The Wrench That Stole Christmas

Wrench, pedal, zip tie. Like Pavlov's dog-- I was writing the receipt before I came to a stop. 9010 bikes, yours will go to Uganda, thanks for the donation, tell your friends!

It's not that I want Americans to give up their bikes-- but I would prefer if they rode ones that didn't shed parts all over the bike path. I'm just saying. And they wonder why I ride in the street....?

But the little fellow was doing so good, I was just thinking that very thing. Until....KERCLUNK...his pedal, befeddled (fell off). You see son, that's why us big guys attach 'em to our shoes; then they don't get lost!

So I picked up his pedal and took it to him. It's true. I had visions of compacting his bike, zip tying the pedals, and leaving him with a carbonless slip of paper. But it was Christmas. I'll send his present on an exotic Caribbean vacation eventually, you watch.

Grinch, I was not. I threaded the pedal back onto the crank and showed his mom where to tighten it with a wrench at home. THEN, Dad appears for the 'rescue'. I'm thinking he's why we all had a pedal party on the CCT to begin with.

Shoot, I should have had him do it himself. Keith, is 4 too young to recruit volunteers?

Tis the Reason

Well who shoved a chunk of coal up your tailpipe?

Never mind Lillian Leadfoot came barrelling by a playground in a residential neighborhood. She also launched her 'cedes off the asphalt traffic mesa meant to slow Naughty Nancy to a trot.

Intersecting with me, menacing the bike trail, Gunnin' Granny grinded to a halt. There she was straddling the anti-speed butte, preCARiously teetering above Whoville, thistletoe swinging from her dashboard.

She was a dead giveaway, but she could have stuck a peppermint stick in my bike wheel...I was oblivious. I took it as goodwill. Godspeed Biker Girl.

HO, HO, HOnk!

Really? You invite me to pass then blast a horn in my ear as I go? GrannyGopherGuts! That was mean. You could put an ear out!

Then all of a sudden, piercing the bustling holiday air, there arose such a clatter...again with the horn? SCREECHING....SKIDDING....CRUNCHO!

I peered 'round my shoulder to find Kris Crinkle in the middle of a Santa Jam about a block back. Thank the blue haired biddy for spreading her holiday jeer...or a second later and I would have been a flattened hood ornament.

Happy Christmas

Can You See Me NOW?

Salt Assault

Why I like a fixed gear

Don't Ask, Do Tell

What a surprise. The land still celebrates Christmas...openly. Solely. I thought we had put it in the closet.

It's true, in the middle of Hanukkah, the MVA was adorned in trees, wreaths, and colorful glass balls. Every station. Even the apparent Muslim (yes I am assuming).

And yet, don't we bitch about a separation of church and state? Church as in CHRISTmas and State as in MARYLAND? I'm just saying.

Then again, we were at the MVA EXPRESS and my girlfriend thought it would be a great time for a bathroom break. 94...anyone?anyone?anyone? 8O)

Naughty Not Nice

There I was in the little town of Elizabethtown, 90 miles from Bethleham, the shadow of my childhood steeple looking down in disgrace.

My father was pacing in anger around the traffic cop holding us at bay. I chose the calm, mature approach and listened to the man with the badge. I stayed in the car with my foot on the brake.

Meanwhile, a street away, Santa came to town. Children giggled with glee passing around peppermint sticks and sugar plums. On Park, this child, shivered beneath the threat of night sticks, hand guns and prison.

Unexpectedly, Mr. Police Officer approached, obviously having his fill of her irrational father. He passed by the window without saying a word, pen to paper: THIS IS ABSURD!

I arose with a clatter, "what the fuck is the matter?" You know what they say: you can take the girl out of the trailer park, but ...

And then it was done. The die had been cast. With a shake of the fist...I was on the bad list!

Here we are 22 days from Christmas and I ruined it! HE ruined it! 337 days of nice down the toilet. Thanks a lot DAD.

Oh wait...HE is Santa, we're all good here.

Behave New World

When I was but a tater tot, I would yell to my mom in the kitchen from my spot in front of the TV: "can you make me a sandwich?" To which she always replied, "POOF, you're a sandwich!"

It bears no relevance, I just thought it was cute. Now, not then. Just a spin down memory lane. Back to a time when we did stuff. Played with things. Read books. Used paper. Breathed fresh air and drank real water.

It's true. We tagged merchandise, read newspapers, played outdoors, kept dairies (in books!), did math...in...our...heads. CahRAzY, I know! I actually used a thesaurus.

I knew how to find the square root of a number that wasn't a perfect square. Without a calculator. Google it! (did I just say that?) I dare you. Google square root. I can tell you what it says without looking: push this button.

Have you seen the new 360?!? You ARE the controller. Imagine, actually moving your body to manipulate a ball, bike, or racket! REVOLUTIONARY! A must Christmas have.

When I was that wee tater tot we got real balls, paper books, and drums you could pound. With your hand! Now it's all wiis, kindles, and guitar hero. And yes, I walked to school...in the snow, uphill, both ways.

And reporters checked sources. Writers were creative. Receptionists made appointments. You could order ala carte at McDonalds.

We didn't need a Cheeseburger Button. And we didn't have the internet to know if something was right or not! You're reading this here now, so it must be true!

e.d.

This world is not a conclusion;
A sequel stands beyond,
Invisible as music,
But positive as sound.

Emily Dickenson

Cog Napped!

Guess who ahhaaed the upstairs today?!? Yep, I don't trust him for one second. "Ima just sleep here aaaaall day long, heeere on my pillllow."

They've won. They've out snookered me. Pets 4 Hooman 0. The dog eats cat food. The cat eats dog food. The cat gets fed ON the counter. Let's be honest, Four on The Floor never really caught on with these mutts.

I'm running out of plastic bags. I need an alarm. I can't wear black. Or white. Or grey. Tan, maybe I could wear tan?

Why do we do it? Cute. Because they are cute. They are warm and cuddly and effingham CUTE!

But I still have twice as many bikes. The pets don't outnumber the bikes. No, they haven't won quite yet.

Automatic Dog

Schraeder, Presta...I have a puppy! Or rather, I have been adopted by a puppy. Because let's be honest: they OWN us, not the other way around. EVEn my easy geriatric puppy.

It's almost not fair. He sleeps, and sleeps, and nibbles, and comes house broken. It's almost like a cat. If you don't ask the cat.

Oh, they tolerate each other. And they'll figure it out. I came in today and I've got one on the counter, one down below, and the other acting like she wasn't involved in the demise of my lunch AT ALL.

The first night wasn't such a fairy tail. Poor Lucky had a rough one. He didn't seem to mind (much) and looked quite handsome in his S&M mask. It sounds much worse than it was...just a lengthy hospital visit. REALLY, no worries...just fleas. It's all good now.

Once Barley learns she can stand under Lucky like a Parker umbrella she'll lead a charmed life. And if I can keep Lucky walking back and forth beneath Parker's outstretched combing claws I'll have one pet fully groomed-sans hooman. Fluff-o-matic! It's purrrfect that they're friends.

This traffic is for the dogs!

Good Dei!

Sometimes they write themselves.

Bike Booty

As a cyclist I find stuff. All kinds of stuff. Stuff thrown from cars, blown from trash, dropped from pockets...stuff absent mindedly left on top of cars.

I pick it up. I don't collect it. I have enough junk. I like to try to get it back to its rightful owner.

It's a bit of a P.I. game. A twist on a bike scavenger hunt. An internet puzzle at times. One in which, hopefully, there is a relieved person on the other end.

Usually it's credit cards. Sometimes actual money. I don't always try to get that back...how do you find the owner of $20? Credit cards are easy...kinda. Try accessing a credit card company online when you don't know the 'password'.

Once I found a wallet...I delivered that to the address and left it at the door. A tossed purse...to a police officer. A digital camera...after many dead ends I gave it to someone who needed one. A pain in the ass cat...don't ask.

There was the time I spent over 30 minutes just trying to get a hooman on the phone to help me with a found credit card. Since I couldn't explain to the phone in one number or less what my issue was the automation ran me in circles and disconnected me more than once. Obviously no cheeseburger on the computer for my unique order. GO FISH.

Today yielded me quite a treasure! A 1950 yearbook from the historically black University of Texas Southern. Wow. Someone will surely miss this one. We're on the case...we're tracking alumni. In the meantime we are thumbing through this chronicle of history. Stay tuned...

Love,

Peace

&

Bicycle

Grease

I Hope You Slept Well

This afternoon I was all prepared to pull up my soap box and start bickering...that is, after all, what I do best. Until....my girlfriend accused me of complaining...often.

Hmmph. Well, hmmph. It's true, I do. What can I say? It sells copy.

But there on my commute I was all armed with my camera for photographic evidence. Construction. New sidewalks. Oh, the irony! A neighborhood promoting pedestrian traffic that recently outlawed train whistles. Those evil, nasty, audible, safety promoting, train whistles. The nerve!

It's just beyond Linden Bridge. You remember Linden from posts of days gone by...I'm on Linden, I lower my stance, I can see the Beltway in just one glance! On second thought, maybe it's not a 'hood proud of safety.

Then, I was heading home tonight and I realized this issue is bigger than I originally thought! This goes beyond a neighborhood trying to sleep. A girl who misses her romantical train whistle. THIS affects my ego.

Now I'm not much of a gear head, my gadgets are few and far between. But I'm big on consistency. I know how fast I ride ergo I know how far I go. But we all like our confirmation, our pats on the back, our positive reinforcement, our ego boosts.

Tonight, I was robbed of mine. There I was pumping up the hill, in the dark of night, through a beating rain storm, okay, okay more of a benign drizzle...and there was a disturbing, taunting silence. My welcome home...no longer welcoming. My pat on the back, a snub of the nose.

Oh, I heard something in the near distance...it sounded...like...well....like a freight train, go figure, but the familiar whistle greeting me in the night, letting me know my pace is right on time...FIRED!

Hmmph. Some nerve. Yeah, I'm complaining, and your point is??

Good Mews

The dog dug up some love and the cat came home.

Breaking News

Alert the presses, sound the alarm, smoke 'em if you got 'em.

There was a 5 mile back up this morning on the inner loop of the beltway. Of course it spilled onto the outer loop; have you just moved here?

In two more minutes it will stretch into Virginia...from the Connecticut Avenue exit. No upturned school bus, no sheared off beer rig. In fact, all six lanes were clear and clean (except for the sitting cars)

Sitting, prey tell? Indeed. Bottle necking at the gathering on the shoulder. I get their side, cop car, 20 people and a clipboard...slowing is smart. But our side? Really? Have you never seen a gaggle of Asians spilling out of a van before? I don't mean to sound racist, but you have heard of a Chinese fire drill?

There was no bent hood, no mangled axle, no bumper strewn across three lanes of traffic. Just your garden variety fender bender I suppose. There was no blood soaked stump beneath a white sheet.

Sorry for the visual....but really everyone was looking for it...HARD. Surely there must be a devastating reason for this devastating delay. It couldn't possibly be rubbernecking. From those very same people who say they never watch the news because they don't want to see that gore. For reals? YOU. ARE. LYING.

Here's a thought, do us all a favor, turn on your television. Go on, watch the local news. Tune in to see those horrible, gory accidents you say you don't want to see. Then when they happen in real life you can just keep driving instead of making everyone late for work. It's okay, you can tell everyone you were there when you watch it on the boob tube.

Hellelujah

Dear Heavenly Father, forgive me for I am about to sin. Christ! Don't you people sleep in!? I thought it would be easy to find some parking downtown on a Sunday morning.

Little did I know, there is a church on every freaking corner. Every turn I take, every move I make. Flocking everywhere! And me without a gift for Saint Expedite.

Thank god for the little bike. And this yo-yo stole it! Okay, I let him and he was pretty darn good at it.

Hell Mary, I need some Mace. The bum magnet did NOT disappoint, there was one waiting for me at the car when I returned.

"I'm sure your car will be okay, even if I don't stand here and watch it." 'Damn well better be, did you know God is on every flocking corner?'

Heymen!

WWJD

Nobody likes a cheater. What?!!? It's not like she didn't know...she was there too. It might have been her idea, I can't quite remember.

When I woke up this morning, I had no idea I'd be going down that path again. I know I said I'd never fall into such foolishness again, but we were there, the roads were closed, what the hell...

And that is how I came to do my second marathon. NO, we didn't train! Please...it's only 26.2 miles. If either of us ever wakes up unable to bag less than 30, hell 50, miles somebody must shoot us.

It was amazing. It helps that we were supporting an actual marathon runner. That might have something to do with the open road. I suspect the packs of masses behind us filled the empty streets, but from where we were, it was smooth sailing.

And there it stood, bare and naked, begging to be ridden. A barricaded city street, coned, with one half completely empty.... For 26 miles. What Would Jure Do?

So we rode...the marathon. Really, did we have a choice? The cops danced in the streets, smiled, stopped traffic, and waved us on...no runners in sight. Stopped traffic, for us, the bikers. Have I died and gone to Cycleheaven?

Oh, there was an occasional, "look at the cheaters on bikes!" But mostly it was a supportive atmosphere. Cheers, and tigers, and gummy bears, oh my!

Hell yeah, I'd do a marathon again...once, twice, three times a day!

Nothing a Little Duct Tape Can't Fix

The thing about power tools is...they exist to make life easier. For things that are tough to cut through for example. Like metal, wood, trees that fall down in the middle of roads maybe. Flesh, not so much.

I mean, the power tool, be it a saw, router, drill, angle grinder, WILL cut right through the flesh....it's jut maybe overkill, so to speak. Really, you could get the job done with a razor blade, butter knife, piece of angry paper!

But that's so not me. FF to: I was balancing my metal angle grinder precariously with one hand as the other struggled to hold still the bottom bracket I was wanting to cut a slot into. FYI...they aren't really wanting a slot cut into them, especially through the threads and all, I'm just saying.

And at some point, while staring at my bare toed flip flops I thought, this is not my brightest moment. And yes I did think, I should use the vise, but it's all the way in the basement...a good 10 feet away.

So there I was cutting a bottom bracket sideways while holding the cup with my fingertips with a circulating grinder skidding its way across toward my unprotected hand. One slip and that slot is going...well you and I both know where it is going.

First you think it, then you do it! How many times have I uttered that blasted phrase? It's fine, I was wearing safety goggles.

Indeed, I now have a slot right there in my opposable thumb. No, it's not what I was going for, but I'm using it as a business card holder. It's fine, really. It's merely a fleshy wound.

What's In Your Mary Poppin' Pants?

Drag. That sucks. I got stuck in Annapolis. While my basement was flooding. Not really. It's still dry. Although....still raining!

But I did get stuck in Annapolis. I considered trying to slip underneath the tree...it would have never worked. This never happens with my bike! It does, howEVEr, always happen when I leave EVE. I'm just sayin....

Two boys in an Explorer rode up to my rescue. An axe, rope, ratchet, pallet, yes PALLET...and close to an hour later we were free. Let's see you pull that out of your Swiss Army Pants!

It's true. McGyver wasn't gettin' us out of this one. I thought maybe as a climber I could be of some help. To boys in Annapolis?? Hardly. They have rope, webbing...and they know how to do use it. Even the girl on the other side put me to shame. All in flip flops. It was Annapolis after all!

And can you believe the basement was dry on my return? Indeed. I take chances. I like to live on the edge. I did laundry. LAUNDRY! In the middle of a rain storm? AND took a shower!

Put that in your pipe and smoke it!

Banks of de Nile

Trenches, ditches, reservoirs. I want a solution that doesn't involve a spade.

The weather dude says rain is coming. No doubt. For hours, days even. Exit stage left. Not to be a Snagglepuss.

We plot. We plan. I plead. Heavens to Murgatroyd! What will we do? How will we keep the water from flowing???

HE comes up with a complex solution. I shrug it off. "It will be fine. It'll be fine. It's not going to be a problem."

"Oh! Not going to be a problem she says, " he says. He wanders off in an exaggerated huff spanning the newsroom. "I guess I'll change my forecast then!"

Put the R in RAAM

Jure Robic
1965 - 2010
5 Time RAAM Winner

Don't Touch That Dial

Don't let the smile fool you. He's wicked cute, emphasis on the wicked.

Dog sitting. Standing really, I didn't actually sit. Can we talk about the house? Someone should call the Humane Society, dogs shouldn't be exposed to such trash.

As soon as you walk in, you are faced with it, it's right there, right inside the door. I know dogs like it, it keeps them company...but Channel 9, REALLY? ALL day long? For THREE days straight? It's criminal I tell you. You'd have to pay me to sit through that!

I told Topper he had a fan. He said maybe the dogs were trying to impress me. Hmmm? I got one that won't pee and the other eying my wrist like an intruding rabbit. If that is 'impress' someone should buy them a thesaurus. On the other hand, call Nielsen, our ratings are up!

Does anyone know Spanish for please, don't gnaw off my hand? Good Doggie.

Heart Attack

My house has been over run with hearts. And notes. And smiles. Life is good, thanks for asking.

Break Broken

Here we go again. Are you ready for some Football? Can't wait. Brought to you in part by...Can't Broadcast Shit.

Let's talk about my local break. :94 of paycheck quality air. That's 3 commercials to the layperson. I foxtrotted two of them. That's 33% success...complete break FAIL.

Let's be real. The contingencies require the aid of a translator. And an octopus. If game A ends at 19:17:56 do X. If game A ends at 19:18:01 do Y. If you are thrown to game B 19:17:00-19:28:56 put your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye.

I was never good at word problems. Always rocked the numbers, but add all that alphabet in the middle of it and my brain starts to smoke. Train A leaves the station and Train B leaves NY, somewhere around 19:16:54 there will be a train wreck at 4100.

Miranda. There's that name again. And here I am without my helmet. Incoming Acorn! For those of you unfamiliar with blogs past...Miranda is a squirrel who is really a switcher. The gadget putting the pictures in your plasma box. And she is evil. She hates me. The feeling is somewhat mutual.

She's the reason I lost my job. But I'm back and she's bitter. And so when I ask her to do certain things for me she often sticks out her tongue and throws an acorn at my noggin.

But I love to write up my discrepancies with phrases like: "the switcher wasn't set up to handle my request therefore there was no button to take the source to air" and "the settings deep within the menu left the audio channels on mute causing the spot to air with no audio."

To recap, I aired one spot with no video. The next, no audio. The third, just right. Tech 1 Miranda 2.

Incoming...

Nuts and Boobs

Christ on a Kestrel! What in tarnature was that? It sounded like a tree limb fell on my head!

An acorn. An acorn? I think it dented my helmet. Thank god I was wearing a helmet.

Indeed, it's good practice on a mountain bike (especially) to protect your melon...I mean, just in case. Or if you answer to the name JDawg. It's just a suggestion. A mere mention. Something to think about.

You could be inducted into the OTB Club. Endo. Get intimate with a tree. Rock the va-jj on the top tube, which is NOT the latest dance craze.

OR, you just might be assaulted by an angry squirrel, who if you know me, is also known as Miranda. And Evil. And unrelenting.

True, a helmet only protects your brain bits. Depending on which position you prefer, you could still end up with bloody gashes, sore shoulders, and bruised boobs...yes, boobs. Sorry, Baby. Oh,or sterile.

Don't ask, Don't tell was ruled unconstitutional. Suck it up. Read here, no fear...Get used to it!

Kettle: Black

You can buy more bike than you need, or you can train to be a better rider. I'm just sayin'...

I'll keep my front suspension thank you very much. This is the East Coast not Moab. I don't need all that tail. I've got plenty of squish in my own.

Those who have it rave. And think everyone who doesn't is an idiot. I'll save the cash, enjoy the weight, and use my muscle a little bit minus the full suspension.

It takes a little more handling. A little more strength. Basically better skillz. With suspension in the back you can get lazy, rely on your frame, skimp on the skill.

It's a bit like reporting. You can either be a better reporter, or use the little sumpin' sumpin' you got instead. You can dress professional, prepare questions, and walk respectfully into a football locker room. I mean, to take an example from the headlines...

OR, you can paint on some jeans you have to shave to get into, drop your cleavage out your v-neck, and flip your hair from in front of the microphone. Trust me, you'll get the interview.

Either will work, but don't cry 'sexual harassment' when the testosterone responds. Please. Speaking of tail...

Tyop

It was on the bike listserv so it IS bike related. I've had complaints that my blog veers off topic. It does...DEAL.

This is not. It was bike related and the author felt the need to correct an error on a post. He misspelled typo. I thought that was hilarious.

That is all. The End.

I Say Ride

It's funny. People seem to be in such a rush to get to work. Then they go home and make a list of things they want to do before they die.

You can either make a bucket list or enjoy the ride.

Love/Hate Relationship

DC, I am sorry. You are as bad as I claim, but the grass is pretty green in my own backyard. You get a bad rap...the traffic, the drivers, the effed up traffic patterns.

Do Not Enter 7:30-9:30. One Way 4-8. Closed on Weekends. 2 lanes when the sun is between 78 degrees latitude and 6 degrees from Kevin Bacon.

Who can keep it all straight? It's a creepy crawly journey 'round the bulging waistline regardless. Errands fall between the schedules of others never your wants and desires. The heat is stifling. Congestion suffocating. In a word, it SUX.

But tonight I cruised down Wisconsin; flew really. I sat on the river. I watched planes bank along the Potomac. The sights, sounds, and smells of the city within arms reach. The ride home was quiet, dark, romantical. I fell back in love with my city.

Tis the cycle.

You Say Nailed, I Say Screwed

Yowzer. Who piled all that gravel there at the corner of the trail? THAT can't be good. Not good at all. First you say it, then you do it.

Spilt me. Me in my brand new, non-shabby, grabby cleats. Figures, when I need to bail, I can't. I'm thinking ,"that's gonna leave a mark". And, "here we go again".

My brain was 3 miles back. Over here I was distracted by the hardware sale back on Forest Glen. No joke...either a bomb went off tossing shrapnel all over the asphalt or Strosniders has a unique new way of advertising. I'm gonna go out on a limb and suggest, it's not going to work. Unless, it's Radial...then, perhaps, very effective.

Probably just a tin of fasteners jumped off the back of a tailgate. Nails and screws everywhere. E.V.E.r.Y.w.H.e.r.e. And instead of paying attention to where I AM, I was thinking about where I WAS...and look where that got me: nailed but not quite screwed.

JuJuJooce

Thanks for the jersey, did you want what you left in the back pocket, or was that for me too? I mean I assume it was in the pocket, I never looked. Was it just not washed or might you have left a little sumpin, sumpin back there?

I suppose it could have been sweat residual. I'm not sure where pedal juice collects. I only know it works. Really works. I flew like the juju was in me.

I've always eaten hills for snacks. But breakaways on the flats...that's all juju. I like it. How do I stretch it over a longer span of road? How do I make it last? Where do I keep that reserve? In the pockets? Can it be cloned? How can I hoard that so I never run out?

I have too many questions. Would you mind answering all of them, take your time. If you don't get around to it, would you mind joining me for the ride. All of them. You can sit on my shoulder. Just as long as you yell gogogo in my ear when it's appropriate. Don't over do it.

Happy Birthday Eve.

Orange You Glad...

There's a porn star in my house!

No Time Flat

No big deal. It's all good. Ain't nothin' but a thing. Someone definitely greased the Squeak. It's like I don't even know you anymore.

Today, I got a flat. It happens. A lot. To a biker. Unfortunately today, we were in a car. BwaaH!

Let's recap. One half foot of water in basement. No electric. Sodden white carpet. Mold. Growing on my uvula...wha, hey now! Close your mouth, I don't need to see yours!

Broken wet vac. Flood, flood, flood. Damaged concrete, misengineered landscape. Flood, flood. Shit! Yes, shit! Roots. Sounds like performance art. (reread that in your poetry voice)

Motherfuckin' flat tire. Whatever. I don't care. I don't really have the cash to fix everything, but at least I have a j.o.b. My severance should be running out right about now. Narrowly averted disaster.

And somewhere in the middle of my stream of bad luck I found love. An embraceable distraction. She hates my public blog. So I stuck her in here just because. :) Sorry babe.

Pain in the Grass

Enough is ENOUGH! I have had it with these motherfuckin' snakes in this motherfuckin' drain!

It's been a long, wet month. And I'm tired and pruned. I am disgusted by my own filth. I would like to walk away and live under a bridge. It would be cleaner and drier.

I miss indoor plumbing. I hate this view of my house. I miss my bicycle. I hate my house. I want to walk barefoot in my own backyard.

Roots. The culprit: roots. The hairy phalange-like living destroyers, not the powerful mini-series. And, much to my surprise, not the woody strong tree balancers. Grass roots. Fescue, blue, crab...also not the Billboard Rock Band.

Really? Really, really? For now the trouble is quieted. Cross your fingers, say a prayer. Kiss Chris; C & C Plumbing is my flavor of the month.

Movie Trivia: Did you happen to know there is a character in Snakes on a Plane called Man Bitten on Penis? That's your big break? Man Bitten on Penis. I'm sorry. I didn't see the movie, did anyone suck the venom out?

Be The Bike

Wait for it...click. click. click? CLICK!?!

Where's the click? Did you hear a click? What a tease. What a disappointment. What a rip.

What I wanted was pedals with an option. I love choices. I hate being backed in a corner, put in a box, stuck in something other than an SPD. Nobody puts Baby in the corner!

Today I flipped my platform pedal looking to marry to the cause. I was ready to lock and load. Ready to go the distance. Ready to commit. This wasn't running or walking. This was biking; let's get it on!

Cool your heels, said the metal from the pedal. My shoe was denied. Denied? No satifying click. No one with the pedal. No push while you pull. Just perpedual independence, not that there's anything wrong with that.

I was robbed! But it wasn't like that. Like the oft used: It isn't you, it's me, it really was! All me! It wasn't so much Operator Error as it was a Wardrobe Malfunction. Don't tell the FCC.

Clipless pedals (although somewhat misleading to an inexperienced cyclist) actually require a cleat that clips into place creating the link between you and the bike. Without it your stroke is uneven, less effective, only half satisfying. With it You Are The Bike.

But the key is that cleat. When you put on the wrong shoes...without the actual cleat, they don't really work. At all.

That's What She Said

There was a sign. It said, do you prefer pleasures over God? And here I thought they went hand in hand...so to speak. oh god, oh god, OH GOD.

Speaking of which, can I just tell you about the pleasure between my legs yesterday? oh god! I will never have anything that expensive betwixt them again.

How was it, he winked.

It was the best ride ever, she beamed.

Were you going or coming, he said, so proud of himself.

She threw down her hand, knowing she got him, oh man, was I wet!

With the help of GAN's dirty little mind.

Tornadicane

I bailed on every plan I had today. And you have no idea how funny that really is. Effing hilarious. Hey Jean, tell me again why I need a basement??

I live in a war zone. And it's 1893. Apparently. Again with the power? Really? Really, really?

Someone kill the Lorax...the trees need not a fuzzy ?beaver? (I guess he's not, but doesn't he look like one?) speaking for them. Tip off Once-ler, I know a place he can get some trees....

MUST SEE. Cute cape cod perfect for a young couple or misunderstood artist. Beautiful hardwood floors throughout, finished upstairs, amazing tiled stairway, deck, spouse house out back, wading pool in the basement. CHEAP.

Do you think it would it be okay to gargle with bleach? I mean I wouldn't actually swallow it....

Rubber Meet Road

Yes I Am.

A Fish WITH a Bicycle

Cute. My bike was laughing at me. I'm glad you are enjoying yourself down there.

Seriously, what is that, bike humor? Did I pay extra for that? In hindsight the feature is kinda cute; on the hill when I was dying...oh, not so much.

Does your bike do this? I was just riding along minding my own business when I shifted and shifted and shifted some more. And then the weirdest thing happened...

My bike said, "Go Fish." Fish? Go Fish? Did you just call me Fish? Or as in, Hook, Line, and Sink Her?

No, as in, "Do you have any lower gears?" GO FISH.

Wait! My bike...TALKS?

Petal for a Pedal

The day started nice anyway. But boy did she end in a spitting angry rage. Let's call it: Choose Your Own Death.

First I chose storm. I figured the rain would make the ride more enjoyable with a traveling natural sprinkler to cool me down.

Second I chose park. Death by car or tree? I mean I'd hate to ruin somebody's day by causing more traffic.

But turns out, it was death by electrocution. What'd I do to you?? Eye for an eye. Petal for a pedal. And I was just talking about a guy who was killed by lightning....I's so smart.

The first strike scared the shit out of me. I jerked, I weaved, I damn near fell down. THAT was close. It's true, I smell burnt toast. I could hear the electricity tickle my earlobe.

The second got me thinking. Could the overly large knife, yes KNIFE, in my bag actually draw the lightning to me? Thanks Keith! Even better: biker knocked unconscious in the 'hood....had 8" knife in bag and thousands in cash.

FukenGroovin'

Can you sue a church for false advertising? I'm pretty sure my car was NOT baptized before it was booted from the premises. What they meant to say was:

Unwelcome to the Vienna Assembly of God UNAUTHORIZED VEHICLES WILL BE PERSECUTED.

I checked before I parked. There was no sign saying I couldn't park there. Yet, when I returned, someone was in the parking lot shooing away outsiders.

Open Doors. Open Minds. Closed Parking Lots? You are welcome, but your car is not. Oh right, that's the Methodists. Obviously not the God Assemblers. I tried to gAssemble and I was asked to leave.

Humanitarian when it's convenient, or a ticket to heaven, or a method of atonement. I get it. PS...there is no U in God.

We are just as selfish as the next guy, and it's OUR lot. "Forgive me Father for I have turned away your flock at your doorstep. You might have to give a little something extra to get her back."

Please, come in, sit down, pray with us. Leave a tip at the door. Open your heart to Jesus, but get your damn car out of our Fukenlot. Amen.

Verse un-Cursed

Thursday. They say power will be restored on Thursday, late Thursday. Really? On a warm, negative foot of snow, summer day?

What is this the Dark Ages? Why yes, yes it certainly is. And you'd be better off on foot, on bike, on horseback if you're trying to go anywhere.

I Got Da Powah late last night. Yippee. All is not lost. Very little was lost to be exact. Because I'm cheap, and take chances.

Let's talk ice cream. True enough, I tossed the milk; I typically have to on any given week. I didn't even try to pour off the smelly top trick. However, I savor the luxury of ice cream and I don't let go easily.

I'm not sure what they are making ice cream from these days, but it doesn't so much melt as deflate. I'm sure it's some form of cancerous plastic bi-product, but it's delicious.

The ice creamstic wasn't a milky mess in my freezer, more of a congealed cool whip variety neartastrophe. I can work with that. Just add Kahlua and Creme. Viola! A tasty beverage for human consumption.

Good Morning Electric! Yes, please, I would like a cup of freshly brewed coffee! Cream? We have cream? Oh yeah, we have CREME. Yeah, I can drink, I don't drive!

Dim Idea

I tole all'y'all. Now it's cooler outside the house and darker inside. The Unyverse is akilter--and it's all YOUR fault!

All because of a little AC. I was just fiiine without it. But noooo, you said, that just ain't right. It ain't normal. TURN.ON.YOUR.AIR.

And so I did. NOW, no one has it! BRILLIANT. GENIUS. Thanks for that!

Here I am with a misplaced headlamp, lost flashlight, and a fridge full of food. Yes! I even bought food. FINALLY. Tons. Just so I could throw it away. Nice.

At least now I have money to buy more, what with the money I'm saving on electric and all!

Frienemies

Did you pass my friend up there? Yeah, if she turns up missing...I KILT HER. She should naturally decompose by...Thursday.

Let's park here she says. Let's do something hard she says. Let's do Black she says. OMG.UHG. Pant, pant, pant.

Get out of my ear!

Look at the people with puppies. See Spot. See Spot on a leash. See Spot propel hisself forward without the aid of hoomans. Bike see Spot. See, Bike, take note.

Hi, I will give you $10 if you take my $1500 bicycle. No? Really, NO? I know an organization that CHARGES you $10 to TAKE your bike. I'm offering you an Alexander AND a bicycle. No? Please?

Get OUT of my ear!

Where's the road she says. I'm not going up any more she says. Are we there yet she says. I lost the ability to speak four trees ago.

EAR! I'm Gnot kidding.

Hey, here's a thought. Let's double back on the Black/Yellow trail. It's unanimous, home on the Black/Yellow! Follow the black trail with the double yellow blaze right through the center. TFG.

It's a Bike!

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then...enough said.

Ears Looking at You Kid

Shoot. I just took a shower, and guess what--I don't wash behind my ears. It's true, I don't. It's all my fault.

I know, my Gma used to always say, if you don't wash behind your ears, potatoes will grow there. By Gosh By Golly...she was right! That is exactly what's going on...I've got potatoes in my EARS.

And my doctor doesn't know about this? It's been around since there've been ears I bet! Sweaty Ear Syndrome. That's what I'm calling it. Gross.

It's not really my fault. YES, I've been showering and NO, I still don't have a date. It's the puff. You can't scrub your ears with a PUFF. Admit it. You don't. You can't. You can't squish that thing through an external acoustic meatus. You just can't!

Can of beer in your ear, I've heard. Scrub with a puff...not so much.

Everything Is All Right Grandma

Doc, I've got this pain in my....ear. Anything else to tell you? No, just my ear hurts. Please help.

Turns out I have beautiful ears...on the inside. Pretty on the inside, figures. And they hear good too. Itchy? Did you say itchy? No, just painful. In your office? Sure, I can meet you in your office.

I gather my bag, my glasses, my h.e.l.m.e.t. Why are you looking at me like that?!? She glares at me and says, oh, now you're going to put that on...inflection, raised earbrow. This melon protector? Two weeks after I tried to put my head through the bike trail? HELL YEAH, I'm going to put THIS on Doc.

She is grasping at straws. She thinks my helmet is hurting my ears. I prove that it is not. Wind. Could it be wind? Sure, I suppose it could, but don't tell me you're one of those doctors blaming my latest pain on the bike. Why is it always about the bike?

"I'm so glad we had this time together
Just to have a laugh or sing a song
Seems we just get started and before you know it
Comes the time we have to say, 'so long'."

STOP tugging on it! Bottom line....Rider's Ear. Rider's ear? Really? You totally just made that up!

Hillacious

Faster than a speeding bullet. More powerful than a locomotive. Able to leap brick walls in a single speed...They are indeed a different breed of rider....

Oh, I got my chain handed to me today. It's okay, it was D. And I'm not competitive. Or a SuperRider

I KNOW! Why would she want to ride with me??!!? She's just that kind of girl. And as I was lapped over and over again I never once thought, hey I SUCK. I mean she rode across the country! I just ride to work.

She stayed with me. And I thought I was doing okay. I mean I'd look up, watch her climb, look down (FOR ONE SECOND), and the next thing I knew, I was hitting a brick wall! Who put that there!? In the middle of the road! It wasn't there two seconds ago.

No, I'm good. I was hanging back here to practice my track stand. I think next I'll check in on Granny. You go on and take that business call while I drop back and lick the salt off my own face. I'm sure this cramp will pass. Maybe on the next hill.

Yeah, no. Apparently I don't have another hill in me. Could you point me in the direction of the nearest lemonade stand? Thanks.

Colossal Fossil

Does a GPS work inside a house? I got the semi-self guided tour. Like two kids living out a Night in the Museum we tore out of the movie screen, literally.

The bedroom ceiling....oh you had to be there. The baby grand in the sunken main room. The wooden beams in the sitting room. The pool designed as a fountain. The guest shower faucet with a list of numbers...70 80 90 ....I am NOT kidding.

The kitchen: which one? The self described 'presentation kitchen' that had knobs on every cabinet? The one across the way lined with refrigerators? Or the one when you entered that looked like it served a fancy booth very ungreasy spoon?

Movie Theater: Uber-plush chairs lined up as if they were mocking the American movie house. I mean for the price of a ticket today, you should really get ALL THAT.

Alack...I have buried the lead again. I mean a home theater is nice, but middle class common. Let's talk about the candy counter and popcorn machine flanking the lobby. Yes, this home theater has it's own lobby smack dab in the middle of the house.

Oh, I could just live in the stairway! No really, you could put my house in the actual stairway. Okay, I'm exaggerating, but you could put my living room there for sure!

Oh hell, if I lost a cat in that joint it'd be dead before I found it. Guess I'll keep my spare 17mil and stay put. For the sake of the cats, that is.