Dog Boy Attacks!

Fear This Man

This is a friend of mine competing in the State Road Race in Havana, FL. I know it's a road bike, and I supposedly don't care for road bikes or the women who ride them, but I have logged a lot of miles with the Dog Boy so I want to give him his props. 10 months ago I was watching the Tour de France with this guy every day. His leg had more metal componentry than his bike after being hit by a shitty Buick exiting the Interstate. The man called 911 himself, from the middle of the road. He was back on the bike before the last pins and screws were out, and before he could effectively walk. This machine he's on now is what he got for his troubles. I think it weighs about the same as a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

So congratulations Dog Boy, I know you made 'em suffer out there.

home again, home again.

Hobbits do not like to be far from the shire, and damn am I happy to be back to my humble little corner of the ghetto. I don't even know where to begin describing the events of the past weekend. What day is it? Tuesday?

The chiggers were out and they deposited their acidic saliva in my legs and then drank the liquified flesh before leaving, satiated.

We rode the bridge to bridge trail on the Suwanee and I sweated DEET into my eyes, which burns like pepper spray, in case you were wondering.

Emmy Lou Harris sang "Grievous Angel" and it was possibly the most beatiful sound I have ever heard. I went to the festival listening to NOFX, Dropkick Murphys, Mos Def, and Face to Face. I was not in a "folky" mood, but let me tell you, that song melted my heart.

The cicadas and the tree frogs singing the chorus...

Out with the truckers and the kickers and the cowboy angels, and a good saloon in every single town,

And I remember something you once told me, and I'll be damned if it did not come true,

Twenty thousand roads I went down, down, down,

And they all lead me straight back home to you.

Rivers have magic in them, and I was lucky enough to receive the blessing of both the Suwanee and the Wakulla. I got to stink like a rotting mullet in the company of people I love and who love me back, in places where Florida is clean and wild, uncomfortable and dirty, and everything that Orlando is not.

It rained last night so Munson Hills is prime for a fast lap. A big plate of barbed wire and a hot mug of turpentine are waiting in the kitchen, and life is pretty fuckin' good these days.

See you in White Springs!

WHY DO REDBUGS BITE?

Grown-up mites do not bite people; they eat insects and insect eggs. It’s the babies that need the protein from your skin to grow. Redbugs do not burrow into your skin. They attach to your skin in places where your clothing is tight, like your ankles, waist, knees, and armpits. After they are attached, they inject saliva (spit) into your skin. This spit dissolves a little bit of your skin, and they drink up the liquid skin, not your blood. Redbug spit is very irritating and itchy. It will cause the skin to swell up, hiding the redbug. After about three days, the baby redbug is full. It drops off and grows into a nymph (an older mite that doesn’t bite). The itching caused by redbugs is an allergic reaction to the redbug’s saliva. Try not to scratch it, because it can get infected.

A weekend of sun, sweat, and down home music. Load up the bikes, guitars, african drums, and of course the coolers of beer. It's time to go to the Florida Folk Festival. click the link if you want to see the lineup and check out the scene. www.floridastateparks.org/folkfest/default.htm

I also hope to connect with these people- http://www.suwanneebike.org - They were right hospitable last year, and I sure would like to go for a ride with them. A long sandy spin to Big Shoals for a swim sounds real nice.

Y'all have a good long weekend yourselves and I'll see you back under the big top on Monday.

Open mouth, insert foot.

I consider myself one of the lucky ones, my bike shop- Joe's Bike Shop on Lake Ella is good to me. Things happen a little different down there, but we have a lot of laughs and they do whatever it takes to help keep me rolling. So thanks to Joe and Pete, and all the previous mechanics over the years who have hooked me up. You were worth every cookie, coffee, cigarette, and cuban sandwich it took to get some action down there.

Wherever you are, I offer you the opportunity to give it up to the shop you love, or offer a shop some constructive criticism, not that any of them visit the BRC much.

Click'>http://www.surveymonkey.com/s.asp?u=461401105429">Click

The Lord works in strange ways.

My brother had this aluminum Trek for years. It wasn't a very flashy ride. The geometry was very square. The seat was one of those gel saddles, that mush around like you're sitting in a wet diaper. He never rode it, and I understand why.

Then it got stolen. The thief broke into the neighbor's house, stole two handguns, a Playstation 2, a handful of games, and a jar of poker change. He escaped on my brother's bike, carrying all that shit with him somehow. The neighborhood was up in arms, it was a bad time to be a stranger on the avenue. Even though my bro didn't ride his bike, he was still justifiably pissed off about it. He wanted to own a bike damn it all, whether he rode it or not.

So now he's got a Jamis, bike of the chosen people, and he's riding that thing whenever and wherever he can.

So thanks bicycle thief, but don't let us catch you on that Trek. That thing is slow and we will get your ass.

Hopefully none of you have suffered the indignity of having your ride stolen. Lock it up, and avoid the old school U-Locks, if you don't already know, they open with a ball point pen in about 5 seconds.

Another clever hoax revealed. 

Gold's Gym

Take it from me, don't let yourself go people, because the long road back is fraught with humiliation, subjugation, and pain.
Two nights have passed since my last visit to the strip mall jerk off station, Gold's Gym. I accidentally rolled in around 6:30 P:M, which is apparently when they let the sex offender, ankle-bracelet crew out for a little R & R in the yard.
S'quatch and I are making our rounds: sit-ups, lunges, crunches, and then the bench press. The bench area is of course, where the freaks lurk. Whether it is positioning oneself to view scrota up the shorts leg of a fellow member, or just pumping iron to build your own set of masculine DD's, the bench press area attracts perverts like a petting zoo.

I humbly accept the flourescent lights, the tribal tattoo parade, and the thumping bass of the latest Spears-Federline effort as my just deserts, but so far nobody has entered my zone of discomfort until this guy, this "ogling squash smuggler" with his too-tight teal sweat pants, and obvious lack of package restraint.

My radar codes red, only seconds to avert incoming hostile fire, but I'm too late. Captain Magnanimous, Prince Charming himself, Dr. Cash Money Sasquatch says, "Sure you can work in a set". He then encourages John Wayney Gacy Jr. with comments like "Hey, you're wearing blue suede Reeboks, that's great", and counting off the reps "1,2, you got it bro, 3, 4" as the man's little summer squash rises and falls in anticipation of fellow bench-area dwellers checking him out. Disgusting. The man has had a taste of success and now he's losing all self-control. We are seconds away from becoming permanent workout buddies when I give him the grumpy, irritated, "Look man, I just want to do my shit and get out of here" dismissal.

Blink-blink, adjust squash, go off pouting.

There is one person at Gold's Gym who really has it made, and I have yet to meet him or her. The sauna has been broken since the day I joined, and that distresses me, but somebody has the sweet job of scribbling out the date it will be repaired and writing in a new date. How hard is that? The sign says "scheduled for repair May 19". On May 19, you get your red marker, sneak into the locker room when nobody is around, and write a big primary school "2" over the "1".

What do they do in the 10-day interim before it's time to change the "May" to "SeptMayber"?

I'm going to have to stake the place out and see, not that I'm a freak or anything.

Sasquatch lurking in the pack 

Sightings have stopped.

I apologize for reporting the presence of a fabled "Sasquatch" on the trails in and around the Tallahassee area. All reports of sightings have ceased. Authorities now contend it was a hoax. click this link for details.

http://www.unmuseum.org/bigfoot.htm

We value the truth here at the BRC, and we apologize for leading our readers astray.

-Juancho

The Algernon-Gordon Effect

I have been taking the supplement pictured below in order to focus on some unusually pressing projects in my fabulously interesting work which I will never, ever tell you about. This shit is amazing. I feel like Charlie Gordon, the retarded guy in the book, Flowers for Algernon. If you aren't familiar with the story, Gordon receives a special operation to not only repair his retardation, but to make him an absolute stone-cold genius, and it works. Well, it works for a little while. In the brief span of time that he is no longer a simpleton working as a delivery boy he accomplishes the following-

Falls in love
Gets laid, not by the one he loves, but still dude, come on.
Gives the jerks he worked with their come-uppance for treating him bad when he was retarded.
Surpasses the intellect of the professor who did the surgery, by proving that the surgery will not last-Fuck!

Algernon, the mouse who preceded him in the experiment dies. Charlie rapidly slips back into his retarded state and disappears into a home for disabled adults.

So if any of you have dissed me with humor above my head, I'm coming for you. I now know everything. Hopefully I too will fall in love and subsequently get laid by a woman other than the one I love.

As long as this stuff lasts, I'm going to take care of some business, and if I go out like Charlie, somebody please put flowers on Algernon's grave for me.

brain food 

Pastrami on Rye

Carnegie Deli, NYC

M&M sent me this picture of his sandwich yesterday. Looks like the training continues for his 2006-2007 comeback. My brother, who has yet to be given his circus name, cited M&M's visit as inspiration to get back on the bike. And on that note, I will uncharacteristically pass on the opportunity to ridicule those I love the most.

Step right up folks!

Good morning people.

I had a great ride yesterday morning with my brother and my bike mechanic. This is an unusual combination since my brother didn't have a bike the last time I posted to the circus, and my mechanic has a new born child at home, so he doesn't get out much.
My mechanic "Scarshins" showed up early yesterday morning, refreshed from 2.5 hours of sleep. I had a solid 6 hours, and felt about as rough as Sasquatch's chamois.
My brother, with his fresh 1997 Jamis Durango he picked up over the weekend, drove the truck to the trailhead, while Scarshins and I rode out.

There are certain people who have logged so many miles on their legs, they don't know how to not be fast, regardless of conditioning. This guy is one of those. He rode a good portion of the transit and the trail in a speed wheelie, coasting, shifting gears, making a ham sandwich, all on his back wheel. In the singletrack sections he hucked his 30 lb. Iron horse around gleefully, a man cut loose from the confines of gravity for a couple hours.

Considering how much more I ride than him, it was shaping up to be yet another humbling outing for the author, an all too familiar act here at the BRC.

Then he puked, or as he called it "Power-booted". He didn't stop pedaling. He just leaned over and let fly. This made him, and definitely me, feel a whole lot better.

Built like a brick shit house

As you can see from my picture below this post, the workouts are really paying off. The Sam Adam's light, the 1/2 speed road miles, it's all coming together. I think I have a pretty typcial build for a mountain biker. The hard protective shell shields me from debris, and keeps me warm should I happen to spend the night on the trail, huddled alone, or wishing I was. There is room for storage underneath, and I take advantage of that. Ask anyone. I pull things from my shell on rides like Capt. Caveman and his hair.

The horn on the front is a genetic trait specific to the larger members of the off road species. It is used for clearing the trail as they plow through the woods. Although the fragile and agile Pondskater can adapt to an off-road environment, they are at great risk of being gored and shoveled off the trail, should they be caught by the powerful creature pictured below. Omnivorous, these creatures tend to maintain relations with Pondskaters. Like ants farming aphids the larger off-road cyclists or Rhino-beetles can simply pluck and slaughter their quick, but defenseless companions in lean times.

The only known predator to these giant kings of the forest, is the pitcher plant, which secretes a sweet, fermented scent. The Rhino-beetle can't resist the urge to crawl inside and indulge itself, where it eventually succombs to intoxication. Mmmmmmm, intoxication, that reminds me...

Have a great weekend, whatever you are.

The author 

Pondskaters

The riders depart

I was down at Joe's last night around closing, getting a second opinion on the crunchy sound coming from my rear hub.

"I think it's more of a clanking than a crunch Juancho, bring it back in the morning."

With that settled, we eased into a couple of chairs and then eased a couple of Camel Lights into ourselves. The rider pictured above, a young man named Miles I believe, stoically endured the second-hand smoke, shiny smooth legs AND arms twitching for action.

The Thursday night "Joe's to Killearn" ride was commencing.

One by one riders lit upon the grass in front of the shop. There they waited, arms crossed, poised delicately on the surface. Being a scientist, I studied their physiology, their delicate builds that suspend them just above the surface of the road. The articulated thoracic region displaying their organs externally. These creatures are built to go fast along smooth surfaces, antennae scanning for threats, nibbling near invisible protozoa for propulsion.

As they swooped off, grouching and grousing into the night, I felt a twinge of sympathy and understanding in my heart. The type of riding you prefer is not so much a choice, but a beautiful expression of evolutionary will.

S'quatch's leg. 

Bow to these men, you slack bastards!

This was received in response to my question earlier. For those who don't know, John Harvey commenting on Tallahassee trails is like Muddy Waters discussing the blues.

There are a few someone's that have been responding to the call in recent years, but trail volunteerism is slim in the capital city. Why work when it's given to you on a platter? There will be calls in the coming years though, and good community response could take our trail systems to a whole new level.

Please join our trailnews group so you can hear the calls when they come.

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/TLHTrailNews/

As far as responsible parties for recent trail work, you may thank the City of Tallahassee Parks and Rec Dept, namely Dwayne Huffman and Chuck Goodheart. Higher Ground seems to be the only bike shop that consistently rises to the occasion.

The Fern lives, love--john harvey

What would we do without trails?

nice banana hammocks

Lucky for us we don't have to answer that, because here in the capital city trails are multiplying. Good work is being done behind Piney-Z right now with additional multi-use and dedicated singletrack emerging. We have lost a few over the years to encroachment of commerce and suburban expansion, and of course all parties involved should burn in hell forever and be forced to ride little tiny clown bikes on a road to nowhere in a headwind, but still, at least someone is responding to the call. Does anyone know who that someone is? What are their intentions?
Should we, God forbid, volunteer to help some weekend?

That's just crazy talk, right?

Oh shit, we're unorganized.

In the future...

If you respond to a previous post, and would like someone to read it, contain your comments to the appropriate entry, and then post a brief notice in the current entry, like this-

I finally thought of a comeback for when you burned me last week, see May 08, 2005 comments section.

that way we can keep the various trains of thought from running off the tracks.

If you would like to address the class from the front of the room, e-mail your post to john.phantom309@gmail.com for review. If selected, I promise not to edit your post without consent. It will appear as a daily entry. Attach relevant photos or images in this manner as well. I will try to respond to suggestions and material, unless you are rude, then you better be funny. Rude and funny is great.

This ain't the Utne Reader and you will never be paid, so take that into account. If you got a story to tell, just fuckin' tell it.

Thanks,

the Management

Sugar the bit please...

Artist Todd Simmler, Bend Oregon

As they say at the West Virginia Surf Report,
I have to lower my nuts into the vise for a few hours this morning.
in the meantime, I hope you enjoy this photograph.

You better, it's art bitch!

A few hours later-

Wow, for the last couple of weeks work has been quiet, and I was lulled into a dream in which I rode my bike, drank beer, played darts, and wrote this, this, whatever it is.

I should have been tipped off by the conspicuous lack of sponsorship money.

Not a dime from Jamis, zero from Guiness. Of course I'm still hopeful that Sam Adam's Light will want to get in on the act once they realize the extent of the mutation I'm undergoing with their assistance, but for now I have to work.

It seems like work and life are drawing the whole crew out of our manchild fantasy of chains slapping stays, conferencing with coach out on the trail, and answering the questions When do you want to ride? and Where do you want to ride? with the stock answers of Whenever! and
Wherever!

Sasquatch expects me to react with gloom and doom, fire and brimstone, hell and damnation, and I predictably have. I am drawn to the half-empty glass like a moth to a flame. I'm sure that he's right. The dust will settle, summer routines will evolve, and life in Rideville will be happy once again. Being a single man, who works from home, destined for a lonely pauper's grave, I have more time to ride, and to wax quixotic about my heroic exploits on the trails of North Florida, yet still, even I have to work.

I don't mind really, just put a little sugar on the bit please.

See you on the trails, Juancho

Reluctant tourist

the open road

In the interest of being a good riding partner and friend, I showed up at the S'quatch family compound at 8:30 A:M yesterday, my ears still ringing from a white wine spritzer hangover. As if that didn't threaten my self-image enough, I was unloading a bike with skinny tires from the back of my red, Barbie dream truck. Well, I thought to myself, I guess I'm a teen-aged girl now. Who knows, maybe this life will be better than the last one.

Impressively, I see Sasquatch lurking outside his den, suited up and ready. he is growling and
assuming a variety of aggressive postures, substantial brow furrowed.

At this point I'm pretty much counting on a mechanical to save me. I am riding a frankenbike which I assembled the day before, while downing gallons of white wine spritzers. There's no way this thing will make it 50 miles, No WAY!

Here's a breakdown of what I roll with...

1989 Jamis Dakar 17" frame. (The red one)
Kona Project 2 straight fork.
Circa 89 Shimano XT/ Suntour XC combo drive train/
XT thumb shifters
Shimano 600 freewheel
Front hub-American Classic
Back hub- Ancient LX
Ritchey Logic brakeset
Race Face bar/straight/ some kind of bar ends?

The front deraileur cable was locked into place by about 2 steel threads, so I was kind of counting on it to be the first to go.

We rolled off into a dewey morning, grumpy, irritable, and scowling. Sasquatch didn't get enough sleep and wasn't impressed with the limited, VERY limited, social exchanges available at the BIG RING CIRCUS headquarters the previous night. Since I actually live here, I didn't want to hear it. Oh well, soon my bike would break and we could call it a day.

Instead, somewhere under the canopy of Oaks, the chardo-pinot-blancignon began to seep from my pores, (hmmm, a subtle hint of rancid, with a fragile bouquet of fecal veneer, lovely!)

You can read Sq'atch's synopsis in the comments section, and yes, we had a good ride. 50 miles on slick tires is about as hard as 18 miles on the dirt, or something like that. Here is the equation I use to figure that out

4kg9otk7k8096904/ 14%
_________________

127 + x2 = 50 miles of road or 18 miles of dirt singletrack.

Don't believe me? Check the math for yourself.

The frankenbike responded to the helm. Not only did it not break down, it ran fast. Squatch's wife, Squawtch, called it homely, and I swear it lunged at her.

And now he wants to ride to Ichetucknee Springs, in the summer, and back the next day.

Dude, get a grip.

Sweet, sweet summer. 

The greatest upgrade-

It's Alive!

I was once told that if you want to know what it is like to own a boat, you should get in a cold shower and start tearing up $100 bills.

Owning a bicycle, and actually riding it hard, is not that different. Aside from the necessary expenses that trickle money out of your pocket on a regular basis such as tubes, lube, CO2 cartridges (which I am sick and tired of using) chains, cables, grips, bananas, power bars, red bull (should be illegal, must be dangerous) brake pads, and plenty of COLD BEER, there are the things we want- cool new jersey, cool new saddle, cool new bar-ends, basically anything cool and new. We also nurture a never-ending wish list that starts at a new set of cranks (Race Face for me) and runs upward to a titanium AND Full-suspension Moots frame.

All of the alchemy surrounding the proper combination of gear, training, and nutrition can become as complicated as the above sentence. On any given day though, there is one simple upgrade that can make you marginally faster than the day before.

G-U-T-S, guts.

So, I pose another question to my anonymous teeming hordes (stay back, stay back there's plenty for everyone!)

What if your current 100% effort, is quite honestly your 90%, or even 70% effort, and it just hurts too fucking bad to find out?

Bad luck wind keeps blowin' at my back-

Oh, sorry, that's no bad luck wind, just Powder riding up ahead of me, wafting his goat-boy scent along the trail.

It's Friday the 13th, anybody got a hard luck story from rides gone by they would like to share?

Wash it down with turpentine.

The key to performance is proper nutrition.

That's why I am switching to Samuel Adam's Light beer. It is still expensive enough to make me feel like I've "made it" and can afford to waste my money, while still separating myself from the NASCAR class through sheer affected snobbery. I intend to come ripping out of the fat suit this summer, and release my inner water bug. I have considered many options, with white wine spritzers running a close second, if that's not commitment I don't know what to tell you.

In addition, I have canceled the cable television. That's right, cold turkey. It was just supposed to be a frivolous winter fling between Comcast and I, but I'm afraid it has gotten serious.
When I called to issue my cease and desist order, the helpful drone on the other end, requested an explanation. I told her I didn't want cable because I stayed up until 1:00 A:M last night watching The Deadliest Catch. Three straight hours of dirty men getting seasick, maimed, and killed in order to bring King Crab legs to the tables of pig-out buffets globally. I became especially unnerved as I sat drinking and smoking, watching them drinking and smoking. I thought smugly, what a bunch of losers, then they would take a drink, and I would take a drink. They would tell a joke, and I would laugh like I was there. They would light a smoke, then I would light a smoke. Apparently I am highly susceptible to suggestion.

Unless of course one of my good friends is suggesting something helpful, or positive to me, then I don't want to hear it.

Part three in the "Escape the Fat Suit" campaign is watching hot women at the local gym while I sit on some machine I can't comprehend the purpose of, or "going to the gym". I'm not sure how this is supposed to help, but I have it on good authority that it does.

At least they have T.V. there.

Beware the evil fruit of unholy unions

Have you ever seen the offspring of a goat and a dog? No? What about a chicken and a man? Disgusting right? Nature has built in protections to stop the development of such grotesque and disturbing creatures. Lucky Nature. For bicycles, there is no omniscient overseer, no fail-safe plan, no moral code. If you can conceive it, someone can build it, and often the outcome is no less hideous than a young kid/puppy with its yellow eyes, horns and wagging tail, bleating and barking for tin cans and puppy chow late into the night.

Call me old-fashioned, but I believe that trying to be all things for all occasions ultimately dilutes the ability to perform anything exceptionally well and at best sires a culture of mediocrity. Just look at AOL/Time/Warner.

So when I read that a particular bicycle is "great for running to the grocery store during the week, and still rugged enough to hit the trails on Saturday" I know this machine is nothing more than a shellacked turd.

So I ask you, gentle readers, is there room for innovation? Think about it, if a rabbit and a cat mated, the offspring might be cute, right? A bunny that jumps in your lap and purrs, chases moths around the room, that sounds pretty sweet right? So are there other possibilities that achieve the same success as a cute kitty/bunny? Like what about converting your 29'er mountain bike into a road machine? What are the unintended consequences of fucking with Nature? The goal of owning one machine that converts to whatever ride conditions are on the daily agenda sounds like an honorable effort, but at what cost?

I refer you to the cautionary tale, Frankenstein, so that we may all consider the consequences of pursuing glory at any cost.

What kind of ride are you feeling hungry for lately?  

Happy Mother's Day

Here is a nice picture of a woman, smartly appointed, and proud of her bicycle. She may be an agent of the Postal Service, I'm not sure. Of course, you are probably expecting me to make some comparison between her style of dress and road bikers. It would also not surprise anyone if I alluded to a similarity between this woman, her nice bike, and S'quatch and his nice bike. It is unfortunate that this forum would so quickly degenerate into a low-brow, mudslinging, divisive atmosphere. Our mothers would be ashamed.

As your host, I personally promise to hold this dialogue to the highest standard of public discourse, or whatever.

See you bitches on the trail.

Love, Mom.

Fresh powder at Munson today. 

STOP CYCLE-ISM!

If there are any invisible readers out there, (picture teeming hordes) I want to assure you that I will always strive to be fair and balanced in my representation of road bikers, comfort bikers, tricyclers, and even uni-cyclers. I believe it takes all kinds to make this world diverse and special for everyone. I can appreciate road bike culture. Hell, some my best friends are road bikers. That doesn't mean I want them in my neighborhood. We could still work together, and our kids could go to the same school I guess, but you know, they have their world and I have mine. I wouldn't want my daughter to date one if you know what I mean.

In the words of anti-cycle-ist agitator Chris King I ask you, "Can't we all just get along?"

Sincerely, HFBIC

The long walk home. 

Mysterious Man-beastologist joins the Circus!

The following was cut and pasted from the comments section regarding natural behavior patterns of indigenous Sasquatch, or locally, "Skunk Ape".

It is common knowledge that Sasquatches are illusive creatures by nature. A lesser-known trait is that Squashes are notorious for self inflicted sabotage when threatened by a faster Squash. Trivial gifts of nature, (Gatorade) can trigger a cascade of defeat that eventually leads to tire deflation. A smart Squash will let the air out with the valve; a lesser Squash will sharpen a stick with a rock to construct an airtight alibi.

Sasquatch Lost, Sasquatch Found

Close call last night.

Due to a general lack of coordination, and a complete abdication of responsibility on behalf of the group, we lost the S'quatch last night. The evening was billed as a singletrack affair at TBP, not really S'quatch's favorite thing, nor mine usually. I was eager for the change, and looking forward to steep drops and teeth-chattering rooty sections.

I had a bad feeling something like this was going to happen. When 4 grown men exchange more phone calls than cheerleaders on Prom night, something is going to go wrong. Missing equipment, misunderstood rendevous points, and 37 riders from rival gangs all converging at once? Guaranteed fubar.

Still, everything was going fine. Powder and I were locked in heated battle, him with his elbows pushed all the way out to prevent me from passing, and S'quatch thundering behind us. We pass a bottle of gatorade which had bounced out of someone's bottle cage. Powder and I note it, and keep moving, while S'quatch, true to his feral man/beast nature must stop to pick it up. Trail booty! What's next? half-eaten powerbars out of the restroom trash can? Asking your buddy if he will swab out some excess chamois butter for you (Yo man, just reach in there and get me some of that, you know you got too much!).

10 minutes later we're back at the trailhead, and S'quatch is AWOL. A quick huddle ascertains that he is not on the TBP trail and therefore must be headed out the levy trail. Apparently, like Elmer Fudd chasing Bugs Bunny, we were consistently a drumbeat away from catching him.

Many theories were offered.

-The trail was too tough and he just rode home. (Powder)

-He blazed out for some big 1/2 speed road miles. (Juanch0)

-He fell and knocked himself out because he wasn't wearing a helmet. (Lickedy Split).

We part ways with the mystery unsolved. By 10:00 P:M, we are preparing to rally the posse for a search, and Mrs. S'quatch's cell phone # is dialed, ready to connect with the push of a button. I really don't want to be the one to make that call, and thankfully I don't have to do it. Powder calls to tell me that S'quatch has arrived, walking the big blue ox.

And now, I think it is only fair to let the man speak for himself. S'quatch? What happened?

Where is your tire pointed today? 

Priorities

Santos porn

Y'all are going to need to know this...

M&M sent this helpful information along, thanks dude.
At least I've got the "self-massage" and lots of rest part dialed.

Ultra Fuel or Gatorload, can stimulate the needed glycogen resynthesis, and thereby shorten the recovery time to proper muscle energy stores. "It works, I always bounced back faster and avoided prolonged dead legafter dropping one of those sportdrinks right after a hard ride. We're not talking gatoraid".

HOW TO RECOVER FROM ... A STRENUOUS CARDIO WORKOUT

Whether you just finished a run, bike ride or killer session on theelliptical machine, don't forget about tomorrow. While it can take three or four days to recover from a harder-than-normal workout, you can avoid lots of the pain and repair muscles quicker if you warm down properly and eat and drink immediately after exercising.* Warm down. Following the session, briefly--and easily--walk, bike, swim or do other low-impact activity, then stretch, do some self-massage and elevate your legs above your chest. These actions lengthen muscles that have been contracting for a long time, dilating blood vessels and speeding the removal of lactic acid and otherwaste-product buildup that can leave you stiff and hurting the nextday.* Eat and drink now. Don't wait. During warm-down, suck down a sports drink to replenish your potassium and sodium stores and restore normal cell and nerve function. Also, carry food--protein bars (Nitro-Tech orDesigner), a protein shake (Myoplex Ready-to-Drink), fruit--in your fitness bag and wolf it down in the locker room. Score extra points for foods rich in antioxidants, which help repair tissues damaged bythe workout. Remember, it's best to eat a small meal of complex carbs and protein soon after exercise to expedite healing.* Why eat so soon? Not only is your fuel tank empty, but your glycogen and protein "windows"--the period in which your muscles' ability to recover and quickly rebuild peaks--begin to close down after 45
first 30 minutes gives you the most bang for the buck," says Paul J.Flakoll, Ph.D., of Vanderbilt University, who has led studies examining protein synthesis. He says a 5\'10", 170-pounder should get20 to 30 grams each of both protein and carbs soon after aerobic exercise.* Get warm, get rest. Cover up and sleep well after a hard workout,which can temporarily compromise the immune system. A good sleep willenhance release of growth and recovery hormones like testosterone andHGH. Waiting an hour to eat after a workout is too long. "Thefirst 30 minutes gives you the most bang for the buck," says Paul J.Flakoll, Ph.D., of Vanderbilt University, who has led studiesexamining protein synthesis. He says a 5'10", 170-pounder should get20 to 30 grams each of both protein and carbs soon after aerobic exercise.* Get warm, get rest. Cover up and sleep well after a hard workout,which can temporarily compromise the immune system. A good sleep willenhance release of growth and recovery hormones like testosterone andHGH.

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