You might think this post is going to be some clever play off of the movie, Boyz in the Hood, but it ain’t. I watched the movie last night and I just woke up with “Ooh Child” by the 5 Stairsteps ringing in my head. What a song that is. If that sound doesn’t break you down to nothing on the first note then you are a truly cold-hearted disser of old people, a taunter of children, a worthless misanthrope.
As far as I know, none of the actors got an Oscar or were nominated. The entire cast deserved to get one. Here is one thing upon which I stand firmly. Laurence Fishburne, in his tired old Laurence Fishburne way, never did it better than this movie. Furious Stiles, his best role ever. In fact every other role up to and including “Morpheous” is just his schtick on trying to “get a young brother to understand the deeper complexities of what it is to be a man”.
What am I doing here today, you wonder? Why is he not writing about his stupid bike? His stupid friends? Their stupid blogger “code” names? Well, I’ll tell you.
Hurricane Season.
Hurricane season is back to terrorize others, but to bore Tallahassee to death yet again. Taco gets the “big stick award” for actually calling at 7:45 A:M to try talking me into going out in the slop and the mess. Its not that I wussed out or anything, its about-you know- keeping my drivetrain clean and grit-free.
Today is more of a maintenance and strategy day. After a heavy psi adjustment I will settle in to watch the Tour de France, where another set of BOYZ will roll through an entirely different HOOD, and Lance gets to tell them, “Hey baby, don’t hate the player, hate the game.”
Peace! Juancho
Hmmm, Maybe Saturday would’ve been a better day to ride. Yes, in fact it was! Between Dennis’ first and second tentacle rain bands, Munson was firm and fast, and almost deserted. Had to cut the circuit a little short and hightail it back up to the parking lot on the paved trail, an ugly gray-black stripe in the sky bearing down from the south. A road biker passed me with a couple hundred yards to go, but I rose to the challenge and tailed him to the finish. Pulling up beside him, I realized he was about 60. Maybe I’m not ready for Tsali, but I’m not getting any younger, either, and vacation approaches.
Believe me, hitops, you’re ready for Tsali, aka, Munson in the Mountains. One of the most entertaining things about Tsali is the contrast you feel after a good run on one of the trails where you return to the parking lot feeling like a “real” mountain biker and then you see all the other “real” mountain bikers climbing out of the church vans and retirement home buses.
Speaking of church, I’m going to reading from the Book out at Munson this evening.
It was the passage about Lot’s wife looking back at the destruction and turning into a pillar of salt. Some sort of metaphor for being dropped. I know it by heart.
See, religion sells me out every time. Nice ride out there Hi Tops, I can take it. I’ll be back.