Sing it Jim, to the one who is there but doesn't believe it, though it is so true:
We could be so good together,Yeah, so good together,We could be so good together,Ya, we could, I know we could.
Tell you lies,I tell you wicked lies.Tell you lies,Tell you wicked lies.Tell you 'bout the world that we'll invent,Wanton world without lament,Enterprise, expedition,Invitation and invention.
Yeah, so good together,Ah, so good together,We could be so good together,Yeah, we could, know we could.
Alright!Do da do do do do do bup bup de day.
We could be so good together,Yeah, so good together,We could be so good together,Yeah, we could, know we could.
Tell you lies,Tell you wicked lies.Tell you lies,Tell you wicked lies.
The time you wait subtracts the joy,Beheads the Angels you destroy;Angels fight, Angels cry,Angels dance and Angels die.
Yeah, so good together,Ah, but so good together,We could be so good together,Yeah, we could, know we could.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
In a Good Place
No matter how crazily life has spiralled up, down, sideways, in the past three weeks, I have come to a calm. Its a good pace, in a happy space, especially when you sit on my face. OK, maybe not that last part. From a passionate kiss to the little leaf buds popping on the trees, the rebirth is here.
Today on my Strength Training ride, pushing 50X11 up short, steep climbs, and some on gravel, my rear tire became that dreaded soft, sluggish feeling. I raised my right arm for the team car to swap out my wheel, but unfortunately I am not ProTour level so there is no team car. Long story short, the spare tube & CO2 inflator were not cooperative so I knew there was only one way home, on foot. Not wanting to ruin my nice white shoes, I stuffed them in my jersey pocket, removed my socks & began the 2 mile walk back to the Blacksburg Transit bus stop.
Under normal circumstances, walking while carrying your bike would piss most people off and ruin their day. For some reason I was thinking for once & instead of walking on the road I walked through the grass. It seems like years since I have walked barefoot through lush, soft grass and the cool squish beneath my feet made the walk actually, yes, enjoyable. Instead of dwelling on the stupid flat tire, I focused on the greenness of the grass, the shapes of the clouds, the curious cows that ran up to the fence line to watch this lycra clad dork walk by carrying a bike instead of pedalling it.
And I smiled. I sang a song that I just heard over on a video at Ignacio's Speedmore Racing Blog. And I smiled some more. For once I wasn't pent up with unnecessary rage, but being "tranquilo".
Hit Play & Smile cause "No one's gonna love you" more than I do:
Today on my Strength Training ride, pushing 50X11 up short, steep climbs, and some on gravel, my rear tire became that dreaded soft, sluggish feeling. I raised my right arm for the team car to swap out my wheel, but unfortunately I am not ProTour level so there is no team car. Long story short, the spare tube & CO2 inflator were not cooperative so I knew there was only one way home, on foot. Not wanting to ruin my nice white shoes, I stuffed them in my jersey pocket, removed my socks & began the 2 mile walk back to the Blacksburg Transit bus stop.
Under normal circumstances, walking while carrying your bike would piss most people off and ruin their day. For some reason I was thinking for once & instead of walking on the road I walked through the grass. It seems like years since I have walked barefoot through lush, soft grass and the cool squish beneath my feet made the walk actually, yes, enjoyable. Instead of dwelling on the stupid flat tire, I focused on the greenness of the grass, the shapes of the clouds, the curious cows that ran up to the fence line to watch this lycra clad dork walk by carrying a bike instead of pedalling it.
And I smiled. I sang a song that I just heard over on a video at Ignacio's Speedmore Racing Blog. And I smiled some more. For once I wasn't pent up with unnecessary rage, but being "tranquilo".
Hit Play & Smile cause "No one's gonna love you" more than I do:
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Too much Salami...
Let me be the first to admit it: Nothing ever good comes from too much salami. Oh yes, feel free to read into that as deeply as you choose. Whether it's the salami in my refrigerator cooler drawer or the salami in my drawers, too much salami is never a good thing.
After what seems like a month of feeling like crap on the bike, its seems the body has blown clean of relative sickness & riding is once again enjoyable & punishing at the same time. Glorious days are here again. With all the time I've been spending on the bike I should be plowing through the post ride calories, but oddly enough, I've been content to eat sparingly & still feel full and fueled. Of course two Pabst tall boys followed by three St. Bernardus Pater 6 aren't totally light on calories, but I did manage to eat only a garden salad so it balances out. Or so I tell myself.
But what is all this talk of Salami you say? Well it is somewhat well known that I have a fondness for tubed shaped meat. No asshats, not that kind of tube shaped meat, but dried meat products stuffed in some kind of casing. Ok, ok, I'm getting nowhere with this.
On my trip to Belgium last year, I was in dried meat heaven. I managed to make a habit out of gorging on Stickado, and even managed to smuggle some back in stateside, though they only lasted about 3 days before I ate them all and USDA kicked down my door. So, how can too much salami be so bad? Well if you are a loser with the ladies like I am, it goes down something like this.
I return from a hard ride with Matt "Stickado". Wow that sounded homo.
After what seems like a month of feeling like crap on the bike, its seems the body has blown clean of relative sickness & riding is once again enjoyable & punishing at the same time. Glorious days are here again. With all the time I've been spending on the bike I should be plowing through the post ride calories, but oddly enough, I've been content to eat sparingly & still feel full and fueled. Of course two Pabst tall boys followed by three St. Bernardus Pater 6 aren't totally light on calories, but I did manage to eat only a garden salad so it balances out. Or so I tell myself.
But what is all this talk of Salami you say? Well it is somewhat well known that I have a fondness for tubed shaped meat. No asshats, not that kind of tube shaped meat, but dried meat products stuffed in some kind of casing. Ok, ok, I'm getting nowhere with this.
On my trip to Belgium last year, I was in dried meat heaven. I managed to make a habit out of gorging on Stickado, and even managed to smuggle some back in stateside, though they only lasted about 3 days before I ate them all and USDA kicked down my door. So, how can too much salami be so bad? Well if you are a loser with the ladies like I am, it goes down something like this.
I return from a hard ride with Matt "Stickado". Wow that sounded homo.
So anyways, I get back from our ride & I have only about 1 hour to eat, wash up, and head out to yoga, where there is a super cute girl I've been making eyes at. I open the fridge, hmmm, what can I eat quickly & still is satisfying? Why of course, Salami, that will sit fine in my stomach after strenuous exercise. I munch on some tasting soprosetta sausage, and head out to yoga. After some up dogs, down dogs, and other poses that contorts my gut, I begin to feel the salami repeat into my throat. Good job dumbass, lets go talk to the cute girl with salami breath.
Unfortunately I no longer live in NJ, aka Soprano Italian land, so my salami breath would not have the aphrodisiac effect it would have on the ladies back in say, Nutley NJ. Class ends, the cute girl smiles goodbye and my salami breath feel so repulsive to myself that I barely dare crack a smile in fear of leaking out some sausage spices gas.
I return home, tail between my legs, having to wait another week to cross paths again. So to dull the pain of my loserdom, I cook up some stuffed salmon, maybe fish breath is better? No wonder I'm still single.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
The Times They Are A Changing
12 days till I'm 32 & all I can say is getting old blows. All through school you are taught useless shit, like history, English, terrible sex ed class. Hell, the only class that actually had some latter day application was home ec where we learned how to cook rice. They need to go back & have a class called "Getting Older Blows - 101". In this class you will learn about back pain, mortgages, friends coming & going out of your life, receding hairlines, pills that cause 4 hour erections (not necessarily a bad thing), and the monotony of the 9-5. Another required viewing of class will be Office Space, for those who dream of climbing the corporate ladder, you need this heavy dose of reality.
Why didn't someone warn me of this shit?! Well as I can hazily recall, people who were in their 30's & 40's were warning me, but at the time 30 seemed so far off I never could wrap my noddle around ever making it that long. So now I get to hear people say "wait till you're 50" and I say, that is highly improbable. Maybe I should enroll in "Getting Even Older Blows 202, the 50+ years" and learn about the joys of my future prostate exams, senior citizens discounts on Tuesday, all you can eat buffets, more erection pills that now require asking your doctor if you are healthy enough for sexual activity, and receding grey hair.
Blah, too much to wade through and not enough time to figure it out. Pass the bottle buddy, hit the play button, turn it up, and dream about those not with you today. The bonus of older days is that maybe one day it will make sense and the cards will fall in place.
Why didn't someone warn me of this shit?! Well as I can hazily recall, people who were in their 30's & 40's were warning me, but at the time 30 seemed so far off I never could wrap my noddle around ever making it that long. So now I get to hear people say "wait till you're 50" and I say, that is highly improbable. Maybe I should enroll in "Getting Even Older Blows 202, the 50+ years" and learn about the joys of my future prostate exams, senior citizens discounts on Tuesday, all you can eat buffets, more erection pills that now require asking your doctor if you are healthy enough for sexual activity, and receding grey hair.
Blah, too much to wade through and not enough time to figure it out. Pass the bottle buddy, hit the play button, turn it up, and dream about those not with you today. The bonus of older days is that maybe one day it will make sense and the cards will fall in place.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
From Mega-Watts to Melancholy
As easy as the wind blows weather changes through the mountains of southwest Virginia, life blows changes through the simplistic routines of the everyday. Rewind one weekend & I'm pumping out power to the pedals I've never done before. Fast forward to today, and the body says, "enough, time for a rest whether you like it or not." And so the funk begins again. Unfortunately the mental anguish is accompanied not by a simple sinus infection, but the thought of the "C" word. No, not cunnilingus, but the big C. The uncontrollable C that takes hold of people's body no matter how healthy they are, or how much they fight all the causes. C'est la vie.
And so with the drab weather casting gray shadows over all I see, the brain has time to wander about & reminisce of past encounters, fleeting minutes spent staring in the eyes of beauty & longing for those time to hurry back. But like the changing weather or the big C, those moments are out of our control so we simply can reflect on them & be hopeful we shall experience them again.
Thoughts of a cold beer at the campsite, shins shredded from stinging nettles as you bomb downhill mud flying in your face, a wet dog waiting at the tent to greet you at the end of a great ride.
And so with the drab weather casting gray shadows over all I see, the brain has time to wander about & reminisce of past encounters, fleeting minutes spent staring in the eyes of beauty & longing for those time to hurry back. But like the changing weather or the big C, those moments are out of our control so we simply can reflect on them & be hopeful we shall experience them again.
Thoughts of a cold beer at the campsite, shins shredded from stinging nettles as you bomb downhill mud flying in your face, a wet dog waiting at the tent to greet you at the end of a great ride.
Oh warmth, come back soon. Your sweet embrace is missed by my body. Your sweet spring breeze feels like gentle lips pressed to my cheek. Your sun rays milking the sweat down my face (and giving me goddamn skin cancer) as I grind uphill. Your morning dew coating the rocks and causing the tires to lose their line, skinning my knees like sweet carpet burn. And yet through all the falls & abrasions, I get back up & push forward, for it is in that feeling that you get such sweet release.
So today there will be no Metallica pumping through the headphones, no need for that aggression. Instead I offer up to Mother Nature & those long at heart a mellow mood to ease the mind as we await warmer days. Oh Mother Nature, you MILF, I can't wait for your hot touch so I can get at your "Buttons & Zips" & tear it up with two tires.
Sunday, April 05, 2009
Mega Watts
No this isn't part of Obama's Greening of the power grid, this is the power of tequila fueled cycling legs. On Saturday I headed out with Fatt Phillips to do our typical Bradshaw Rd Loop & we were greeted by a stiff tailwind heading out on Blacksburg Road. Cruising along at 30 miles an hour without having to work too hard is always a great feeling & about as PRO fast as I can ever get.
We turn onto Rt. 311 and start to eye of the green town sign sprint for Catawba. We are riding shoulder to shoulder, no sucking wheels here, this will be a showdown of pure sprinter hardness. About 175 meters to go I give it the gas first & quickly find the tailwind is pushing us along as I have to drop gears to keep from spinning it out. I surge, Fatt pulls up along side, I drop it another gear & move away, Fatt surges, I drop one more gear and do the Boonen head bob as the line approaches. I give it my all, throw the bike & take the line by half a wheel. Whooo, that was rough.
We turn onto Rt. 311 and start to eye of the green town sign sprint for Catawba. We are riding shoulder to shoulder, no sucking wheels here, this will be a showdown of pure sprinter hardness. About 175 meters to go I give it the gas first & quickly find the tailwind is pushing us along as I have to drop gears to keep from spinning it out. I surge, Fatt pulls up along side, I drop it another gear & move away, Fatt surges, I drop one more gear and do the Boonen head bob as the line approaches. I give it my all, throw the bike & take the line by half a wheel. Whooo, that was rough.
We catch our breath & check out the Powertap numbers. Holy crap, Max Watts 1339, speed 35 mph. Fatt rolls up & says he hit 1343 Watts. I reassure him those extra 4 watts he had is do to his ass being bigger than mine & he needed an extra 40 watts to come around me. We get home, I download the power file, and holy shit, new 5 second personal best by almost 60 watts. Way to go Belgian Beer & Tequila, must be high grade alcohol rocket fuel.
As they say, if you don't have the file, it never happened, so here you go:
Saturday, April 04, 2009
Boundaries Defined
From Merriam-Webster: Boundary - something that indicates or fixes a limit or extent
Seems simple enough, but as long as the week ends, and the weekend begins, boundaries are constantly disregarded and crossed. There has got to be some reinforcement tool to help establish those boundaries and remember not to cross them. What boundaries you may ask?
Boundary One: Caution...do not cross regulary: the limit of strong Belgian Beer followed by high dollar Tequilla. The problem lies when the tab is open under someone else's credit card or the bar does not charge you for the right price for the tequilla, that boundary line gets quite fuzzy. Quite fuzzy from the booze, the 8.5% abv beer and any extracircular activities that may be too incriminating to mention.
Boundary Two: I really need to get that cell phone breathalyzer installed when combined with crossing boundary one. Too much booze, a sexy woman on the other end of the line, and the next morning you wake up hung over with a vague recollection of a conversation that may have went something close to this:
Seems simple enough, but as long as the week ends, and the weekend begins, boundaries are constantly disregarded and crossed. There has got to be some reinforcement tool to help establish those boundaries and remember not to cross them. What boundaries you may ask?
Boundary One: Caution...do not cross regulary: the limit of strong Belgian Beer followed by high dollar Tequilla. The problem lies when the tab is open under someone else's credit card or the bar does not charge you for the right price for the tequilla, that boundary line gets quite fuzzy. Quite fuzzy from the booze, the 8.5% abv beer and any extracircular activities that may be too incriminating to mention.
Boundary Two: I really need to get that cell phone breathalyzer installed when combined with crossing boundary one. Too much booze, a sexy woman on the other end of the line, and the next morning you wake up hung over with a vague recollection of a conversation that may have went something close to this:
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