Tales to tell for the apocalypse.

Man, I don’t know what’s going on in other parts of the world, but between forest fires, and an actual, real, live hurricane, here on the west coast we’re getting our asses handed to us.

Thankfully before everything went gross, I spent all day, every day outside playing bikes, little trucks, and jumping the hell off of things;

I might not be good at much, but relenting to gravity is one thing that I am.

Firstly, and most importantly today, I’d like to direct your attention to an event report from my silver-quilled pal Thad regarding the most recent running of the SSUSA that reads something like this;

Stevil,

There has to be a German word – probably 36 letters in length – that describes the horrific reality of a moment in time that is the agglomeration, the sheer total accumulation of all the bad decisions you’ve made over an entire lifetime; a hyper-instant Karma in which all the planets are out of alignment, and enough beer to supply a fraternity house for a weekend will not fix. Hence was the beginning of my experience at SSUSA KC – a city where I live and was on the planning committee for said event. (I did little more than make snide comments during the process due to my personal mantra for doing unpaid work, “I’d help, but I don’t want to.”)

I did, however, offer up my sleazy services to host and lead the Urban Shitshow ride the Friday before the ‘race’, with the help of Burnsey from Oddity Cycles and of course local legend Boxwine Dan, who might be the best ‘life of the party’ candidate since Charlie Sheen on a coke bender.

The weather cooperated only by way of not raining, and temperatures rose to over 100 degrees before Friday’s urban ride, which nearly 100 riders showed up to attempt. We hit a bunch of cool tunnels;



-Kaw Point and bridges on the Kansas side but ended up getting split into 3 groups, many getting lost or too high to navigate the complex route I had planned -of which we only completed half – and I ended up so inebriated that the Oddity crew had to drive my old, saggy ass home at 10:30. A win in my book;

The rain threatened yet again overnight to make our clay-based, rocky and rooty trails unrideable, but the Gawds abided and we were left with dry dirt and deathly 90% humidity Saturday morning. I chipped in to serve cold-brew and donuts at the packet pick-up and then drove to the halfway point/aid station in hopes of reviving my legs and pickled brain to ride some loops and lead out-of-towners to the good shit, but I never even got on my bike; instead walking about 20 yards towards the aid station and immediately turning back to get in my car and drive home for a long nap, a pedicure and spa treatment as well as 20 gallons of Gatorade. I guess the riding was great for everyone – I saw the pictures – but the 98 degree heat did a number on the over 100 riders and all were back at the starting point by 5pm, RC’s Chicken, for the after-party/dinner/hosting contest and my shitty band clearing the room after our first set, which is our normal course of action.

The chicken was killer and the SSUSA women’s belt was won by our local hero Melissa; then came the controversy over who would host next year. No names will be named here, but we, as this year’s hosts, decided that the classic push-up contest would determine the hosting state for ’24. This may have ruffled some east coast feathers, but as I like to say, “I was born with absolutely no shame, and I have even less now.

” And so the contest commenced, far more resembling those TikToks of men air-humping a couch in order to prove to their significant others their sexual prowess, than actual sixth grade gym class pushups. Alas, a winner finally presented themselves – whose name I forgot and am too lazy to lookup – from Colorado, and many dick-kisses and taint-tickles were exchanged in drunken revelry.

After that, everyone pretty much stumbled/crawled back out into the heat, arriving at parts unknown due to the city not letting us have any of the available campgrounds – a wise choice on their end, more than likely. In closing I’d like to thank all my other accomplices, who did far more work than I did getting tons of sponsors, free beer and amazing schwag/artwork – done by none other than local legend Kevin Nierman. Beth, Deffer, Turbo Fredo, El Blanco Miguel (who didn’t show up for shit), Nate, Tyler (Naps not Laps and Proper Engineering), Brownie and Sara and of course, ‘Baby Bird Life’ Dan. I’m positive there are others to thank, but I’m not getting paid by the word here, so fuck off. Now, start training your lungs and livers for Colorado next year, you one-geared Twaturds.

War in,

Thad.

I have no idea if any of those photos are in order, but they seemed to pretty well illustrate the complete calamity that he described.

With any luck I’ll have a proper bike built up again by the time Colorado goes down.

And while I’m on that particular topic- For the last several months (or a year, give or take) I’ve foolishly begun to once again entertain the notion of having a proper one speed mountain bike in my life. I can’t afford a custom frame, and obviously mainstream manufacturers rarely any longer have such an offering in their stable. In discussing this, Evil Coffee Craig surmised that maybe if Donkelope Greg could get four or five orders, he could bang out a run of somewhat stock sized, one-colored one speed ‘Shreadtails’ similar to this frame he just built for himself;

He’s still figuring out exact angles and whatnot, but he was guessing that he could do them for about $1,500 a piece, which just so happens to be about what I can afford.

If you’d like to get in on this action, shoot Greg an email, and lets get this thing cracking.

The last proper single speed mountain bike was in fact, this exact bike;

If I’m honest, (despite what I wrote in the above review), we eventually had a bit of a strained relationship, and I ended up selling it. The idea of having a ripper single speed again, and especially one that’s built by one of the dirtbags from the OG clique sounds real appealing.

Hey- Real quick while it’s on my mind… I recently got a last minute DJ gig, so if you’d like to eat one of Washington State’s most delicious hamburgers, and bathe in the cool, cool sounds of rock and roll, here you go;

It’ll either be good or terrible, but it’ll probably be somewhere in-between.

Now then, lastly, as is my common practice here on the AHTBM website- I’d like to present to you the very newest episode of the increasingly functional Revolting podcast with fancy pants number ninety-whatever;

We discuss all things heavy, as we crack the code on regret.

It might not be the end of the world for us, but to some folks it definitely might sound that way.