Ben Venom rules.
Are you ready for some rapid fire of the banal?
You’d better be, ’cause I just cut the brake line and we’re headed downhill fast.
First things first, it’s been brought to my attention that besides all of the other plans and schemes and hopes and dreams that the masterminds behind this year’s SSCXWC have planned, they also have a run of stretchy suits in the works;
At press time (or whatever it’s called when I hit the ‘publish’ button), I had no info on how one procure such a thing, but keeping your eyes on the site certainly would be a good place to start.
But if that weren’t enough to make your heartfelt, then maybe this will;
There’s a baby Chihuahua uses a wheelchair made from toys;
Oh, good lord.
In other news, a week or so ago, I sorta chronicled the history of the annual Underbike Industry Mixer®. While I realize that folks don’t come through here on the regular, and could potentially miss various aspects to which I refer later, the Underbike Industry Mixer® is a function I help organize every year that occurs in conjunction with the Interbike Bicycle, and Bicycle Parts and Stuff Tradeshow.
I decided to do this, because the industry functions thrown by SRAM, or Sinclair Imports or whoever are terrible, and have never been a thing I was interested in.
So then I organized my own party, and we’ve always had a good time. This year promises to be more of the same with the inclusion of a toe-tapable musical group from Portland called Gaytheist. As per the usual, I promote it vigorously, and make an abundance of flyers for which sometimes I’m accused of being sexist by dopes who have nothing better to do than flap their stupid gums, while draping themselves in a cloak of their own ignorance.
Which by and large is the very cornerstone of bike blogging.
Anyhow, I cranked up the Photoshop machine again (which I just learned is good for more things than just applying additional noses on people’s faces), and released another marginally attractive flyer for your consideration;
Everyone is welcome, (with the exception of the aforementioned gum flapper), and everyone is free to bring with them as many friends as they know, because the only thing better than friends, is more friends.
Another thing which folks might be interested that’s occurring a bit sooner than the 11th of next month, is detailed in a recent email from DPow! of Maximo Supremo resident Portland Design Works;
Our 3rd Annual Omnuim race is coming up this weekend out at Alpenrose. I sadly cannot attend, but maybe some of your readers can! If you could share this poster, I would be much obliged.
See you in Vegas!
So there you have it. If you live in, or around Portland, and can tear yourself away from the endless parade of food trucks long enough to attend, you know what to do.
As long as we’re flirting with the mail bag, I’ll roll out this recent communication I got from Ben over at Back Alley Bike Repair;
“Aye aye, Capt-
‘Twas a doozy of a Dead Baby Downhill this year. I took the honors in the long board messenger event, FTW, and promptly ran into Go Means Go’s Go Greg Go, each of us reaping our fav AHTBM ping pong caps;
Dirty Randy gave a celebratory face slap, firm enough to make Sally jizz his pantaloons. Heard somebody did the group ride with an epileptic seizure and split zygomatic process, others simply rode towards their party nirvana. Too busy re-toxing to detox.”
With the exception of the handsomeness that just broke my computer, that right there is the kind of communication that I live for.
Now then- I recently posted an item on both the All Hail The Black Market Book of Faces page, and the All Hail The Black Market Tumblr page, which I feel compelled to share here as well, just because;
“The year was 1997 or so, and I was standing in the dusty pit at the bottom of the Sea Otter Power Post ‘extreme’ section- A steep descent with a jump at the top and several two-plus foot drops in a row, before a deep, sandy hard right hand turn. The section was full of bodies, and bikes, and all manner of crashes.
Then comes Leroy on a woefully clapped-out and cobbled together one speed cross bike. He slaloms through the carnage and over all of the drops without never touching his brakes. Finally, at the bottom, he leans hard, roosts through the duffy turn and is gone in a flash, leaving the crush of spectators in absolute pandamonium. Everybody has that one defining moment when they realize just exactly what sort of bike rider they want to be.
The legend of Leroy’s prowess might just be a thing of local lore, but I feel as though it’s great enough to be spread as far and wide as it can be.