“Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.”

-Michael Gerard Tyson

Say what you will about Iron Mike, but these are some of the wisest words ever uttered.

And truthfully, they can be applied to all aspects of being a living human being who has to interact, engage, and trust your fellow human beings, because no matter how maticulously one plots their life’s trajectory, getting socked in the face either literally or figuratively will derail those plans with quickness.

It’s with that, and no association between the two topics whatsoever, I will now present this video about a mainstay of my childhood;

A fella who used to regularly send emails to me, and was a bit of a mainstay around these parts was a fellow named Cody (F-ing) Oates, or as he was known, CFO. At some point he sent me a link featuring a missive regarding a person who jumped from (what I’d guess to be) this perch;

The story went something like this;

Feeling fulfilled after eating perhaps the worst Mexican food the planet has to offer, several years ago a young man decided that it was high time to fulfill a life-long dream, and jump into the water from one of the lagoon’s lofty vantage points.

Knocking back one or three of the similarly terrible margaritas, he likely turned to his friends, and uttered ‘I regret nothing’, before sending it fully over the edge and into the abyss.

As the story goes, he was rushed by security from nearly every angle, jerked from his refreshing environs, and dragged down a hallway in to the restaurant’s bowels where he was forced into a chair, and watched over by an assortment of unhappy faces to await the arrival of The Law.

Before long, Lakewood’s finest showed up, and sternly slapped the cuffs on our anti hero. With the perp in custody, Johnny Law thanked the good citizens for their aid in securing the scofflaw, reassured the management and security forces that he would take it from there, and spirited him away, before stuffing him in the back of the patrol car.

The mood in the back of the car that afternoon was bleak, but a block away the cop pulled over. Without saying a word, he put the cruiser in park, got out, and walked around to open the back door. He took the cuffs off, and said with a wink, “man, that is fucking awesome. I’ve always wanted to do that. You gotta get out of here now, and if I were you, I wouldn’t show my face back there again.” With that, he left the fellow on the side of the road with his freedom, an amazing story, and soggy clothes.

(Inspired by this, back in 2012 I challenged any would-be offenders to the same but no one took me up on it.)

Ten years ago, Demonika, Pentabike Dave and I ate there, and sat at the very table I presume the protagonist in the story sat, and as I choked down my food, jumping was all I could think about, and as it stands, is a thing that to this day, probably crosses my mind about once a week. I tend to not a big fan of regrets, and because of this, I suspect that at some point within at least the next ten years, I’m going to finally realize this dream myself.

Time will tell, and until then, I’ll have to continue to save my pennies for bail in the event that the responding officer isn’t so understanding.

And speaking of which, I would be remiss not to make mention of the fact that I have various wares for sale within the annals of my online store which can be found right here.

I actually just moved a couple of pieces into the sale rack, if anyone felt interested in such a thing.

Firstly, I have an assortment of small WSATU shirts ready for the snagging;

Secondly, and somewhat related, I’ve knocked a ten spot off of the last run of Wizard Staff arm warmers;

It’s pure coincidence that all things Wizard Staff should be marked down to sell, but I have them and they’re ready to go in the event that anyone might like to give them a home.

In other news entirely, it was this weekend that I grabbed a train out of the immediate East Bay to the Golden State’s capital of Sacramento to stand as witness of the 20th anniversary of one Robert Ives of Blue Collar bikes, and his lovely and talented wife Smitty;

Being an equal fan of both my friends, and the complex biological/neurological/cellular phenomenon that is love, it was an honor to not only have been present for those initial nuptials two decades ago, but to raise a glass for them on Saturday.

In light of the legions of people who for whatever hosts of reasons can’t make a go of it, I’m proud of them for beating the odds, and their dedication to one another serves as inspiration to me.

And not to segue from that to a bike thing, but because this is a douchebag bike blog (same diff) I kinda have to make the following clumsy transition where and how I can.

Now, folks near and far and perhaps a couple of places in-between are familiar with Robert’s Blue Collar Bicycles imprint.

For those who perhaps are not, I’d direct you to the Dirt Rag site and an article Robert wrote a couple of years ago. Because it would seem that all digital traces of the venerable magazine are now erased, I’ll scan the issue and present it here;









And with all of that having been re-said, I’d once again like to show off my baby of all babies;

Two days ago I took my proper road bike on a dirt jaunt and while it was fun, once I was back on this one Robert made for me, it was like getting out of a business suit, and putting on the most comfy PJs and slippers ever. I’ve ridden a lot of bikes over the course of my life, but what I have for this one is the kind of adoration that Sade sung about.

Plan or no plan, and seven of seven days a week, happily I’ll take that over a punch in the mouth.