No More Drama

Dare I say it? I have had a tame few days. I enjoyed a long ride on Saturday, and it was long over due. I experienced the peace that only exhaustion can give me. It was my first big week of miles, since before the trip to N.C.. It feels good to get off the porch.

Bump and Grind looms on the horizon, like an enemy ship, blocking the sun. I am not ready for a lap of Oak Mountain, much less the new longer lap. I am not throwing my hat into the "skirt bet". I hope you don't mind if I sit this one out. I wouldn't consider going at all (now that the Bike Chain Crew is all but a memory) save for the hard work and battle ready status, of Lil W.B.. He has put in the miles. He is bucking in the chute. Thanks, in no small part, to riding with Lil Mingo. He and L.M. are all cycling friends should be. They always ride hard. They always laugh, and you have to peel them off their bikes when the dinner bell rings. The group (formerly known as Bike Chain) could learn a thing or two from those boys. Seriously, can you make one ride a week for the crew? I know you have young kids, new girl friends, jobs and whatever the f^#$! Give Momma a night with the girls, cut the yard, GROW A PAIR! You are all grown men, use your talents to negotiate.... ONE RIDE A WEEK! Either that or lets get some beer and burn the jersey's, shorts, socks, stickers and all the other shit, that filled up the space where the rides used to go. I'm not pissed, I just miss the old days. I had two young boys, two jobs and a band of knuckle heads to manage, when I started riding with the crew. I did dishes, laundry, made dinner (whatever I could) to earn my miles. Negotiation is simple; find out what they want, and give it to them. Nuff said, I'm stepping off soap box.

I used to train all week for crew rides. I lived in mortal fear of those rides. Those days are gone forever. If it wasn't for Lil W.B, Big and Lil Mingo, Worm and Slade, I would have hung up my pistols.

Hey remember that time?

Nope.

W.B.Z.N.

Straight to Hell!

Maybe it's the poison ivy spreading like a gated sub division over my legs and arms. Maybe it's the groin injury I keep aggravating. Maybe it's the jammed ring finger that just doesn't feel right, months after my first crash of the year. Maybe it's the hammered knee, from the jump track crash. What diff does it make?



I hoped to be healed in the company of crew and magic trails in Ellijay and Pisgah. The riding was epic, no question. When I got home, I had the worst respiratory infection I have had since I laid in bed for three weeks with pneumonia. My house decided it needed several thousand of our dollars. My computer hard drive crashed and so did I...AGAIN! I have averaged a crash every two weeks, since late February. Whats the rub? My neck feels great! Go f#@^*+*# figure.



Then there are the human challenges. The confrontations out of the school yard play book. The small indignities that one must suffer as a price for turning O2, into exhaled breath. The subtle, passive aggressive pokes to the chest, that normally I don't acknowledge. In the current climate (tired, hurt, and out of reserves) the message goes to the bridge, where the pissed off captain fingers the "launch" buttons.


I know I am a comical character to all that know me. You would rather hear a funny story of how I fell in a creek, while my crew all stood around laughing. Sorry, I don't feel like putting on black face and singing "Mammy" for you. I am fresh off an engagement as the pissed middle aged guy, confronting a twenty year old douche bag, at the movies. I'm not coming to you as a repentant parishioner in the confessional, but as a guy ready to roll in the grass with the next prick, that flips my switch.



And the contenders are lining up. They started with the two dicks on carbon Scott's talking shit at the Stomp Out A Cure race in February. Even though I beat them both by a ton, all that remained was the anger. Not one shred of satisfaction survived the day. I had a mild skirmish with a rich Soflorida punk that almost crashed into my son. I held my tongue when the shop rat pushed my buttons. I have to say, when a local rider professed a high school love crush he had for the mother of my children, I think I behaved admirably. I gave him several outs, which he ran by like remote exits, on a desert highway. A few weeks later he let me know (in front of my wife) that he would have beaten me in the Red Bug Challenge, had he not been late.



Had any one of these grounders come my way, during a normal epoch, I would have dispatched with them like Pedroia. These incidents stack up like pancakes, and it just makes me want to box.



The bike is the cure. The miles are the meds. When the cure becomes the curse, and the conduit for all the bullshit, nothing flows. No matter where I go, the hate finds me. It could go either way, armistice or Armageddon. All I know is: the more I try to evolve, the more neanderthals I find.




W.B.Z.N.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Initiating loading sequence.

Got my laptop back bitches. I have a lot of anger. Pretend you are going to see Gallagher. Pretend you might get hit by shrapnel instead of casaba.....

W.B.Z.N.

I'm gonna go get my mind right. Seeya soon.

W.B.Z.N.

The Chain Gang

I haven't been this nervous before a race...ever. I was really feeling the pressure of 007's promise to make me his hood ornament. I do want to say for the record: I have huge respect for the secret agent, and from now until the end of time, you will never waterboard another negative statement out of me about him or any of his Willkillya kin. Nuff said.

The race was a well oiled machine thanks to Red Butcher, Frog legs, and a host of volunteers. The Black shirts were out in force and I would be lying if I said that I wasn't honored and over joyed to be counted among the Bike Chain Gang brethren. The race was proof that we are not just a bunch of dudes in matching Lycra.

Instead of the normal race re cap I'd like to say a few things about my friends/teammates/assassins:

Big Jim Slade:

No one who has ever ridden a bike, says worse things about themselves than B.J.S. He can't turn, he can't brake, he is slow. I am am stating once and for all, that we will not tolerate any more of that type of talk. Jim is stronger than most of the crew, and has learned how to f*^#)_+ race bicycles. He doesn't get the typical aggressive pre-race hate symptoms. He is a contender in any race in his class. You want a sport trophy? You gotta pass him. Plus it's no small thing to say he is the nicest, most generous guy ever. He would give you the expensive, only available in Europe, for team issue, shirt right off his back.

Spanish Mackerel:

He handles better than me. He corners better than me. He is funnier than everyone, but that's not the coolest thing about the Mackerel. He is the happiest racer ever. He will talk to you like you are sitting in your living room, during a race. He laughs when he is on climbs. If you get passed him, he will talk to you (and make you laugh) as you go by. He can ride once a week and still ride well. He can put in a few training weeks and take your lunch money. In any form, in shape, outta shape, he is always happy and funny. He will always be a better bike handler than me, no matter how much I ride.

007:

The dude has a life and job (which we can't divulge due to National Security laws) that would make a good book. He is strong as a couple Wakulla pit bulls, only way more determined and meaner. I really don't know him that well, but from the first time I met him at a Bump and Grind race, I knew he was a bad ass. I would like to hoist a few beers with him some time, and maybe ride with him in a non race scenario. He hunted me down like a dog during the race. He says (in his blog) that I was on a "Sunday stroll" but I was running like a sorority girl in a slasher flick. If he had his own bike, and a few more pre race laps, it would have been different. I am not being conciliatory, it's just a fact. Bury the hatchet bro, I would like to have some bladder control the next time I see you.

Big Worm:

What can I say about the big man (that will not send Juancho into a homoerotic, grand mal seizure)? Well lets keep it narrowed to race knowledge. If you want to know where the lines are for anything, road or MTB, follow Worm. A smarter cyclist does not exist. For the whole first lap, knowing how nervous and worked up I was, he coached me through all the lines, climbs, and single track. Once he got me through the stuff I was worried about, he let me by. Red Bug beats the crap out of his unhappy ankle, and I don't think his heart was ever in this race. He has kicked my ass for ten years straight on that trail. The only explanation for him not kicking sand in my face, was that he just didn't have his heart in it. He had a tough day and finally flatted. Had the laps gone clockwise? It would have been a whole different bottle of chain lube.

I would like to say a few words about Red Butcher and Frog Legs; Man, when you guys put on your race director hats, you really bring it. Fielding questions while doing twenty things at once? I would have melted down ten minutes after 7A.M.. There would be no B.C. Crew, no uniforms, no anything, if it was not for the diligence and patience you guys show for the cause. I could go on and on (and probably already have) but its a great thing you do for all of us. I know I will look back on this period of my life, sitting in a rocking chair, and I will laugh remembering all the stuff we have done and places we have ridden. I know I have post race euphoria, and I am caught up in the moment, but I would like to thank all the B.C. Crew for letting me be a part of the coolest Crew in town. I am proud to be associated with each and every one of you.

One final note to Mingo: It has been a dream come true watching Lil W.B. and Lil Mingo ride together this past few months. Lil Mingo is a lion and he has the spirit of ten kids. He is a testament to what a great Dad and rider you are. I can never thank you or him enough, for the feeling I get watching our sons ride and race together. Zak and Ice Berg have been great to those kids as well, they look up to you guys as hero's and a better example could not exist.

Congrats to all the people that raced this weekend. I would like to (and could) write pages about everyone in The Black Shirt's, but I narrowed it to my competitors. No disrespect intended.

BIKE CHAIN FOR LIFE! BLOOD IN BLOOD OUT!

W.B.Z.N.

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W.B.Z.N.

Rev On The Red Line

I am obligated (by a vow of death) to post this on behalf of my Bike Chain Brethren. Otherwise, they will give me a Killarney neck tie and do something to my face that will deny my family an open casket. All BS aside, this is a great event, that will make a ton of money for the Tallahassee Mountain Bike Association. Roll up to the line Bastards!

The Second Annual Red Bug Challenge is upon us. April 11th is the date, Forrest Meadows/Red Bug is the place. This was the "feel good" local race last year. This year, there is promise of better prizes and no Arctic animals on the race coarse. Last year I couldn't race, because I was unable to chip the ice off my drive train.

All proceeds go to the Tallahassee Mountain Bike Association for future good deeds on our local trails. So open your wallets, raise your heart rate, and rattle your molars out of you jaws. W.B.Z.N. will be rockin the mic like a vandal, and losing the race, to some pissed off beginner, on a six thousand dollar (full carbon) Scott. See you out there!

Go to: http://www.redbugchallenge.com/ to register.

GET BACK TO YOUR ROOTS BASTARDS AND BASTETTES!

W.B.Z.N.