Monthly Archives: October 2008

The Fried Egg

Despite aligning your hips, keeping your head down, and letting the club head speed do the work- sometimes you pound one into the bunker and face what is known as the “fried egg.” Although there is nothing glamorous or visually stunning about hitting the fried egg every player must have this shot in the bag.

A successful sand save is 3 parts technique and one part faith.
Most importantly, lofting the fried egg out of the trap takes guts. You have to step down in that hole, choose your spot and swing with all you got.

That is just what I intend to do.


Welcome to the Big Tee Circus

After last Sunday’s ride I am trying out this new format. The Titus ought to purchase a nice set of Callaway’s and a membership at a modest club somewhere far from Tallahassee where I can live out my days in ignoble defeat, relying on the succour of pitching, putting, and bingo-bango-bongo.



You hear it out there, purring steadily.

The forest Zamboni is cruising the trails, packing down the pine needle cover that recently mimicked a 1970’s era pornographic cinema artist’s genitalia on my last visit. Smoothing out the wrinkled corner responsible for my recent goring by chainring, the forestZamboni kneads sand and clay together into one battle-ready surface. The Munson Lupine is growing tall and strong, leaning into the path of the singletrack so we can ride for miles high-fiving nature at speeds greater than 10 mph at times.

Some soft patch of earth will be drying out by morning, waiting for my ass to come sit on it and relax- one last ride before the descent to South Florida Babylon (and more Santos) on Sunday.

Have a good weekend. Don’t forget to vote early for Barack Obama and Joe Biden. If you plan otherwise, don’t let the blog door hit you where the dog should have bit you.

See you in the forest tomorrow between 8:30 and ?


A Fitting End

Powered up on the corn I worked on my saddle height and angle late into the night. San Felasco is still two months away which means I have an outside chance of getting my saddle adjusted back to “slight discomforting” before the big event.

I can say with confidence that saddle adjustment is an art, not a science, and there are many theories on how to get the job done. Most make as much sense as Intelligent Design- measure your inseam by 1.09, hang a plum bob off your knee, put your foot down, pick your foot up, shake it all about, and whatnot. There are just too many intangibles to consider for anyone to claim true knowledge. Of course, if you think you know- please do share.

I am only really sure of one thing, this needs to meet these guys.


Don’t Bonk on Candy Mountain

It is not enough to pile on the miles day after day after day never taking a day off the bike no matter that your legs feel pressed in the vice and the blood runs through them like pancake batter the point is to not run out of candy candy candy.

It was only Sasquatch and a lap of Munson not a problem even after 30+ crushing miles being pulled around by the nose or worse by that damned CL Smooth up in the real hills north of town where the true cyclists ride. A handful of raisins and a diet Root beer fortified with nutrional Sucralose got me 9/10’s of the way around Munson and then the tank hit bottom and on mile 5.9 of the 6 mile ride Sasquatch made his big move. I never should have waited up for him after the trees.

Great move Sasquatch next time I will bring more candy candy candy.




It is time for the annual Cheaha camping trip where you can sleep in a tent then get up and ride all day or sleep in the dirt next to the fire and continue drinking when you wake up. Fewer and fewer are able to exercise both options as the insidious limitations of age set in. We will be returning to the Ocoee/ Tanasi region which is in Tennessee I think, click the title link for details.

It is a good thing that this site is not one of those vanity pages where I try to keep you posted on the details of my life such as,

“Dear readers, I totally squeezed too much toothpaste out this morning and spent like forever trying to get it back in the tube, LOL, OMG!! : ) ; )”

The weekend had it all: rock and roll, strange women who were pretty normal, raw oysters, fast boats, and of course a bike ride or two.

I can say with absolute authority that if you start a blog, feed it frequently, and keep the lies to a minimum that after 3 years you will be rewarded with new friends and kick ass swag like an official “Pootle Crew” jersey from the Bad Brains MTB Club in England, which is another country from this one you buttwads!” This jersey is so awesome I am wearing it and nothing else as I write this epistemological missive.

But- the camping trip. The trip is characterized by no amenities besides that which you bring, all night fun, no whining about the howling drunks the next morning, lots of oysters, baked goods, roasted meat, epic rides, wholesome family fun with the children of other people, and one of a kind musical performances late into the night. e-mail me at if you are interested in joining us November 8-? (Veteran’s Day weekend) and I will give you the location of camp headquarters and assign you to a squad.

Just google Thunder Rock Express, you will see,


Hard Road for Turtles

Around mile 759 of my 900 mile run I came up on the exit for San Felasco and the full and gravid moon filled the sky above it. It looked like you would ride over the moon to get to the trails. That seemed fine to me, as things should be even.

I will ride from the top of Malapert Mountain to the far end of Longomontanus Crater for all I care-that Moon ain’t so big.

Those turtles say the same thing while they stare across I-75. That ain’t so far. Those cars ain’t that fast. I’m going to do it. Seriously other turtle, I’m going for it– and then that turtle goes, out into the serious and the right now.

Sometimes they make it and sometimes they don’t.


Eatin’ the Corn

Somebody get this shit away from me.

No wait, don’t touch it! Come any closer and I’ll claw your eyes out!

Another 500 miles in a rental, another lap of sweet Santos soil. I’m getting quite familiar with Bellview, Florida.

Some riders asked me if I was local and could I suggest which trails to ride. I didn’t even think twice. I said, “Sure, follow me.” Away we went on the best trails in the state, me and some dudes from Hernando.

Yeah, I kicked their asses.

What a town, a fine pueblo, and it is always 1979 in Bellview. A simpler, gentler time.

Now– dug in here in Ft. Lauderdale across the street from the dogtrack, down the block from the strip club, and next door to the Isle of Bile Casino the times are not simple, nor do they appear to be gentle.

I’ll try not to touch anything.