Monthly Archives: January 2009

Special 38

After a long campaign of bunkers and trenches I polished my spats and hit the scene like Beyonce’ this weekend- and that ain’t code. A guest in town, you can’t tell from that picture, but that’s one of the fellas from back in the day. I met some deviled eggs I really hit it off with and even enjoyed an Old Fashioned around a backyard fire in a fresh dug hole. Although a little stressful- all those good-cheered friends chattering and not afraid of the future– I flexed my missing limb of a joy muscle and scheduled a check-up with Dr. Munson.

The good doctor had only a small window in the schedule for a drop-in, just 38 minutes, so I was forced to be brief.

The edginess: Why always the edginess?

Hey S’quatch- tick tock, 38.


Dr. Munson

A therapist friend recently told me I was crazy, and I don’t doubt it one bit. If you aren’t a little crazy then you just aren’t participating in this funhouse maze of a society we have duct taped together. The incident in question involved a glass of ice and its supposed ill-effects on my health. This observation was poorly received by myself. In defense of ice, and cold beverages in general, I demanded evidence and furthermore railed against a culture that finds it acceptable to make passing observations about personal behavior without expectation of resistance. I think I referred to it as a “Drive-by Judging.” This type of nonchalant superiority is best typified by the hack artist, Jack Johnson, the self-appointed life coach of the left-leaning, white, recreation class.

It doesn’t take much to be labeled crazy anymore so you better watch your asses out there. I contend that cold water is in no way harmful, and if it is, my blue collar digestive system appreciates no such degree of nuance.

In order to get a second opinion I made an appointment with Dr. Munson last night. Dr. Munson was willing to see me at the very end of the day and our session began under a gathering darkness and chill.

We enjoyed a brisk debate in our 43 minute and 22 second session and the esteemed Doctor confirmed that while I indeed may be on the breaking side of slightly bent, it is you people that made me this way.


Magic Numbers

Twenty-two, that’s how cold it is outside this morning in Tallahassee, FL. Cold enough to get your attention, cold enough to think about moving the bed away from the window. I don’t mind the cold this morning. I think it is kind of nice out there, and 22- the dos dos- is my magic number.

You got a magic number?


Oil Change

I could use a soothing balm of some kind to ease my troubled spirit. As Jesus healed the lunatic so need I the healing. As it is with mania of all kind, I like the ride. I am trying to let it be enough, principled leadership- but I am concerned it will not satisfy me, that if I had my choice I would prefer retribution. I sigh and know this can’t be, that it is unconstructive and feeds my baser self.

Do you ever get tired of the stiff upper lip? The other cheek? The high road?

A little tar and feather is sometimes in order to prove the case for justice in the world. I guess we will wait and see. I think a tax against those who brought us continued misery in 2004 is justified. That is only fair right? Aren’t we taught to pay for our mistakes?

It is hard to keep my face turned toward the brighter day when debris from the storm is all around us.

At least in the saddle everything feels right with the world.

Despues la baracha viene la resaca.

The Pulverizer

Why the Hammer?

Maybe for the two laps at Munson on Monday followed by the night ride to Cadillac and back Monday night.

Maybe for all the work to be done unfucking our country-

or for the pounding the Neocons and their stumbling ragtag bunch of sycophants took.


Chicken in a Pot

No inauguration, just a chicken in a pot on a cold and rainy day.

No date with history, just another wallflower in a hand-me-down dress.
Another little rabbit with the fur plucked out- not fit for balls.

That’s OK, even if it is not, because history is coming anyway. I am going to have to watch it happen right here, in the town where I will do my part. D.C. is going to have to do it without me, but that means I can roll up my sleeves a little sooner. I already know what I need to know, that change is fun until you have to do something.

My promise to America-

Finance twelve first day of school haircuts, to go with twelve “go get ’ems” and twelve “have a great years.”

Start a rock and roll drum camp for ornery children.

More public thank you’s and less public fuck you’s for everyone else.

Now to the forest with my new Nite Rider Enduro for the inaugural ride of the Mega Trail Blasters Dissenters Union and Social Club (MTBDUSC)

Anyone else got plans?


The Void

What is the next big thing now that the ride is over?

For me it is back to the road, visiting incubators of hope on the front lines of poverty and discouragement- a job both uplifting and depressing- two of my favorite emotions. Are those emotions? Not time to think about it now, because next week if plans work out I will be ringing in the Big Papa of Hope and Change his own self, President Barack Obama in the frozen streets of Washington D.C. I don’t think I have ever given myself over so fully to a public event, unless you count the Prince Purple Rain tour of 1984 at the Lakeland Civic Center.

I admit it. I am excited. The only thing that could make it better is if some of those helicopter “drivers” the last president kept talking about yesterday would haul his ass off to Guantanamo Bay where he belongs.

You never know, the day is young.


The Lonely and the Brave

The thing about “the Fifty” is that it lasts all year. You have to re-live the results every time it comes up, and it comes up frequently. We do a lot of riding around here, but to be truthful, we rarely ride that far and when we do, many of those miles are counted on the crosstown route to the trails. San Felasco is 50 miles of offroad terrain, mostly singletrack with steep climbs. It is tight, twisty, technical, and rooty for miles and miles.

For me, free spirit that I am, the challenge is not riding 50 miles, but riding those fifty on that particular day, in whatever conditions may appear. The bit you know, it chafes in my jowls. When the pain sets in I ask myself, “Why this fifty miles? Why not some other fifty? And why today? I would have rather ridden it yesterday.” The inopposable existential justification is my bread and butter.

Not this time though. This time I just wanted to finish free and clear, all 50, no drama. The country might be done with W, but I still needed one for myself. With this in mind I cleaned up my act last April. I mothballed my party dress and let my membership in the late-night Liars and Drinkers Club expire.

My dart game is now hopeless, and the conversation in the late night Liars and Drinkers Club was far better than the average trail chat, with some exceptions of course. You just can’t be all things to all people fortunately, so you have to make choices.

Me, I chose the ascetic path for a while…

…and that is why I kicked so much ass yesterday.

I will wait for S’quatch to tell his own story, which may or may not feature redemption and a glorious battle of the spirit. I am sorry to say we sold him out cold. We saw his rusty drivetrain, his nonchalance, and we rode away and never looked back. I couldn’t personally afford any other option.

Hambone, Pain Cave Charlie (formerly known as Tommy) and I hung together for the duration. I led out strong for much of the charge to lunch, then came right to the brink of cracking. As we rolled out of the lunch stop I was queasy and dizzy. They drifted ahead- but not away. The lesson, just keep pedaling. I took note of the incredible weather, abundant sunshine and in the 70’s, and I began the physical inventory. The diagnosis- overheated. The prescription- increased suffering. By the next sag stop I was back in the mix.

I hit a tree at mile 41 and took an over the bars flyer that landed me flat on my back in the soft mulch. The extra adrenalin came in handy for the finish. We passed everyone in sight for the last nine miles and came across the line moving as quick as we had all day. I was sad to be done.

-So take THAT shit to Bed, Bath, and Beyond.


Happy Elvismas

I almost forgot. Today is Elvis’s birthday.

I used to live with a guy who was a big Elvis fan (or was he?) I think we might have been indulging in some hipster irony about 18 years ahead of the current moustachioed, bad haircut culture, but I ended up a true fan of the King. I think we would have like each other, me and Elvis. Click the title to hear the King at his best- the 1968 Comeback Special.