Low and behold, as soon as I returned from the thing of which I dare not speak, the down pour of life dismissed began.
But we’ll have plenty of time to get into that later. For now, at the risk of being sniped by any number of Mike Sinyard’s thugs, I will say that I was at Specialized for these last few days, and I saw and heard some pretty amazing things, none of which I am at liberty to discuss until the first of the year due to a fairly serious looking release I signed stating as much. However I don’t believe there would be a problem with me mentioning aspects of the trip that didn’t really have anything to do with the purpose of the trip itself.
That said, should I end up mysteriously done away with, we will then learn that this statement was an untruth.
On Monday night I left my home with a clean bike and packed bags en route to my old friend Pete’s house in Gilroy, which for the uninformed is just South of Specialized Bicycle’s home in Morgan Hill California, but is also the Garlic capital of the world. A short back story is that Pete’s family owned property on the outskirts of this little town, and on a corner of this property long sat a broken down and dilapidated barn. Being the crafty bugger that Pete is, he rebuilt the barn with his own two hands, literally from the ground up, along with a refrigerator, his own fire place and most impressively, a regulation sized Bocci Ball court;
Upon my arrival, Pete graced me with some of his delicious home cooking;
After a brilliant meal, we adjourned upstairs with a few more cold ones to watch the first half of Smoky and The Bandit. This trip was shaping up pretty nicely, though I had a long day ahead of me, so I adjourned to my quarters to rest up and prepare for what the morning might bring;
Sleeping the sleep of the wicked is a full time job for which getting paid overtime is an impossibility. Upon waking the following morning I was treated to a nice display of loveliness;
I jumped in my bucket and made my way to this place;
What followed was seeing some stuff, doing some things, riding some bikes, and talking with some people.
That is all I can say.
One thing I am at liberty to discuss however was the unveiling of Shimano’s 2012 Dura Ace line;
You heard it here first.
After the first day I was to attend a press dinner, but I decided I liked the idea of returning to my tranquil country home a little bit better, so that is what I did. Another meal was eaten, which was followed by Pete tossing his kids around;
And finally more beer and the second half of Smoky and The Bandit.
On day two of the event, I learned conclusively that living out of the front seat of one’s truck doesn’t exactly lend to organization, as I have now discovered that I’ve lost both my cycle computer as well as my hitch rack lock keys. Given my disregard for order, this comes as no surprise;
I returned to the place that I previously mentioned, and saw some more stuff, and talked about more things and then got the opportunity to go on a rainy group ride with the team, management, media, staff, local shop employees, and no fewer than five support vehicles. I opted to literally ride through the middle of that group in order to meet up with my pal Dave for a ride by ourselves, which was quite preferable;
I may have missed the chance to ride in close proximity to those who I can’t talk about, but given the choice between attending a shit show and spending a couple hours having real conversations with a friend while meandering about on previously unexplored tarmac, I don’t regret opting for the latter.
Returning to base camp, I adjourned to the locker room which is absolutely packed with bare man ass and The Weather Girls ‘It’s Raining Men’ begins playing loops in my head. I gracefully move across the room to relieve myself where I learn that if your urine looks like syrup, you should go to the hospital;
I take note that while my pee looks nothing like syrup, it smells an awful lot like it, though since there is no indication on the chart that this is an issue, I continue on with my objective of getting cleaned up and rejoining the group for more of that which cannot be mentioned.
Once upstairs with a fresh coffee in hand, I recognize that the good people at Specialized obviously have astonishingly good taste;
Finally, after seeing more secret stuff with secret people in secret places, I have the option to wait around for a spell for a huge group meal, which very well could consist of another five support vehicles and continued conversation concerning topics which I can’t talk about, or rounding out my set of notes, stealing a final can of beer from their barbecue concept bike;
packing up my wagon, and getting the hell out of dodge. I think long and hard about this, as this conceivably could be my golden ticket to more jobs just like this. I mean, if I want to be treated and recognized as a legitimate journalist, then these are the hoops that I have to jump through.
Then I realize that I never wanted to be treated or recognized as a legitimate journalist, nor had the thought ever crossed my mind. I send J.P.H.N.H one final text saying that Valerio Piva looks more like him than his own brothers do, and I slink away with quiet wishes of thanks to the big red S for allowing me to take part in what for all intent and purposes never happened.
As soon as the embargo lifts in January, I will have a full(ly uninformative) break down of all that took place, which as I previously mentioned might be here, or possibly in an upcoming issue of Paved Magazine where you can learn of all of the finest points that took place regarding the admiration of tan lines and my inner most thoughts while immersed in a world of big business and elite professional cyclists.
Or you can just read VeloNews or something and find out what actually happened.
Before I go, and on an entirely unrelated note, I would also like to extend well wishes for those in Bend at this weekend’s Cyclocross Nationals Styled Athletic Pursuit where everyone will be a winner.
I also have to mention, because I promised I would, that there is a show opening this very evening at OneOnOne Bicycle Studio in Portland East of photographic works. Do what you gotta to be in attendance;
With that, I will bid you all a good day and say that once again, I am taking a short leave to the Southland for personal matters, though should have a post available for you on Monday where I will finally unload lots of mail bag and try and to once again get out of my own way.
A ‘downpour of life dismissed’ is a bit of an exaggeration. More appropriately it’s just heavy drizzle of the neglected.