Monthly Archives: February 2008


I was supposed to be elsewhere this week, but plans changed, leaving me in a torporous state of adjustment. The astronauts who get dressed and load up on the point of a missile just to be told, “Sorry, not today.” How do they do it?

All I had to do was drive a Chrysler Sebring (not the convertible) down to Southwest Florida for a few days. Thousands of people are moving heaven and earth for the privilege, but for Juancho, that’s just another day at the office and downtime is golden.

It’s cool and sunny out there today and I know if I get on a bike and shove off, anywhere I go will be a fine place to be.



I will be out for a few days, so please enjoy this picture from the secret trail S’quatch and I scouted a couple of weeks ago.


Happy Birthday

Well, what does it mean when your little brother turns an age that doesn’t sound so little anymore?

Yeah, that’s what I thought it meant too.

In celebration of his big day I predict things will go down like this…

Some sort of fried meat
different kind of fried meat with cold beer
Bigtime fried meat extravaganza

I can’t wait!

On other fronts-

We rode Munson on Saturday and as we regrouped at the trailhead, one of those Cobra Kai ninnies went past saying something like,”Ride the whole thing bro and the Twilight Zone too!” Jackass, we been riding that trail since you were popping out of your mom’s tail, but thanks for the advice.

Yesterday I rode the road bike about 2.7 miles and now my shoulders are permanently pinned back in Abu Ghraibesque pain. If you ride it more than once every six months I guess you can avoid that.

It is Spring in Tallahassee and I had better start acting like it, that much I know.


Book Learnin’

When my friend Chuck asked me if I wanted to go hear “Solomon Rushdie” I hesitated the briefest moment out of literary shame. Not for Chuck’s hacking of Mr. Rushdie’s name, but because I have never read any of his ahem, “work.”

I have tried, believe me. You can’t get more than two English Majors together without someone claiming his work to be the sub-continental expression of Marquez. At the least it is known to be provocative and compelling, or whatever. That and a buck fifty gets you a bag of donuts.

Still, a chance to get the lint roller out and clean the cat hair off the black turtleneck sounds like fun, especially with all of this highbrow Northwest weather blowing around. Yeah, I’ll ride this weekend-shut it!

So here is what I know about ole Solomon.

He wrote a book that made some Muslims mad. The Ahyatolla Khomeini himself declared a fatwa- or death sentence on his ass. Remember the Ahyatolla? We were really scared of him, but now he seems like Charlie Brown under a ghost sheet compared to Dick Cheney. Mr. Rushdie’s book sold like hotcakes at a Kiwanis breakfast. Good for him.

He was briefly married to that gorgeous and classy woman from the reality television show Top Chef. It seems that fatwa business does not hurt a man’s chances with the ladies, because he is not a handsome man. Good for him.

We will prepare for this great literary event at the obvious gathering point for the intelligentsia- you know where! Barnacle Bill’s on North Monroe.

We will then take our seats in the balcony and begin the chanting of- Sol-o-Mon! Sol-o-Mon!



Did you see the eclipse last night? I see it as a heavenly turning of the page. No mystery, no cipher to unravel, it was more like a commandment. “Let this night be marked as different from the night before, and all the days that came before this night.”

Or maybe you just think that the Earth came between the Sun and the Moon? There is a possibility you are right.

We get to choose our spiritual totems, our ecclesiastical tchotchkes, and me- I claim the eclipse.



The panic in S’quatch’s voice was evident as we topped the rise of the first hill at Munson. I was not supposed to be there, on his wheel, breathing down his neck. In hindsight I probably would have enjoyed the ride more if I had sandbagged a little, allowing him to think that he still held a solid advantage over me. After that moment, it was breakneck, frantic, pell mell screaming through the woods blindly. He flew like Ichabod Crane before the Headless Horseman. I dispatched one of the killer robots-Mystery the Untameable Robot- to rein him in, but soon it will be I who does the reining, and the reigning.

I am Juancho the whittler, and I am steadily carving on the hickory knot of victory.

Breaking News

How will my Killer Robot Army ever compete with this?

Pa Ingalls completes his final lap of the night at the 12 Hours of Santos, handlebars in hand.

Digest and discuss.


Killer Robot Army

I finally discovered the secret to speed- get some slower friends. No offense meant to my killer robot army. One was riding a 1990 or so Cannondale Beast of the East with slicks and a book rack, and the other is so new to cycling I think I saw him dismount to walk through the trees, and really, who does not enjoy a walk through the trees?

Still, within their bosoms lies the collective beating heart of a killer robot army, and with proper discipline and training I will soon unleash them against the usurpers.

Special props to artist John Lytle “Flippy” Wilson



Few creatures are as elusive as me in this town, with my comings and goings. When you consider the Joe’s Bike Shop/ Publix run as a social outing and don’t put pants on until the end of the work day, it can be said that you are not participating in your community, nay society even. Still, aside from that our local trail dog and pro-am trail advocate Aucillasinks, was found to be standing in front of me at the bagel shop this morning. I caught this shot of him just before he galloped off. Those of you who know him understand my shock and glee to catch such a public sight of him grazing in the daytime. He was purchasing one single ounce of cream cheese so I guess that means he is training or something.

He barely recognized me as I was dressed to impersonate a Republican. I put on the power suit and harass minorities and the elderly in the streets. My themes tend to focus on “get a job”, “Your problems are not my fault” and “Don’t blame me just because my Dad had money.”

Anything to mobilize the base.


Drip, drip drizzle, drip.

S’quatch and I started to head west to the Lines Tract trail, or “Linetrack” as I prefer to say it, but the radar was not looking good and it was already raining here in town. In my efforts to not ride I proposed many bizarre scenarios like, “I only want to ride if we can go by a pawn shop, a city park, and a taco stand. I’m not in the mood for anything else.” Or, “Why don’t we take the road bikes out to the Live Oak Connector trail.”

All my negotiations got me was a car ride to Computer Tutors, allowing us to skip the sloppy cross-traffic section of the ride and go straight to the mud. Wreckin’ Ball joined us, much to S’quatch’s chagrin, and we rode the Northside regulars. My bike was such a dirty mess last night I could hear parts falling off in my sleep.

That’s all. I rode my bike. It ought not be big news here on a cycling blog, but alas, it is a fairly major event.