Dear god.

Weekly pdxcross Update

See that first picture?
I actually went ass-over-teakettle into that pile of rotten pumpkins. I got pumpkin guts all over my knickers.
You cannot bunny-hop pumpkins when you are very tired and your bike has ten pounds of mud on it.
This is something I now know.


Also, For Sale:

Specialized Toupe saddle. Has only seen one season of light cyclocross use.
Near new.
Offers.

It's About Having Your Priorities Straight.

"Ivar," Signa asked suddenly, "will you tell me why you go barefoot? All the time I lived here in the house I wanted to ask you. Is it for a penance, or what?"

"No, sister. It is for the indulgence of the body. From my youth up I have had a strong, rebellious body, and have been subject to every kind of temptation. Even in age my temptations are prolonged. It was necessary to make some allowances; and the feet, as I understand it, are free members. There is no divine prohibition for them in the Ten Commandments. The hands, the tongue, the eyes, the heart, all the bodily desires we are commanded to subdue; but the feet are free members. I indulge them without harm to any one, even to trampling in filth when my desires are low. They are quickly cleaned again."

One of my favorite passages from Willa Cather's O PIONEERS! 1913

Pome

A lovely poem here from Hitler's Mustache.

The Package

First, there was the cardboard box
that was wrapped in clear tape.
I got a knife. Then there was a box wrapped
in sticky paper. Then another layer of sticky paper.
Then another layer. Then there was a layer
of clear tape. Then, another box. When I
opened this box, there was a jar wrapped
in sticky paper and more clear tape. There
were a bunch of layers of each. It was hard
work. I was starting to sweat. When I finally got
to the jar, the lid was glued shut. It took me
a while to dislodge it. The Jar was filled with glue,
but deep in the center of the glue was a small
package wrapped in clear tape. Below those
layers of clear tape, was a sort of tiny tarp
that seemed plastered to a layer of tape beneath it.
I unpeeled the tape and the tarp. I cut
through the layer beneath that.
There was a box rife with screws. It was
very screwy. I undid the screws I could undo and
got a small hacksaw for some of the others. I
was laughing a little to myself by now. Also,
I was frustrated. I had broken one of my fingernails.
Beneath the screwy box was a ball of tape
wrapped with sticky paper and a hard shell
like thing coated with a bony chocolate.
It was late by now. I chiseled the shell and fought
my was through the tape and sticky paper.
It was a loosening situation. There was much
pulling and slackening. Through it all, not
a single phone call. And that's what I think about
now. Not a single fucking phone call.

Training Log Vol. 5

Sassy's is a bar where tattooed girls take their clothes off and put their private parts close to you if you give them dollars. I like this place a lot.

It is the best place to be on a Saturday midnight, breathing smoke and clutching a 2 dollar Oly tall-boy and giving your monies to the you-know-what girls when you are supposed to be asleeping.

It it these things, my appetites, that keep me from success on the field of pain.

This is another place where men who breathe like horses (you can hear them!) bear down on you in the mud and rubble and you push the machine and carry the machine and fall into the rotten earth. You toil, and there are tormenters with bells and alcohol, small children, men on one wheel, dead things laying still on the vine.

Fires.


This is not a Fun Time.
The naked bar is better.

I Don't Believe That Anybody Feels the Way I Do About You Now

We're just gonna keep doing music.

The Godfather re-hipped me to this clip, which shows the mighty Sabbath at their furious best. They will be my second favorite band for the rest of my life.



The fact that The Smiths will forever be my first favorite makes as little sense to me as it does to you.



And you've been wondering where I get my look?



Oh shit. I forgot about the Velvets.



The porn box has become the Elmo box. How the hell this happened, I just don't know.


I guess Elmo's pretty cool. Not like those fucking creepy teletubbies. Those bitches give me the terrors.

Seems like winter's finally here. Weather has been a little on the inclement side, but still in the fifties during the day. Most of the leaves are now gone from the trees, and the trucks came yesterday and swept the big piles off the streets.

I've been riding Big Blue pretty much everywhere, carrying shit and staying dry, but I need to figure out something for my legs. Rain pants are the all-time suck, so I'm thinking thrift store polyester pants, suitably tailored, will shed some water and dry quickly once I arrive at work. Thankfully the bar is really tall, so nobody will be able to see my crummy, wet diggers.

Any suggestions?

Stolen from Blackbird, who can be seen here getting his neon-splatter Ira dirty at Alpenrose.



Oh, and I nearly forgot my weekly link to pdxcross. Did you know they're putting out a book? You do now.

"When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child: But when I became a man, I put away childish things."
Corinthians 13:11


Wifey's turning 40 next month. I swore to god that I'd never be married, let alone to someone so old.

Part the First
--------------------------------------------------
I didn't come home
I drank tequila, stole a bird's nest and
lived on chips and beer

I teased young girls in the bar
wore a red
t-shirt and let my tongue loose of its moor

There are reasons for all of this but I can't tell you why
because a man at my age has no call to explain himself and if you push me
I will fight

I got laid in a loud car and dropped my empty cigarette pack
on the ground

I have never had kids or paid my bills. Say it again and
you'll have
to defend yourself

I still want to know about that little redhead
with the bluebird
tattoo in the crotch of her hand

I spent all day at the laundromat and I feel awful. I don't know if
I'm going to last

My friends are dead.
My friends are dead.
-----------------------------------------

Part the Second


Cargo, bitches.

Homeboy Matt Feeney building proper custom racks.


I'm queer for Utility.

Yes, I'll be out at Hillsboro on sunday, making like a lemming on the barriers, but goddamn do I love me some racks and panniers.

A Letter to Patches

Mr. Dicklesworth---

I LOVE your emails. I just never check that account any more and keep forgetting to get back at you.

How's dadhood? Hows the baby? Send pictures of the little devil, I int seen him yet.

Things here are as portlandy as always. Bikes, beer and boobs. In that order.

The economy is putting the squeeze on us here finally, but since the Obama come in things are picking up a bit. I see from my special red/blue map that ada county didn't even go for the man. You'd think those fuckin yayhoos would have figured it out by now, but I guess I can't be surprised.

You realize that negro's gonna take away your guns, Patches?

I sold a track bike because my knee is giving me hell and now that I'm a serious bike racer dude I can't afford to suffer like that. My new porteur is so relaxing and can carry things. A Revelation!

I like your blog. It fuckin took long enough. Post more shit, it'll make you feel better.

I'm nearly 37 years old, drunk and broken down with two kids living in a rented house in this rainy town. I ain't never been happier.

Paste that in your Broadway show.

Ta, a

I decided to take my bike-slangin ducs and put them somewhere safe.

Like into an IRA...

Bikes

Ever since we've been in Portland, I've really been missing my old city bike.

I put it together just before the move from Oakland to The Reddest State, and sadly, it didn't see much use out there.

I was doing my 18 mile morning road loop,

frozen water bottles and all, and was spending the rest of my time on the 29er, bushwacking cow trails out in bum-fucking nowhere,

but we were living in the farmhouse and I was one of only two cyclists in our small town, so the townie just sort of decorated the garage most of the time.

It eventually went on ebay, got shipped to L.A., and a few weeks later I saw pictures of Earl riding it around.

Ces't la vie...

Well, the Rossin

is packed up and gone back to the Yay Area, and a new and improved townie should be arriving sometime today.

Check back for pictures.





Ok, here's a hint...

Yeah, Pretty Much...

Obama Win Causes Obsessive Supporters To Realize How Empty Their Lives Are

TPM has an awesome map HERE.



Go out and vote today, you lump.

More Barton Park

Another incredible photo set from Brujo.

And even more from ratspike!

The Crusade

I'm just gonna go ahead and link to pdxcross every week because you need to see it and get all jealous.

(EDIT: See photo 28. That's my buddy Troy in the S&M jersey looking like he's gonna die at the top of that run/ride-up. And if you look in the top right corner of the same pic, there's me and my rear spinergy.)

First MUD of the season on an absolutely beautiful course. Real fast, more pavement than normal, no steep climbs and plenty of run-ups. The only barrier was a 2'x2' concrete wall that was more of a climb than a hop.

My group got called up second from last this week, and the chute being so narrow, I watched the lead-out for a good 20 seconds before I even clipped in. Thankfully, I got by a good 50 riders before the first descent, and picked off probably 20 more during the last two laps.

61st place wouldn't normally be a finish to be proud of, but I worked hard for that bitch.

Palin is a Dumb Bunny.

Holy shit.

Holy Shit.

Holy Shit.

RIP Studs

Following Norman Mailer last year, another hard-as-nails intellect has left us.



What will become of smart, tough manhood?