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.

The Effects of Unemployment

On the positive side, this could bode well for Everest Challenge.

Ryder Started Pre-School Yesterday

This poor kid has been duped. Little did he know that moments after this photo was taken his parents would abandon him and leave him with total strangers.

I made the trip to Snowmass, CO for the NMBS Finale because, why not, I don't have a job. The hardest part was leaving Ryder for that many days and it got even harder when the poor dude came down with the flu on Wednesday and I wasn't there for him. I owe Denise big time for that one, for sure. By Friday evening Ryder was eatting Grandma Cindy's tacos like it was the last supper and I was able to start Saturday's race with a somewhat clear head.

I got called up 77th (second to last). It was great. Just me and some other poor guy sitting 10 feet behind a huge field waiting for Larry Longo to give us props. The situation got worse because the first 20 minutes of the race was single-track climbing with no passing. We raced it slower than we pre-rode it. Gaps galore, but what can you do?

I rode much of the race with some of the series regulars (even the ones that live at altitude), so that was nice in a painful kind of way. At one point I was running inside the 50s, but brain faded, missed a left hander and had to double back. I tried to catch and pass those who got by me, but at 10,000 feet it ain't easy. Instead I blew and finished 58th. Not great, but not bad for my third race on a geared bike all year and at a Nat'l at altitude.

The next afternoon I came down with a soar throat and ear ache, which didn't help Saturday's effort much, but what can you do? That's my story.

An actual race only lasts a few hours, but the time spent at the race lasts for days. As usual I got the chance to pre-ride and hang out with a lot of cool people. Joy's family took care of our condo, food and all the racers in our circle, which was way cool of them. They also did my feed, under less-than-stellar conditions. A big thanks for that. I rode a ton with her brother Jeremy, who lives in the Boulder area, and with the PossAbilities gang. Did some feeding with the Backbone Boys (thanks for the fleece James) and got hooked up with the hot Bontrager tubeless tire set-up (after an unfortunate pre-ride flat) from Jon Rourke and the factory Subaru Gary Fisher Team. I won't, but I could sit here for hours and talk about Adam Hart's stories, the drive, Joy's Nat'l Championship, the riding & my race. Like you don't even know.

Jeremy, Adam & Eric pretend they don't know I'm taking a photo with my crappy camera.

This was as flat as it got. Everything else was either straight up or straight down. And rocky.

This is how they roll in the Aspen area. A bike wash and with towels to boot.

Just when I thought I was out, they keep pulling me back in.

Gimme Gimme Me Shock Treatment

I was feeling sick I was loosing my mind
I heard about these treatments
From a good friend of mine he was always happy smile on his face
He said he had a great time at the place

Peace and love is here to stay and now I can wake up and face the day Happy happy happy all the time shock treatment, I'm doing fine

Gimme gimme shock treatment Gimme gimme shock treatment Gimme gimme shock treatment I wanna, wanna shock treatment

I was feeling sick I was loosing my mind I heard about these treatments From a good friend of mine he was always happy smile on his face He said he had a great time at the place

Peace and love is here to stay and now I can wake up and face the day Happy happy happy all the time shock treatment, I'm doing fine

Gimme gimme shock treatment Gimme gimme shock treatment Gimme gimme shock treatment Gimme gimme shock treatment Gimme gimme shock treatment Gimme gimme shock treatment Gimme gimme shock treatment I wanna, wanna shock treatment

I'm Mr. Mom now. K&N gave me the shaft last week (because I knew too much) and so I get to spend some time towing Ryder around and taking him to his classes at My Gym. Rad. I sure will miss him when I'm in Snowmass.

Not sure what I'll do for work next. I have a month or two before the well runs totatly dry, but hopefully it won't get to that point. I just need a little time to decompress before I jump into the job search. It definately came as a shock...

Get To Know Brett Kinsfather

Freemanrace: What was your first impression of me?
Brett Kinsfather: What's with the gallon jug of water?

What is your impression of me today? Where's the gallon jug of water?

Brett Favre: Great or Greatest? Great quarterback, greater pain killer addict.

If I gave you 200 bucks to go buy a gift, what would you buy me?
I'd bribe someone to give you a better job.

If I gave you 50 bucks to buy yourself a gift, what would you buy?
Contacts...I'm f’ing through with glasses.

I hear bad habits are hard to break. Are there any bad habits you’d like to break? My bad habit of continually ripping on the same people.

Courtney Love: Victim or Misunderstood? At one point in time, she had a great rack.

What do you think of my Nuns Having Fun calendar and does it offend you? An office cubicle must.

I consider myself superior to the average Joe because I ride bikes. Why don’t you ride bikes? I consider someone who can kill another man with their bare hands superior to anyone who rides a bike.

What do you think my first impression of you was? Where the effe did this guy come from and where is his gallon jug of water?

What do you think my impression of you today is? One of the few people who understand Matt's love/hate relationship with all living creatures.

Do you have any parting words? I heard two Louie Bono stories recently. The first one was that he has spent some time in a mental facility. The second one was my friend overhearing this come out of Louie's mouth to a girl at a recent wedding: "Hey, you know I have a room at the hotel for after the reception...I'm in room D, Big D." He then proceeded to laugh hysterically to himself.

- Brett Kinsfather is an internet minister currently residing in Illinois. He spends his time building hot rods, looking for employment and compiling stories for an upcoming biography about his childhood friend, Louie Bono, who’s the dumbest man alive. Brett’s only regret in life is that he’ll never get back the time spent waiting for Bill Crites to finish eating the many dinners they shared together.

Tossers Tuesday

Actually, every tuesday is Tossers Tuesday in my book, but yesterday was a True Tossers Tuesday. We saw them at the Galaxy Theatre. I forgot what a shithole that place was, but I digress. The opening bands were horrible, the Street Dogs were so-so and The Tossers were freaking awesome. Joey and I chatted up Tony Duggins, the singer, on our way out the door. He was completely pissed (that means drunk), but very talkative.

Right now I'm not very talkative. I think I'll go ride my bike...

Do This, Don't Do That...

It's been said that to live in 7 Oaks is weird. I agree. 7 Oaks just doesn't have enough structure for me.

No shoes, No shirt, No credit card, No dice.


It doesn't say anything about throwing rocks at the reflections of the ducks.


But I have a license...


Signs are threatening enough, but nothing's worse than good old fashion public ridicule for parking your bike in the, quote-unquote, vegetable garden.


No Pamela Anderson?


I guess the frogs and pollywogs aren't technically considered pets.


How does this work? Do I read left to right? I'm confused. And what do they mean No Dogs? It's a campground. In the forrest. There's squirrels & raccoons all over the damn place.


This one doesn't bother me as much. It's not like that road behind the gate looks scenic, mystical or magical.


I see the same anti-drug campaing signs around Mentone.



7 Oaks: A great place to get away (if you wanna be hassled by the man).

Back from Mount Snow, Vermont and, of course I’ve got no photos to show for it. In order to snap a shot you have stop and stopping isn’t an option during a fast-paced, high-stress National Championship race weekend. Wait… scratch that. Unlike normal race weekends, this trip was low stress thanks to Christie’s parents (the Millers), who took care of us. Greg’s family took the second shift of the weekend and continued to make things comfortable for we weary left coast travelers.

We even got to see a little bit of the surrounding area outside of the race venue – quite an oddity. Saturday afternoon’s trip to Jamaica, VT to soak our legs in the river was rad, mon. And I didn’t have to wash a single dish throughout the entire trip because that’s pretty much all Joy did. If she wasn’t riding her bike, she was doing dishes.

I’m getting good at jacking other people’s images, so why start photo-documenting these trips now? And besides, I don’t think my camera has a strong enough strobe to light the haunted Mount Snow trails. Under a canopy of trees, the race course was cut through slippery, root and rock invested mud that made wearing sun glasses and using your front brake a life hazard. So, let’s say for example the course was marked with street signs instead of ribbon, stakes, arrows, broken bodies & damaged bikes. Here’s what they’d likely be:

The result of using the front break.

They could have used one of these signs every 20 feet. I guess it was a mountain bike race...

Of the two bridges on the course, I could only ride one of them without hitting the deck and risking death and dismemberment.

The universl sign for, "That's gonna leave a mark," Tom and Frosty could have put one of these at the top of every decsent. Mount Snow is definately not a spectator course for innocent ears.

The Play-by Play

I raced the single-speed with hopes of finishing on the box. Not fifth, not fourth – but on the actual box. Let’s just say the cog I chose allowed me to run as high as second place at one point and walk as low as 12th place at another point. That point being the finish line. But at least I didn’t have to do any dishes.

Meanwhile, on the Home Front

Ryder loves to swim and with assistance from his floaties, he gets around the pool pretty well especially for a 2-year old.

Ryder could be the next Michael Phelps, sans the DUI.

He and Denise went to Austin to visit friends and family this weekend, so I’m bach’n it, as they say. Actually, I feel more like Bridget Jones, because instead of tapping a keg, so far all I’ve done is watch TV and over-indulge in Dreyer’s Slow Churn Ice Cream.

I wonder what Vino is doing right now?

Vermont Good. Vino Bad.

"I wanted to believe it was a really good day [for Vinokourov]. It makes me very sad. Vino is one of my favorite riders. He's one of the most beautiful riders in the peloton. If a guy of his stature and class has done that, we all might as well pack our bags and go home right now."
- Saunier Duval-Prodir rider David Millar

More on my trip to Vermont later...

My Camera Sucks

What do I have in common with FEMA?

When disaster strikes, I’m not prepared. I threw away a potential NMBS Single-Speed win, or a podium finish at the very least, in Deer Valley, UT this weekend. A pinch flat and a Big Air valve containing a badly deteriorating o-ring left me walking the race course. My ever-growing list of things to do includes getting a tubeless set-up on my Rig, which should have been Bike Priority # 1 before departure.

On the bright side I was in the lead group of 4 when disaster struck and we were killing it. My failed flat fix was near completion when the next 1x1 creaked passed me. So, as I spent the rest of the day exploring Deer Valley singletrack solo and blowing off steam, this thought occurred to me: “I worked too damn hard for that UCI Pro License to not be using it,” and so the National Championships in Vermont will be my last Single-Speed race. I’m going back to the big show for Snowmass and for next year too, should I decide to continue this travesty.

And besides, who cares about Single-Speed racing anyway? What will hold more weight when Ryder gets older; the fact that his dad won a few Single-Speed races, or the fact that his dad chased around the world’s best mountain bikers for a few years? I’ll choose the latter for him.

Enough megalomania. I had comrades in Utah. Our condo was a potpourri of SoCal mountain bikers, plus one-and-a-half. There was Christie Pleiss, Joy Andrew-Sick, Sean Donovan, Romolo Forcino, Ely Woody, Nigel Hill, who is the plus one because he lives in Humboldt and Carolyn Popovich, who is the half because she splits her time between Romolo’s place and her school in Philadelphia. For a brief moment we had a boy’s lacrosse team staying with us too, but that’s a long story for another day. Anyway, a good time was had by all (I think) and good race results were produced by all, with the exception of yours truly.

And finally, this was too good to pass up. From Sager’s blog:


"I didn't go to Park City's Deer Valley NORBA or whatever they're calling it now (NMBS/Frosty's arbitrary STXC pulling)..."


That's hardly subject for arbitration.

Confession

I took Flintstones Vitamins once but the horrible aftertaste was a side affect I wasn't willing to live with. I never did it after that one time, but I had to try it because I wasn't getting the vitamins and minerals I needed to be competitive in the Rialto Youth Soccer League.

On Saturday night I witnessed one of those rare moments in life where everything happens the way it should. While walking down sleepy Grand Ave in Los Olivos, a speeding BMW swerved into the on-coming lane pointed in the direction of some innocent kids, (scratch the word innocent), some kids hanging out near the curb (Oakdale style). The driver acted as if he were going to run them down, but with Jerry Rice-like reflexes, swerved back into his lane and went on his way with a hurricane of dust and straw in his wake. Greg Pleiss and I looked at each other in amazement. Before I could say, “Did you see that asshole?”, the planets aligned and a hidden cop car pealed out of the sky. In an instant, we were watching COPS Los Olivos.

The driver was young (junior college age) and so were his female passengers. The Statey cuffed the felon, but didn’t knock his prisoner’s head on the outside of his squad car while shoving him in the back seat. Bummer. Sloppy police work if you ask me. No doubt the influence of our current governor. But I digress – the important part is that, if for just one evening, there was one less BMW driver on the planet and the sleepy town of Los Olivos was safe.

Back to Dinner...

On Saturday night, Trevor, Greg, Christie & I dined at the Los Olivos Cafe’. The Pleiss’ had eaten there a few years ago (before they were the Pleiss’) and since then the café has been the stage for a few scenes of the movie Sideways. No one in our party refused a glass of wine, but we couldn’t help but notice the lack of vino on the table of self-proclaimed wine aficionados, JHK and Mrs. JHK. No red wine, no white win, no pink wine - just a pink t-shirt worn by the eventual runner-up of Sunday’s XC Race.

I would have ordered my own pink t-shirt that evening if the San Marcos Motel in Buellton had wireless internet. They did have a hundred cable TV channels (including HBO & ESPN), so I made Trevor watch Sherman’s March. Sherman was a bad dude. I secretly vowed to race the next day’s event with the same passion and furry of the great general, burning or destroying everything or everyone in my path. Instead, I fell a little short – landing somewhere between Sherman’s March to the Sea and a full Confederate Army Surrender. Fifth Singlespeed O/A. I’ll take it.

World News

The witch hunt continues

Ryder is 2!

It seems like just yesterday I was three-quarters through a bottle of wine and working on bikes in my plush Raven Way garage when Denise waddled in and misdiagnosed her water breaking as an uncontrollable pregnant-pressured bladder. Destiny told me to skip my ride that evening and spend some time working on, a bottle of wine, and badly neglected bikes. I was numbly on my way to finishing both jobs when I stopped to mop up the garage floor, pack an overnight bag and drive my contracting wife to Redlands Community Hospital: a drive that she chauffeured on many occasions due to my string of random injuries, aliments and surgeries. Even pickled, I was familiar with the drive from our Grand Terrace home to the hospital.

Back labor forced Denise to stand on the cold delivery room floor through her painful contractions, and me to serve as her pillar. (Note: the one and only time I’ll refer to myself as a pillar). Eventually all that standing, all that heavy breathing and all those massive contractions gave way to all that wine and all that void of dinner in my stomach. Spotting a potential embarrassing moment that I’d never live down (interesting fact - woman faint, men pass out), soon-to-be Grandma Suzie assumed the pillar position while soon-to-be Grandma Cindy assumed that a Del Taco combo burrito would get me through the rest of the birthing. Sure as the sun rises, the from-concentrate beans and oatmeal meat gave me the strength and nourishment to see Ryder born (viewed from the dry end of the bed) as the sun rose on April 21, 2005. Including everyone in the delivery room like Denise, our family, the doctor, the nurses and of course, Ryder, I owe those precious moments to Dan. I think I may have just figured out Ryder’s strong obsession for beans.

Great Grandma Joyce holds the birthday boy. Mint chocolate chip birthday cake, cheese cake or beans? “Yes please,” says Ryder. He loves his sweets and his beans equally.


From the left - Evan, Ryder, James, Brandon & little Destry kick it backyard style.



Attached in the email reminding me that he’ll be in the states on Monday, my good Czech friend, Robert, sent some photos of his new custom painted Prodoli road bike. Apparently decades of communists oppression helped produce a storm of custom-painted creativity. Czech out the detail to the water bottle cages, seat tube & top tube. It’s like a Trek Project One. I call it a Commie One. Anyway, the bike looks as fast as a Russian Mig.

The only thing this bike is missing is this.

Leaves of 3, Let Me Be

My trophy from Sea Otter: Poison Oak. My left forearm got the worst of it, but even after nearly two weeks, little spots keep popping up on the rest of my body.

Here’s my daily routine since getting the poison oak: get up from a horrible night’s sleep and start drinking lots of coffee to level out the 8 AM Benadryl. By noon, I’ve changed the dressing on my arm at least twice and the morning Benadryl buzz has worn off, so it’s time to take another. At 2 pm I’m a complete zombie from all the drugs and from coming down off the coffee. By 4 or 5 the drugs are starting to wear off again, but I’m usually able to get on the bike by that point, so the discomfort is temporarily replaced by the high of riding. After the ride, I come home, shower and reapply calamine lotion to all my spots and sometimes take another Benadryl, chased by, at the very least, a couple of beers to kill the pain. Even so, I still can’t sleep well because the goo seeping out of my arm wets the dressing enough that it wakes me and I reapply calamine & dressing. Lately I’ve been cutting the toes out of old tube socks and wear those to bed like a poor man’s arm warmers. And the day starts all over again…

The outbreak on my legs is strategically positioned on both sides of my inner thigh and either rubs on my pants & shorts or on the outside of my saddle while I’m riding. The spots on my back are right where my heart rate monitor is supposed to go and the blisters near my armpits are where all my shirts lay against my body. But the left forearm – oh, the left forearm. God help me.

What Would Jens Voigt Do?

I've Been Busy

Since the big New Year's freeze of '07, I've been busy. Too busy to blog at least. Just working, hanging out with the kid & riding. And a little racing here and there too.

Here's some good stuff of Ryder.

December of '06 at a cross race in Torrance. Ryder had a lot more fun than I did. At this race I punctured while running fifth (again).

Ryder likes hippos. Especially ones that swim and are the size of compact cars.

He likes snakes too.

Back at the cross race - Denise is responsible for the feed and Ryder is responsible for packing up the trainer after I'm done warming up. I'm responsible for flatting. Everyone does their job well.


Back at the zoo - "Echo, echo, echo, echo, echo!"

New Stuff from Brandon Bird

Battle of the Heroes

"I always pick Dauber, on the account of his speed attacks," says Brandon. Brilliant.

T-Mas

That's all I can muster for now. Photos of Ryder's 2nd Birthday, racing & random B.S. soon.