Anything Goes

We are trying to get plans together for a farewell dinner for Fat Lad and Mrs. Lad tonight. Nothing has been set in stone so.....read the title of the post.

Al is knackered (sp?) so we will just be eating/drinking. They need time to pack and some others have kids....so early may be better. In the interest of time, I think we should eat in the North Monroe area. That gives everyone easy access to I-10 and Fat Lads hotel.

We need some of the Juancho crew in attendance!

Please post your ideas here for all to read, and please be as funny and sarcastic as you like.....

BASTARDS!!!!!

W.B.Z.N.

Whipping Boy

I slid out of work early yesterday. I was fresh from a day off and it made perfect sense to my Wrecking Ball brain to take another half day. Mr. and Mrs. Sinks (two of the most zen like, naturally happy people on the planet), Big Worm, the guests of honor, Mr and Mrs. Lad and I (one of these things is not like the others), met at Cabos for lunch. I ate lite fearing an impending legectomy with Sinks and Mr. Lad at Tom Brown. We tried in vain to get Worm to ditch work but, he is not as easily swayed as I had hoped. Tacos and Burritos were soon devoured and it was time to venture out to the woods.


We strolled down Fern and I suggested that Mr. Lad and Sinks go for a spin through T.B. while I escorted Mrs. Lad down the paved path. We saw a little turtle and Mrs. Lad took tons of pics. At the entrance to Cadillac we came upon the heavy breathing duo and proceeded onto the trail. Again I suggested that the lad and Sinks head up Caddy and I would protect Mrs. Lad from bandits on the multi use trail. By the time we got to the levy Sinks had done his best "aw shucks" on the Lad and I was fully digested and and fresh legged. Mrs. Lad took some pics of the local flora and a little gator cruised by to give our wilderness a little credibility.

The Lad and I bid adieu to Sinks and Mrs. Lad as they headed back, and I took the lad for a run out to Alford Arm and the Bucket Loop. We made our way back to the car and after taking The Lad and Ladette to the bike shop, we parted with plans to meet at Cool Beans for the Lads birthday dinner.

Dinner was all I hoped it would be. The food, service and repartee was top drawer. Ms. Worm (bitter from being a Tampa Rays fan) gave me a beat down as though I owed her rent. All in fun, and one whom frequently dishes cannot complain when the serving hits HIS plate. I took my beating and even through I landed a few ill placed, half hearted jabs, I never really made it off the canvas. Well played Madame Worm!

We went off to have a few at Finnegan's Wake, where I took every opportunity to derail any sensible conversation towards the absurd. Mr. and Mrs, Lad were very patient with our "what's a lemon called in England?" line of questioning and fun was had by all...mostly at the expense of my height deficiency, and the the barrage of comedy from Ms. Worm.

The highlight of the evening for me was being honored with an official "Bad Brains MTB Club" jersey from our fair cousins of the British Isles. I shall wear it proudly and slay all enemies of the crown.

Gentleman in England now a bed, shall think themselves a cursed they were not here, and hold their manhood's cheap, whilst any speaks, that hung out with us............ ON FAT LADS BIRTHDAY!!!!



W.B.Z.N.

All You Do Is Talk

Who wants to play free association? I had the day off due to a Jewish holiday, that got me thinking of Northern Exposure and a great episode about Yom Kippur. On my way to get the home theatre fired up, I thumbed through some Frank Lloyd Wright books and decided to let N.E. play while I tinkered with Google Sketchup. I used to (before my cycling addiction) do this kind of thing all the time, but now if I sit still, I feel the weeds growing in my legs. I have horrid dreams of Worm and Juancho riding like demons for days on end. Today, I abstained. I just chilled and spent some quality time laughing at good T.V. and trying to recreate a virtual Usonian.

I had to be the roadie for my son's drum line tonight, at the Cobb Middle football game. They took the other schools lunch money (again) and as soon as I got the bongo's in the car, I Starsky and Hutched it over to Barnacle Bills. I did my Robin Williams on crack impersonation for Fat Lad and Mrs. Lad.

We are planning a day time ride with Sinks. We are meeting at Cabo's for lunch at 11:30, then we will do some form of the big east loop. All are welcome if you can play hookie. For the sake of our visitors from across the pond, please come so I don't talk them into a coma.

That's the news and sports. See ya tomorrow.

W.B.Z.N.

One On One

I was scrolling through some old posts tonight. I sometimes find comments I missed the first time around. It's kind of like pulling a ten spot out of some jeans, fresh from the dryer. I looked back on the dark slump I went through. It all seems like a distant memory and I have the bike, my friends, and family to thank, for dragging me through. I am back in the world I love, with only a tiny bit of residual grouchiness on the edges. The cool temps, and the fall filter on my lens, have my old world looking new. I have logged five days of riding this week, and all the preps made for tomorrows ride. Now if I could just sleep.

Lil' W.B. and I headed out to Tom Brown this morning. We made a stop on the way at GBS, for a rear hub adjust on L.W.B.'s Haro. He did a test ride on a 15" Giant. I had a flash to him taking off the training wheels, and I said out loud, "Man, how can he be big enough for that bike?"

Justin replied, "Ya I know, it seems like yesterday I was selling you those little five speed Gary Fishers!"

It's funny how those moments creep up on you, and make you aware of the time flowing by.

We had a splendid ride, and the weather was fine. We rode home listening to the radio, with all the windows down, and the sun roof open. L.W.B. wants to race this year, and told me he will: "Probably sit in so he doesn't miss a turn, and then just pass at the end and win it."

Not one shred of doubt or sarcasm (that I could see) on his face. A little tear formed in my eye, as I realized the world had another W.B. to deal with. We talked about what kind of cars he likes, and his middle school drum line. He's kind of quiet like his Mom, and these times of brisk conversation, are rare gold flakes in the stream.

All in all, it's a pretty good life I have, and yeah, I still want more. I like where I am. I like looking back at where I have been. I have some big questions about where I am going. I can't escape this feeling that years pass in moments, and lifetimes are lived in seconds. The hours are spent looking back.

W.B.Z.N.

Time After Time

I am the star of a "Revenge of The Nerds" sequel every time I enter Joe's. I have been the victim of fictional repair explanations, involving quantum equations by Pete. They usually end with me confused, broke, and with one of the three repairs I requested. Scott takes a more Eddie Hascallion approach by complimenting me on weight loss, a new hair cut, or how everyone is talking about: "how fast I am getting". I fall for it every time. I usually get about two words into my thank you speech, before I see the concerned look on Joe's face, and the laughter leaves the left side of Scott's Cliff Bar hole.

A couple years ago, I attended a Fish Lap Time Trial, and Scott was the timer. After my lap, he told (a very out of shape) me, that I had beaten Worm. Over the next half hour, I cornered everyone I could find to give them advice for a good lap, and to mention casually how awesome I was on my lap. Scott and Pete rolling in the grass, with hysterical laughter behind me, didn't stir one ounce of suspicion in my tiny egotistical noodle.

Ever since the Joe's Time Trial, I have been watering the seeds of doubt. Scott asked me if I had been riding a lot, and complimented me on my lap. When he said I finished with exactly the same time as Worm, I knew something was rotten in Denmark, and said: " Ya whatever, there must be some mistake." I have had the time, and the lap, stuck in my craw for days and decided to get the monkey out of my Camelback.

I supposedly ran an 11:40 on the Joe's lap. Two days ago I ran a 12:00 in a slight rain and the day before that I ran a 12:30 (the same time as Juancho).

If ever I bring my bike to a pawn shop, having the same time as Juancho, will be part of the final decision.

Yesterday, I went out with the Rocky Theme playing. I pulled up to the start line, and looked down at the fading spray paint on the grass, like some pale scar from an old wound. I set my 1993 Casio G-Shock to zero, and adjusted my helmet so it tilted slightly to the left. I clicked into my pedals, and hit the start button. Phil Ligget's voice rang out like a beacon as I: "danced on my pedals, to the music of the Tour de France" and "many a pedal, turned in anger." Sherwin chimed in that we were watching a performance that: "...would make Eddie Merckx throw his bicycle into the Seine!"

I crossed the line in 11:28 and just like Louis, after he bedded the jocks girl in the moon room, I basked in the orgasmic victory only an underdog could feel.

...And yeah, I realize Scott still got me...BASTARD!

W.B.Z.N.

Synchronicity

Sunday, we did our Tom Brown race simulation. This is an annual event that either: Makes one stick ones chest out, or makes one reevaluate everything from what one ate, to why one needs a new bike, to one speed dialing the suicide hot line. The results almost never reflect race performance. But just like Gallup polls, millage ratings, and reality shows, we discuss them at length as though they are real and important.

I approached the event without any science or forethought. I flatted, broke my pump, and had a rather dramatic intestinal event (I will spare you the data). Having said all that, it was a good day to be a cyclist, on a ride with the crew. The weather was fantastic, and I came home laughing.

The highlight of the day was being dropped by Worm while he had the best three laps in recorded history. He is the new "aw shucks fellas, I'm really slow" convert in the ever growing cult of Marquis de Slade'.

*This entire post was presented in current time and contained no nostalgia what-so-ever. Please use your decoder rings to find the secret messages about Magnum as all my posts are subversive homage to the mythical former cyclist/surfer.*

W.B.Z.N.

Catch My Fall

Can you feel it? It's nearly here. We got a little whisper of the season change today. This is the best time of year to be on this rock. I am ready to roll in the leaves BABY!

All the best music is released in the fall. It is the forth quarter and all the new bands have had their shot from January until September, now the heavy hitters come out to play. The biggest artists start the Christmas set up and give us the (supposed) best music of the year. That's why all the magical songs in my (and probably your) IPOD are from this season.

I also relate it to football (which I know nothing, and care less about) and playing in the halftime shows in mighty marching Cobras. I still have dreams I am in marching band, hyperventilating on the sideline. The music, the weather, and late night bus rides home with girlfriends huddled under my jacket...well you get it.

When I moved to Tallahassee, this was the best time to play. The students came back and I spent many a magical night singing to people in the Bullwinkles beer garden. I have a vivid memory of playing "Streets Have No Name" and when the first cord came through the P.A. the crowd erupted. I looked up at some white pin spots, beaming off into the stars, and I thought I had the world on a string. My wife and I had just met.

This is also the time of year the best swells march towards the shore and the North Jetty's first peak. The cooler temps and bigger size thin out the Spicoli's. The presence of mackerel and spinner sharks make the normal act of paddling out by the rocks, and honest to goodness adventure. I 'd have the bus windows down, my board in the back, and "Unforgettable Fire" in the Pioneer, tape deck. I'd run red lights all the way to the park, singing at the top of my lungs, and drumming on the steering wheel.

My first fall as a cyclist was epic, I had just found Cadillac and I thought I was on some forbidden mysto trail. The leaves clear out and the view over to Fallschase from the first ridge was always a good reason to grab a tree. I thought my Kona Fire Mountain, was the best bike ever made.

Last year after weeks of healing, I was green lighted to ride in the woods again. My son goaded me into entering the Tom Brown race. I crashed on the start and got so pissed, I passed five people on the first climb. I finished just a few seconds off my previous years time.

I am sure some bad stuff has happened around this time of year too. I just can't remember any of it today.

W.B.Z.N.