Clocking in for duty.

It’s been a long, yet uneventful week, and I’ve missed our time here together.

Before I get into anything at all I feel compelled to mention that the third showing of my Town series of paintings, this time at Seattle’s own Holy Mountain Brewing;

Come one, come all, and push this flyer as you see fit.

I could really use a sale, lest all my cool boxes and I are gonna be living on the street.

Ok then… Firstly, I feel the need to bring this set of outtakes from The Tim and Eric show, some of which I stumbled across yesterday morning on the socials;

I’ve watched this twice and both times laughed myself into sweats and tears.

Funny thing- (that’s likely not so funny in the traditional sense, and more curious at least within this context), my old pal 6’7″, aka High Pockets, aka Victor Montenegro, aka Kirk Bernhardt formerly of Cat Six Cycles in Portland Oregon used to often tell me of The Tim and Eric Show, and having infectious laughter himself, would regularly have me doubled over. I would then watch the show and I’d get nothing. This scenario repeated itself a number of times over before I simply decided that perhaps The Tim and Eric Show just maybe wasn’t for me.

I still stand by that, but holy crap, are the outtakes gold.

Moving along, I pissed off into the woods the other day with my pals Eric, Craig, and Joe for some little truck play time;

I do so love these dumb little things. They continue to check all of my boxes as an adult who mostly exists as such, but who also spends a fair amount of time solidly occupying the mindset of a child.

Even though I started the day in question with a flat tire while riding to the spot and then absolutely smoked my truck motor- (a small price to pay after years and numerous tries, I finally cleaned the park’s most challenging climb), my day eventually went on to even greater heights with a trip to a local monster truck show;

It was a feast for the senses to be sure, but one of the highlights was to get to have up close and personals with the trucks;




As I’ve always said, one of my favorite things about bicycle shows are the occasional appearance of cars.

Rally cars, baja buggies, trophy trucks… I love all of them for the insane amount of engineering and fabrication that goes into them, and the same can be said for these beasts. It’s truly redneck engineering at its finest.

The truck that’s relevant to the story that I didn’t get a photo of was called Spitfire, and was driven by an Australian person named Peter Murphy. The reason I opted not to get a photo was for obvious reasons;

Now, it was pretty evident that it was a crowd favorite, and while the driver’s skills were definitely a bit more honed than those of the others, I’m a monster truck purist, and don’t care for all the flair of the moulded bodies.

I mean, please. A girl’s gotta have her preferences.

For my money, I was with the aforementioned Cali Kid and its classic 1934 Ford body, driven by various drivers, all working under the pseudonym ‘Willy Crash‘.

Anyhü, to make a long story short, (skipping over the over the ‘average joe time trial and appearance of some variation of a ‘Truckasaurus Wrecks’, it came down to a three way tie between The Cali Kid, Rock Star and Spitfire, and was ultimately chosen with crowd cheers. I did all I could for my pick, but I’m only one voice. I call Bullshit. I thought we lived in a democracy.

After spending 60 dollars on a beer, a bag of kettle corn, some meatsicks, and chips, my wallet was empty, and my hearing was blown, but my heart was full. Long live big truck honky hobbies.

Finally, after dolling out all of that decisively not bike content out for one’s paroles, I’d like to share a story that was recently relayed to me by our friend Christina Sinkovec;

Wore my WSRW shirt to a show last night and some dude walked by me and got super excited about it and yelled “I LOVE Stevil.” I yelled back, “me too!” No idea who he was, but you are loved.

Ok, so I spend probably 50% of my waking hours wondering if I should just shutter this whole shitshow, and get a job washing dishes or something. Then I hear a thing like that and it gives me a sense that maybe I’m still headed in the correct direction by continuing to beat this dead horse.

Do people who see someone wearing a Specialized shirt immediately have a built in familiarity with one another? Not that I’m comparing this project with that, but I’d say probably not.

See, one of my very most favorite things, and an exchange I will occasionally hear about is the secret handshake quality that surrounds our community. Just like skateboarding, punk rock, single speed mountain bikes, etc, and so on used to be, you know that if you cross paths with another person who lurks here, you likely have more in common than just an appreciation for cheap beer. I’m the one who set the table, but the people who come here, buy merch, fly the flag and the like are the ones who make the community and keep the whole boat afloat.

It’s a thing I occasionally forget about but never take for granted.

Having said all of that, I want to give thanks to everyone who still believes in this half cocked dream. You’re the wind beneath my wings.

Finally, now that Robot is back from his explosive diarrhea tour across Wales, it’s my distinct pleasure to get back to business and present the brand newest episode of Revolting;

Having said all of that, it’s time once again to clock out.