Because day before yesterday was the day after the first day of the rest of your life.
And what better way ring it in than to party?
I sincerely hope that everyone’s introduction to the new year was both safe and sane, (to a degree anyway), though the one credo I whole heartedly subscribe to is all things in moderation, including moderation.
A similar way of looking at that is to recognize that variation is the spice of life.
Armed with this directive, let’s get on to a random array of matters that don’t.
Firstly from Patrick, we received a Christmas miracle;
“I don’t know who did this, but thank you.”
Recently I was in a fairly somber exchange with a number of people covering a pretty serious topic. I can’t go into much detail about what said exchange entailed, but at one point the person leading the conversation directed that the group should have a ‘safe word’, for any of us to use as a notification to others that at any point in the future we were unwilling or incapable to discuss the topic further.
Due to my near inability to not make inappropriate jokes when I’m uncomfortable, it was about everything I could do not to raise my hand and suggest ‘penis’.
Somewhere around twelve or thirteen years old, my emotional development became arrested, and there I have stayed, lo these many years.
In other news, it was just a few days ago when I was looking at cool pictures on the internet as I occasionally do, and I came across the following one on Jeff G. Holt’s Instagram feed of one Vic Murphy shot by another Brad McDonald;
It just might be one of my favorite images ever.
Besides of course, this one I just like, 70 hours ago shot of Ian and CD cresting the top of the Oakland Alps;
The air is so thin up there, that immediately after I snapped the shot, we had to circle around an oxygen bottle and contemplate the enlistment of a unique resuscitation ritual that was forwarded to me by Johanna;
Interestingly, (or not) back when I was a hard working bicycle messenger, it was at the tail end of a party and after having retreated to a bedroom to partake in some alcohol fueled slumber, I was resuscitated by a very similar effort, but it involved a daring young lady and a handful of Tiger Balm.
Always remember to remove your shoes.
From Lucho of Cycling Inquisition I received the following saga about what might be the bicycle world’s most intensely polished turd ever;
“Wanted to share this link– It reminds me of those guys who make Lamborghinis out of two by fours and bondo in their basement… Or is it more like the people who take Ferrari bodies and put them over Pontiac Fiero chassis? I can’t tell.”
At first glance, I was a little put off but the more I looked over all of those photos and recognized the considerable effort that went into making the replica, the more I grew to appreciate it. I’m a huge fan of tinkering, and mucking around a work shop in an attempt at solving problems that probably don’t need to be solved.
The Laser replica embodies that penchant perfectly.
Finally in closing, and while we’re on the topic of tinkering, I’ll offer some thoughts on mechanics and maintenance of a bicycle. As a marginally important bicycle blogger douchebag (same dif), and one who has spent their fair share of time working on bikes in a professional capacity as well as a personal one, it’s with some frequency that people email me asking various questions regarding the technical side of things.
It might range from my personal choice in tools, (Wrench Force, when they were made by Snap-on, natch), various tricks of the trade, component compatibility and so on. In all of my years both working in shops, on the World Cup circuit, and along side legends in the field like Doug Hatfield and Monkey, I’ve picked up some tricks.
Above all, I’ve found that the following gif file illustrates better than almost anything, how to solve nearly any problem you might happen to come across;
While variation can sometimes be the spice of life, the old hot dog in the seat tube trick most certainly always is.
If the hotdog fails, a ball bearing in the handlebar often does the trick. I can tolerate funky smells, but an unknown sound coming from my beloved is wholly unacceptable.
How about yoghurt in the inner tubes, ball bearing followed by a glob of tuna down the seat tube. I have never perpetrated either of those as I’ve never gotten my hands on the bicycle of anybody that I disliked that much.
According to Reed it’s egg salad in the handlebars on a particularly hot day.
That guy was just faking being knocked out for the free hand job.
“free hand job”, never paid since, never.
I once put a couple of raw shrimp in my best friends seat tube while he was at work. He found the first one after a while but the second sunk to the bottom bracket and the “brine” caused the steel frame to fail. Nothing hurts more than the slow knife.