Forgive me a few more mistakes today as I currently am swimming through a thick mental soup of Benadryl haze.
Allow me to explain.
For the first time in a while, my shoulders were both simultaneously feeling up to snuff, which led me off of my current and consistent diet of the road and onto two consecutive days of mountain bike athletic persuitings. Day one concluded with a big stick taking my derailleur hanger out and two rear flats.
Not a bad spot to contend with mechanicals though;
It was a good warm up for day two on the secret trails with Rick, Jenny, MA, and Brian. Before we got into any of that though, we tested our mettle on the giant, and bad hole puckering rope swing;
It is an exhilarating thing to experience to be sure, but each time out I couldn’t help but envisioning the rope breaking at the furthest point of the swing’s span, sending me rag dolling ass over tea kettle into the abyss.
Getting on with our day, we continued rolling, and I continued shooting photos, most all of which came out looking pretty crappy, but with the wonderment of computer technology, I can almost make it look intentional;
We were all having a fine time (except for the women in our midst to whom I spent most of my time presenting points as to why they should be home making babies or washing dishes), enjoying the mid-fall sunshine, and getting rad where rad-getting was suitable;
Tiny Rick on a big trail.
Big Rick on a tiny trail.
If I smoked pot, I would most likely choose to do it here.
Continuing on, I was without a care in the world until we arrived at a spot where there were several pissed off hornets, many of which stung me a number of times from my left ankle to my left knee.
Now as a kid, I used to get stung regularly and repeatedly, yet I never could recall the stings hurting, then swelling, then itching and hurting as much as they do now. The effects weren’t even this profound two years ago when a yellow jacket stung me in my throat. I do believe that I have developed a bit of an allergy to the little buggers in the last several years.
Anyhow, Monday morning I finally opted to take some Benadryl to see how that grabbed me. That afternoon the triple six number plate wearing Maggie featured in Monday’s post came by which resulted in the consumption of two beers that then rapidly led to a near inability to speak.
With all of that said, if I happen to trail off in a greater number than usual of jumbled incoherent nonsenseries, you know why.
Moving on.. In the last 48 hours the following video was sent to me no fewer than 96 times, but on the chance there is at least one person who hasn’t seen it by now, here you go;
In America we throw empty beer cans at our friends while they race their bicycle machines. In Africa they throw big horned animals at one another.
I suppose the time for someone to up their game was drawing near anyway.
In bicycle industry news, Billy sent a little video push they’re throwing out from the Pedalr Marketplace (dot) com;
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed that at least one of the cyclists in that video wasn’t taken out by some careening mammal or another;
Having nothing to do with that, and probably equally little to do with the next thing, shortly after my recent return from Minneapolis West I took a turn revamping my dear Soulcraft Dirtbomb with a snappy new fork made from the blood, sweat and tears of Chris Igleheart;
Handsome stuff indeed.
The only thing about it that’s mediocre is the pilot.
In closing and in news of music that makes children cry, Joe Doom from the oft mentioned band ‘The Worship Of Silence’ has come through with a bit of sad news, but some that folks in The Bay Area, or those with lots of frequent flyer miles might be interested in;
“The time for The Worship of Silence is ending. Sanj is moving to New York, but is first heading to South America to explore his inner bullshit and, undoubtedly, the need for penicillin for a few months. We all wish him the worst luck and the best stories.
The rest of us have decided to end TWOS. We will keep our studio space and hopefully, produce something of some value or interest later on down the road. Paul and Josh are working on another project that I can only assume will be completely pretentious and, hopefully, offensive on many levels. I will continue to sing for Hammers of Misfortune and will soon be famous and deny all knowledge of any of your existence.
We are playing one last show this Sunday…
Eli’s Mile High Club
3629 MLK Jr. Way
Oakland, CA 94609
This is an all ages show so you can use this as an opportunity to have your kids scared straight I guess. I think we’ll be going on at about 3pm. This would also be a good time to come and say goodbye to Sanj as he gets on a plane the following morning.
Lastly, for those of you who have come to our shows, listened to our shit, or generally gave a shit, we want to thank you. If for some reason you didn’t get a cd, we’ll be unloading A FUCKING TON of them on sunday for free.
I don’t know why he felt the need to use so many bad words in that transmission, but you know how heavy metalers are.
So there you have it. One complete post with a head full of fog, a head full of fun, a head full of galloping elk-type animals, and a head full of metal.
Now if you’ll excuse me. I have a swollen leg and an addled brain to continue to fuel.