Monthly Archives: May 2005

Dog Boy Attacks!

Fear This Man Posted by Hello

This is a friend of mine competing in the State Road Race in Havana, FL. I know it’s a road bike, and I supposedly don’t care for road bikes or the women who ride them, but I have logged a lot of miles with the Dog Boy so I want to give him his props. 10 months ago I was watching the Tour de France with this guy every day. His leg had more metal componentry than his bike after being hit by a shitty Buick exiting the Interstate. The man called 911 himself, from the middle of the road. He was back on the bike before the last pins and screws were out, and before he could effectively walk. This machine he’s on now is what he got for his troubles. I think it weighs about the same as a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

So congratulations Dog Boy, I know you made ’em suffer out there.

home again, home again.

Hobbits do not like to be far from the shire, and damn am I happy to be back to my humble little corner of the ghetto. I don’t even know where to begin describing the events of the past weekend. What day is it? Tuesday?

The chiggers were out and they deposited their acidic saliva in my legs and then drank the liquified flesh before leaving, satiated.

We rode the bridge to bridge trail on the Suwanee and I sweated DEET into my eyes, which burns like pepper spray, in case you were wondering.

Emmy Lou Harris sang “Grievous Angel” and it was possibly the most beatiful sound I have ever heard. I went to the festival listening to NOFX, Dropkick Murphys, Mos Def, and Face to Face. I was not in a “folky” mood, but let me tell you, that song melted my heart.

The cicadas and the tree frogs singing the chorus…

Out with the truckers and the kickers and the cowboy angels, and a good saloon in every single town,

And I remember something you once told me, and I’ll be damned if it did not come true,

Twenty thousand roads I went down, down, down,

And they all lead me straight back home to you.

Rivers have magic in them, and I was lucky enough to receive the blessing of both the Suwanee and the Wakulla. I got to stink like a rotting mullet in the company of people I love and who love me back, in places where Florida is clean and wild, uncomfortable and dirty, and everything that Orlando is not.

It rained last night so Munson Hills is prime for a fast lap. A big plate of barbed wire and a hot mug of turpentine are waiting in the kitchen, and life is pretty fuckin’ good these days.

See you in White Springs!


Grown-up mites do not bite people; they eat insects and insect eggs. It’s the babies that need the protein from your skin to grow. Redbugs do not burrow into your skin. They attach to your skin in places where your clothing is tight, like your ankles, waist, knees, and armpits. After they are attached, they inject saliva (spit) into your skin. This spit dissolves a little bit of your skin, and they drink up the liquid skin, not your blood. Redbug spit is very irritating and itchy. It will cause the skin to swell up, hiding the redbug. After about three days, the baby redbug is full. It drops off and grows into a nymph (an older mite that doesn’t bite). The itching caused by redbugs is an allergic reaction to the redbug’s saliva. Try not to scratch it, because it can get infected.

A weekend of sun, sweat, and down home music. Load up the bikes, guitars, african drums, and of course the coolers of beer. It’s time to go to the Florida Folk Festival. click the link if you want to see the lineup and check out the scene.

I also hope to connect with these people- – They were right hospitable last year, and I sure would like to go for a ride with them. A long sandy spin to Big Shoals for a swim sounds real nice.

Y’all have a good long weekend yourselves and I’ll see you back under the big top on Monday.

Open mouth, insert foot.

I consider myself one of the lucky ones, my bike shop- Joe’s Bike Shop on Lake Ella is good to me. Things happen a little different down there, but we have a lot of laughs and they do whatever it takes to help keep me rolling. So thanks to Joe and Pete, and all the previous mechanics over the years who have hooked me up. You were worth every cookie, coffee, cigarette, and cuban sandwich it took to get some action down there.

Wherever you are, I offer you the opportunity to give it up to the shop you love, or offer a shop some constructive criticism, not that any of them visit the BRC much.


The Lord works in strange ways.

My brother had this aluminum Trek for years. It wasn’t a very flashy ride. The geometry was very square. The seat was one of those gel saddles, that mush around like you’re sitting in a wet diaper. He never rode it, and I understand why.

Then it got stolen. The thief broke into the neighbor’s house, stole two handguns, a Playstation 2, a handful of games, and a jar of poker change. He escaped on my brother’s bike, carrying all that shit with him somehow. The neighborhood was up in arms, it was a bad time to be a stranger on the avenue. Even though my bro didn’t ride his bike, he was still justifiably pissed off about it. He wanted to own a bike damn it all, whether he rode it or not.

So now he’s got a Jamis, bike of the chosen people, and he’s riding that thing whenever and wherever he can.

So thanks bicycle thief, but don’t let us catch you on that Trek. That thing is slow and we will get your ass.

Hopefully none of you have suffered the indignity of having your ride stolen. Lock it up, and avoid the old school U-Locks, if you don’t already know, they open with a ball point pen in about 5 seconds.

Gold’s Gym

Take it from me, don’t let yourself go people, because the long road back is fraught with humiliation, subjugation, and pain.
Two nights have passed since my last visit to the strip mall jerk off station, Gold’s Gym. I accidentally rolled in around 6:30 P:M, which is apparently when they let the sex offender, ankle-bracelet crew out for a little R & R in the yard.
S’quatch and I are making our rounds: sit-ups, lunges, crunches, and then the bench press. The bench area is of course, where the freaks lurk. Whether it is positioning oneself to view scrota up the shorts leg of a fellow member, or just pumping iron to build your own set of masculine DD’s, the bench press area attracts perverts like a petting zoo.

I humbly accept the flourescent lights, the tribal tattoo parade, and the thumping bass of the latest Spears-Federline effort as my just deserts, but so far nobody has entered my zone of discomfort until this guy, this “ogling squash smuggler” with his too-tight teal sweat pants, and obvious lack of package restraint.

My radar codes red, only seconds to avert incoming hostile fire, but I’m too late. Captain Magnanimous, Prince Charming himself, Dr. Cash Money Sasquatch says, “Sure you can work in a set”. He then encourages John Wayney Gacy Jr. with comments like “Hey, you’re wearing blue suede Reeboks, that’s great”, and counting off the reps “1,2, you got it bro, 3, 4” as the man’s little summer squash rises and falls in anticipation of fellow bench-area dwellers checking him out. Disgusting. The man has had a taste of success and now he’s losing all self-control. We are seconds away from becoming permanent workout buddies when I give him the grumpy, irritated, “Look man, I just want to do my shit and get out of here” dismissal.

Blink-blink, adjust squash, go off pouting.

There is one person at Gold’s Gym who really has it made, and I have yet to meet him or her. The sauna has been broken since the day I joined, and that distresses me, but somebody has the sweet job of scribbling out the date it will be repaired and writing in a new date. How hard is that? The sign says “scheduled for repair May 19”. On May 19, you get your red marker, sneak into the locker room when nobody is around, and write a big primary school “2” over the “1”.

What do they do in the 10-day interim before it’s time to change the “May” to “SeptMayber”?

I’m going to have to stake the place out and see, not that I’m a freak or anything.

The Algernon-Gordon Effect

I have been taking the supplement pictured below in order to focus on some unusually pressing projects in my fabulously interesting work which I will never, ever tell you about. This shit is amazing. I feel like Charlie Gordon, the retarded guy in the book, Flowers for Algernon. If you aren’t familiar with the story, Gordon receives a special operation to not only repair his retardation, but to make him an absolute stone-cold genius, and it works. Well, it works for a little while. In the brief span of time that he is no longer a simpleton working as a delivery boy he accomplishes the following-

Falls in love
Gets laid, not by the one he loves, but still dude, come on.
Gives the jerks he worked with their come-uppance for treating him bad when he was retarded.
Surpasses the intellect of the professor who did the surgery, by proving that the surgery will not last-Fuck!

Algernon, the mouse who preceded him in the experiment dies. Charlie rapidly slips back into his retarded state and disappears into a home for disabled adults.

So if any of you have dissed me with humor above my head, I’m coming for you. I now know everything. Hopefully I too will fall in love and subsequently get laid by a woman other than the one I love.

As long as this stuff lasts, I’m going to take care of some business, and if I go out like Charlie, somebody please put flowers on Algernon’s grave for me.