Nowhere to go but down.


After Saturday’s power packed six hundred and sixty sixth post, I feel as if I’ve once again fallen victim to my own falsely perceived brilliance and found myself looking face to face with the business end of a free fall.

How can that be topped? More importantly, why would I want to try? If I knew any better I would kick start my early retirement and pull the plug on this whole shibang, but there are at least a dozen people who count on this site to piss away five minutes of their work day, three days a week, so if for no other reason, I’m beating this dead horse for them.

Well, without any further adieu, let’s get cracking right into business. As near as I can tell, it’s Monday, which means for most of us, two days of grab-assing and goofing right the hell off are still pretty close in the rear view mirror. For my part, I accomplished both with a decent amount of panache, while at the same time, handling some ‘business’ (if one would choose to call it that.)

As a matter of fact, a slice of said business was dressing down my loaner Swobo Divine, which upon its last October completion looked like this;
But after just a couple of weeks in my possession looks like this;
Who’da thunk that what was initially spec’d as a street machine would ultimately turn out to be a supremely adequate dirt marauder?

The angles on the bike are on the steeper side, so riding it off road takes a fair bit of attention, and having it built as a fixed gear turns that factor up to eleven, but as I was ripping over hill, dale, and everything in between, I couldn’t help but think back on a team who used to go by the name ‘Hugh Jass’.

These guys were legends and I remember hearing about their appearance at one of the inaugural 24 Hours at Canaan races back in the 90s. The rub (no pun intended) was that when one of the four team members would return to their tent after their lap, they would not only swap the baton, but they would also swap the single pair of Carrera faux acid washed bibs that the team shared;
Presumably, theirs looked far worse for wear than the pair above.

They would then mount a heap of a pile of junk fixed gear bike outfitted with (if I remember correctly) a pair of standard issue ape hanger handle bars, and haul ass off into the night with glaringly contradictory strength, grace and skill.

After an exhaustive search of the web, and getting lost down many a rabbit hole of images depicting ‘huge asses‘, (I, ahem, work hard so you don’t have to), it’s appropriate that this Bigfoot-esque shot was the only one I could find;
How a religion hasn’t yet been based on their antics remains a mystery.

Anyway, my time on the Divine has been far less heroic than that of Hugh Jass, but I reflected on them nonetheless, all the while smiling so hard my ears hurt.

The end game for all of this, is making tweeks and twerks and hopefully eventually coming up with a revision which you and me and anyone who cared could call their own. For the time being however, this one’s mine, and am absolutely loving every minute of it.

In news not relating to that at all, I would like to declare that I have a short selection of my AHTBM/Chuey Brand wool winter caps left, and should you be the sort of individual who occasionally finds themselves with a cold head, perhaps you might like to procure one for yourself?
The reviews on this piece have been pouring in and this is what the people have to say;

The single best piece of cycling apparel I’ve ever owned.” Matt, Minneapolis.

These are so awesome that mine was stolen from me.” -Nick, San Francisco.

A hat that is on my head right now. Best ever.” -Noah, Providence.

I just got one. Super stoked.” -Anna, Minneapolis.

Very rarely have four people ever been wrong.

Even at his most accessible, Chuey is indeed a hard man to pin down, so it’s not out of the realm of possibility that once this supply is exhausted, that’s gonna be that. For all that is good and right, don’t miss the boat and spend the rest of your life wandering around with the dumb part of your head exposed to the elements.

Moving on… Dickon is a bloke who resides across the pond in the United Kingdom and has no dumb part of his head.

He also sends me occasional emails, such as the following;

Stevil –

Not sure there’s much more that needs to be said, or indeed can be said.
Hope you’re good!


I was good, but now I’m just confused, but ‘arybody got they own kind of art.

These do remind me however, of some that doesn’t suck made by the lovely and talented Los Angeles-based artist Liz McGrath;
-Who early in her career showed that she’s got a penchant for both dioramas, as well as the classical circus sideshow;
I’ve long been a fan of Liz’s work and while she alternates between the use animal carcasses and taxidermy fixtures in her work, she at least has consistently shown the good taste to steer clear of coyotes who have met their end at the hands of a poorly engineered Acme catapult, or pair of rocket skates.

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7 Responses to “Nowhere to go but down.”

  1. McFly January 21, 2013 at 4:57 am #

    Keep beating that dead horse. I like watching the flies with the big, green eyes re-light on the carcass on Tuesday’s and Thursday’s.

  2. Crank January 21, 2013 at 6:42 am #

    It’s odd that you post so much art, like I’m reading Juxtapose magazine. When I come to this site, I am looking for the latest and baddest in tennis balls. Maybe you should stick to tennis, and ten…….meh. Really though, I love the art posts. Congrats on the 666th, keep em coming.

  3. pedalman January 21, 2013 at 7:09 am #

    Thanks for reminding me of Hugh Jass. I think they also had a nasty bathrobe that they shared and used to swap out the team shorts. They also hung out at awards and heckled the shit out of Laird. I remember arriving at the race venue, seeing team Hugh Jass and thinking “Sweet! There’s someone weirder then me here”.

  4. SJE January 21, 2013 at 8:19 am #

    I raced against those guys in Canaan and to say their feat was impressive would be an understatement. I think it rained 18 of the 24 hours and turned the course to a consistency of something one might call peanut butter. I can only, but never will, imagine what those shorts must have been like by hour 24. Also the same year I met Ferrentino and I think Tim Parr was racing too. Ferrentino was driving that Mystery Machine if my hazy memory serves me correctly.

  5. mark January 21, 2013 at 10:02 am #

    Ziegle on The Donger™:

  6. jeff in fla January 22, 2013 at 10:33 am #

    I was just telling a youngster about Hugh Jass on Saturday and I’m not sure he found me credible. To think that ahtbm would give me some cred …who woulda think it?