tell-tale evidence of criminal activity

Get on your bicycle, whatever type it is, and pedal it away from your home. Ride it along (some streets most likely) to get where you need to be at. No cars need be involved.




To me, I will take the dirtiest way every time when I have the time. It's just much easier on your constitution.


Ride choice goes in cycles, as things will. It is easy to ride the same old route. That's where I been lately. Even if I decide ahead of time to do Y, by the time I realize I'm committed, I've let my unconscious make my turns for me and I am riding X again. It's not a complaint- that route is so ingrained because it's a good one.

On the other hand, Variety is spicy and I like that.

jam it in!

But if it don't fit, don't force it just relax and let it go.




You know how we do. Some a y'all do it too.

We had to get in one last bicycle campout while 2014 is still going on. There was the trying to fit this on that, and the lubing all a the chains, and the pumping up all a the tyres, and the finding and then the packing of all the warm clothes (and some yelling about choosing for conditions, not for trends), and the piling and the winnowing and the loading and the time got away from us. It being Winter (OK, winter) the days are short.

So there was the jamming the rigs into the race van for the assist. L dropped me and the boys off at the top of the hill. It saved us an hour's worth of effort and strife. We coasted down on backstreets and bikepaths until we hit the automall.



It is one of the Great Ironies that the quietest/safest bicycle route thru Cside(!)  is the service road thru the auto dealerships. Truth.


We were pared all the way down (for winter conditions)...



Why's the set-up like it is? Cuz it is. Sleeping gear for 4. The backpack on the front is loaded with clothes. It was fine, but we swapped that jacket for the other one and then it bulged down and rubbed on the front tyre. Solution: a stick, found roadside and braced under it.





Racing the sun. Serious competitors know when the serious climbs begin, and that is the time to adjust layers while you can...if you got a sucker along who'll haul all a yer stuff for you? All the better.




You know it was dark by the time we reached the spot. As if it could be otherwise. Ha!




My sweetie had stuff to do and was to meet us at camp, but things will turn out differently than planned. OK, plan B. Then Plan C, where X marks the meet-up. I ended up riding out to escort her thru the dark woods on account of she is skeered. The boys are used to this sort of thing (not skeered), and remained hidden in the dappled woods like little curled up fawns awaiting the return of their stagnant parents? (Too much? It's reaching, I know) But what a nice cold night to be riding lightlessly along a trail! January 4th is the Full Wolf Moon, and it is wax on.

Traffic was insane, so further delay. I waited in the shadows for a quiet while. When L arrived, I pulled her bike out of the vehicle as she packed the take-out burritos. You can decide for yourself whether we are soft or we are smart. Dogs were barking. That means it is really time to leave. We got gone. Slipped out from under the streetlights and into the woods.




Gross and awesome? Eh, it keeps out the riff-raff.






Burritos and board-games in the woods...


We set up the new/never-been-opened (4person!) tent in the dark, like you are supposed to do. It wasn't bad. The Big Agnes Jack Rabbit SL4 seems pretty nice. My crew prefers a tent- I do not. It's fine, preferable even, when there are bugs. Otherwise, I like being outside, and even inclement weather (Condors can testify! Driving hail? Etc.) is handled with a well-rigged tarp. Then you have some sight lines and some flow. My favorite is the stars for a roof. Every time I woke up, it felt like a room, not a campspot, even with the good moon and Oak shadows. Call me particular.




Pure observation. No complaints can be made. Everbody was snugged up and warm on an adventure, even if only a wee little one.




L got up early, having to be to work, so she and I rode out to her truck while the boys slumbered on.



It was a cold camp (low of 31* and the sand was crunchy) in every sense of that phrase, and we packed up to get as quick as we could. I was not stoked when an early morning pair of cyclists rode by, since it's technically a stealth spot. But I had my hood up, so I was as incognito as a creepy guy crouching nearly trailside breaking down a camp can be.



My team-mates helped half-heartedly, and then grab-assed whole-heardtedly.



We rode out to meet N, who was picking us up in the race van. This nicely rounded our little fun with some soft car rides, sure, but check this out: whatever works. She drove us over to Red's Donuts (since 1954!) and when we got home we all enjoyed our "normal" breakfast waaaaaaaaaay more than if we'd a just walked out in our PJs rubbing our eyes. That's the real niceness of a small adventure- you are that aware of how Good you got it.

So long 2014. You were a good year.

I don't like ______, oh no. I love it.

Oh yeah.



That one guy (the one who showed) and I slept outside on our local celebration of the full moon. It was cool, except that so and so crashed  and banged his shoulder on the Earth. If it's not obvious: riding with no lights and crashing are potential best friends. To quote Professor Griff, "consider yourselves...warned." We were pretty far in the bag at that point, as well as pretty far into the local trail system, so the logical course of action was to crack another beer and see how it went. His shoulder felt better after (imagine!) so on we rolled, concentrating on trucking right.



Morning arrived, as it will, and the shoulder pain with it. Being resourceful fellows, we rode out of the woods and over to the donut shop for extraction. On the way, we passed several of the local PRO hobos, and it was amusing to witness their reactions to our amateur/heavily-funded camping via bicycle steez. We were definitely noticed, and in a manner that smacked of peer review. Overall, I felt accepted; judgments were mild. We are all alive in this moment, and if some of us woke up in the woods as a matter of choice and others of us emerged from our tents behind the Staples in Cside(!) as a matter of circumstance, well there are parallels.


At home, after my foray into the local scene, I repacked my gear for the coming safari. That is to say, I filled a backpack with food for 2 nights/3 days of climbing up steeps in Henry Coe.



The overnight gear remained in place. I have referenced before the terrible unfairness of having to pack "everything" for just an overnight; how it is all too much. Weather conditions being the same, the only extras for multi-day trips are (more) food, water filter*, and perhaps more repairs stuff (ex. a spare tyre (not kidding))?!? I can't shake this irrational sense that the load on the bike should reflect the length of time out on tour. It's a problem with which I wrassle. So, and then the front end was all rackless (as you know) and all bagful. I have made adjustments to the lashing-on of the sleeping pad and the drooping/buzzing is eliminated, but I remain unimpressed. That seatbag is all Kelly Kettle (Never carry fuel again! But don't kid yourself- get the large model. You're already carrying the bulk, might as well go all in. TRUST me on this one thing) and flip flops. Yeah buddy, it's December. California...knows how to party.


All strapped up at the watering hole.

For off-road touring, I have been pushing the 29+, front and rear Surly Krampus, with3" Knards on 50mm Rabbit Holes. It's a solid set up for actual trail riding whilst loaded. This bike offers a lot of cushion in general, taking the edge off. The big float allowed me to wheelie drop the flow-stopping gap on Pacheco Creek Trail (so nice...) which  certainly would have remained a stifler for me on standard wheels, and allowed for some easy planing across washes floored with baby heads. I have considered the various merits of the Krampus vs. The ECR, and my kung fu is best practiced aboard a rally matchine.  Surly does offer a Krampus fork with more braze-ons, so my magic 8 ball says "signs point to yes" when asked if this is in my future...I can have my rack and you can eat it, too.


_odd's rig. 



My partner has his own "system". This go round, he front-loaded. Loss of traction while climbing was one result. We laugh at ourselves for doing this stuff with fair regularity and yet shifting our set-ups around so much. You'd think we would get good at this. Someday. Someday my set-up will be perfect.


Black Cat Bicycles custom front rack is pretty dialed, though...

One thing _odd has down pat is his snacks. I am so jealous when he pulls out the mango chutney?!? But then I forget all about it, and when packing my own foods I blow it. There is (usually- ask me about the powder sandwiches) enough, but it lacks pizzazz. My planning thus far has always been by meal. So I have a breakfasts bag, a lunches bag, and a dinners bag. Snacks are in they own bag, which is easily accessed. I was super hungry this trip. Noticeably. Maybe it was the cold, but I'm a change up my food prep. I think I'll pack by day. Seems like I will be more mindful looking at the day's worth of food rather than a big mash-up of breakfasts and another of lunches, etc. We will see.





Pssst. There is a whiskey stash at Drunkards' Knee (or Boozers' Roost, if you prefer).



Bring tools, do trail work.



I even have it written on my notebook, but do I remember it? Sometimes. So far, never for Coe, as I'm always flipping out about how to pack the seemingly mountainous pile of crap I end up with in order to just be able to swing being out there at all.

Well, Yes and Finally! _odd brought a pull saw. It's not much, but it does a lot. More than that, it creates a mindset such that stopping to deal with snags/blow-downs/etc becomes "what you do." We put in some pretty OK work. The trails we rode are the better for us having been there.




My new/current totem? A long-ass detour to a large bald eagle.





*the Platypus in-line filter is a neat tool. It is SO much nicer to fill a bag and trill rather than hunch waterside and madly flail away with a pump filter. Really. The "dirty" reservoir has it's outtake valve set about 20mm up from the bottom so particulate will settle below, and not clog the filter. Smart. Plus, you can forgo carrying extra bladders and use the "dirty" and "clean" required for filtering as your storage. Though I prefer the durability of a cordura sided MSR bladder, it is a feature worth noting.

temporarily present

One of the nicer idears about riding is the feelings it gives you all over. If you're having negatively oriented feelings, a local bike ride can be the catalyst for a reaction of feelings resultant in way more positive end state. You can quote me on that.

I mean a less local/more further afield type of bike ride will be more effective, but your local will work.



So, just be thankful...for what you got.

So, hey. Next Saturday is the 6th, and that's the Full Cold Moon. Dig in the scene with a little local sleepout in the woods that night? Alright, alright, alright.

scientists, crooks, and laymen

In a massive ride scene shakeup this week, several comings and goings engender a flurry of local bike activity. Comments have been made, pedals turned, whiskey drunk.

Old School Part time Local YOc__ showed up for a few rounds of sleepless weekend ride/work/ride/work cycles. Mr. P represents the porridge that's just right though that doesn't represent him at all at all...it's just that he's the middling bridge, neither old nor new and here all week. Then the FNG for this series, #bearglove, who stumble_ucked his way into the Night Ride intro(s) that'll ruin you for anything else.

It's funny/peculiar because we have been hitting the local Goods so hard we are at risk of too much fun, and it's because the motivation is so present. You know how it is when you can ride it whenever.



It will always be there.






You might as well stay in and watch that good and important television show, because- fuck it, there's all these opportunities just lining up to be took. Save the effort for a really perfect ride, and keep holding down your place on the couch. You got time.

Until you don't. I mean, sure, someday you'll die (wait- if I eat right and live in America, that's optional these days, right? right? amiright?) but that's not even in the picture. You might move away, though, from your good scene and easily accessible, friendly trails staffed by willing and known trail stewards and trusty ride guides. You might move away, and realize you miss the Goods. You might move away and realize you missed the Goods! Heading down to that one trail, or rolling up to the twisty stuff you heard tell of, and meant to...but didn't...yep, all those opportunities just will not wait.



It will always be there.



It will. But you can still miss it. Especially if you don't motivate to do it. So. With YOc___ back and willing (stoked, even) and Mr. P back and willing (like, really) and #bearglove lining up to knock em down before he no longer has these opportunities...well, I am the one who really benefits.



It will always be there. Go and get it.

skilled devotees of one of the world's most exacting hobbies

Everbody got to love something. One of the the things I love the most is riding bikes. You may feel similar. And a further subset of Love is racing cyclocross. That is some kind of a hurtful Good Time, let me tell you. In spite of the impending collapse of predictable global weather patterns that is currently manifesting itself here in California as SERIOUS DROUGHT and which results in candy-assed conditions for cyclocross (sunny, and hot?!) the courses laid out by CCCX have been fun and challenging.

Last week's multiple barriers and series of punchy rises made for one type of racing (which suited my candy ass), while this week's had only the one barrier and a couple tiny punches with the deep-like-bottomless sand and the ripping road bits (not suiting my candy ass). As I was breathing down the neck of the racer/foe in front of me going into the woodchip/sand twisties, he lost it in the corner and I ran into his wheel...that guy apologized for crashing and blocking me. Lesson? Shit. Racing is chaos. I twisted my bars (old ass hella upright quill stem and wide OG WTB dirtdrops) in this incident, but it's a race! so I kept rallying with a 20* list to the left. Places were lost as we got ourselves sorted. This got me a little panicky-

Look. I KNOW it doesn't really matter, that it's just a local old guy B race with no Glory or accolades, and it bores even my own family, but. It does matter. In that moment it is a savage contest and I am in it to win whichever battle I can. Win one, chase down the next fool. Not in my category? Good. It means I'm moving up through the fodder. Fuck. Eat. Kill.

and being rattled will make you crashy. Yes, leading 3 clowns into the tight sandy switchbacks, I washed the front wheel and stuffed myself into the bushes. I should have taken those guys out with me to preserve placing? No mercy! But the clown immediately behind me yells at me to get up and get back on his wheel so we can chase down the clowns in front of us both?  Damn. I love cyclocross.

Well, I had twisted my bars 20* to the right in that one, but I jumped up and tried to chase- nope. I had to stop and manhandle them straight and then try to chase. Places were lost. Racers whose asses I'd handed to them last week were drilling me this week. I watched __ ride away consistently on the road bits and barely be able to bring him back, get pissy that I was "stuck" behind him on the techy stuff, and then have him stick the knife in again when we returned to the road bits. Round and round we go. I was simultaneously pissed that he kept attacking (and I couldn't answer) and admiring that he had such ability. Ability on the smooth flats, but real lack on the punchy accelerations and the tech stuff?  It's a puzzler, the love and the hate.

Because that's what it is about. Love. Chivalry. Pageantry.

At the cyclocross sports game, you will find spectators hollering at crash victims to shake it off and get back in the race, giving time splits to teammates and their rivals alike, cheering anybody. Cowbells. Boobs (well, some man-boobs were shown anyhow, and we can hope it takes off). Fireball handups (which, that awful cinnamon "whiskey"will make you seriously consider throwing up for a lap or so). Etc. The people there are there because they are participants, not simple gapers. Everybody understands what it takes to ride the dang thing, slow or fast, and there is the community because of this.

At the end, after chasing and chasing and never catching, I was able to pass this one guy in a sprint to the line. He knew I was coming, and when I pipped him his exclamation of dismay was all the victory required.

Savages. Finding meaning and satisfaction in the dust.

spirits refuse to fade away

but they will rotate, so's to prevent stagnation. Stag nation. Like it's comrade, Rust, it never sleeps but it also don't work as hard so you can beat it if you're willing to put in a little effort.

It's October Break (you know- when the kids get a week off of school) and we ain't got the resources to ride the highline thru the Himalyas, tour the Continent's finer salons, or explore the most picturesque of the lesser known slot canyons but. BUT. We can discover the wonders of nature, rolling in the rushes down by the riverside. A quick and dirty overnighter way down Arroyo Seco way?



That's all you had to say.

The stripped downest of trips. The kids all carried they own sleeping gear, no extras (i.e. folding camp chairs, 2 burner stoves, cast iron dutch ovens, or the like as per past trips), and we had the barest of food set ups...means poppa can forgo the big Big Dummy, and we can all fit in one car for the drive out to the trailhead. Yes, they are unwilling to ride the 45 miles to the ride. Soft.



The weather has begun to turn, (though central California is never that cold) and we don't love the yahooery that runs rampant at the "gorge" anyhow, so it was an easy unanimity to keep rolling rather than head down into the shadows and the yelling in favor of keeping on towards the sunshine and the quiet.






So after all that, there is the this:







And you can lounge creekside in the hammock hoping the beer fairy shows up...

paradigm of self-effacement

So my achilles tendon had been bothering me pretty good after the #2 CCCX race (followed by the long grinder road ride the next day, duh) and I been staying off the clipless pedals and wearing shoes that don't grab my heel, etc. Also, I been using the Roll Recovery R8 (totally recommend!).

Result? I'm feeling much better. As I dip my toes in the deep end of trying to age gracefully*  (just turned 46?!) I find an increasing need to stay on top of "minor" body issues in order that they not become "major" body issues. If that don't make sense, wait awhile...it will eventually.

Anyhow, I go to the races "for work", and not racing is a drag. Seeing everbody out there suffering, and hearing the post-race tales of glory with no stake in the matter is sad making. Today, I felt better enough to mix it up. I even warmed up for the first time ever, and I think that made a real difference. I try to always pre-ride the course (not a given), but never an actual warm up, and always a sneer for the goons on their trainers. Well, as usual, the joke's on me. That stuff is legit.

I felt good, the course suited me, and in spite of dropping my chain twice (surprise! coast along one handed and fit it back on while getting passed...) on account of my questionable decision to ditch the front stuff for a 1x set-up with a played out short cage XT from 1993 and half a reflector bracket for a "keeper", well I finished pretty good. What a fun day: self-inflicted punishment, the crushed dreams of my rivals, pinatas, squirt guns, yep.

I got home and told the wife how I'd placed, and she asked out of how many people overall. The hurtful joke continues...




Hey. Really do check out that Roll Recovery business. It is helpful.









*remain able to do all kind of kick ass fun stuff.

a puppet for forces greater than myself

What do you do with a couple consecutive days off, some nice weather and a full moon, and a bunch of losers for friends who won't go on a mini bike tour with you? Yes, that's right. You just pack up and go by yourself.



Heading straight out the valley with 2 wheels and a gangster lean, I rolled along on the Surly Ogre with the fattish front end on account of I was heading for some dirt along the way...



I stopped because it was hot. I was tired. There was shade. I had a swap the bar ends from their aero position to one that would help with climbing. Etc.



It was all timed so perfectly. I hit that good corner just at moonrise. That was a fine spot to stop and savor. What a glorious evening. What a fine harvest moon. What enchanting prospects for cool, quiet climbing in the silvery light.



I don't know when was the last time you scavenged dropped-in-gravel BBQ flavored Cornnuts (I won them at the bike races!), but I reckon that's the last time you were really living. To be so wrung out and hungry and in such an environment...well, it's a genuine pleasure.

After lounging and savoring and appreciating and getting stiff and cold, I climbed the old dirt road for the next hour or 2 and it was just me and the moon. My wife says she would never ever go out there alone, and I understand. The first several times I was solo in the back of someplace, it was scary and I slept poorly. But nothing bad happened. There's no monsters. Mountain lions don't want to eat me. And stuff. By now, it's not a thing. I do enjoy the company of others, but there is a lot to enjoy solo as well- quiet, relaxed pacing, relaxed schedule, flexibility. So climbing up that road in the dark (I leave my lights off to appreciate the moonlit goodness) was real fine. Eventually I reached the spot and stopped. Just a sleeping bag and the sky for a roof. I sleep very lightly when I'm by myself, but it's not a bother. It's another opportunity to look around and know I'm where I am and be glad of it.



The spring. So much flow. When I got there, the plastic basin some smart guy left was full of gnarly algae and dead bees. I dumped it out and put my pots and a water bottle in there, hoping they would be close to full in the morning. And they were, plus plenty. The water tasted...earthy.



Yes.



Whatever ate this little fox was hungry. It even turned the face inside-out to get at the ear muscles!



All that is downhill. Happily downhill. But it does lead to a long and hot and long and hot and long crawl over to a substantial, though shady, climb. I found myself breaking the day into stages, but then there were the in-between-stages stages, also. You have a lot of time to think about minutiae on a long and hot and long crawl. For example: how I don't love the bar ends at all. They were not very useful as aero bars, and they're not very comfortable as bar ends, and I don't like the enclosed sensation at my hands, nor the reduction in bar width. I removed them for the final descent. To maximize my steering and promote a more positive end feel.

Bikes. Bike riding.



The thing is, if you wait for your buddies' plans to coincide with yours then you may be waiting for quite a while. Why wait?

a Valentine from a politician

Worth as much as the paper on which it's printed. That sums up this blog, and it accounts for all your race results, too. Don't kid yourself- if it ain't ____ it's worth less. I fill in that blank with the word "FUN", you do what you want since you will anyhow.

It was off to the races, in with a shout, and ending with a whimper. I will allow I considered vomiting as a real option at one point. That sand pit(!), and the barriers at the top of the climb (especially the staggered 3rd...)? Dastardly. I enjoy that shit. Cyclocross racing (the riding never stops- it's the perfect bike for these parts!) is here again, and we cry havoc and let loose the dogs of war. Battle! I am a very middle of the pack racer, but. But, I love a battle where I find it. I enjoy stuffing people in the corners wherever possible. I find a deep satisfaction in kiping someone else's clean line. It pleases me to hear the grunts of effort and despair in my wake. I am sad when people come from behind and I cannot answer. There is joy in barbed heckles.



Where were you when we filled the tub of water with ice from the cooler and blasted the racers with stream machines (shoots up to 70'? lies. But it will hit a mean 15' in the face. You know, if you're OK with it. Don't wanna ruin any strangers' or contenders' race...)? What were you doing instead of waiting to pile on the goodie spray as the As swung their fists at the orca pinata? We stuffed it with 80's NIB flouro bar tape, cowbells, coozies, tootsie pops, and corn nuts. A couple pairs of gimme plastic sunglasses which, surprisingly happily survived the bashing. And we waited. We waited until the As for that stunt, thinking they are the ablest bike handlers, but it's a double-edged pinata bat on account of how serious they tend to take the racing part of the race...maybe Bs next time.

So. CCCX#1 went well. Back at it next week. If you hear this:



know that's us and come join the party.

lies and hype

I should just go ahead and change the name of this blog. It could also be "stuff I forgot".

I forgot to mention that the CaliRoots Festival happened. I'd been interested in seeing Don Carlos, and Yellowman puts on a good show, but it is Israel Vibration that really moves me (even without Apple). I rode by the fairgrounds after work and the sounds were OK. Rather than spend $ and hassle through the crowd (nowadays I can't do it- the overwhelming throngs of tank-topped bros in it for the weed, etc) I leaned my bike against the fence across the street and had myself a little party. The last 3 or 4 songs were pretty tuff. #dancelikenobodyswatching

I said that to say this: I did see my loveley co-worker, R______, on her way in. She called me a Geezer(!), and meant it in the nicest way you can mean it. She meant it. That was pretty good. It's my 1st, of what I assume to be many. I'm 45, for what it is worth.

Finally, I forgot that I remembered what gravity is like. You know, how it just insists. Constant tug, you can really depend on it when you are swinging the bike through one turn and into the next. Gravity is plumb down. I dig that. Fast descents are another plus.

enjoy it before it's over

Some sleep in the dirt therapy is just the thing. Secret Boys style.



Want the treatment? Get out there and set up your fancy tarp while it is still light. Swang on the rope. Explore some new bits of woods. Wait for sunset. Ride around doing whatever it is you do. Eat take-out burritos in the dark, and wish for a candle lantern (which is something you haven't thought about since Boy Scouts). Talk amongst yourselves. Awaken several times in the night and lay there, listening to the soft rustling of the wood rats amongst the beer cans hidden in the tree. Think about various configurations of material in an attempt to maximize fun space. Relish being out in the woodsy night time.



Check out morning in the woods. Gaktronic likes to sleep on the platform, and he really likes having the roof. It spit a little the other night while I was out solo (and shelterless), so I brought the tarp along this go round. I am super happy with it.



D and I slept on the ground. 



Fun with Princess Bride ad libbing. The boys are well versed in that film.



What you do not see is me. I found a set of insulated coveralls. Perfect for lurking incognito.




Spontaneous mild derbying...I was so proud.




"Make your camp face."



May you experience aero tucks and kindly bears.

jockin the bitches...slapping them hoes

So we have TVs in the bike shop, which make a lot of convenient sense if we are showing Le Tour live (or I guess any bike related content- for a while we had Quicksilver on repeat, which I enjoyed). It makes little to no sense if we are showing other stuff, and to me is distracting/irritating. I'm crusty and out of date I guess. Social media demands human sacrifices. I have my small rebellions in turning the TVs to the Home Shopping Network, or any of the Spanish telenovas (bewbs, hehe).

And as we have these TVs, and it is Tour Time: today's stage. It was a good one! I very much appreciated the addition of the cobbles, and the rain, too. Same old bitching from those inclined to bitch about PRO racing being too hard. I say, conditions are never "too tough". Conditions were perfect! Why...they should have moats filled with alligators as "road furniture". Tejay Van Garderen is as soft as David Millar. "You guys got your drama..." I wonder what he thinks is the point? Souped up dummys riding their balls out asses off is the point- it's "racing", and PROs be ge__in paid to do it. So shut up and dance, monkey.




Yes. I realize.

Living in hope

that some day you'll be in with the winners? Stop. Please, for real. Stop and consider your hopes your dreams, your day in and your day out. Stop and check this out (the whole thing- you are just wasting time here anyhow):



Fact: Bonnie Rait is under appreciated. And, to my mind, fact: almost hitting yourself in the face with a bird you've startled up trail-side on account of how much rally you are carrying down with you is the very definition of success.

I cuddled my bike today. Leaned into the descent and hugged up tight with my cheek laid along the stem while all thoughts of slowness or braking fell away. My speed increased with jumpy acceleration and I was pulled willfully toward the bottom, Gravity was working so hard it yanked tears from my eyes.

If a simple commute can make me feel that nice...

shoulds

If you could you would.

Fort Ord is a hot and sandy mess right now, and getting sandier. Charge that line, keep your weight centered, keep the bars centered, stay off the front brake, GO! You will bury that front wheel and stack it up/pack it in, all tangled in the front end, dirt in your mouth...that is a given. You will get up and spit out the sand thru a smile? That is a maybe. You tell me.


There is other riding to be had around these parts, but it doesn't bear writing about for several reasons. Lots of info should not be easily obtained nor posted on the ineverbody'sbusinessternet. Boys at the shop STRAVA all day about their training rides. Alright for some. Me? I'll be off in the shadows, under the radar, into the Good Stuff.




In questionably publishable news, my very own boys and meself are working at keeping our side up. Weekly (attempted) bike campouts are happening. Blogger is a real pain in the ass these days in re to posting photos, so just imagine the blacked out eye bars a la 50s stag movies...



We forwent a campfire this go round on account of it's a bust. We need a better spot. I've been keeping these easy as we build up to venture further afield. There's only so much fun you can extract out of a school night, anyways...



The new tarp is proving itself worthy. J requests it. I think sleeping roofless is still wracking his nerves a little.





Sleepy boys wake up in the woods, at 5:30AM, on a school day. I count that as a win.



Better than a bus ride!












They have no idea how good they got it.



We headed over to the Bagel Bakery for breakfast and then onto school. Just like it were everyday life.

as seen at the ___________

One reason for all the giddy (up, ness) is I put my SS back together. It was in parts for a bit, and you forget how a bike is special when it isn't ridden. I do, anyhow. It is that sort of forgetfulness and laissez faire which backslides into "they all ride like bikes"... which is true, but fuzzy. Some girls are bigger than others, you understand. Well, that SS is Super Snappy! Short stays make for some quick response.

Allergies have taken my top end for the past few days, but the jump remains. I been realizing there are only not trails in those spots because I haven't made any yet (which is profounder than it seems at first). And so this morning I jumped off the road at a likely spot and poked around. Feeling froggy, hopping powerfully up the little ups while looking to expand my throat pouch and get back the breath-dependent top end. Doing it, you know.

I spied a healthy bobcat and raced him. Saw a Red-shouldered Hawk (buteo lineatus) toting a fat mouse up from the tall grass, so that was my totem for today. On account of I like them, and you can't always be the skunk-with-it's-head-in-a-jar.



Laying down fat (but totally controlled) skids through the pine duff, etc. Trying to stay ready so I don't have to get ready.

strike from the shadows and slip away unseen

Some bike trips are bigger than others. 6 days on the road...




Some bike trips' mothers are bigger than other bike trips' mothers. True fact. It makes a twisted kind of sense if you really think about it; the kind of thinking one can really only settle into whilst sitting around on your saddle with several other wasted and weather blasted hobos in the middle of nowhere deep in the heart of an 11 hour pedal. Drifting in and out of the here and now as weather, clothing, road/trail conditions, hunger, exhaustion, hilarity, helpful teammates, the availability of water (or tallboys), etc conspire to effect change.

Such weather! Sleeping in a luxurious campground shitter. Sleeping under a jury rigged $4 blue tarp as the storm raged and the thunder crashed about 18" overhead, and the hail fell hard and loud. Sleeping roofless under clear skies. Etc.

I enjoyed the ____ out of the Condor Tour 2014, and all of y'all who rode along were solid and even-tempered hard men of a type seldom seen in this modern and pussified world. Thanks, bros, I never had a better time. The wall rides down the penultimate downhill? Watching a paceline of dirty yahoos loaded with bags and racks hit them in formation? Words.

It was as though we were on a secret locals' tour everywhere we went. Super well routed. Several folks referenced the currently ubiquitous finely-documented bike touring epics sponsored by X, Y, and Z and laughingly compared our rag-tag band-of-brothers shoot-from-the-hip rough-and-tumble aggregate to that kind of slicksterism. Each time, we all laughed. Well, looking around at the other dirtbags, you had to. There was not the matching kit, nor the matching bikes, no support car, and the guy at the liquor store in Santa M_______ was so convinced I was just another homeless DUI on a bike he tried to deny me a plastic bag (which I needed in order to tear in half and line my disgustingly wet, cold and smelly shoes)...you know, regular assholes on whatever they brung.



I wish I had photos of all of it, but- alas!- I left my phone on the 1st day, and it died. I would show you the different set-ups, because that sort of thing is interesting to me. I was surprised and impressed at the packing skills some of these fools evidenced, as in "how does he keep pulling more warm clothes out of there?" and "I wish he had shopped for me instead of my own lousy choices", or "I'd like some of your beer", etc. As for me, I was running the well-used and trusted Surly Ogre, as it had served me well on the Death Valley Ramble and other bike campouts. I ran the Big Wheel front end because there were to be multiple dirt sections (local singletracks, oh yeah!) and I like the float without the complexity and I understand Murphy's Law. I was ridiculed and envied in turn...there were also lots of road sections. Overall, I am satisfied with my choice. I do wish I had run lighter racks and not assumed that my packed-to-go sleeping bag was the synthetic model I thought it was in stead of the susceptible-to-soaking down version that it actually was (check your gear, meathead). My choice in rain wear was the controversial waxed cotton poncho/chaps, and it worked as well as anything does in a full-on gale but it was slow to stow, requiring stopping and strapping. I feel like it was 6s, even given the headwinds (many and mighty). I did miss a wind-proof layer, and will remember it next time. My Jiffy-Pop surprise failed when sorely needed- the aluminum pan had taken too much abuse and sprung a leak, dropping ugly red geasewax all over the stove. I want a bigger tiTAINium cook pot. Using the future stove instead of my cave-tech Kelly Kettle not only saved bulk (we split the load) but worked in all the soaking wet conditions that would have really stymied the wood burner (thanks, To_d!).

Riding a paceline is a skill, and it is worth having. Those fellows all knew what they were doing, and it showed. Hand signals, laying off the brakes, etc. We moved along at a good clip, which felt great sometimes and was all I could do to hang on at the back other times. I will say- when you come to the front, do NOT surge, but keep the pace even. It hurts the yoyo at the rear.

I am left with Good Feelings. Mostly, I am deeply impressed with the routing- it was SO good. But also, I respect and admire the spirit of brotherhood (without getting mystical- it's just riding bikes) shown so casually.

If you go...just go. You don't need anything fancy. The gear you have is the best gear of all. Use it.

then light your torches and go!

 This internet, jeez. It is winter here, and for many of us that means decreased ass kicking in the out of doors. Kick ass adventures are some celebratory shit, maing! That's where you get your Good Feelings from. That is not to be taken lightly. I'm not talking about some SAD bullshit, either, I'm talking about the source of some postive, creationary, eff you en.

When folks are not having some type of Good Feelings on a regular basis, they begin to feel mean. And lowdown. They begin some rants on the internet? Somebody might be upset...for instance, that carbon is so heavily used in the bike industry on account of they feel it is a creaky, breakable and expensive sleight of hand. Prolly mostly that it is so damned expensive. Or, maybe mostly that they weigh nearly 200lbs and ride the shit out of their stuff (daily) rather than polish it and wait for the fucking Saturday ride to race their Cat 5 buddies to the 1.5 hour mark, only to replace it next year with the version 2.0 because if it's new, it's better, right? Clearly.

Perhaps it's these new guys, the ones all fired up about fat bikes, that are the next bogeymen. I hate the hipster infusion of (recent everything) "colour ways" and their co-option of classic men's fashion into a stale, jokey uniform of moustaches and whatever the hell they call that haircut from the 1920s...but a fixed gear bicycle is a joy forever and classic men's wear is classic because it works. Those are stone cold facts. Hey, a fat bike is just a fun time, it's not the fair target for hating the new school. I remember when.

Or, somebody might feel like giant bike company A,B, or C has instigated the complete ruination of cycling via _____________. A legitimate concern, I'll grant you. Particularly in this era of "flagship" and "elite" brand-only stores. The soul can leak out thru that hole real easy, but.

All a these customers coming in to the shop with their me-too and their give-me-a-deal might find their way to becoming in love with cycling for the simple sake of pedaling along on a kick ass adventure with whatever gear(s) on whatever surface. They might. The benefit of the doubt could usefully be given at first glance, on a temporary basis, on a case-by-case tip. It wouldn't hurt. And if they don't? fuck 'em. Sell homeboy that geegaw with a smile.

Look. Nobody likes to have their scene turned out. To see this bastion of hardness softened up and divided. There was a recent interview in Dirt Rag with Missy Giove (remember?) that had a relevant bit about having the mtb race scene invaded by athaletes. People were bummed that genetic freaks had come calling to their fun thing and turned it into something....mmm...less pure. Folks had been attending the mtb county fair because they loved it and it was it's own reward, and then the money and the Circus had come to town, and it was clowns to the back of the train.

None of that can make actually riding any less rad than it ever was. Let the fools and their shysters have each other. We have bikes. To the limited and self-selected audience reading these words: If you are not riding, you are blowing it. I personally don't see how that happens, as the riding is required or I start getting mean and lowdown my ownself, but I see that it does, so. Shut up and ride.

 Maybe take a ride to your local graveyard and drink a beer near a mausoleum. It's quiet. Well, it might be on your way home from work.





And, as regards the recent (and welcome!) wet weather, I remounted the fendered and fixed Schwinn Le Tour; an old and trusted friend. Some 32s and a hella raked fork swing me to and from my work and garden path type trail use. And, yes, that fender line is tight.

 None of my experience with technical rainwear has been positive, so I'll let y'all in on a secret you won't like: Carradice riding poncho and Filson tincloth chaps:

Well, I said you wouldn't like it. Yes it's heavy, yes it suffers if there's crazy winds or one is descending a col whilst being chased down by the peloton, and yes it actually keeps you dry and comfortable. I don't use this combo on short "training" rides, I use it for a day(s) on the bike. For short stuff that sees a warm shower and dry bed soon, I'll either use more aero "normal" gear or just trust in wool to keep me warm while wet. For long stuff, or camping, you can't be too dry or comfortable. I know you will, but...don't kid yourself.

there was a time when you didn't know what you know today

For what it's worth, this guy is KILLING IT with regards to using his mind and his imagination to have the fun including the bikes.

In related events, I got 3 flats on the last ride of 2013 (the Old year). I don't hold with no CO2 bullshit for just such a reasons. And, to the fellow shop employee who told me to throw away the old tube and put a new one in- YOU KNOW BETTER! Gah. OK, so it's got 4 patches on it now. 4 is the limit. It's good for a while yet, I hope.

Yes, that is a winter sangletrock around here. Also, that one log removal/moval/reremoval situation seems to have been resolved in our favor. The log remains, far off the trail. Success.

Mom really came through with the perfect Xmas present...

We're giving it the serious test tomorrow after work. Who has 2 thumbs, like to ride streets and trails, and throw back the low-end hooch? Most of us, I guess. (Ron Andrews, a.k.a. King Cage, is a man with whom to be reckoned. Support.) Now, while I have heard from some that mounting the flask on one's bike begs the attention of others and that it were better kept under the cover of a pocket, I see it both ways. I like to have my booze and drink it too as much as the next guy, but this "fender" action just cries out PARTY to me, and I dig that. In your face!

Welcome 2014! We still here. Back at it this year. Finally, if you don't already love Kool Keith, you better learn.

leave your wack style at home; you won't be needing it

You know what's never faded? Camping and bike riding. It is always ill. A plan (quick and dirty. Isn't it ever?) was hatched. Based on insider knowledge claimed by the FNG of the month, we thought we'd head down South and bang out a semi-moonlit Old Coast Road. This knowledge was pure speculation, and like all pipe dreams did not pan out. We did have a sweet overnight adventure anyhow, because how are you not gonna?

Plan called for meeting at the shop at a time and driving down to Bixby. That one dude invited himself along, even though I have told him to his face that I did not want to ride with him on account of (he asked, so I told him) he makes bad decisions. This is the guy who, after I told him this, related to the other guy that he had no idea what I meant by that. Yeah. So he attempted to barge this trip. Showed up with all his camping gear and a rental bike? So I told him again and specific to this ride (though it applies to all of them) he ain't coming. Some people will not learn. I am amazed. Maybe this will stick with him and he'll change his ways and grow as a person. Either way, I will not be bothered to babysit him. Crazy.

So, the 3 of us left the drama behind, and hit the liquor store for the top shelf shortcut. Booker's bourbon. After that it's nothing but get down, get up, and get started. Riding away from the truck in the 1/2 full and waxing moon is such a promise. Poor choices were made. Hills were climbed and descended and climbed and descended and climbed. We ended up in the dirt. I woke up alone in the dark by the campfire and shuffled off to my sleeping arrangement.

In the morning, before the sun had cleared the ridge, I looked to my left and there was the FNG, in his sleeping arrangement: a fleece blanket. That's it! No pad, no bag, no groundcloth, no problem. Well, shit. 21 and new to the game, there he is winning. It is a strategy for him, though. This princess needs his comforts. Then I look over to my further left and there is my loser friend, Mr P, literally shivering in his bivy sack sans bag. I LOLed. If I notice what clowns these guys I'm living in the woods with are, it means I am the only one who's not a clown, right? Isn't that the deal? If you look around and there are no clowns then you are the clown? So the reverse must be true.

It feels true.

I fired up the Kelly Kettle (wisht I'd gotten the larger size) and found a proper poo spot with a lovely view. Coffee drunk, we proceeded to ride over and down. No breakfast, no lollygagging. Mr P had to get to work by 10AM.

 Achey heads make for wincing on the pedals. In spite of this, we were well on track to make it to the church on time when Mr P cracked. Got off the bike, red in the face, and attempted to recover. Shedding layers, water, and fancy packaged candy bar did not bring him back like he'd hoped. Nothing for it but to start walking.

 Then the FNG got a flat on his rental hybrid with the borrowed panniers, borrowed rack, and borrowed tyres.

  Timeline was all the way blown, but no one was upset.

 That is a picture of failure.

 
And that is failure's bike. I dig the 80's everybike bleu, but do not love the white socks.

 The FNG had never done any riding of this sort before. I believe his horizon is widened now. Or deepened. At least pushed around some.


Mr P made it to work about 20 minutes late- not bad! The other 2 went to Red's (since 1957!) for coffee and donuts and creepy clown portraits.

I don't brag. I mostly boast.