Fatness

also sucks. If you've ever had the misfortune to see me with my shirt off, you were probably amazed. "How does such a disgusting-chunky marshmallow man school the fools so hard?", you thought to yourself. The answer? Keep thinking that shit to yourself-- I don't want to hear it.


However, last night, Mr. N-B was on another of his monotone rambles, and mentioned that Indurain lost le Tour one year on account of being 5 pounds up from his race weight. That got me thinking that maybe I should be a little closer to my 'race weight.' I mean, I'm pretty close already-- twenty-five pounds isn't that much to lose in three months. To burn off that last little bit, I'm taking up jumprope. Word on the internet is that this third-grade shit will totally make you a lean-ass superman in minutes.

I've got an issue, though: jumping rope is hard as shit. Not only does it make me feel like my heart's going to explode, it takes the mental focus of a 900-year old Daoist saint to make more than four jumps in a row. By the time I managed six jumps, I could melt windowpanes by arching a single eyebrow; by nine jumps I stopped the revolution of the planets and snuffed the light of the sun. Or at least that's how I envisioned it; the first jump slapped me in the shins and took me out like a feeble widow getting hit by a train.

BEING A KID IS NOT FOR SISSIES

Poverty

sucks.
It's not cool to be poor, especially when you're a poor-ass bike shop employee. Your life is a constant struggle between being so dirty-dirt broke that you're freezing bulk PB&J sandwiches so you can skip "fancy" lunch at Ukrop's, and the absolute necessity of a cross bike with 800 dollar wheels. I mean, making rent and all is cool, but not as cool as rolling up on something that costs three months' rent, all frozen PB&J hanging out of your jersey pockets.
And another thing: damn retail credit cards, all tempting with their glittering prizes. It's a short step from telling customers that "six-months-no-payment-no-interest" is awesome, to sitting on the crapper, dreaming of carbon and fooling yourself into thinking you'll be less of a poor-ass bastard in six months' time. Then, on top of it all, working bike-shop retail makes you acutely aware of how futile it is to try to buy speed, because it's the fib you churn out Monday to Sunday. The only conclusion you can resign yourself to is that you want the nice chi-chi just because it is chi-chi. It's like by buying more fancy shit than the doctors and lawyers who visit the shop, I feel less subhuman when they show up to group rides in their pristine Audis and Explorers. Screw you, you supereducated prongs! You might be able to buy three of my bike-- but you can't ride three!
Post script: I'm racing Sunday in the Capital Cross Classic, on a bike which I welded canti studs to on Monday. Am I an idiot? Probably. Will I school fools? Some of them, definitely, because there's sixty-five motherfuckers in the C race-- I'll be passing dudes just by crashing, it'll be so damn crowded.
RIDE IT LIKE YOU ARE ON FIRE

Paul's 40th pictures

Paul's 40th

Paul's 40th

Rad times all 'round, we're obviously in no danger of taking ourselves too seriously.
Happy Birthday Paul!

In it to win it

Sunday's cross race illustrated the most important lesson I have learned so far in racing: you've got to be in it to win it.
I'm not talking about me, dumbass- I'm talking about Winslow.
John Heath and I heckled Winslow into doing the race on the theory that junior fields (he's 16) are so small that he could very well sneak some dude at the line and become the State Champion in his first race. It didn't quite pan out that way, and even watching him race was painful-- he rode a mountain bike he'd cobbled together the night before, and his drivetrain was skipping like mad, and on top of that he couldn't get it to shift into the big ring, so he did the whole thing in his 32 while the other two juniors tore around the field on real, tuned-up cross bikes.
By the end of it all, he got last in his field-- that is, he got third in the State Championships, a medal, and pick of the prize bin. He had to leave so I picked him a fizik saddle, which is a damn sight better than any prize I've ever won. The moral: even though his bike was trash, and he doesn't know anything about cross, being there got Winslow farther than staying home.
WORD!

next race

UP NEKTS, DAS KAPITOL KROSS KLASSIK:
http://www.bikereg.com/events/register.asp?eventid=5154
be thurr or be squrr.

kim jong ill

oh shitt, i am sick due to my exertions on trashmore. what was a sore throat yesterday has turned into a general feeling of illness, coupled with an extremely sore-ass throat. slept in today to try to recover some, so when you're kicking my ass in six months' time, i'll just claim that illness interfered with my training schedule.
out!

Tidewater Challenge and Party Pictures

Tidewater Challenge + Party pictures

Tidewater Challenge + Party pictures

Trashmore CX Pics

From Stormyworld.net. Thanks!

Pot shopping

UPDATE:
I am going to Lowe's so we can buy a pot for my girlfriend's pet weed, Herbert. He's getting too big for his current pot, which is a shame because she wrote his name on it. Pictures later!

Trashmore Cross

Good times all 'round at the Trashmore CX race Sunday. The Carbon Cross Concept performed almost flawlessly-- that is to say, I lost mad places because of that damn thing. I was doin' good, in like the 7 or 8 spot, when the chain dropped and jammed under the crank on a climb. Now this is my fault, because I knew it could happen, but I thought the risk was worth skipping on a derailleur or dog fang. Turns out I was wrong, and many dudes did pass me. I then found out that I might have done much better, because I proceeded to totally kill it and pass dudes like soft stools. I started to lag on the last run up, when I heard some older guy yell, "Git on, with that wild bike!" It was awesome. Points for me, my bike outweighed most of the other riders (their bodies, that is), although I cannot compete with Kevin Horvath, who rode a pink Electra Townie for several laps as his pit bike.
Anyways I finished a disappointing twelfth, but I have high hopes for the Charlottesville race on Dec. 9.
PS sorry to the official who had to yell at me for warming up with no helmet-- I lost my Pneumo and was chasing Scales to see if he had a spare.

Powertap blues

So everyone has caught on to the fact that training with power is the next big thing and such, and of course it is the totally righteous path to get at least a Powertap hub and find out the watts you be layin' down. Too bad freakin' Saris doesn't realize my influence among the Williamsburg cycling community, otherwise they wouldn't feed me some bull-crap about pro-deal purchases being low on the totem, and instead just ship that shit out. In the mean time I'm gonna borrow a HRM from Mr. N-B and git on that shit.
Speaking of power training, here's a suggestion for some shit to say when you sprint or whatever and you're busting out some huge-ass wattage:
"MacDonald's numbers!"

Today we got more stories from John Heath, who is totally legit. How legit is he? He bought his first road bike-- a Rossin-- from David Wilson in 1982. If David Wilson sold you an Italian road bike five years before I was born, stand up; you are legit. John was talkin' that old Winter Training Camp noise, it might be he and I in February, stuffin' newspapers in our jerseys comin' down some shit on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Word, that would be dank.

FAMILY TYME

Word up, my glamazon sister is internet-famous. Observe the final piksha at the bottom of the page, and know the terror that is the Chandler-Moore Gut-Ass Sine Wave.

How do you win races?

By showing up and riding in the rain. If today had been a race, I would have been guaranteed a podium finish. The prize? Wet ass-cracks, three deep.
Speaking of wacky races, word up to the JRVS CANNONBALL CRIT, in Yorktown, currently set for May 25. Bring your white bar tape and your elbow pads-- word is that the course is basically Tilt-a-Kart (Mario fans rejoice), a straight-up square with one side tilted up. That means a screaming downhill into a ninety-degree left hand turn, a pancake-flat stretch, then another hard turn into a steepity-steep-ass climb. The best place to be? 50 yards off the front, AKA attack at 0k. This tip courtesy of Mr. N-B, run with it.
MAY 25: FORTUNE FAVORS THE BOLD.

Old School

http://www.kirkframeworks.com/photogallery5.htm
check out the bike with the Mektronic group, ommegang.
Scooter

Tha stank slip

Aw shit, it's hella late, but vital-important styley bike news: done ordered a dope saddle. pictures guaranteed upon arrival.
stack big bank--
scooter
P.S. workin' on some B&R race decals, get yorn's here.

Londry Tyme

Oh doggs,
right as of now I am do-ing tha londry, it is so danky-dope that we have a washer and dryer up ins. No Mo' gettin a ride to tha londrymatt, and hella no mo' pickin' the unstankiest chirt up off the floor when it's time to make the dolla dolla bill yall.
Speaking of my current dolla dolla bill yall situation, it might just come to pass that I do not does the bike-shop work as full time as I once did. Might just cut back to some part time on that shit, and get me a shirt and tie job, hella dolla'z yall.
Gnotable bike issues with tha dogg: got the Carbon Cross Concept (c-skwared) almost goin', need some derailleur or shit to hold tha chaynn on the front rang.
fixed THA HEBREW HAMMA'Z FIXED GEAR YALL, prepare to feel tha paynn as the fixed gear season approacheth.
Grot tha POWDERTAPP, all on the way, carbon "power windows" and all. Not an SL, you dumb blumpkin! Mo'fuckzz want to play like the Pro ain't legit, but even a fool knows tha powdertapp pro got's tha power windows now yall-- all it do be lackin is tha aluminum freehub body and axle, YALL.
check out tha original main person of bacon appreciation: http://chrisonstad.blogspot.com/2007/11/bacon-no-8-retrofill-comes-later.html
Find a prong, and succit--
move over, bitch, I'm linin' up!