Category Archives: Uncategorized

Winning Ugly

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So the president won re-election. Some people say Mitt threw the match, tripped on his shoelaces, got too drunk and showed us his cards. Others say the president won ugly, unable to get the knockout he just beat Mitt bloody until the referee called the TKO. We beat the third-stringer, it had to be done, a win is a win.

I worked for three weeks on a proposal for some money to do some good work. Very competitive I was told. Lots of players interested. Really need your A-game. I brought the A-game. Nobody else applied. We get the money uncontested. I should be happy, but where is the honor in such a victory? Eh, a win is a win.

I’m playing an old friend in chess online and he just beats me over and over again, so badly it is humiliating. I know you don’t care about chess, especially imaginary chess, but there is a finer point here.

This friend is going through some struggles. A relocation, a new job, and recently a bad case of the stomach flu. All these struggles caused him to lapse over his 3 day time limit for our match. I stared at the screen, and hovered the cursor over the icon that read, ” Accept win on time violation.” Now clearly I could choose to not accept the win, allow him time to recover and play with honor.

I clicked that thing like three or four times. A win is win.

Juancho

Partisan

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This blog is biased towards-

Unkempt trails
Rides with unscheduled appreciation breaks
logs
dinner with 4 people or less
contemporary, experimental fiction
Rap music
brown rice
GMC Safaris
Apricot Poodie-cocks
Cats without tails
tiny trailers
black coffee
Scofflaws (What up Rev!)
good conversation
managed risk
specialists
barbed wire
turpentine
the other side of the coin
Freaks
Queers
Has-beens
Never-rans
tin-can knights
weekday warriors
the wide open day before me
-and Barack Obama.

I can’t agree to disagree. Get it right America.

Juancho

Giddy-up!

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So much going on this weekend I’m just going to give it to you in a montage

Bill Clinton
10 Unicorns Walk into a Bar
First Friday
Greek Food Fest
30 miles off-road for Mental Illness
Chess combat on 3 fronts, 2 continents
5 dogs
6 cats
1 lost ring
All the Saints
Hank Saints
Website
Hot Pink
Pwn Facebook

That should cover it. None of these links will work in a year, then this post will become poetry.

Juancho

Round Up

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Let’s wrap this week up and put a bow on it all right?

For starters, Happy Birthday LOPO! (That’s my mom in case you didn’t know. She is awesome and we are great pals as well as being close relatives.)

Other highlights-

Why are those two American male swimmers such idiot frat boys, and the American female swimmers all well-adjusted and nice? “I have 20 Olympic medals, it is so awesome. Young Jeezy tweeted me.” That is called failing to podium in Olympic soundbites. Give me Kayla Harrison sobbing to the national anthem for my Olympic moment. Good thing NBC spared us that boring event in primetime. Of course we stayed up too late to watch that little sister Gabby Douglas do her thing. Ain’t she something? If she plays her cards right she might make something of herself one day.

Bushy and I had a blast riding single track through the steam last night at Tom Brown and the Cadillac trail. We went too fast to allow me time to whine about the trails, but I’m sure I will get another chance. In truth, they were awesome, really fast and grippy and only about 30 recreational walkers in the technical sections.

In full disclosure, I drove to the trail with a geared bike in the van. Bushy rode from his house on the single speed both ways. That’s bad news for the rest of us.

If I don’t get to see Beasts of the Southern Wild soon I am going to throw an all out hissy fit. The first dollar I spend at the Whole Foods Market that is replacing our independent theater will be depressing, but I’m sure my hypocrisy gland will kick in and I will forget all about the Miracle 5.

I have enjoyed deeply meaningful conversation with my wife about the importance of fairness and not being mean, so I would like to thank all of the fascist bigots out there for bringing us closer together this week. She is amazing and smart and I am a better person for having her counsel.

It’s First Friday at Railroad Square, so suffer the heat and go see some art.

I’m so sorry we can’t get to ATL tonight to see our friends opening at the Cube Gallery in Cabbagetown. If you are in the area, go see them here.

Art, friends, bikes, and equal rights, not necessarily in that order.

have a great weekend,

Juancho

Title IX

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We spent another magical weekend at the Pole Barn, undeterred by an ominous forecast of 10 inches of rain.  The weather caught us eventually, but not until we had soaked up all the love Reddick, FL has to offer. 

Tree Climbing was the order of the day, and Cousin “City Hands” Todd, and my dearly beloved both established their superiority in the canopy straight away.  City Hands made a point of arriving before us so he could already be on rope and underway when we got out of the car.  Melissa awoke Saturday morning and said to me, the ceiling, and the trees themselves, “I’m going to climb that tree today.” Thirty minutes later she was jugging up the rope, immersed in the gear and culture of recreational tree-climbing.  While she enjoyed the elite air of the “the lounge” 70 feet above, I spiraled below awash in sweat and discomfort.  It is a joy to watch someone discover new talents, and there was a lot of joy to behold on Saturday.  Hooray for Title IX. Athletic women kick ass.

Soon she will have a mountain bike, and then I will really have something to cry about.

After celebrating arboreal victory and toasting old friends all night, we delayed the sad, rainy drive home with brunch at Sisters in Gainesville.   There needs to be a special word for the pride one feels when enveloped in the successful dream of a friend or family member.  To relax  in the care of the folks at Sisters is a gastronomic vacation to the Mediterranean.  With Tropical Storm Debbie dark and drizzling outside, coffee, champagne, and fresh eggs inside, it was another charmed visit to the Alachua-Marion vortex where  for reasons I will never question, I am lucky to know great people.

Juancho

Echo de menos todo el mundo

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  Many of you reading this used to be here–  Now you are in Royal Oaks, Michigan, Singapore, Hood River, OR, Bozeman, Montana, Bristol (outskirts), Panama City, Portland, Reddick, Ft. Myers, PSL, Miami, Sarajevo, Hoboken, Jensen Beach, Korea,  Asheville, NC, and parts unknown.
Last night we celebrated the Summer Solstice down at the All Saints Hop Yard.  They ran out of lanterns by the time we got there so we had to make wishes on strangers’ light.  For me, I thought about many of you, and the years that have passed, and that in spite of so much I have hung on in this place and built a life.

  We learn to do without. We make room for something new.  That’s the hard part.

We let go of each other and trust that the wind will carry us where we belong. 
But for a time we lived together in this place. 
Juancho

Titus Racer X: Retired

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I swear it’s a perfect fit.  12/07/07
I have to reunite with the Titus before I can put any words together.08/12/2008
Despite all efforts to avoid conflict and mitigate the frequency of assaults, in the end the rider must succumb to the savage nature of his surroundings and procure himself a shiv.  I prefer the Titus Racer X. 08/29/2008
It is time to lay my sword of righteousness down and pick up my one true weapon- the fully automatic Titus Racer-X. This year in honor of sweet victory it will read “This machine kills fascists” along the top tube. 11/06/2008
I’m staring over the next few days like the unengaged battlefield, polishing the grey gun-metal of my Titus Racer X.  1/12/2011
The Titus Racer X is secreted away in the trunk of a rented Impala like a doomed starlet.1/25/2011
I have been riding the Dogboy’s spare 29’er for weeks and the Titus was headed for the dustbin of history. 10/24/2011
  
The Titus tracks like a laser and I jumped from wheel to wheel like a red sucker fish. 12/30/2011
I just finished cleaning the Titus stem to stern. It is beginning to show some wear and tear. I can tell we are now in the sweet zone where everything works, it fits like a pair of skinny jeans, and I can’t imagine life without this bike. This is a sure sign that it is probably in its last year before the unraveling begins. 3/12/2012
I already own the greatest modern mountain bike available, the Titus Racer X for which I am most humbly thankful. 3/15/2012
It might be time to sell the Titus. 3/19/2012
Officially de-commissioned this day, June 20, 2012.
Juancho

Roots

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Before the great trail boom of the early Tens riders of the Seven Hills trails were tenuously affiliated by common interest and a desire to not associate with one another.  Riders marauded in groups of 3-5 chopping their way along deer runs and drainage culverts harvesting ticks and impetigo picked up in the people-free zones of unintended spaces and unmonitored woods.  They rode bikes, but they did not go on bike rides. Cycling was a fierce and  vagrant way of life.  Conflicts were settled by jousting in a bull ring until one rider remained to defend territory.  Lesser riders slunk off to the FSU campus and the Power lines to gather skills and strength for the next encounter.

Bottom brackets had to be drained of rusty water and bearings were stolen and scavenged wherever they could be found.  Rims were straightened against Water Oak or Slash Pine.  If you could not repair your bike alone, you were left in the woods to die or learn.  It was the way of things in the pre-enlightened epoch.

After the turn of the new millennium, the Seven Hills experienced a period of cataclysmic growth, an asteroid of public interest and government-sponsored development occurred.  The indigenous tribes adapted or died off, with a rare few retreating to the confines of the Live Oak Connector to survive on dead trees and no trespassing signs.  Trails became faster, and a source of pleasure.  New routes mushroomed in park and forest.   Cycling evolved. The trails soon bore scars of too much love, like a burn from Daddy’s beard.  Gradients were nuanced, and technology began to merge with nature, improving on the organic design of terra firma.   New tribes swept in on these changes and rolled the trails in powerful numbers.  As farmers and builders they came to stay and make their mark upon the lands. 

Many years passed.  Zip-lining  emerged as the new dominant force in the Seven Hills.  The government was forced to turn their attention to the trees as the demand for new branch-free pathways became shrill.  The trails below fell into disrepair, but the proud infrastructure of the builders held true. Roots entwined through bridges and kudzu covered wall rides.  Red clay sank below cinnamon sand and held a firm base just below the trail like a secret. 

Refugees banded together, some carrying the genes of the indigenous riders, and some were descendants of the Great Builder Era, unable to adapt to the trees, and left to grunt and scratch at yesterday while their kin zipped through tomorrow.

The Seven Hills trails became wild and beautiful, sloppy and dangerous, with breath-taking lines unattainable by humankind or nature alone.

Juancho

The Union Suit

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Cousin Todd and I moved to Bozeman, MT within weeks of each other, and remained roommates for the duration of our three years there.  For most of that time we lived on Babcock St. in a 1-bedroom apartment.  For a year of that time, Ma Ingalls, from down polebarn way, lived with us as well.  It was cozy quarters for three college friends from Florida looking to experience the Bridger Range and the Molly Brown.  We had one bathroom, a red pleather couch, and a 6’x6′ painting of St. Gabriel and the Devil done by local  artist, Edward Hemingway.  We all three worked at the Leaf and Bean Coffee Shop on Main Street.  Between us we owned about 5 official work shirts that we shared indiscriminately.  None of us had known a winter. 
Cousin Todd lived in the breakfast nook.  He slept on a nest of dirty clothes, afghans, and quilts made by our Grandma Jewel.  Sometime in late August of 1994 he received a red union suit in the mail.  He took it from its plastic wrapping, put it on, and never took it off again.   
I remember those days warmly.  Ma Ingalls lived in the only bedroom.  I lived in a 3 season Eureka tent within that same bedroom, and Cousin Todd in the nook.  Winter lasts from late July until the first week of June in Montana, and we spent many of our evenings holed up near the wheezy radiator playing chess and loathing the smells and sounds of one another.  Pop that gum again, I would think to myself, and I am going to put you out of your misery with the cast iron skillet when you look outside.  Ask me whose turn it is again you brainless dolt and I will drag you out in the snow while you are sleeping, he probably thought to himself.  Ma Ingalls would nag us about what we were going to cook for dinner, why couldn’t we save money, or find dates.  We were a family and a team.  
Ma and I each wandered our own way back to Florida, and found our densities.  Cousin Todd settled in the Willamette Valley, in a town called Port Land, Oregon.  He lives with his steadfast and capable wife and his two little boys.  All wear union suits.  They wash them on the 4th of July.
One week from tomorrow we will have our first family reunion of the Babcock Gang.  Up in the trees above the Pole Barn we will toast the years. 
Juancho
 

Broiled

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I did the stand up thing and rode San Felasco, rather than drive by on I-75 pretending it is not there.  It was 4:00 O’Clock on a June afternoon, which ain’t shit compared to August or September.  The temperature was well below 100, lingering in the low-nineties- child’s play by Central Florida standards.  The humidity was up there, and that’s the real killer.

Still, I was so glad to be above a trail and moving through the shady trees.  A 700 mile round trip shot to Northeast Alabama is a fine way to spend a weekend, with the pontoon boating on Smith Lake, a marvel that deserves its own post when I have time to comprehend its 500+ miles of shoreline. Stately cruising and swimming in fresh deep water is magnificent, but I am an Earth sign, and dirt brings me refreshment.

Juancho