Thanks to the Wrecking Ball for the off the cuff pep-talk, which in its entirety said, "I read your website right when I get to work and hearing you whine about not finishing San Felasco, the dumb grey sky, and whatever- that all sucks."

And if The Wrecking Ball thinks it sucks, then it sucks, and it is all about satisfying the Marks here at the Big Ring Circus.

So, in the freak show category, I accomplished something today. After 5 days of languishing in respiro-illness I made it out on the bike today. With the exception of a miffed pastry chef and a couple other notable absentees, it was a beautiful morning and the pace was poppin' (in my opinion anyway).

When we finally stopped, I took the opportunity to hack out some delicious gooey protein (it is protein-based isn't it? Like a life form?)

I found myself in a rather extraordinary situation. The ropey filament splat onto the parking lot with the intention of signing a 30 year mortgage, and yet it was still renting a small flat in the lining of my left lung (How could it afford that!)

It was awkward really. If I made a move to tell someone, I risked breaking it. If I didn't tell someone, the moment would go unwitnessed.

I decided to keep it close to my heart (literally)...

And trust that my readers believe me (like the jaguarundi, any story that ends in me winning, the Green Flash, and my 4.5 ' vertical leap)

Chew your barbed wire carefully,

Juancho

Reality Blogging

Forgive me, I forgot my manners. At Sasquatch's behest I would love to hear other remembrances from the Tour de Felasco. Crush your rivals? Feel good all day? Meet a new friend? See a jaguarundi (didn't think so). Tell us about it. We would love to know how it all went down for you.

What's that? You don't live around here or you don't ride bikes? That's Okay, please share whatever epic trials you are undergoing, from surviving the Michigan winter to wondering where your peanut butter pretzels are, if you reach deep inside- then it's epic.

So tell Juancho a story...

Wet Cement Sky

My coffee tastes like soap.
And I'll never pay off my student loans.
And New Orleans is still a mess.
And that dumbass is still driving the National Bus.
And I have to do computer stuff today (which I hate)

Because I'm really a Viking
And a kilt-wearing warrior of the heather
and sometimes the best tool for the job is a club.
And making lattes wasn't such a bad way to earn a day's pay-
but ambition is a curse, and I don't even have that much of it- but it still feels like a curse when the urge to wander sets in, but you hunker down instead
underneath a shitty gray sky and think about the gray skies of the past that slowly drove you mad
until you did something about it
Like move.

Angry Monk

I have put myself back in the care of the angry monk. Illicit temptations will be met with ruthless irrationality and much shrieking. I will spend my days pounding rocks with my bare hands and eating sand. I will meditate on the weak wills of mine enemies and plot a coup against my greatest foe- relativism. I will wander naked into the wilderness of the mind and emerge clothed in the chamois of inner conviction.

I will ride my bikes.

namaste and other monkly greetings.

San Felasco- A tiresome end to a tiresome saga

The weather was warm and lovely. The course was fast and fun for the most part. My bike was working. My legs were working. And yet...

Minutes away from the lunch station I crossed paths with every single person that I knew in the event as they all departed lunch in happy little packs of three to six. No matter I thought to myself, a quick lunch, a second wind- then run them down like the dogs they are. I slurped down some soup and crammed three pb & j's in my face as I sat down to stretch out the hams. All around me spandex-wrapped honkies brayed and chortled at a variety of inside jokes. Snippets of heart monitor comparisons, something about a little Van Morrison in the I-pod. Was this me? Were these my people? In a horrifying realization I determined that yes, I did in fact belong here. I checked the time. 12:40 P:M. Plenty of time to turn it around and hump the last 24 miles out, and yet...

I found myself focusing with tunnel vision on a red arrow that said "bail". "BAIL, BAIL, BAIL, BAIL" echoed in my brain. I pictured myself napping in the sun. I followed the red signs.
Four miles later, in a trance of indifference, I loaded my truck and rolled out- a clean break from the 50 and all the harassment that accompanied its arrival. Over. Now there would be new harrassment. I think change is nice.



As I arrived back at the pole barn, Ma Ingalls was loading up to drive the covered wagon to Fort Ocala to do some trading and I found myself strolling the aisles of BED, BATH, & BEYOND shopping for bundles of cinnamon pinecones, plastic re-usable ice cubes, and "massaging implements".


There are so many excuses that there is really no challenge in using them. The too long ride the day before. The endless hours in the car, the plane, the restaurants, the bad hotel beds, important family commitments and amazing life events, you see? I could do this all day.

Bailing is easy, and I suppose that is why people do it. See you there next year!

Send in the harpies-

Juancho

No More Excuses

So what is it going to be? Will Juancho survive the 50? Place your bets now. he is currently offering 3 to 1 against. I've been fiddling with my drivetrain trying to facilitate a "Miracle Mechanical" that will get me out of this predicament, but Pete is just too damn good a mechanic. Everything seems to be working just fine.

-Cross your fingers...

The Green Flash

I decided it was time to reveal myself on this site so yes, that is me on the left. If you happen to recognize me in public please respect my right to privacy. If you must recognize me in some manner, buy me a beer or something. As you can see by the ecstatic smile on my face, we witnessed the elusive "green flash sunset" moments before this was taken. The Green Flash has eluded me for 36 years, and many of those years spent on the coast-staring at the sunset- hoping for a green flash. In my mind I always pictured it dancing in dazzled patterns across the water just before the sky went black, and that is most likely why I never saw one. It is the sun pulsing, an emerald orb- sustaining one last intense projection of color before slipping beneath the waves.

I was asked if I was thinking of anything in particular when it happened, as if there is some significance to the moment above and beyond the scientific. I don't remember that I was, and perhaps that is cause for concern. When magic happens, you have to be ready to use it.

I have seen the Northern Lights from the Wyoming Plains. (I thought I was hallucinating after emerging from a 10 hour underground caving expedition.) I have seen it snow in Florida. Waterspouts on the Gulf.

Thunderstorms rolling past below me, rather than above, from the Sacajawea peak in Montana. Tidal pools full of anemones and starfish on the coast near Tillamook, OR -lunar eclipses and meteor showers. Curtains of ice, water boiling straight up out of the ground, and hurricane winds blowing whitecaps on the puddles in the Publix parking lot.

It isn't like me to let magic slip by. I'll be ready for the next one.

-Juancho

Birth Announcement

Congratulations to "Anonymous" on the birth of his new Salsa Santos FS ride. He debuted it to me yesterday afternoon down at Munson Hills. It seems to have slowed him up a little bit so I consider this a wonderful improvement.

On other fronts- I hear someone is planning to convince me to bail at the lunch break at San Felasco (30 mile mark). I want that person to know we look upon such actions favorably here at the Big Ring Circus and they should probably go ahead and bring the proper refreshments as we will have a 2 hour wait for the rest of our parties. (Some sort of Schnapps and a hot soup entree?)

The Holiday season is over and I once again emerge a slower, sluggisher Juancho. I never met a camambert I didn't like, that's my motto. Be on the lookout for the Angry Monk over the next few weeks and beware his acrid tongue.

Fat Lad- Do not give up hope of peanut butter pretzels, just forward a mailing address and I will see what I can do for you. I know you will appreciate them more than most.

My "Veal Training Plan" is askew. I have ridden a total of 38 miles since I returned home and I am sure that the meat of my thighs is tough and stringy now as opposed to the buttery consistency I had hoped for, there is nothing to do but ride this damn eco-tour I suppose.

Oh, and my new year's resolution? To continue rocking y'allses ever-loving world practically daily with the same hard-hitting journalism you have come to expect here at the Big Ring Circus.

Later,
Juancho

The Hunger Artist

After reviewing my commitments and available training time between now and January 13, the day of the Tour De Felasco it is time for some desperate reframing of the context of the event. Like my main man David "I got a bag of pee in my hand" Blaine, I will be attempting the tour in the worst possible state of conditioning. Between now and then, I will not prepare my body for the ensuing suffering in any way. I will ride 50 cold miles over rugged terrain with my hand still holding the indentation of a remote control in its soft palm. The scent of peanut butter pretzels will waft from my breath even as I clip in at dawn. The hell with it, who am I kidding? I will most likely be able to ride about 14.7 miles between now and the tour.

The thing is to confront a challenge right? So let's make it truly challenging. I hereby declare a moratorium on training.

Who's with me?

Juancho

He's on his way!

Hang in there kids, Santa's pedaling as fast as he can. Of course, he got dropped somewhere along the AlCan Highway by his undisciplined and unfocused training partners who have no respect for a sense of propriety or tradition. But still, reaching deep into his red bag of courage, he forges on-poised to launch a brutal solo attack against the collective juggernaut of Donner the "freight train" Blitzen, as led by the young prodigy Rudolph "Red Nose" Reindeer
(So named due to his frequent appearances in the tabloids with the likes of Lindsay Lohan and her gal pals). The So-called "Brown Train" has ruled the road for a number of years, but it looks like Santa "the Lung" Claus will put the final period in that book this weekend.

Let us hope you have all been nice.

Juancho