Just what I needed, another game to lose, and this one in my own home. Sasquatch is known as Sasquatch in the world of cycling, and Jusncho is Juancho, but when they clash across the
We can’t have nothing nice in this town. All of the work involved to plan the first ever in the history of all time Big Bend Cycling Festival and it coincides with monsoon season. It has not rained like that since February 22nd, 2008.
The scene downtown was strange, like a selective virus had eliminated all but the cyclists in the Capital City. Aside from the homeless, the crowd was either racing, with a racer, or on a bike. Cyclists are social isolationists. Next year I think the FAMU Marching 100 could add some flair to the proceedings. I hear they work cheap.
Seeing the streets of downtown cleared for bike racing was an astonishing thrill, and I congratulate the parties that attended thankless bureacratic proceedings to make it so. The weather turned so sour in the afternoon with multiple tornado warnings, lime-green skies and changing barometric pressure that made your ears pop-the events were cancelled. I hope this brings to rest the argument that road bikers are made of anything but sugar.
I met fellow online hack, RickySilk, or someone claiming to be him. He lost his race by 1/1000 of a second. Quitters never win Ricky, and winners never quit. Next time buddy.
Bigworm was lounging on his Kona Crumpy surrounded by his posse of loyal subjects (they are like monkeys, ready to be shot into space!)
I wouldn’t be surprised if one of that crew got a trophy.
Friday night our bikes were blessed in two languages by a priest, a shaman, and a random Jewish lady- which was nice-
No, I did not see them walk into a bar.
Joe, of Joe’s Bike Shop fame, received a Bike Saint of the Year award and his acceptance speech appears below in full text.
“Thank you. This is great!”
The fixed gear kids milled around like sharks because they do not have the ability to coast, and when the vegan pizza came out- they took the analogy one step further and frenzied on that shit.
The road race in Quincy had a bizarre finish for the Juniors with someone winning with a bunny hop at the line. Not bad after 84 miles of putting the hammer down. A professional from Trinidad & Tobago won the pro race and I can’t help but think of the Jamaican Bobsled Team on that note.
For those wondering where Trinidad and Tobago is located: find Brigadoon on a map, go North to Narnia, and look west.
For those wondering why the place has two names: I have no idea.
The Twilight trail is open for business, although I slept through the inaugural ride. Contrary to what I depict on this website I have ridden that trail more than most of you, so I accept my pass thank you. Now go out there and get lost like you’re supposed to do.
The Robot Army drones returned from their North Carolina mission a bit soggy and rusty in the joints from a steady 55 degree mist. We prescribed a little Ping Pong therapy last night and they seem to be working fine.
And that, my friends, is all the news that’s fit to print.
It is Friday everybody, unless you are in Australia, where it might already be Saturday. I feel too good and loose from last night’s ride to bother fretting with you people, so please enjoy these two kittens happily ensconced in their cups, as some of you no doubt will be this weekend as well.
See you locals at the RR2 tonight.
Big times this weekend. Two of my favorite things are converging. That’s right, peanut butter and marshmallow fluff! That’s beside the point, I’m actually talking about Art and Bicycles. The First Friday Gallery Hop (I prefer to simply stroll it) will coincide with the blessing of the bikes and an outdoor movie festival hosted by Krank it Up, our local counter-cultural jihadi bike movement.
Saturday there will be tours and races and bikes, bikes, bikes downtown up to and including a beer tent. There will be roadies racing in the streets, undoubtedly banging elbows and yelling “Dude!” a lot. Sunday morning will see a menagerie of suckers lining up to get lost in the forest on the accursed twilight zone trail. I will pedal slowly in the back of the field muttering “I told you so” and scavenging for dropped loot.
On other fronts, a battle royale is brewing.
Maybe it won’t be an adversarial conflict, but a convergence of talent. That’s right, if you play your cards correctly you will be around in August to witness Uncle Todd Simmler and Pete “Huck Shins” Burchell loose in the streets. I predict that at any given time there will only be two out of four wheels touching the ground. Todd reports he is at the top of his game and he is coming back to pass out demerits to all of us who ever put a bike in a car or eat cheese.
Robot Army Update
Two riders will be launched to North Carolina today in order to take trail samples in preparation for upcoming races. The BRC wishes Torso and Bushy an excellent trip. Don’t forget to bring the 10 survival essentials.
What were they again?
It is 84 degrees in the Capital City today and that means it is time to crush some citrus, uncork the Franzia, and pour yourself a spritzer.
When I am not out there crushing the miles I like to unwind with a delightful white wine spritzer. To follow up on yesterday’s excellent travelogue segment I must ask you: What food or beverages do you associate with time and place?
I can think of so many places I have been and how certain flavors and customs sanctify the moment of truly arriving “there.”
Turkish coffee when Tim comes to town from Bosnia.
Young red wine on ice in Barcelona.
Lemonade at Chik-Fil-A.
Sharing a Corona Light with Mom.
Una chupita con Bighorn.
A pint of Guiness anywhere,
-and spritzers all summer long.