Boy howdy we chopped some wood on Saturday. 4.5 hours in the saddle is a pretty good warm-up for the tour de fiasco. We saw those bikechain zombies too, but we steered clear of them. By the way, zombies are all the rage right now, even hotter than vampires, so try to work them into your conversation whenever you can, the hip kids will thank you for it.

I was surprised to find myself on my bike, feeling good, enjoying the day with friends. Once again, I credit this as a return to normalcy and a good omen.

I pick up the keys to my new crib tomorrow, which signals a brand new series of events that have to happen before I actually move. If me, the cat, and the 30% of my things I plan to keep make it in there be Thanksgiving I will be grateful, thankful even.

I'm looking forward to it though. I will run a positive campaign to become mayor of Hippie Killearn. I plan to promote toleration of the intolerants, 5 small meals a day based on grazing, and higher standards of construction for open-toed shoe-dals. I think this is a winning platform.

People keep asking about windows and paint, appliances and all of that. They don't realize I will be happy just to close the door, lock it, and sit there quietly.

-juancho

Up on the wire

Step by step this house thing is winding down. At this point no request can phase me, no task can deter me. As I type this I am on hold with the mortgage company while some crisis or another is going on. Whatever. Figure it out. Put the bit in my teeth and yank. I'm ready. They pummeled my startle reflex to smithereens weeks ago. Now when the bombs fall I notice it less than the gentle flutter of a hummingbird's wings.

Few of you realize the magnitude of this accomplishment. As a right-brained thinker the performance of this staggering series of tedious and byzantine tasks has challenged me beyond my previously known limits. It is like writing a novel with my right hand (I'm a lefty, like the president.) Once, at a particularly crippling point of the process, the realtor was unfolding page after page of nonsense-every word out of her mouth began to sound like "hot german potato salad" and as she talked at an earnest rate of 740 words per minute I pictured myself reaching over the table and taking the papers from her hand, cramming them into my mouth and chewing them slowly like a cow in the field. What would she think of that? I wondered.

Instead I just signed them and smiled pleasantly- a feat as impressive as landing a plane in the Hudson, or walking on a tightrope between the Twin Towers, or saving a child from a burning car- yet the only applause was my own.

Bike? Rode it yesterday out at Munson. It ain't going anywhere.

Juancho

Get a Witness

There will be a great meteor shower tonight starting around 1:00 A:M so grab a blanket and head to the woods. Participating in things like that are a sure sign that you are comfortable and self-actualized, or strive to be.

The opposite of going to the woods to watch a meteor shower? I don't know- maybe curling up around a bottle of wine on your bathroom floor?

It's a toss up really, either event could be good or bad.

Not sure which way I'm going to go.

Juancho

Tinder

Tommy held San Felasco to my head like a revolver and we rode bikes for 2.5 hours in a glimmering and breezy October day in Tallahassee. It was a modest, but honest performance that exemplified the depth of the shit I am in at this stage of preparation. Oh well, pass the donuts.

Wrecking Ball passed us with his son in the car and bikes on the rack. I noticed a number plate on his handlebars, but I'm not sure what that is about- do bikes now require license plates?

I am coming to the end game on this house-buying activity. When I say "the end" I mean the beginning of a never-ending list of chores and responsibilities. There will be no more laughing as the roof caves in and then moving down the road to the next filthy hovel.

Those were good days. I love a filthy hovel.

I take today's ride as a signal, a return to normalcy. A bike-centered life that leaves me too fatigued for foolishness and shenanigans, which I have plenty of energy for lately.

-Juancho

Escape from escape.

It looks like a nice morning for a ride- down I-75.

Who knows, maybe I will ride Santos this weekend. Stop laughing, anything can happen.

I am taking regressive refuge in writing 80's style punk songs for my associates in local aging punk phenom band- Betty's Beauty School. It is great therapy for all of my otherwise mature activity lately.

Good luck this week to the Chain gang at Tom Brown Park. Thank God I have a good excuse, not that I would ever race anyway. Too much yelling and plastic tape. It is all very confusing.

I'll see you on the trails in 2010.

Juancho

Nothing but the Deal

I'm thinking about getting a bike. I hear they are really great.

This muggy October is enabling me to continue my streak of sporadic riding. I won't say non-riding, because I have managed a couple of roll-outs here and there, but seriously folks- I think we have all seen this before at the BRC.

I have long avoided purchasing a home and other grown-up endeavours out of a basic respect and fear of the avalanche of needling tasks I knew accompanied the process.

Two months ago I made the decision to go for it, pacing in the garage in the middle of the night. Three more weeks and it may all be done. I don't know really.

I sit like the dog with a biscuit on his nose, waiting for the command to snap it up.

The road awaits me again this week. Ever hopeful, I'm packing the Racer-X.

Juancho

The Great Wide Open

I have a rental car on the launch pad- destination: Dyrtle Beach, SC.

I realize now that all of my hard work and discipline over the hottest summer in the history of summers and the history of heat was to prepare me for this busy and stressful fall. Training is not always for cycling. Sometimes training is for life.

I could go into the details, but I prefer to save my complaining for my bike rides.

Juancho

Committed

I am not talking about the house. That is far less of an obligation than registering for yet another Tour de San Felasco, yet I hold the Priority envelope in hand. Tommy and I are committed as soon as I drop this hot potato in the mail.

Squatch howled and hollered like a baby with a sore tooth last night when I called to invite him to join us for a slow and stately parade through the big oaks of Alachua county. He evoked last year's tour, at which our entire party promptly abandoned him when he flatted in the first 3 miles, or maybe his chain fell off, or his crank was htting his frame. It doesn't matter really.

Now he is strong and fast with a new bike, (the punisher) which is designed exactly for a 62 mile off-road tour. He has us in the crosshairs and he will not fire.

This is an insult! Better to be beaten fairly on the field then pencil-whipped in the blogosphere.

Don't delay, registration fills up fast.

Juancho

Ridestipation

Finally, something broke through and I passed a huge ridestone. Now I have that walking around on the tips of my toes springy feeling.

It was not a huge ride, so it passed quite easily, but it was a solid and well-formed ride that slipped out with a satisfactory effort.

Thanks to Uncle Leon for the cup of coffee that got things moving.

The pleasant surprise was realizing how much fun riding a mountain bike down a fast trail can be. It was better than I remembered. Like flight. Like snowboarding. Like having a magic weapon with a +10 hit point factor or whatever the nerds say.

San Felasco is bumping the route up to 62 miles. That's a lot of trail .

I'm still too busy to claim any training is going on, but I got hope man, I got hope.

Juancho

Brown Out

Two days ago my phone died. Last night the cable exploded. The energy spinning off of me in free radical stress electrons is shutting down traffic signals as I approach.

So I finally got on the bike and used some steam wisely.

Biscuits, gravy, beer, it doesn't matter. The stress of home-purchasing grinds it all up and then the gut feeds on itself. Why am I not celebrating? I don't have a key yet, that's why. Until that happens I assume we are in an anything goes scenario, ergo the grinding.

A roll across town, through campus, after a disastrous football weekend got me off the couch. The CEO of Bike House, the new shop on Jackson Bluff road, he pulled the sword from the stone. I want to say more about that place, but it deserves better attention than I have right now. It has the whiff of success to it, I can tell you that much.

To all of you whom I have recently turned down for rides, I appreciate you keeping an eye on me. I intend to do better.

San Felasco registration happens this week.

Juancho