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.

rolling wheel

there're only _ things in life that make it worth living

Ain't nobody feeling no pain.



Getting back to the basics of love can be handled any number of ways. We find bikes to be a access point. In keeping with our imaginary non-binding pledge to try to attempt a campout once a week, the boys and I headed out Sunday night for a stealthy schoolnight bike campout. Make an anachronysm out of that, why don't you?



In the interest of speed, we pared the load all the way down close to the bone. Sleeping stuff only. A take-out sandwich for dinner and the plan to get up and at it coffeeless and early for breakfast. Bold choices are required in certain circumstances.

We took the long way up the hill (it's dirtier) and wandered some on some trails until coming to the spot along my commute at which I'd hidden some beers last week



...because it's pretty much always a good idea to have some options. D_____ self IDs as a skater (he's all about that Skate Life), so pretty quickly the romance was over and I offered to take his pack in an attempt to maximize the enjoyment for him (he's 14). What the heck, it's fun for me regardless. I got a big dumb bike, pile it on. I tried to get J______ to give me his pack (he's 9), and he got offended and told me "NO. I'm not trying to add to your weight." Now, he is a pleaser, and given to the gratuitous ass-kissing, but the fact that he looked at it in those terms made my Grinchy heart swell. Later, when he was hot and red, he agreed to dump his pack on the Big Dummy.

Part of the choice for this week's location was showing the boys what is available to them, from their door, in terms of self-powered adventure. They don't need me to guide them on these trails. It's close enough, with safe enough traffic on the access, that it is wide open for kids.



And so this whole weekly campout scenario is a fine idea however you approach it, but not least on account of my skills are so rusty that I plain forgot to set up the new Crazy Creek Big Tarp* (used to good effect by C___ the machine on the Condor Tour and available thru QBP at your local bike shop!). I just popped a top and got to the twig and small branch gathering. We set up the fire on a trash-can lid that has been out there since I stumbled across this fine beer-drinking break spot.



aside: the forest floor in these parts is composed of duff, which makes for magic carpet trails and it creates a nice springy sleeping surface, but is also flammable as hell. This duff is inches thick.  A fire that catches this subsurface fuel can smoulder and spread a surprising amount. We are extremely cautious with our small, contained, and controllable twig fire. Hence the trash can lid in the middle of a bare, scraped-out circle of actual soil (dug down several inches to reach). In the morning, we used 3litres of water to out the fire, stirred the ashes in the mud, and re-sodded the whole area. You cannot tell we were ever there.



Sitting in the woods at night is a balm to your aches, whatever they may be. I balmed it up with some 1/4 full crescent moon through the pines and a 1/2 full beer in hand. Repeat 8 times. Moments like that is what it's about. Tell yourself whatever you like.



D_____ opted to sleep in the hammock. J______ and I took the forest floor.

I slept poorly. The tarp wasn't tied down at all corners, so there was an excess of tarp on tarp noise in the mild breezes we got. And I neglected to set up a pillow until pretty late into it. And it is some edge of suburbia type hoboing (one of the best kinds!) which lends itself to raccoons and skunks, neither of whom is afraid of your candy-ass and both of whom enjoy the people food hanging in a tree. But, I did wake up painless. The bed at home is too soft. My pine duff and Zrest (indestructible! cannot go wrong! what price, flawless performance? bulk. worth it?  you sleep on a flat/popped inflatable pad and tell me.)

The boys? I had to shake them awake at 5:56AM.



I was proud when J got up, out of his bag, and without being asked just began stuffing it. We boogied to break camp and begin the downhill to breakfast and school. An hour after waking up, we were sitting down to bagel sandwiches.

Everbody got to school on time. When (if) asked "where did you camp?" The proper response is, "I don't know."












*I cannot say enough good things about using a tarp for shelter. Light and compact. Useful in a variety of configurations. Weather? Pfft. Talk to me about the all night hailstorm during which my only complaint was being a little too warm. What else? If the bugs are so bad that you need a tent, it's likely a shitty time every time you stop anyhow and that's not my idea of fun. You do what you want, I'm using a tarp.

enjoy your prize

Long(ish) loops on the cross bike are their own reward.

But a stop at Monty's Log Cabin never hurt anybody. Subsequent to this little tour, I received a virtual introduction to birdcloud. Thanks, El Gato Negro, for the tour and the musical heads-up!

Those gals are the future.

Hey! California! get out there and enjoy some tacky dirt now that we got a little rain...

RIP Ol Possum

George Jones passed away yesterday, at 81. He has been my favorite. The greatest voice in country music, for sure. This is my favorite of his tunes, though there are many , many fine ones:

RIP, Ol Possum. Your race is run.

mind blown open

It was only a matter of time. I, for one, welcome the time. I love Kool Keith like I love Ralph Stanley. And if we are talking about hip hop that is off the beaten track (which track has beaten like that dead horse in the 2000s- we need more cowbell!), then:

I've spent a lifetime

                                                     
Fenced yards ain't hole cards, y'all.

All right.

work your fingers to the bone, what a you get?

...bony fingers, Brothers and Sisters. Bony fingers.









A Happy Labor Day to all my friends!






This is a blue belly workin man's lizard (Sceloporus occidentalis). After submitting himself to several catches and releases on D_____'s part, he graciously became the 1st ever lizard catch for J______. Maybe he was just tired.

Studies have shown that Lyme disease is lower in areas where the lizards occur. When ticks carrying Lyme disease feed on these lizards blood (which they commonly do, especially around their ears), a protein in their blood kills the bacterium that causes Lyme disease. The ticks' blood is therefore cleansed and no longer carries Lyme disease.- Wikipedia says _uck yeah.

Though, it could have been that J was up to speed on account of his new cockpit parts...we all know how fast carbon fibre makes one.
J needed a new saddle.
And his old post is clamp-style.
It was in the parts bin.
He only weighs 63lbs.
Sorry.




Ruling it on Mudhen Express.


Chasing him on foot.



He catches up to his brother,

...and they both ride off and ditch me.

Taught them well, I guess. Since Cross Season starts next Sunday(!) we talked race techniques. And how it is OK (and encouraged) to stick it to the other racers- but never hurt anyone.


Picking up longtime leftover empties from the cache in the Caprock.

Sizing up the competition.

Right before I pipped him at the line.

Old age, treachery, etc. And speaking of, my arms are feeling on the mend. Thanks to RestIceCompressionElevation, soft tissue work and some acupuncture. Riding was on hold. Frowny face. Now, I am feeling happy again. Smiley face.

Welcome to your future. I hope it has gainful employment, bicycles, checking for snakes under plyboard, secret hide-outs, rope swings, and beers in the woods with your bros.

like herding pussies

You people.


I try and I try. Y'all leave me no choice but to subject you to what has been filling my head, then. My motha ucking forearms are killing me. It's a combination of factors, resulting from grabbing and gripping at work and at play. I been laying off both as much as I can stand. I could complain about that.

Fine. It's Classic Country for you, my creepy internet connection (except you, Joe. You are a stand-up guy)...








You brought this on yourself.




...sorry, Kitty, but EmmyLou really owns this one.

Once upon a time called "Right Now"

Apologies for the cover, but there's no versions of Blaze Foley performing this one up on the Youtubes currently, and it's been my soundtrack of late. Skip to 41 seconds to avoid the talky talk:



...ride a bicycle but my ass gets sore. I used to be stupid, but I ain't no more. Might just be stupid to you...

Rain's been falling down relentlessly around here. Happily, this has not been a hindrance to my time atop the bicycle. I been riding till my ass gets sore. Lots of nighttime riding these days, now that I received some hand-me-down lights. Beat old Ni-Cad yellow tint Night Rider, but...it works! For what more could I ask? And, plus, Full Moon action keeps extending for days on either side of the waxing and the waning. It's been primarily fixed, since that's a good beater and who cares if it gets wrecked by weather/conditions? It just keeps quietly running.

Stay off the trails! Please. They are waterlogged but good. I know that mysterious yellow orb in the sky makes you wanna go get some, but really-let the trails drain first. I checked, and the wetlands in the Ord are lakes right now. We'll have water well into summer.

The boys and I been doing some maintenance (ask D about his bee stung ear and neck) for what that's worth (since the Monterey Pines keep dropping) and we believe we have found the new alternative to the demolished but lovingly remembered Stairs. Ask me where if you see me on the trails. You know, after they're dry...

do not fail to lend a hand and try to help him

Have a smile for him wherever you may meet him.

one of the few authentic mountain racers in the classical tradition

Damn.

are you listening, mobsters?

And, plus I been using the foam roller. (Just like I preach, but never practice.)



Oh, my that's exquisite. But it really, really works. 1o times per leg, and by 6 I think about quitting. At 8, it's crying time.

I prefer this one

so I'll repost it.



Merle does a nice cover, but it is a cover. And, here's one that won't break your heart, but may break you up:



Anyways.

music to share

Loretta Lynn.



Willie.



Allison Kraus and Union Station



Maxwell Street.



Roy. Orbison.




The Manhattans.



We miss you, Jerry.

We love Wayne the Train

Get some if you can...
Today was trailering Brown Lunch. Where the hell is the camera? Y'all need some more pictures of that shi_.

Have you listened to Real Country Music ?

Do yorself a favor, and give a listen. What passes for country these days is as bad as what passes for rap. Sit back with a can of beer and enjoy the dulcet tones of the very excellent Hank Thompson...

To this post I will add: Willie Nelson (so much more than you might think), George Jones, Tammy Wynette, Hank Williams, Hank Snow, (of course) Johnny Cash, Bob Wills, Patsy Cline, Leon Russell, Ernest Tubb, Jerry Jeff Walker, Waylon Jennings, Floyd Tillman, Merle Haggard, Orville Crouch,Loretta Lynn, who've I forgotten? This list is by no means exhaustive, and I'm not linking it because I don't feel like it- but if you don't have a knee jerk hatred of Real Country music ( or feel like getting past it if you do) these are good starters.

Also, I updated the Twin Peaks post with perhaps the most important pieces of the puzzle, that I'd forgotten to put in originally because my brain is small. Perhaps the blame for that lies with the current trends in country music. Rain and rain and rain leaves me no choice but to subject you to stuff like this rather than bikes bikes bikes.