the subject and his skeleton

On the patio in the sun. Listening to the soft, random tinkling of BB-riddled beer cans as they gently rock in the breeze. I squint. It could be the glorious light of the lazy, 68* Spring morning. Or, it could be the heavy ghosts of the failures of rides past.

Specifically the Sleaze Otter. I have spoken about this "race" and it's attendant issues at length with it's director, the elusive Carmel Bob, and certain parallels with my own experience in group ride organization and inter-personal dynamics within the peloton have come to the front and gone on a flyer.

I am reminded of the 1st time we put on the now annual White Rim Overnight (what's the date this year, by the way, Moabites?) which was the crucible in which the Church of the Sweet Ride was stewed and from which it emerged, fully and beautifully formed. It is a long story which I think we've already covered, so suffice to say that the group splintered at the first hint of trouble. A bunch of folks wanted to settle for some shitty soft option of Slickrock Practice Loop when we had just driven 2 hours for the event. Because they could scurry back to the car if it stormed. Drama, insults, excuses and bullshit ensued. Some folks rode, some folks took their bikes and went home. The folks who were all go were then treated (some would say "subjected") to a grand spectacle of a bicycle ride. Yes, it could have been the night-long wheel-miring sandstorm that loomed on the horizon, and that would have been miserable. Really and for real. But, it wasn't. It was too much for words.

Hey. Got a bike? Like to look at it? Talk about it? Uh huh. Keep talking.

You should occasionally

Recently, I invited 2 bicycle enthusiasts to accompany me on a questionable bike camping trip. 1 of these fellows declined, wisely and politely saying "My mommy just got into town, sorry I can't go, plus it sounds totally sucky." The other of these remains incommunicado, which I took and take to mean that he also knew the idea to be a bad one. I said as much in the invite. I said, "it's prolly a bad idea, but..." and those are the words that started the Church of the Sweet Ride, and they are the words by which I try to live.

Well, HA! Only Day 2 totally sucked. Day 1 was so great! So much downhill in such nice conditions...zero bugs! snow, in the high country! no people at all! Y'all really blew the 1st day. Plus it would have been nice to have some help around for when I highside pedal strike the super off-camber and nearly pitch out into the abyss. I had to take a moment after that one. I will say, the awareness of being at the business end of things all alone and far out colors one's experience. It makes for some cautious type rallying. It is a vein worth mining, solo back-country riding. I asked myself: could you be transported to that place? And I answered myself: No. It is part and parcel, the Suffering involved to reach it. It sanctifies it. It is fucking exalted.

Let's not speak of Day 2, save to say 1) it was waaaaay better than last year (which, yes, I said I would never do again), and B) I got so frustrated and hateful I chucked my loaded bike over a hundredth deadfall and ended up bending the hanger pretty badly miles from nowhere. It was fixable. With the feet and hands, proper leverage and brute force, it was fixable, but it sucked anyhow. Over all, the trip was not worth doing. Though I have a high threshold for suck, once it is crossed there is no returning.

But, if we could work out just the Day 1 route...we'd be on to something.

Was this you?

J pedals alone.

The release:
Yes! It's on now.

We took the training wheels off and the pedals too. Slammed the seat and let him coast for a while. It's a real smooth transition. With no pedals in the way, kids can use their legs as outriggers while they fine tune their balance. He's been hauling ass around the yard for weeks now, picking his feet up and coasting. He has a solid (rock steady) grasp on pedaling from his tour on the "trailerbike". Now he's got to get a handle on stopping- never his strong point.

That pink bike was his sister's 1st . Then his brother's 1st. Then a family friend's 1st. Then another family friend's 1st. Now it's back.

It's like the priest and the altar boy here at Church HQ. But without all the creepy undertones. And it's on.

TWIN PEAKS

Because who doesn't love a damn good cup of coffee?

Dianne, the weather is putting me in the mood for a Twin Peaks Marathon. If only we hadn't loaned our 1st tape in the series out...oh, well. We can start with the 2nd episode. If you haven't seen this show, you are living in a fool's paradise. I'll say this one more time: If you don't like David Lynch, you're wrong. You actually do. Stop kidding yourself and git to watching.
Twin peaks was on television for only 2 seasons during 1990 and 1991. It's amazing the show made it on air at all, with it's risque-for-the-time subject matter (the drug and sex related murder of a small town prom queen) and it's truly bizarre characters: Stiff, black coffee drinking pie-addicted FBI agents; mill town oddballs; scheming teens; log wielding spinsters; visionary supernatural beings...

The show is so evocative...and there's lots of plaid wool. You know we love that. Even Cookie Monster loves this show. Folks can get obsessive with David Lynch material, and I can understand that. Even (bikes) though (bikes) we're (bikes) not (bikes) obsessed with (bikes) anything (bikes), are (bikes) we(bikes)? (Freemasons secretly rule our country, fnord.) You could take a quiz about it here. I turned out to be Agent Cooper, but I must admit the questions were so leading, I was pretty sure where it'd end up...And I completely forgot : I worked as an overnight security guard at the Peaks hotel in Telluride Co, for several (glorious ski bum) years. Kyle Mclachlan stayed there and while delivering the NYT faxes at 3am, I wrote a note on his addressed to Agent Coop, thanking him for the show. I hope it unsettled him a little. It should have; if any show were to spawn legions of psycho-stalker-fans, it is Twin Peaks. L and I had grand plans to establish the "First Church of Twin Peaks, Leland Palmer accepted savior", and have services by watching episodes with communions of coffee and pie. In point of fact, this very holy order we are part of today, the fabled Church of the Sweet Ride itself, is a spin off of that church- which regrettably never made it off the ground. We were subsequently married in another spin off, headed by our roommate, the very Rebbi R__ W________ TransZionist Movement of somethingIforgot...he was dressed in a pleather feathered bird cape- but that's another story. And all of these churches are spun from the earlier days of the Church of the SubGenius Foundation which was then truly absurd and not so bitter as it seems now. "Pull the wool over your own eyes" is the best advice ever.

We're off to yell at people faster than us along Sierra Road. Look for the yahoos in plaid on yer live interweeb coverage. We'll be looking for local boy made good, Taylor Tolleson. Git em, Taylor!
Last year's Best Young Rider.This year all around good guy, and ?

Thursday's stage through Big Sur offers real fine viewing opportunities...who's with us?