Monthly Archives: January 2011


I have a plate of cold chicken, an avocado, a hunk of well-aged cheese, and a batch of raw mustard greens before me on a cutting board. I am eating it all with my hands yes, while typing- tearing leg from thigh and wing from breast. Crunching the cartilage and chewing the sinew. Scooping up buttery slices of the avocado, which tastes like the warm sun and folding it in a leaf of too late picked extra spicy greens, called greens but deep red along all but the spines. I’m staring over the next few days like the unengaged battlefield, polishing the grey gun-metal of my Titus Racer X.

I might get pummeled and driven afield, or I may plant my damn flag where I please.


to the core

I mixed it up and checked out a different yoga class tonight. I did this as part of my New Year’s resolution to take more positive risks in my life. My bike ride on Saturday took me well into the take more risks realm, but the positive impact of that ride is questionable. I figured a new yoga class was a safe, little, non-risky risk.

This was of course completely untrue. The risk was profound, and not just the risk of writing about yoga on a well-established hardcore cycling blog that ventures into the history of gangster rap, murky manifesto-esque meditations, and outright falsehoods. The real risk happened in that merciless sweat-box about the moment the instructor ubiquitously named John, aided me in my self-flagellation by pushing my own left ankle into my own left hand as I arched on my belly hopelessly for it, groping like a turtle trying to right itself on a scorching highway. Now I know how the Guantanamo prisoners feel when the guards let them adjust the blindfold for comfort. The gratefulness of the brainwashed.

I hope it is okay to mention that this John had the demeanor and build of a Jason Bourne like character who has aged through many battles. Missing the ends of his digits on his right hand I feel certain this happened as a result of frostbite on some remote 28’er peak, or intimate combat for the highest stakes. He was brusque and demanding, yet compassionate in a sense. We did yoga to Sammy Hagar and the Rolling Stones. You could hardly hear the music for all the moaning and wailing going on.

Namaste dawgs,


He said he wanted to show me something and that he knew the way. Things happened differently than expected. Saturday’s ride was a series of unpleasant and poorly considered decisions that resulted in a hard-fought victory for Mystery and me. The day itself held significance as both the day of the Felasco 50, but more importantly it was Elvis’ birthday. Not a day for a lap around the standard trails. A statement was needed. Besides, I felt like I could take anything he could conjure up and still be riding tall at the end of the day. That’s pretty much what happened.

My attorney recommends against any discussion of the route, especially any mention of 10 ft. tall fences, ankle deep mud, or the smilac maze. I can say that we didn’t see a proper trail until hour 3 of the ride.

We didn’t get 50 miles, but we got the suffering of 100.

How as your weekend?


The Look Back

This time last year I was deep into the pre-Felasco 48 hour regret and dread cycle. I saddled up for that ride in 13 degree weather 100% certain that I would not make it to lunch. If the cold didn’t get me, then it would be the legs, or maybe the lungs or the gut that would take me down. Like Saddam at the gallows though, my step never faltered. I went down miserably, and willingly. I felt I deserved it. I ended the ride at 15 miles with a solid ice flow down the crack of my ass from my leaking Camelbak. I do not remember crying, but I should have.

Today I am considering purchasing a Swiffer. They seem magical and handy.

What sweet relief to be free of that event! Although this will surely cause some of your eyes to roll, I must say I feel entirely capable of completing the ride. I just feel I deserve better. I intend to enjoy some art tomorrow evening, sleep in my freshly laundered sheets beneath the weighty comforter and allow it to comfort me. In comfort. I will then wake refreshed, prepare a nutritious breakfast and find Mystery (the other Mullet)for a ride that will be more than 20, but less than 50 miles.

If others have come to similar conclusions, let’s hook up after cartoons are over.


Everything was just lovely

I broke my new year’s resolution today.

I was at the dentist having my teeth cleaned and the young woman scraping my teeth was a terrible communicator. I just never knew where she expected me to turn my head, or why I had to get in the closet that turned out to be an x-ray machine. She was pushing and pulling me around like she was the detective and I the fresh collar. .

My new year’s resolution was to let no poor service experience go unconfronted. That’s right. When I resolve to do something I don’t waste my time on the little things. I go big and bold. The problem was, I wanted to make it out of there in time to go for a bike ride. I also didn’t trust myself to stick to the second part of my resolution, which was to provide constructive feedback politely. The words wouldn’t come to me, only the image of me yanking the scraper out of her hands and poking it into her robust and healthy gums. I just sat there, and took my mind to a happier place. It was all over quickly and I made it to my bike ride.

That’s the trouble with my resolution. If we all confronted every transgression of manners and breach of service standard, nobody would get anything done. I am probably somebody’s poor service experience myself. A non-returned call, a flip email response, the proverbial dropped ball.

Then again, you have to draw the line somewhere. One can’t just take it all the time right? Am I the only one concerned about these issues?

Have a pleasant evening and thanks for stopping by-


Two Mullet School

Mystery and Me? We are a two mullet school lately. Just two fish swimming in the water. The rest of the school has done been caught up in the great cast net of life.

We just got back from the forest where the pace was swim for your life the Osprey are coming!

I’m pretty sure we would have dropped all of y’all, especially Dogboy.



Sarcastic greeting followed by some local colloquialism. Introduction of topic. Immediate tangential segue away from topic. Return to topic. Observation made avoiding popular cliches in favor of new cliche if time permits. Description of corroborating evidence to support cliche. String of metonymic cleverness. Barb targeting known reader (S’quatch, Mystery preferred)then first closing statement.

Second closing statement.

Universal Truth.

(more efficient in 2011)