Mail bag time? Yeah, pretty much.
In my recent absence, I have received an array or correspondences on an array of topics, all of which are vitally important, (otherwise I wouldn’t bother discussing them here, natch.) Working from the bottom of the stack on up, we’ll start from an email penned by Ben of Handsome Bicycles‘
“The new hotness can now be made public. Twin Six /Handsome Cycles collaboration.”
Yes, I agree.. While the new Handsome Cycles Speedy Devil is quite fetching, what has caught my eye and mortgaged my soul is their new XOXO;
For those of you in the audience who have a point of reference on this bike, you know what I’m talking about. For those of you who don’t, all I gotta say is ‘go back to school with you’.
For a couple of young bucks, the masterminds behind Handsome’s designs got their fingers square on the pulse.
This next bit I’m not sure wasn’t auto generated, but it’s for a good cause so I will post it anyway;
“Hey Stevil –
Wanted to make sure your readers were signing the petition… Performance Bicycle announced that it has signed on as an official partner with People for Bikes, the campaign to collect more than one million signatures in support of bicycle-friendly policies and government funding.
Sign up here – People For Bikes – and if you would like more information, please let me know.
So there you go, and thanks for the heads up Josh..
In other news.. You don’t have to live in any place in particular to know that the suburbs suck. By design it’s an unnatural in entirely inefficient extension of urbanization, and are currently on the fast track to being the ghettos and ghost towns of the very near future.
If you have any doubt on the matter, I urge you to watch the superb documentary The End of Suburbia;
Though despite all of the film’s insights from brainiacs, champions of the environment, and social commentators, not a single one of them expressed the ideas as succinctly as this single nine year old boy;
On the front of all things bicycle and bicycle riding related, the masochistic architects behind the annual Steel Wül Classic were at it again this past weekend, but due to the fact that the matron of the Kinevil Clan was in town for my 40th, I bowed out and let Wülians tear the legs off of another poor sap.
I’m sure it was once again a high time for everyone, as last year was executed brilliantly.
Seeing as the route is a tightly kept secret until the very morning of the ride, I didn’t know which direction Le Peloton would be headed. I rolled the dice and went out to find a suitable heckle spot to dig in for the long haul;
Of course by ‘long haul’ I mean the length of time it took me to finish my coffee and pastry, and with no sign of my group of stretchy pant wearing speed cyclists, I turned tail and headed home.
I would like to mention that 20 minutes after the ride was to depart, I received some birthday wishes from Ben Jacques-Maynes indicating that he was not present on the ride.
This of course means that had I actually made it to the ride, I might have stood a chance of getting a solid 10th (11th? 12th? 13th?) instead of my last year’s 16th placing.
Though in an attempt at really turning the screws on myself, the day before the Steel Wül ride, I adjourned to the East Bay to take part in an annual tradition that takes place every six years called the ‘Hantsour Classic’.
Truthfully I just now made that name up as it was a collaboration between Jeff Hantman and Mansur (Man Sour) Nurullah. The classic consists of a combination of mixed terrain everything and good old fashion competition and camaraderie (with and emphasis on the camaraderie).
As I peeked my head out of beneath my rock the morning of the event, I took note that the gods had opened up the heavens and began dumping not quite heavy mist/not quite light rain upon the world around me.
My brand spanking new white and red Budvar kit wasn’t going to fair well.
I slogged through Oakland’s mean streets, avoiding the ‘dead rainbow’ laden puddles when I happened by the locked up store front of Manifesto Bicycles.
Shop proprietors Sam and Mackay were lurking about inside when they opened up and gave me a warm greeting. ‘Hey, do you guys happen to have any derelict clip on rear fenders laying around?” I asked. “Nope, but you can just take this one” they said, as they handed me a brand new seat post mounted fender off the shelf. “Send us some money if you think of it.”
Manifesto is just that kind of shop, and I humbly thank them for their assistance.
With my ass now safely protected from the skunk stripe, I proceeded to meet up with the idjut brigade. From that moment on, it looked like this;
The worried look on Jay’s face might be because his wife was five days overdue and he was planning to spend the next six hours in the woods on a bike. That didn’t seem like a good idea to me, but what do I know?
Anyway, after the banana break, we moved on;
Plus, for good measure, I got a sweet shot of Oded doing his best Contador, which I have sepia’d for your approval;
A good time was had by all, and everyone was a winner. Except those who will be experiencing the residual effects of Poison Oak in two to five days, which at this stage might still be all of us.
So between packing orders, hanging out with moms, getting old, telling my legs to shut up, and gearing onward to get out to Vegas, I will now pull the plug on today’s installment. Thanks for the attention and happy Monday, ya bums.
Make magic for daddy.
And that, as they say, is all she wrote.