How Trish Saved Christmas

Compact Discs
Floor Pump
Gift Cards
Black Vest

These are some of the gifts given to me on Christmas, although two days before the holiday I nearly froze to death and almost didn’t get to give or receive a damn thing.

I believe that there is no suffering worse than the suffering from being cold so I checked Weather.com a day before meeting Tom Gardner in Joshua Tree. The Web site said ‘50s with winds 5-10 mph. I know some of you reading this are probably thinking, “You should have gone to WeatherUnderground.com.” And I say, why - so I have to waste 11 more keystrokes before finding out that the weather in JTree will be 55 with winds 8-11 mph? Do people actually go to WeatherUnderground.com because of its “underground” label and because they believe they’re getting some sort of insider information that the guys over at Weather.com aren’t privy to, or because WeatherUnderground.com actually has more precise climate info? I seriously doubt it’s the latter. I should start WeatherInsider.com or WeatherElite.com and see if “insider” and “elite” can outdo the nauseous popularity of “underground.”

Speaking of underground, Trevor has nothing to do with this story because while I was checking the weather, he was driving to Hollywood to hang out at a goth club. Now that’s underground.

Anyway, Weather.com says ‘50s with 5-10 mph. I can do that, so Eric, Joy, and I get up early drive to JTree and meet Tom and Blair at the visitor’s center. We were rolling by 10:00. The thing about JTree is that there is only water on the outskirts of the park, which is why we rode from the Yucca Valley/Joshua Tree entrance to Cottonwood, which is about 60 miles away near Interstate 10.

Now, as far as I can tell, here’s where I screwed myself on this Weather.com thing. The wind in Joshua Tree said 5-10 mph, but when you get on the other side of the national park and 60 miles away from the town of Joshua Tree, things can be drastically different. Things like the wind. I’ll try not to make this story any more long-winded (pun intended) than it needs to be, but the onset of Joy’s nagging stomach issue and strong wind made things slow-going. Things weren’t only windy and slow-going, but as the sun started to drop, things got cold. And when things get dark and cold, I get testy.

I hadn’t bothered to check the night temps on Weather.com or WeatherUndgergound.com because I hadn’t planned on going for a night ride.

No cell phone service. No lights. Little water and less food.

Remember the Saturday Night Live where Will Ferrell plays the character Terence Maddox and he can’t afford to buy his hepatitis medicine because he can’t sell his blood and he can’t sell his blood because he has hepatitis? Well, that’s kind of what happened to us, only Terence Maddox is much more funny than we are. We couldn’t ride fast to stay warm because Joy had stomach problems and we couldn’t ride slow because we were running out of daylight and it was getting colder.

We rode in the dark by moonlight until almost 6:00 when an angel driving a Ford F350 picked us up. It was Tom’s wife, Trish and that's how she saved Christmas.

The moral of the story? All the weather-related Web sites in the world will do you no good if you can’t afford to buy your hepatitis medicine because you can’t sell your blood and you can’t sell your blood because you have hepatitis. Or something like that.

Some Best & Worst of 2007

Best Ryder story: Towing him around at crit on Thursday nights. The actual act of towing the trailer at speed actually kind of sucks. It’ s like pulling a 50 pound parachute, but he loves it and he especially loves it when he gets to yell “Go Bikes!” as we get lapped.

Second best Ryder story: Taking him on It’s a Small World at Disneyland. I don’t know if I’ve ever witnessed more joy in his face. He’s ridden it an additional three times since then. Too bad the fatties are shutting down for a year.

Worst Ryder story: Leaving him at pre-school on his first day. It was going so well until we started to walk away.

Best mountain bike race: Firestone Walker, Santa Ynez NMBS – 4th Pro/Semi-pro Single-speed. I don’t consider fourth or fifth place a podium position because mountain bike racing is the only nancy-boy sport in the world that allows the third and fourth losers to share the limelight. Although, I did accept the giant Firestone Walker brewery mug for my efforts.

Worst mountain bike race: See 12-Hours of Temecula.

Best road race: CA State Championship – 5th, 30+. I initiated the break early in the race, but because I can’t sprint worth a damn, I only won enough money to buy lunch and drive home.

Worst road race: See Everest Challenge.

Best attempt at winning Everest Challenge: Even though the race ascends almost 30,000 feet in only two days, and even though I had never seen the race’s climbs, from the gun I went out hard and marked past Everest Challenge winners.

Worst attempt at winning Everest Challenge: Even though the race ascends almost 30,000 feet in only two days, and even though I had never seen the race’s climbs, from the gun I went out hard and marked past Everest Challenge winners. A smarter idea would have been to do a recon mission of the course, start conservative come race day, and actually put in the training required for an event of that magnitude.

Best attempt at winning the 12 Hours of Temecula: Even though my only prior attempt at winning the solo division in a 12-hour race ended early with heat exhaustion, from the gun I went out hard and fast and led for a while.

Worst attempt at winning the 12 Hours of Temecula: Even though my only prior attempt at winning the solo division in a 12-hour race ended early with heat exhaustion, from the gun I went out hard and fast and led for a while. A smarter idea would have been to go out slow and easy. It is a 12 hour race after all. What’s the hurry?

Best show: The Tossers, who played second fiddle to the Street Dogs at the Galaxy Theater. As expected, rad.

Worst show: The Street Dogs, who headlined the Tossers show at the Galaxy Theater. Brand new denim and Docs? Lame and so not punk rock.

Best drum solo: The dude with his drum set situated at the highest point of the Mt. Snow, VT race course. It’s a lot harder to keep up with the beat when you’re riding a single-speed, but nevertheless, it’s a very cool sound as it echoes through the forest.

Worst drum solo: The slow menacing drum beat I heard in my head as I was marched down the hallway and out the front door of K&N. Dead man walking.

Best place for a feed: On the road leading to Bishop’s South Lake as my mom hung out the window and did her best Johan to hand me much needed food and clothing.

Worst place for a feed: At the National Mountain Bike Series Finals in Snowmass, CO, it required a helicopter, a chairlift, or a week of travel to locate and then arrive at the feed station. Everything related to the NMBS is “behind the scenes,” including the spectators.

Worst short-track: NOVA’s twilight STX in Fountain Hills. Pavement and a rock-laden vacant lot with hairpin turns. Serious?

Best short-track: Mt. Snow STX, which I watched three sheets to the wind. I made a trip to win a Nat’l Single-speed XC Championship, and since that didn’t happen I turned to multiple bottles of Vermont’s finest. But what better way to watch a short track race?

Best crash: My text book low-side during the NOVA Super-D. It was a graceful and smooth slide that would have made Kenny Roberts proud.

Worst crash: Josh Bunz’s violent high-side at Raincross. Too ugly for words.

Here's to no crashes in 2008.

That's that.

The beautiful mistake that was the 12 Hours of Temecula.

I Feel Like Henry Hill

You know that scene in Goodfellas where Ray Liotta’s character has a busy day? That’s my life. Every day.

“I had a busy day. I had to drop guns off at Jimmy's to match some silencers he had. I had to pick up my brother at the hospital and pick up some stuff for Lois to fly down to some customers in Atlanta…

My Pittsburgh guys always wanted guns. Since I would see them in the afternoon I was pretty sure I'd get my money back…

My plan was to drop off my brother at the house and pick up Karen…

I was cooking dinner. I had to start braising the beef and veal shanks for the tomato sauce. It was Michael's favorite. I was making ziti with gravy, roasted peppers, string beans with olive oil, and beautiful cutlets that were cut just right that I was going to fry up as an appetizer. So I was home for about an hour. My plan was to start dinner early so I could unload the guns Jimmy didn't want. Then get the package for Lois to take to Atlanta later that night…

I asked my brother to watch the sauce and Karen and I started out…

I had to get home and get the package ready for Lois to take on her trip. I also had to get to Sandy's to give the package a whack with quinine. And I knew Sandy would get on my ass. I had cooking to finish, and I had to get Lois ready for her trip…

I got home and started cooking. I had a few hours before Lois' flight. I told my brother to watch the stove. All day long the poor guy's been watching helicopters and
tomato sauce. I had to drive over to Sandy's, mix the stuff, then get back to
the gravy…”

This is my life, only instead of guns and cocaine, its bikes, Accelerade, appointments, house chores, work, and family. As far as I know, you can’t get into the witness protection program for any of that. Something needs to get whacked. Maybe the house chores…

Ryder and Destry Do Disneyland

"You are forgiven for your sins. Bless you my son," says the mouse.

They rode It's a Small World three times. "What do you mean the boats are bottoming out?" says Ryder.

"Psssst. Ryder, act like you're asleep when we get home and we won't have to help unload the car. I learned that from my mommy and it works like a charm every time."

The lights are about to go out on Small World.

I’ve never really liked Temecula

When I was a kid we’d occasionally play soccer teams from Temecula and youthful ignorance made me believe that they were all rich kids so I hated them and the town they came from. Coincidentally, I also hated Grand Terrace for the same reason. Plus, its name sounded so elitist. As an adult I discovered that Grand Terrace is neither grand, nor is it much of a terrace and the kids there aren’t much different than the kids in Rialto. However, after calling it home for five years, I can now say that GT (as the locals call it) is not a bad place. Temecula, on the other hand is a bad place. I tore my ACL in Temecula, I was issued a speeding ticket in Temecula, I was stung by a bee in Temecula, and last Saturday I soloed the 12-Hours of Temecula mountain bike race (10-Hours of Temecula, actually). It was, and I still am miserable.


Cramps, stomach issues, and then getting passed by girls – they all played a part in my demise.


Afterward, it was pointed out by some that my diet, nutrition, and preparation for the event were sub-par. They mocked me. And you know what? They’re right. It’s time to get this situation under control. Dedication, hard work, the ability to suffer, and left-over teenage angst can only take you so far for so long in this world. I need to either tap into some previously undiscovered raw talent or start reading some supplements labels because this fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants stuff just won’t fly.


It’s all got me very worked up. I need a drink.


I can’t blame my bike. For 10 hours it (and the fine mechanical skills of Ben Parks) kept me doing laps.

Although, riding one of these would have been nice. Johnson's Superfly has arrived.

My body felt like I was riding one of these.

On subsequent days, I rode one of these.

Yada, yada, yada, the writers are on strike

The new adventures of old Elane

It’s an XXXL World

I told you so. All the fat kids running around (I mean, sitting around) have forced Disneyland to shut down It’s a Small World in order to bring in larger boats and a deeper water-way. Obese adolescents and their parents too, are too heavy for the ride, so Ryder’s favorite Magic Kingdom attraction will be closed down for a year during renovations. So, not only do I have to pay taxes for their health care, but now my kid can’t ride his favorite ride because much of America looks like Dumbo? I guess large is in charge.

How long before they sink a Jungle Cruise?


Malls? Rats!

The news is that over the holiday season, Al qaeda may be targeting southern California malls and shopping centers. This is horrible news. They can do what they want to our outdoor shopping centers, but hasn’t the SoCal indoor mall already suffered enough? My generation and probably the generation before were raised inside indoor malls and now that they are an endangered species, these people want to blow up the few still standing? What in the hell is wrong with these people? I know what some of you are thinking; ‘Go ahead, blow up the Carousel Mall. It’s nothing but an indoor swap meet now.’ Wrong! The indoor mall will rise again! One day we will smell the sweet scent of the Orange Julius and Mrs. Fields Cookies. We will buy our turtlenecks and refrigerators from J.C. Penny and Montgomery Wards and not from Target and Home Depot. Our music will come from Sam Goody, our candy from See’s, and our hosiery from Harris’. We will once again buy our sneakers from a man dressed as a referee. The indoor mall will rise again! We must protect them.


I'm Not on Strike

Since the sntertainment writers are on strike, I’m going to write a great Saturday Night Live skit, cross the picket line, and go from minor celebrity to major celebrity. Here’s a summary of my skit. This kid, (we’ll call him Matt) is sitting in his room with his friend (we’ll call him Nathan) and they’re looking through their football cards. Just before they are going to trade a 1985 Refrigerator Perry and a 1983 Lyle Alzado (R.I.P.), OJ Simpson and his goons bust in like the Kool Aid Man and demand that Nathan hand over his 1970 OJ rookie card, or at least trade it for a 1975 Al Cowlings. Instead of giving in, Matt and Nathan tell the Juice to get lost unless. The Juice offers to throw in an ‘87 Brian Bosworth and an ’85 Phil McConkey and then a heated barter ensues between the acquitted murder and the two boys. Just when it’s about to come to a head, OJ catches sight of an old USC football helmet in the corner of the bedroom and claims that it once belonged to him. As Matt and Nathan try to keep it away from the Juice, the broken NFL hero grabs it, and begins to put it over his head, but the maroon helmet doesn’t fit. With the helmet stuck halfway over his head, the Juice looks into the camera and says, “Live from New York, it’s Saturday Night!”

Halloween has come and gone. Now go ride your bike!

Ryder's obsession with trains carried over into Halloween. He went Happy Halloweening as a train conductor and Alex went as a pirate. Destry was Mickey Mouse. They all got lots of candy.

Speaking of Candy...

The average person loses 13 lbs. their first year of commuting by bike.

Just three hours of bicycling per week can reduce your risk of heart disease and stroke by 50%.

A 140-pound cyclist burns 508 calories while pedaling 14 miles in an hour.

The U.S. could save 462 million gallons of gasoline a year by increasing cycling from 1% to 1.5% of all trips.

Each U.S. rush-hour auto commuter spends and average of 50 hours a year stuck in traffic.

In 2003, cars stalled in traffic wasted 5 million gallons of fuel.

In 1964, 50% of kids rode to school and the obesity rate was 12%... in 2004, 3% rode to school and the obesity rate was 45%.

Between 1960 and today the average weight of a 6-11 year old has increased 11 pounds.

60% of the pollution created by automobile emissions happens in the first few minutes of operation, before pollution control devices can work effectively.

25% of all trips are made within a mile of the home, 40% of all trips are within two miles of the home, and 50% of the working population commutes five miles or less to work.

I'm just the messenger. All of this is from 1world2wheels.org

The Pogues, Into the Wild & Red Asphalt

Saw the Pogues show at House of Blues (HOB) Anaheim on Sunday night. It was pretty cool to be down on the floor so close to one of my life heroes, although last year's show at the Wilturn was better. The HOB is already small and it seemed like they over-sold the show. It was definately the most crowded HOB show I've ever been to. Before we went, I had entertained the idea of buying a ticket for tonight's show at the Wiltern, but after getting home at 2 a.m. on Monday morning, I couldn't bare the thought of staying out late twice in one week. Not even for Shane, who by the way looked excellant. It looks like he's lost weight. The funniest part of the night was when the crowd was waiting for the Pogues to come on stage; a roadie brought out a stool and set it center stage and the crowd gasped, assuming Shane was too wasted or feeble to stand on his own. As it turns out, the stool was for Shane to set his drinks. Icon.

Saw Into the Wild on Saturday night. Heavy. A sidenote to the story of Chris McCandless, is that it's hard to believe the same guy who played Jeff Spicolio and was married to Madonna is making movies like this. Good work and a good intreptation of the book. Anyway, the movie was rad. The book is even more rad. I liken it to a modern day Catcher in the Rye and think all men, young and old should read it (or listen on audiobook). And their women should too. It explains a lot.

I just found out that the Tossers played the Wiltern last Friday night. Sonofbitch. They'll be back in December. Thanks God.


The first Friday of every month is the Red Asphalt Ride. This month the turn-out was between 30 and 40.

We ride all over town, like through the parking lot of Target at Citrus Plaza.

And then we go over to City Hall and do a crit in the undrerground parking lot.

There are all kinds of bikes. Mountain bikes, road bikes, commuters bikes, beach cruisers, singlespeeds and of course, fixxies.

Every month's ride has a theme and since November is national mustache month, then why not? Here is the judging of the femme mustaches at the Redlands Bowl. The chick with the mohawk won. She made her own mustache with hair from her freshly shaved head. Rad.


Trevor won the mustache contest for the dudes, although Steve was a close second. I wasn't elgible because I didn't start growing mine until a week prior. Everyone else started at the beginning of October. Anyway, I went with a John Waters stache. Not rad. Creepy. Photos to come.


After the ride we went to the Vault, spread the good bicycle word and had a few drinks. Next month's theme is Christmas. With any luck at all, we'll have 50 people dressed in Santa suits riding around Redlands and a lot of toys for our toy drive.

Google vs. Good Search

Meredith wrote:
The Food Allergy & AnaphylaxisNetwork is asking that instead of using Google or other search engines that you try using goodsearch.com. GoodSearch.com donates half its revenue to the charities its users designate. You use it just as you would any search engine, and it's powered by Yahoo! so you get great results. Just go to GoodSearch.com and enter FAAN (Food Allergy & Anaphylaxis Network) as the charity you want to support. You can also shop using GoodShop.com and they will donate to your chosen charity. On Nov. 23 FAAN will be honored as Charity of the Day on GoodSearch.com every search made on that day will generate a contribution to FAAN!

I wrote: I just Googled goodsearch.com and I'm not sure I like it. I'm kind of old-fashioned.

Meredith wrote: You’re kind of smart ass too.

I wrote: Have you ever Googled “smart ass”? The results are pretty funny.

Meredith wrote: No, but I Goodsearched it.

I wrote: Whatever. Mom likes me best. Grandma too.

Meredith wrote: Big deal. I got dad. And mom only likes you best because you always try to make her feel sorry for you. It's just pity love.

I wrote: You should be nicer. I'm going to post this conversation on my blog.

Meredith wrote: You taught me everything I know.

"Good luck getting out of here."

That was the support I got from a truck load of fisherman as I climbed Warm Springs from the back side and bottom of the 7 Oaks dam in gale force winds. They at least gave me a bottle of water (which I packed out), but didn't offer a ride. On any normal day the Warm Springs climb is nothing to blog about, but on Sunday I didn't even begin the climb until I was 4 hours into my ride and I was single-speeding it, 1x1, one-f'ing speed, as Trevor calls it. But even the lack of gears and the intimidating wind wasn't what made Warm Springs suck. It was the amount trash strewn along the two-track that made me want to vomit.

• Bud Light cans and boxes
• Coors Light cans and boxes
• Miller Light cans and boxes
• Natural Light cans and boxes
• Water bottles
• Smashed sewing machine
• Shotgun shells
• Medicine dropper
• Random car parts
• McDonalds paper cup

From all this trash I can only deduct that fisherman drink a lot of crappy beer, and litter too. Bastards.

So, anyway I survived. I started around 6:15 a.m. at Loch Leven, climbed to the Angelus Oaks turn-out in 40-flat, caught a ride from Johnson, Edward, & Kerrie up to the Jenks Lake East turn-out, rode up to poop-out (cleaned it), cut across to Glass Road and that's where things got interesting. Riding solo out of 7 Oaks (and with a broken spoke), I decided to explore unchartered 1N09. It was a sweet ride. I just didn't know where the hell I was for most of it. Reaching the back side of the dam was a welcoming site, but by that point, the wind was howling and I still had another hour of climbing ahead of me. When it was all said, done and downloaded, I had ridden that damn single-speed more than 49 miles & climbed more than 10-thousand feet in 5 hours flat. In my mind, it kind of makes up for my Everest Challenge failure. Kinda.

The moral of this story is don't litter when you're fishing behind the 7 Oaks Dam and if you want to get rid of sewing machine, take it to the Salvation Army.

On a lighter side, here's a photo of me from Snowmass.

The Favre Louvre

There was mail in the mail box, no trash in my trash cans and all my checks cleared today, which means only one thing: Brett Favre's birthday is not a National Holiday yet. But, I bet somewhere in Wisconsin and in Mississppi, some poor bastards couldn't cash their unemployment checks.


What has Christopher Columbus done for us lately? He may have been a great raiser of funds, but he was a piss-poor navigator. I compare that to Favre's quarterback greatness, with the uncanny ability to still throw a pick (or two) in the most inopportune times. Anyway, I digress and now I'm splitting hairs. Last Monday was Columbus Day. What they should do is scrap Columbus Day (like they did Abe Lincoln Day) and make it Favre Day. The King of QBs deserves his own day. Afterall, anyone who has inspired so much beautiful artwork deserves his own day.

This is probably my favorite oil painting of Favre. The inspiration for the helmetless Brett came during the 1997 Super Bowl when the triumphant QB smirked across the field, as if to tell Patriots' head coach, Bill Parcels, that he and his Drew Bledsoe-led team had nothing on Green Bay. Packers 35, Patriots 21.

Apparently comic book geeks aren't into football because this gem never made it to Comic-Con. Ironic too, because rumor on the street is that Favre's powers have inspired the creation of many fictional comic book characters. Heroes of course.

The guy mentioned retirement maybe once or twice and they already chiseled out a bust for him in Canton. I bet they already embroided up his jacket too. Coincidentally, the Favre wing of the Football Hall of Fame will open in Summer of 2008.

I'm not a big fan of black and white Favres because it kind of gives me the creeps. Like he was traded to the Raiders or something. But, as far as grey-tones go, this is probably my favorite. Look at the concentration in his black eyes.

Believe it or not, there was a time when the Green Bay offensive line was as helpless as a newborn baby. Favre on the run, like in this classic watercolor, was a common sight. An impressive fact is that this is a self portrait painted during an actual game at Lambeau Field. His paint brushes and pallet were hidden inside the handwarmer that he wore around his waste.

Colored pencils never produced a more beautiful sketch. True, Favre's face is a little on the pudgy side, but you should have seen the spread on the set of Something About Mary. Cameron Diaz gained a pound or two during filming too.

This one defines Green Bay football. In the trenches, struggling for NFL domination, dropping back into the pocket, setting up to throw yet another record braking pass. This would look great painted on the side of my next van.

Okay, let me give it to you straight. This Andy Warhol-esque piece was done during the pain killer years. Still, it beats the hell out of an image of a Cambell's Soup Can or a freaking banana.

The kid who painted this is obviously a better artist than he is a mathlete. Here's the story: Junior claims his subject is Favre, but the number on the jersey is 84, which belonged to Sterling Sharpe. The subject's hands look white, but his face looks black, so this kid was really confused. And how about those eye lashes. I changed my mind. I give this one a one-legged A, also known as an F.

I have no analysis of this tear-jerker painted by John Madden, just a title and the title says it all: Magic Monday Night. I wonder if the old man painted it in the bus, the horse trailer or up in the booth?

Technically this isn't art, in the true definition of the word, but at some point a graphic "artist" had to touch it, so I'll include it. Plus, I like the fact that it's not a Peyton Manning-endorsed product (those are hard to come by) and that it's a battery advertisement. Favre keeps going and going and going and...

October 10 Should Be a National Holiday

Happy Birthday Brett

This Kid Has His Stuff Together

25 days 'til Shane.

The Everest Challenge Disaster

I made the disappointing discovery of why so many people fail to finish Everest Challenge (EC) on their first try. It's hard. Hard beyound explanation. I know this because finishers and non-finishers of the event have explained its difficulty to me and their tales failed miserably. Their description of the route was accurate, however, short of throwing me to the ground and stomping on my legs and stomach while cursing my mother's name; there is no accurate description of how actually riding EC will make you feel. And I didn't even finish the first day.

Sure, a better analysis of the course profile and better examination of the huge time gaps between finishers in past results would have told me that EC is not a bike race. It's an endurance event. Instead, I thought, "I can climb with the best of them." Them, of course, being past winners of the event. And so, with very little EC training, me, my parents, Denise and Ryder drove up to Bishop, and I gave it a go.

My goal was to finish until we hit the base of the first climb, and because I think I can climb with the best of them, my goal turned into winning. Ironically, that's when all of the steep and long ascents of EC came descending down on me. If I remember correctly, I was the second to crumble in our 8-man break. I wrote a check with funds from my mind that my body couldn't cash. The oddity, for me anyway, is that the final nail in the coffin was cramping and after five-and-half hours and 90-some miles, I pulled a Petachi. Within 10 uphill kilometers of the finish, and I couldn't close the deal. As I rigidly climbed into the Freeman team car, I was careful not to shut my tail in the door.

I got over the disappointment quick. Especially after we drove day two's final 20-mile climb and instead of cheering spectators lining the course, it was snow. Epic roads and epic scenary don't always make for epic bike racing. I'm not discrediting those who finish because it's an incredible feat, especially for the headstrong that take upwards of 8 hours to finish the first day and then wake up to ride again. I'm just saying that it took failing for me to discover that Everest Challenge isn't my Everest. And finishing it isn't enough for me either. To do it right; to actually have a chance at winning, I think I'd have to dedicate about two months to EC. There's just too much fun stuff to do on a bike other than train for a single two-day event. Life's too short for that shit.

Now the good stuff:

Wake up sleepy kid! It's 6 o'clock in the morning and it's time to go follow Daddy up and down the Sierra Nevadas for hours on end from the back of Jeep Wrangler. Bring Mickey and your dog without a name. They can suffer too.

Awe, the start of bright new day. I should have said my apologies then.

The silver lining was the scenery.

The ruined rider and Grandma CindyJoyce watch Ryder throw bread to the birds. Note, that if my numb hands weren't between my legs, you'd probably be able to see my tail.

The ride up to Bishop is a long one, so my Dad and Ryder split up driving duties...

...which resulted in, yet another, run-in with the law for Ryder. Luckily he made bail.

Ryder's luck continued throughout the weekend when my parents treated him to a visit to a choo-choo train museum and to dinner at Whiskey Creek on Saturday night. I think he had steak.

It was a pretty good weekend and awfully nice of my parents to spend it with us.

Before Everest Challenge, there was Disneyland

Ryder discovers that it is, indeed, a small world. He was so joyed by all the peace, love and tolerance that he nearly went overboard. For real. I told him that the water in It's a Small World is actually Disneyland's recycled toilet water, but that didn't prevent him from trying to reach out of the vessel and dip his hands in the Disney holy water. He broke rule number one.

Securuity is tight. If you don't keep your hands and arms inside It's a Small World, they throw you in the Disneyland Mobile Clink with your next of kin. We were sentenced to 5 to 10 (minutes) on the Casey Jones Railroad.

The moment of truth. For his good behavior, Ryder was forgiven for his crime and granted a full pardon by the warden.

The whole experience was exhausting.

Before we could sneak him on to Space Mountain, Ryder passed out and so we called it a day. Next time.

Everyone is racing cross these days.

Good for them.

Everyone is updating their blogs these days.

Good for them.

Salad Days

UPDATE: I had the best intentions to publicly ridicule myself with a flavorful explanation of this classic photo, but the mail person brought me a new Velo News, Cycle News and my first pay check in weeks, so there is celebrating to be done. Use your imagination regarding the photo; I was 18, it was the '90s, the fanny pack doubled as a camera bag and sunglass leashes were (and still are) functional.

Like you never wore white tube socks...

A Gallery of Unemployment

Ryder & I went out to crit last night, because that's just what we do and the little wheel sucker loves it.

Back at Snowmass, I close my eyes and cross my fingers hoping that I get a call-up sooner than 77th. No such luck. On the far right Sager looks thrilled to have had his suspension lifted.

Southern Californians invaded Colorado. I'm not sure what Joy has hanging from her neck. It's a foreign object I've not seen recently.

Here's one for you: In Colorado trails run through streams and the streams have water in them.

There are also sharp objects in the streams. In my college speech class, I did a demonstrative speech on how to change a mtb tube. I think I got a B+ instead of an A on the account that I acted nervous because people were watching me. Deja vu.

Back at crit: Ryder does his best Al Bundy. Meanwhile, I've been riding so much lately that I've been reduced to wearing old bibs and jerseys. I need to find some time to do laundry.

Joy brought Dozer out to crit. I thought it was cool and all until Ryder came down with kennel cough later that night. I think Kramer had that once too.

Here's another one for you: In Colorado the plants and trees are green.

I've seen less holes in a screen door.