I don’t even know where I am

I’m somewhere in GA, off I-20, but it just occured to me I couldn’t tell you what town this is. The Atlanta sprawl crawls out like kudzu, and it will eventually blanket the South if left unchecked. I’m coming home today, but I have a lot to do first- things like put pants on, admire Soledad O’Brien for another 24 minutes, find the other sock, and pull the plastic La Quinta blanket over my head one more time for a snooze.

I’m hoping for a Super-banging expose on Detroit and other Yankee stuff from Dr. D. If I get something I will post it immediately. I love having company at the Circus.

Quote of the year from one of my so-called friends…

Juancho- “I think I’ll have a new bike soon if all goes as planned”.

Jerk-off- “Good, maybe you’ll get back into riding”.

This is how I’m treated while the Dragon clings to life in ICU.

Life working on the road is hard I tell you, Soledad’s calling.

3 Responses to I don’t even know where I am

  1. I wish, but the only road bike Juancho’s interested in is mine after I’ve forgotten where I parked it and backed over it in my truck. In fact, just asking him that is like throwing up the sweetest alley oop pass imaginable for an NBA style dunk.

    The tragedy is, the ONLY way he’s ever going to reach his full potential in the woods is to put the MTB away for about three months and spend his time trying to stay on my road bike wheel. It would be consistent hard work, good company, and big adventure in all the little hamlets surrounding our fair city. But no, he’d rather fart around in the woods a couple days a week, or go ride in an overgrown drainage ditch and call it a workout.

    And the hard thing is, by the time he realizes the truth of what I’m saying and wants to get on board, I’ll be too fast. Just too damn fast. I’m telling you, Sascha, it’s a tragedy of stubborn pride.

  2. Let me join the chorus. I’m a believer after a ride down to the St. Mark’s Lighthouse and back toward town last weekend with Sasquatch. Even with Sas on his carbonated machine and me on a mountain bike with skinny tires, it was still a sweet conditioning ride that left me some energy for the rest of the weekend. Now I’ve got my eye on a Fuji Roubaix, and just need to nail down the deal at home.

    There ya go, Juancho. The ball is coming at you big as a watermelon and you’re as juiced as Mark McGwire circa 1998. Take your cuts, man.