A week after finishing two crits in two breaks in Ontario, Jeff Padgett was up on the Santa Ana River Trail with us cutting up his face. That's the way the face bounces.


His five-stitch wound got no sympathy from Greg and Edward. Poor Jeff couldn’t even talk trash back to them because his mouth was too swollen, cold, and full of blood. Still, he was a good sport about it.


“Dis bedda nod be on Feeman’s bog.” Of course not Jeff.


The view from Monday's Big Bear ride overlooking the Santa Ana River Valley.

Around Town

I wish Steve would quit eating kittens.

Met this dude last night. His name is Jerrad. He has some pretty good photos from last Thursday's bike practice on his blog and even better ones on his Flickr.

Here's a good photo of me and Lap Dog. I call him Lap Dog because he likes to just sit, but then in the last corner he likes to bite your ankles. You know how some people say that if they ever come up missing or dead that it would probably be because of a certain person? Well, if I ever crash on a group ride, it'll probably be because Lap Dog chopped my wheel.

Even though his banner is an image of a baseball park (America’s lamest pastime), and even though his “About Me” profile says something about him getting paid to do stuff that most people pay to do (balance check books?), and even though his most recent blog entry is bad-mouthing Grand Terrace, I told Mark Foist I’d link to his new blog from mine, so here it is. Don’t blame me if you start communicating in Sienfieldisms, develop excessive knee pain, and use the word wicked before all adjectives.