add the Will to the Strength and it equals Conviction

I suppose a broken hip does give you a lot of time to kill. And, I must say, _odd killed the hell out of it with his researchemont concerning the riding options in the Death Valley. Emails flew back and forth in a flurry of schedules and maybes and reschedules and folks were in and folks were out and it went on for some time that way, the way things of that sort will. Everbody wants some.

Ultimately, 6 of us committed really and for real. Then the flurry was one involving increasingly frantic swapping of gear and racks and drive trains (for some). To the point that I settled on my "final" configuration of my tour bike the afternoon before leaving. To the point that as I rolled that final configuration down the driveway the morning of, I felt a vibration that I shouldn't feel and knew something was loose. What is there to do but turn around and figure it out? It was the cones in the rear hub. I tightened them and the wheel was sound, but my mind was blown- monkey wrench in the brain.


I said nothing to the fearless crew with whom I bike toured. The "check engine" light came on in the race van as _ick and I dropped the other side of HWY17 and I said not a word. All through Yosemite I feared the worst and kept it all quiet. What good could come of what ifs? For hours I wavered between intense concentration on the engine's feel or "fuck it", and the possibles troubled me.

We made it to the staging area without a hitch.

Each day I told myself to stop worrying about my too-light rear wheel crapping out under load while imagining what I would do when it did. I'd put a couple hose clamps on the bike in case of ____ failure(s), and thought about tying the cassette to the spokes with those and how I could (possibly) limp out in that way if it came to it. Etc. I said nothing about any of this, because what good could come of it. Even when _ick's own rear hub loosened up on his incredible cargo sled, I said nothing about my own concerns, because why jinx it further.

And each of the 5 days, in spite of the horrible washboarded ass-pounding climbs through miles of gravel or sand or sandy gravel, nothing went wrong. Our motto, quickly established, was "pretend you like it". It was appropriate. In spite of excellent route working out (planning, sure, but the map is never the territory...) Death Valley is some real hard work. Only 30ish miles a day had us in our sleeping bags and out by 8pm each night.

It was a big trip- too big to quickly sum up. Things that stay with me: cooking communal dinners is the way; 29+ is a real interesting category for some camping by bicycle; my Kelly Kettle would have worked just fine out there in the desert as there was always enough twigs around for some boiling water and I felt like a ass standing around begging hot water in the mornings; MSR dromedary bags are good equipment; having our Safety K__k around on the moto was a source of hilarity and disappointment (no cooler of cold beers?!?!); there is a light and it never goes out; etc.

Whomever of my fellow Death Valley Ramblers reads this: thank you for a real good time.



P.S. There is a lot of you name it on this internet about bike builders etc. Much of that is all show, and it saddens me in the shop and on the computer to see so much misplaced value. Hunter Cycles and Black Cat Bicycles just spent the last week sleeping in the dirt and riding the shit out of their bikes. Just like you. Not for a PRO anything- not a PROmo or a look book or a sepia-toned poem. That is some Realness worth considering. Also, Surly Bikes' junk straps are the greatest single bit of bike camping equipment ever.

dumb, old fashioned, and out of style

Swooping down Laureles Grade into Carmel Valley aboard a bicycle is exciting! You easily outstrip traffic. You can go as fast as you dare, and I neither carry nor need a computer to tell me that's fast. Thoughts of crashing flit in and out of your mind on descents like that. If you focus on doubts, you lose your nerve and have to back off; you lose your fun. But ignoring the possibility of mechanical failure is dumb, so you visually check your front tyre as it spins. Do you feel any hitches or bumps? Can you see any irregularity? Is the profile the same on both sides? True? Brakes clear? Then you bring your focus back out in front, scanning for the Good Line.

What a bluebird day today was. I thought I'd swap the knobbies for those skinwall 37mm Panaracer Paselas that were in the tyre pile somewhere. Those are great tyres to rally. They are surprisingly grippy through the woodsy singletrack, but real shmooth on pave. It would be a fine day to ride out 68 (it would be shadier than the valley heading East) and take the back way over the Grade to head out for a Cachagua loop.

So I found myself on the valley floor, rounding the very last S bend into the Village when I felt a sudden and increasingly urgent whup-whup-whup from the rear and put the brakes on. My tyre blew before I could fully stop.

 The bead had blown off the rim earlier, as I was careless with my swapping, and I thought little beyond the usual reaction. It is disconcerting in a way that's out of proportion to the actual volume of the explosion. For me, anyway. In part because it ruins a tube, in part because it is so very preventable- pay attention, dummy!- but mostly because it is such a scary prospect if it were to happen at a bad time. Say, tearing ass downhill with cars around.

So I cussed (like you do) and flinched (like I do) and checked the bead and reinstalled the tyre. Then I went out and rode some pave and some singletrack (aggressively, downhill) and some more pave and then climbed the back way and then dropped Laureles. I had my thoughts about blow outs and backed off and got back on it and had some thoughts about brakes and backed off and got back on it, etc. I enjoyed my bike ride.


  The problem:

 if that had happened at 45+mph, it would have been a real bad time. So even though my day of riding was over, I was pretty pleased with the way it ended. It could have been worse!


 Of course I tried booting the spot with a section of the tube box, thinking maybe...at super low PSI...I might be able to limp the 10 miles back out to the mouth of the valley. Beacues the wife is out of town and there was no easy rescue.

 And, of course it didn't hold.


So what are you gonna do? Send some texts, and start walking with your thumb out. It didn't take long for me to realize I'd rather walk in my socks than in my cycling shoes. Down the road? Clop clop clop with the shuddery contact? I realize it's a controversial move, but it was mine to make.

 So yeah, walking down Carmel Valley Road in my underwear, pushing my busted bike in stocking feet. Does it surprise you that no one would stop? I realize only pick-ups or other cyclists in their cars would even consider it. An English couple in a sedan stopped and asked me for directions. They didn't offer help. I could see it not occurring to them, and honestly the thought of explaining to them and then getting a run-around was more than I was in for so I just told them how to get to 1 and kept on.


Steve, from the Money Band, stopped

 and we listened to the Doobie Brothers while he took me as far as Shulties. I sure hope he checks out Yacht Rock, like I recommended. Then I walked past All Saints, where many mini vans toting a mother and a child looked through me and drove on by. My feet were taking a beating, so I sat down and fashioned the remnants of the tube box into some sole protection. I attempted to hitch while doing this, but that's tough.

Eventually, P____ the art director from All Saints pulled over and took me right to my driveway! That was nice of him.


 I really was very lucky today.

I would like to welcome all you suckers

...here's some pictures and words having to do with the Sand Crab Invitational. It is so called, because riding in sand makes folks crabby.

Groups make me uncomfortable. If you saw me there (hello!), it's likely I was very quiet. I did enjoy seeing everyone's fancy bicycles. It became apparent to me very quickly that the prevailing expectations of ride length (time wise) were different from my own. I based that on observing the clothing choices. Folks at the start were racered up, not packing a lot of standing around in the moon light drinking beers type gear.

I had started my Sand Crab preparations earlier by replacing the chain ring bolts on my fixed gear bicycle. One had fallen off, so I blue loc-tited the replacements. Examined my tires, replaced the rear (sidewall cut). Packed 2 extra tubes and a patchkit with new glue. Stowed a multi-tool (with chain tool). Tucked away an extra bit of chain, master link, and a couple extra chain ring bolts. Strapped on my frame pump. I know how these things go.


There was riding through Santa Cruz to get on the beach here.


I soon found myself by myself.

I explored the varying ride offered by the varying sand. It could be wet/hardpacked and fast to dry and crumbly at either end, but there were lots of middle grounds so to speak. It was not at all apparent to look at, as to how the quality would be. You had to ride by feel. I became concerned with having untracked sand for my line. There was a lot of time riding (grinding) along with your thoughts. My pace varied as well. Between plodding and middling. The tidal zone is where it's at, but you don't want to get too wet. Or, anyway, I didn't. I wished I'd had fenders. I was thankful there was no real wind. Sometimes I'd remember to appreciate where I was.



We picked up the 2nd tier riders (and oh! how I mean that) and continued. This group was there to party, and had the gear to prove it.



Crossing a small rivulet on route to the Pajaro River. Which is basically a gnarly farm run-off canal.

I opted to remove my shoes and socks for the crossing. It's one thing to race across and get it done, and it's another to stand (and pedal) around in wet gritty shoes for several more hours.







We eventually left the beach and headed to refreshing HWY1 for the turn around at M&L Liquors in Moss Landing.

People ain't skeered to abuse they fancy bikes.
I purchased a 32oz High Life and some sunflower seeds. Sunflower seeds are my "go to" cycling snack.


B___ tried to ride back across the river, and fell in.



On the other side, people whooped it up some and watched the Full Wolf Moon put up the party light. Then they rode very fast. I found myself caught up in riding very fast for a while. Then I realized I was missing the point and stopped to wait for the other folks who wanted to stand around in the moonlight and drink beers. After all, I had packed for it.




The Sand Crab Invitational took a turn for the sordid when we warshed up at The Windjammer.





If the organizing body of the Sand Crab were seeking input, I would say it was a fine event overall (the dirty trick of riding the beach there as well as back was in character), but the focus should be more on the riding in the moonlight. I suppose I'm biased.

more of the same

Ok. So Horrible People was one of the funniest things in a while, but now you've watched them all and you're left with an empty space on your internet...

Have no fear. Dredged up from the past, it's Yacht Rock!

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We got screwed by copyright lameness.

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11)I like this one the best.


12)Ok, ok. Maybe this one is my favorite. (Please don't fail to notice that when Kenny Loggins is firing from his space F16 the projectiles are cocksandballs. That made me laugh.)