a bawdy, blistering tale of tomorrow

Damn right I like the Life I live.


I have some reservations about these so called "friends" who are in it with me, but still...

Like these people, who loitered in my yard all day, stinking up the place and dragging down property values.


Like this guy,seen here setting up the course on race day. He claimed that one tower (which had been gonna be a fine and sneaky stop) was in the process of being hived up as hundreds of bees swarmed all around it, requiring a small but significant reroute.

Then he borrowed my bike and did 360s on to the giant airbag they had set up at Sea Otter.




M___ decided to go for the glory early and stacked up in the sandy wash at the bottom of the initial fire-road drop towards #50. He and another guy converged on the single line, and they both crashed hard. I was in the front (ahem) and all I heard was a little girl yelling "Oh my God!"
It was carnage when I got back to the wash.
As a nice twist of the knife,while he was gimping himself up the hill to head for the hospital, M___ said he could hear us hollering across the valley as we ascended 50 on the North side hurling invective at one another. Having fun and such.
For spending the night in the ER he was awarded a shower of popcorn, a bunch of jeers, and a sweet puking clown Surly t-shirt. I think he earned it the hard way. I overheard him telling his old lady she was gonna have to wear her doctor outfit...

At a couple of stops we had been instructed to write on our feet (BIGfoot theme?). LOVE and HATE. It was fun seeing everyone barefoot in the sleazy dive.


Some people misunderstood the instructions.


Seemed like cross bikes were the vehicle of choice. Folks in it to win it.

This obsession with victory at all costs was not without costs. For example the choice above. 23mm rear=flat. Only one?!? I am amazed. Especially since this entrant's cut-throat style marked him early as equal parts reckless and dangerous.


One of the nicer machines. Black Cat Bicycles custom cyclocross.
The photos do not do it justice. The tinted clear coat over the braze? Oh.

Like buried treasure.



See how these people treat sweet adventure bikes? This was perpetrated upon me while my bike was safely tucked into the cozy environs of a sleazy dive bar. Every now and again on the ride back home, I'd come across some new and (purposely) inconveniently located sticker. I guess I can't have nice things.


If you rode this, and have photos or stories to share, go over to the SLEAZE OTTER website and bother them. For my part, I can say it was the worst Sleaze Otter. Ever.
And that's saying a lot.


It always come to this.