Due to the fact that my job here exists totally virtually, I spend a great deal of time wading through the fantasy land that is the internet.
Existing up to my elbows in the randomness that the web provides, more often than not leaves me scratching my head in confusion. Occasionally though it makes my punch myself in the face just out of sheer disbelief.
Thankfully on those days when I’m just not feeling up to the task of finding the weirdest thing possible, a fellow like Scott comes along and serves it up in spades;
In light of the bike kit in your post today that is possibly the only bike get-up that could make a skinny white guy in tights pedaling down the road look like they might be any whiter… i thought i should send this your way:
White Power Milk.
A little of that and your White Russian in the evening is looking a tad more German (on so many levels).
Keep on keeping on!”
Learning that something like this even exists assures me that my own kinks are down right rustic.
Something white, highly sought after but not nearly as creamy showed up for me in my PO box on Monday from none other than Barry Wicks his own bad self.
Seems Barry took pity of my half assed rattle can job and had something pretty trick up his long sleeve for me;
Barry’s got his own signature computer? That is so awesome. He even thoughtfully included a note of direction I can assure you relates only to the previously linked post;
That’s how rumors start.
Now I’m afraid I have to sandwich some bad news in with all the rest of today’s nonsense. Last week a local messenger named Zachary Parke was killed right here in my very own backyard in a hit and run. I didn’t know Zachary personally, but I’m acquainted with people who did and they have all agreed unanimously that he was as solid a cat as there is;
To support one another, as well as to pay tribute to his life, friends have organized a memorial ride on Saturday the 18th, kicking off right here in Santa Cruz with an initial 5:00 meeting at the clock tower, followed by a ride to the site of his death up on the hill. If you knew Zachary, or even would like to simply stand with some brothers and sisters, take note.
Bringing this whole thing down a notch and back to the family friendly and punch drunk vibe that we usually keep around here, while trolling various channels on Monday, I came across this bit of news, that while it’s still some time away, made my heart jump just the same;
I missed 2003 World’s down there due to the fact that I had a show of paintings in Portland East, and was actually moving in with a girl, which up to that point, I had never done before. It was real-life stuff, which I felt was more important than making the trip down to support Dan and the rest of my homies.
While I don’t regret the decision, I still flip through my old issue of One regularly, and wonder what might have been;
Perhaps September might be a chance for me to redeem myself.
In other news of the gearless, Colin came through with a little bit of news regarding last weekend’s SSUSA;
“The guy riding behind me had a KISS jersey. We listened to Iron Maiden in the parking lot before the start. It was a heavy metal day.”
Photo courtesy of Shawn Lortie.
Then somewhere along the way, Chewy rode a bull;
By all reports, this year’s SSUSA was a damn fine time, and I hear murmurings that next year’s race is going to be in Vermont. I should have a spankin’ new uni-geared bike by that point, which if the planets are in line, might possibly carry me to a solid mid-pack finish.
The last race I did in Vermont was the 2000 Mount Snow National, and if I remember correctly, was the hardest race I’ve ever done.
I recall the black flies clogging my face, the descents being as agonizing as the climbs and the roots, rocks and dark black mud all being slick as ice.
The walk down memory lane has me lodged somewhere between quiet masochism, and perverted curiosity.
Regardless how one might look at it, that curiosity of returning to Vermont to murder myself on their miles of unrelenting trails still sounds both reasonable, and tamer than the thought paying $125.00 for some previously gargled milk from the mouth of a random white girl.