ever been so hungover that it feels like you're floating? I know you have. You can't fool me, drunky.


Thursday, December 27, 2007

Kill A Crustecean For Jesus

Live crabs.


Dead crabs.


Garlic, meet crabs.


Spin them crabs!


Into oven, crabby crabs.


Crabs and bubbles. Yum.


Sunday, December 23, 2007

safeway parking lot




Friday, December 21, 2007

Williamsburg Will Oldham Horror

Friday rules. I cut out of work at 2:30 and booked home to see my sick little kids. The Lads are all snot, and grumpy as shit. But they're playing quietly together right now, which might be one of the best aspects of having twins.
Besides of course that it's some kind of rad/weird science experiment.

Very few things in this life better than a bottle of barleywine, some sharp cheddar, and a rack of saltines. If Mr Chris was here we'd be all over some high-quality canned fish, I can assure you.
This one's for you, Mr Chris.


You'll notice in the background that the walls of my kitchen have been redone in a smashing builder paper brown and blue tape motif. That's how I'm livin out here, yo.

Happy Birthday, Jesus.


Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Firstly, I'd like to apologize to all three of my regular readers for taking a week off. I know how much you count on me for my insight...

Since I'm still struggling with the fact that there is no more cyclocross for 9 months, I'm going to get spanked in the Kermesse series in January, and then spend all summer chasing a bunch of skinny kids around the velodrome-- I'm not going to talk about bikes anymore.

I'm not sure what else there is to talk about, but I'll see what I can come up with.

After this video.

One of my sons has decided that perambulating belly-to-the-floor is no longer the preferred means of motation, and has taken a few steps. He is also grabbing his wiener any chance he gets. The other one exists in a state of perpetual hunger and says "uh-oh" alot. I have seen the future, and it is not pretty.

Also, The Weapon has tubulars. They are light and feel great and make a pleasant whooshing hum as they spin.

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I'm back on Tecate. The fucking IPA is starting to give me hangovers, and I've been experimenting with stronger stuff. Mad River Brewing Co's John Barleycorn barleywine to be exact. 10.8% of pure, drunky goodness.

Come to think of it, that same brewery used to fuck me up good with their Jamaica Red, which I'd say was the first really hoppy beer I ever tasted maybe 15 years ago. I'ma have to try some of that again, just to see how it holds up to some of the crazy beers I've been having lately. Mellow, I'll bet.

And, I gotta hand it to Redhook. I quit drinking their shitty beer about the time I stopped going to Zeitgeist (1995), but last summer's Sunrye, and this fall's Longhammer got me hooked again. Good shit.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Saturday, December 8, 2007

High Life

This has been around, but it stokes the shit out of me every time I see it.

Friday, December 7, 2007

The end result of my kick-ass cross season.
You'll find me at the bottom.
With the other lame's.

Mst B 35+
Pl Num Last Name First Name City Team laps
1 812 Rabinowitz Michael Portland Tireless Velo 5
2 871 Prause David Portland Noggin Velo 5
3 920 Standish Jeff Gresham Therapeutic Associates Inc. Cycling 5
4 856 Crago Jason Portland Lakeside Cycling Team 5
5 929 Tuttle Chris Portland 5
6 817 O'Brien Greg Portland b.i.k.e./Cyclisme 5
7 964 Sanders Robert PSU Cycling 5
8 820 Gerwing Jeffrey Portland b.i.k.e./Cyclisme 5
9 859 Rogers Trig Portland 5
10 864 Wicker Charlie Portland b.i.k.e./Cyclisme 5
11 823 Edes Jeff Camas Team S&M 5
12 977 James Bruce NoMad Sports Club 5
13 969 Blackard Mike 5
14 829 Mikkelson Karl Hood River Mt View Cycles 5
15 816 Cowperthwaite David Hillsboro Team Oregon/River City Bicycles 5
16 7 Werle Dan Remax/Yazoo 5
17 869 Cavalieri Jim Portland 5
18 976 Ripp David Specialized River City Bicycles 5
19 978 Lee Mitch Portland Velo 5
20 911 Lopez Saul Portland Half Fast Velo 5
21 925 Kobrowski Amit Beavertpm Portland Velo 5
22 984 Fairbanks David Cycle Analysis 5
23 979 Hickey Matthew Team Coffeeplant 5
24 903 Johnson Gary Hood River Disco Velo 5
25 959 Swearingen Wes Mt View Cycles 5
26 867 Mautner Paul Portland Team Rose City 5
27 898 Miller David Beaverton Team Rose City 5
28 942 Silvernail Dan 5
29 934 Lamb Ted Portland Tireless Velo 5
30 830 Ricciardi Tom Portland Portland Triathlon Club 5
31 858 Blackburn Paul Hood River Disco Velo 5
32 981 Maroritz Richard 5
33 922 Mann Michael Portland b.i.k.e./Cyclisme 5
34 917 Yoder Mitch Portland Team S&M 5
35 916 Johnson Brian P Lake Oswego Silly Yak Cycling 5
36 985 Cobb Mike 5
37 966 Wasserman Jon Veloce Cyclocross Club 5
38 982 Larson Dan Half Fast Velo 4
DNF 983 Freeman Abraham Warlocks B.C. 4
DNF 885 Dezellem David Hillsboro Beaverton Bicycle Club 4
DNF 878 Nachtrab Eric Portland Veloce/Felt 3
DNF 880 Johnson Ben Portland Portland Velo 3
DNF 980 Carsley Bill 2

At least I DNF'd ahead of Eric Nachtrab, who I know for a fact is fast. I was still "racing" as I passed him walking his broken bike back to the pits.
Little victories, yo.

Since I sold my mountain bike to pay for my cross bike, I'm pretty much SOL for events for awhile. The Vanport Kermesse series should be good for some gut-wrenching, freezing-rain type competition in Jan-Feb, so I guess I'll start training for that. Right after this beer.

Thursday, December 6, 2007

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Some may seek fortune, some may seek fame. Some go after book learnin', or chase the perfect buzz. Some even date strippers.

All I want is a bicycle that can carry a kid, a keg, and a pumpkin. I think I'd be feeling pretty complete.

Also, building big, crazy staircases is really fucking hard. I'm feeling taxed.
I'm dreaming about rise, and run. Four flights of self-supporting torsion-boxes spanning a huge interior space. All custom, all the time, all by myself.
Good thing I'm such a fantastic carpenter, or I'd really be fuckered.

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

Cyclocross season is over, and the first MTB races won't be for a bit. How's about a little Kermesse in the wintertime?

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Vanport was a town, and then it wasn't.

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The largest public housing project in the US, flooded and destroyed one Sunday in 1948. 20,000 left homeless, and 15 killed.

Let's race that bitch.

Sunday, December 2, 2007

Saturday, December 1, 2007

The Vanilla Gorilla

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Last night I managed to get enough mud out of my shoes to get them into my pedals. It took about 15 minutes with a screwdriver and some banging on the front porch, but the suckers are usable again.

I couldn't track down my rear blinky, but while I was searching I did find my pilfered CalTrans jacket in smashing flourescent green and orange with complimentary 2" reflective stripes. Coupled with an led flaslight ziptied to my helmet, I'd say that last night I was the height of Portland commuter fashion.

A couple of whacks to clear the mud from my braking apparatus and I was off to check out an artist reception at the new Vanilla Workshop.

I arrived, locked up to a gas meter, took off the idiot shit I was wearing, and cruised inside. A nice man holding a glass of something warm greeted me at the door. That nice man was Sacha White, lord of Portland's frambuilding glitterati. We chatted, and I moved off into the space to check out some bikes and photos. Like everything Mr. White does, perfection was in evidence at every turn. The place is like a wet dream of a bike builder's workshop. High ceilings, lots of light, high-dollar tools and toys strewn about just so.

I would have taken pictures,but I think my camera and my blinky ran off together.

I only stayed for a bit. Just long enough to do a few laps and suck down a beer out front.

I just looked out the window and it's starting to snow. The C's start in 3 minutes. Poor fuckers. Im'a get another cup of coffee and hang out with The Lads.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

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Being sick stinks. I had to take the day off today because my skin hurts. And my hair hurts. Theraflu isn't even scraping the paint off of this one.

USGP is this weekend and I promised myself I'd race. But since it's already thursday night, I feel like hammered shit, and my bike is still encrusted in mud and horseshit from last Sunday's "festivities" (not to mention all of my muddy clothes are still wadded up in a plastic bag in the back of my car), it's not looking good for dude. Which is kind of a blessing I guess, considering it's going to be 34 degrees and raining (er, snowing) on Saturday, and I just don't think I have the huevos for it.

Sure, I should have spent all week running up and down the stairs at Mt. Tabor park with a bicycle on my back. But I didn't. I sat on my ass, pulling on a beer and looking out at the rain. I should have glued up some tubulars and figured out the optimal pressure for the slop-fest that will be PIR on Sunday (unless of course the mud is frozen, which it might well be at 8:30 in the morning. Did I mention that the C's race at 8:30 am? Fucking brutal). I should have at least tried to get the mud and afore-mentioned horseshit out of my derraileurs so that they might work again. Not on my "to-do" list, I guess...

There will be other options for those of us on the sidelines. Lots of booths, lots of beer, and some hairy cross racing to watch. Sounds okay to me.

Also, Joy Division:

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Portland Style

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Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Race Report.

My race was traumatic. I've never felt so beat up. The fucking course was eight kinds of slimy shit and a cornfield. Between the cowbells and the honking of the migrating geese I could barely hear myself retch.
I started in the back of my field, got dropped immediately and ended up mixing it up with clydesdales (fat fuckers) and juniors (kids).
I racked my nuts so hard remounting in the oak trees that I saw Krishna. Then, halfway thru the last lap I overcooked a transition from concrete to slop, and found myself ass-over-teakettle in a blackberry bramble behind a chicken coop.
No brakes, no shifting, 28 pounds of mud and steel and carbon fiber, and I'm still pulling thorns out of my ass.

I'm stoked for next sunday.

(reprinted from an email to 43. Hang with me, the movie will be finished soon)

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Gobble, Gobble.

Happy Turkey Day. Give some thanks, drink some beer, get down with the dirty bird.

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Saturday, November 17, 2007

If You Want to Drink All Day, You Gotta Start Early.

I got up at 5:30 this morning. I opened my eyes, looked at the clock, and realized that there was no way I was gonna be able to go back to sleep. So I fixed some bottles for the boys (pre-emptive strike), and went ahead and got dressed.
I used to do this all the time when I was a kid, sans the baby formula. There was a time when I really liked to kill things. Especially things that fly, or things that swim. So I'd get up before dawn, slug some Folgers, load long guns and dogs into a rusty pickup truck, and go off hunting.
I don't do that so much anymore. Fatherhood and the passing of time have dulled my bloodlust. Shit, I haven't even handed out a really good ass-kicking in a couple of years now. As much as I used to dig chucking em around, loaded, feeling nothing but a dull pulse behind my eyes-- That all seems to have left me.

This morning my purpose was utterly benign. Take my new bike out and get it muddy. The Portland that everybody speaks of has descended upon us now. Dark, and fucking wet. No worries of course. If I was comfortable enough in Idaho doing my morning loop with a frozen water bottle, I can handle a little rain, non?

Yeah, It sucks. I have gear, but it still isn't a whole lot of fun. It's not like I'm commuting in the shit every day, so it shouldn't bum me out too bad. I have no idea what I'm going to obsess about once cross season ends and spring is still a good 4 months off, but I'm sure I'll figure something out.

Anyway, my new bike is pretty fucking nice. It feels, I'm not sure how to put it--Taut and plastic. Like a new car. Solid, smells like chemicals. Reliable and fast. Good enough for the likes of me, I guess.
A couple of muddy laps in the grass at Laurelhurst park had me convinced anyway. Convinced that riding a bicycle around in the muck at 6:15 in the morning is a fucking stupid endeavour .

Overall, I felt pretty good. I ended up doing what I like to call "The Paycheck Loop" . 8 miles round trip to pick up my check and get it in the bank. It's sort of become a saturday morning ritual. Just bust out 8 little miles as fast as possible and then home for a shower and a nice cuppa with the wife. Harder this wet morning than most, but I gotta tell you, I was feeling kinda kick ass.--

Wellens Kick

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Though I was probably looking alittle more like this.

The other day I was trying to bypass an accident at my turnoff, and ended up going a few blocks out of my way into a neighborhood I hadn't been thru before. Voila! Little Hanoi. I have no idea if it's called that, since it's only about three blocks of Sandy Blvd. with some Vietnamese markets and video stores, but I immediately went vigilant, for often it is in these neighborhoods that lurks something I prize. That's right. Good-ass heroin. Not that crappy California black-tar shit, but real, honest to god, get high or die trying China White.

Actually I just really like French-Vietnamese sandwiches. I found 'em. Yet another piece of the Good Life puzzle clicks into place.

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Thursday, November 15, 2007

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Safe in Heaven, Dead

Don't buy into all the hype, and the shit poets, the hangers on, the addiction, death and tragedy. Just listen to the voice and think about last time you drove somewhere far away.

(This gets good around two minutes in)

So, I didn't make it to Estacada last weekend for the SS Worlds, and I'm kicking myself. Word on the street is that it was by far the sloppiest, drunkest, and sexiest race ever held. Added points during Saturday's qualifying for bunnyhopping barriers while carrying a 6-pack, steep descents with aero-bars and a 3-second beer chug. Sunday's race started with the lineup having to turn around and head the other direction at the pistol. i.e. fast fuckers in the back, costumed drunkards in the front.

Then there was Her.
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Next year. As we Giants fans say, there's always next year...

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Let's Play

Let's play "Find the Dead Friend". I found six, how many can you find?

Aloha-- Steve, Robo, Sean Crane, Nestor, Matty Luv, and Little Chris.

Granted these are just the dead messengers I used to know. The other list is much, much longer.

a small good thing

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I've lately been thinking about my old pal Raymond Carver. Being back in the northwest always does it to me.

Tonight, after I put my sons to bed I'm going to find the copy of "Will You Please Be Quiet, Please" that I've had since high school, and read it all.
If you have a lick of sense about you, you'll do the same.

Actually, I'm probably going to spend some time with, and drink some more beer. Same difference.

Saturday, November 10, 2007

Today has been really good. My Mom's is here visiting and we spent the morning tripping around Portland. The sun is out, 60 degrees, and I think I'm gonna get to go to Estacada tomorrow to catch a couple of hours of the Single-Speed World Championships. I hope it rains like a bitch.

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Everybody's taking a nap right now, and I'm sucking on a beer and looking out the window. My new bike will be here next week, my old bike(s) are going to their new homes, and pretty much everything is right with the world.

Thursday, November 8, 2007

I Love Fall.

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Wednesday, November 7, 2007

"And someday son, if you work hard and stay focused, you might turn pro.
Then you can wear gay-ass jelly bean kit and drive an '89 Diplomat with a drivers' door that won't close."

No sir, I believe my boys will be playing baseball.

Fish Fight

Today is dedicated to the King Khan & BBQ Show.

I'm going to see them on the 20th. It's not big, or loud, or especially flashy, but it is really good rock and roll.

Wifey brought me home a case of Bridgeport IPA the other day. It's alright. The hops taste kind of flat-- Not like the floral, huge hoppiness of say, Terminal Gravity (a recent favorite), or the Ft. George which is insanely good, but involves a 100 mile drive to Astoria to get. I haven't had a can of Tecate in about two weeks, which is some kind of crazy fuckin record. I do love those little red pills, but with fall being in full, beautiful, leaf-blown swing, I'm digging me some flavor.

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I've been trying as many Oregon beers as I feel like I can, but it seems an insurmountable task in so many ways. There was a thing on OPB the other night about Oregon brewing, and apparently there are now more breweries in Portland than in any other city in the world. It sounds crazy, but there's more local beer here than there is in Munich, or Flanders, or Prague. I guess all those Euros are sucking on bottles of Stella. Bah.

And finally;

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Monday, November 5, 2007


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I am a bad person.
I'm sure gonna miss all the bikes I have to sell to pay for this one.
I hate myself.

Friday, November 2, 2007

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Thursday, November 1, 2007

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It's a story of left hand, right hand
It's a story of love and hate
It's a story of left hand, right hand
It's a story of love and hate

Well he's a cool one ben harper
Hangin' from a dead mans rope
And here's the story
The story two men wrote
Two men wrote
Two men wrote

It's a world of night for pearl and john
It's a world of night when your daddy's gone
When everyone around you were so weak
You had to be so strong

In the night
In the night of the hunter
In the night
In the night of the hunter

Little good you are to your family
Hangin' from a dead man's rope
Now here's the story
The story two children wrote
Two children
Two children
Two children

In the night
In the night of the hunter
In the night
In the night of the hunter
In the night
In the night of the hunter
In the night
In the night of the hunter

Stronger than your Uncle Burny
Stronger than Willa ever was
Strong as the shadows are long
Strong as the shadows are long

Hey, Party Time.

Aw shit, while we're at it...

As my little brother would say, "Heck yeah!"
(Last Saturday in Astoria. I don't know who took this, but it's great.)

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Tomorrow is friday. That used to mean the beginning of my workweek, but now, mercifully, it is the end.

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Fuck Art, Let's Fuck.

If you can tell me this man's name, you are truly old-school.

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This kidd takes nice pictures of mossy little freaks.

All Hallows is upon us, and I'm preparing as I do every year by turning out the porch light, pulling the blinds, and starting on a six-pack. Wifey's at work and my little fellers aren't old enough yet to eat 10 pounds of candy and fall asleep in their Spidey costumes. My last quiet Halloween ever. Sigh...

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

The Tuesday Clusterfuck

Mister Chris built himself a 'cross bike. And when I say built, I don't mean went to the store with his credit card and picked out parts. He welded this one up with his two little hands.
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This is not a good photo, but it's what I've been given to work with.
The next time I see this bike, I hope it's fucking filthy.

If you see these guys coming, walk the other way.

Other news:
I've been breathing laquer fumes all day!
My banjo is broken!
One of my babies has really bad-smelling poops!

Monday, October 29, 2007

Today I got stuck in an elevator for 45 minutes.
I haven't really felt right since.

Sunday, October 28, 2007

Ft. George IPA, Jubblies, and Cyclocross

The holy trinity for today.

We saddled up the family and drove 100 miles to Astoria for the Halloween version of Cross Crusade. Best Race Ever.

This is coming purely from a fan's perspective, so it really doesn't mean anything. I have yet to participate. I don't have a bike. Or legs. Or lungs.
Today would have been the day. Perfect fall weather, clear and cool, a fast, smooth course, and spooky freaks on bikes.

Just hanging out watching is worth the drive. We put the kids in the trailer and cruised around Clatsop County fairgrounds, checking out different vantage points (and the beer booth). Lots of sexy witches and pirates in the women's races. Can't go wrong with a little ruddy flesh amidst the fallen leaves...
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My favorite moment was standing at the base of a run up chatting to a nice lady who was holding her 15 month-old son. Just talking about kids and the weather and she goes "Excuse me," and turns around and leans onto the course and starts screaming "Go Danny! Fucking dig, you pussy!" Then turns back to me all red faced with a big old grin and says, "I love coming out here."

Me too, lady.

Tuesday, October 2, 2007

We're here.

It's difficult to know even where to begin, again. Now that all of the madness is dying down, and lives become settled, routines established.
It seems silly to me that I should even bother to embark upon recording these trivialities. They are just the same for all of us. No difference.

Simple really. Get job. Get place to live. Wife get job. Ride bikes, drink beer, eat well, raise kids, try to stay dry.

The last time I felt so lucky to be in a place was in SF in the early nineties.
Every day I look around Portland, and just think about how I'm bummed that I haven't been living here for years already. Of course, the place has it's problems. My truck has already been stolen and returned less one Blaupunkt CD unit and $500 worth of tools and plus a bunch of bottles and cans (Just clap your hands...) It's been a couple of trying months. Living out of paper bags, driving too much, sleeping in weird beds.
Luckily, we've been provided with a bunch of family we didn't even know we had who've all pitched in to help us get settled. We've depended so much on our friends the last few years, there's no way we'll ever be able to repay those kindnesses. And so it goes again. Another move and major life change. Another city.

Our old pals the G's are coming up from Oakland this weekend for a visit.
I went ahead and took monday off of work, since I figure I'll be too hung over to even get to the phone for a number of days running. Those fuckers ruin me every time.

I'm starting work on our new digs tomorrow, and should be moved in in a couple of weeks. Nice, friendly neighborhood. Lots of kids. Hot tub. I plan on sitting in the hot tub all winter. In the rain. Try and stop me.

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