Are you a gambling man, Mr Bond?

This morning is tainted with a certain amount of fuzzy head.  A last minute stop at Total Wine on the way home will do that I guess. 

Most money spent on a single beer.

But that's just that and no reason to be all slack here.

I love when the internet feeds me.  Blog fodder comes cheap.  Remember when I had to come up with The Horny Single Speeder's Guide to Single Speed Podium Etiquette as a reaction to the unfortunate Alison Tetrick's Basic Top 13 Podium Rules?

It had to happen.  Eventually someone would decide to share mine own with the original Emily Post of the Podium.

Some may think I'd take some offense to be considered one who "appears as an elf," but quite honestly waking up at 124.8lbs this morning, I realize that I am within reach of that magical weight that I'll need to be in order to finally submit my resume to the folks at Keebler.

As to being "the god of over 40 single speed bloggers?

What can I say?  In the land of blind pigs, the one eyed pig is king.  As of right now, I can only see outta one blurry eye, so I guess I am indeed the royal pig.

One rib, to go

I've had at least three memorable rib injuries in the past. 

I was running in a church one night as a kid.  I tripped and fell sternum first into the corner of a pew.  Being a rural boy and not really knowing that I might have injured my xiphoid process, I mighta told my parents.  I don't think I did.  I have an unusual lump on my sternum now.

I was racing the local short track series here in Charlotte.  Two races in, I had a second and a first place in the SS category.  After the second race, I managed to snap a rib while cleaning my bike.   Seriously.  Long story short, I ended up struggling to breathe in the last three races and barely escaped with third overall.

2007 Icycle.  I either broke a rib after riding the downhill course in my pajamas after drinking many beers and a bottle of Mad Dog, or Nick the Stick broke it for me by putting his knee into my chest in an attempt to stop me from trying to instigate him into a wrestling match.

Ermagherd, sner flerk!

As you may remember, my plans for a family-free weekend only went so far.

1: Get off work

2. Head to The Spoke Easy

3. Drink beer

In the words of Dusty Bottoms, "Sometimes you can over plan these things."

So as soon as I punched the clock, I grabbed the festive mug from work that I borrow for such after-hours keg related activities and headed to the shop... well that is after I went approximately 14 blocks out of my way to meet Nick "Dip and Spray" Barlow to pick up some promotional materials (stickers) for his and Zac's new delivery service.  Once loaded and southbound, my unusual lateness (I'm unusually there @5:12) was noted and all my glory stolen.  The Gentle Ginger had already beaten me to the soiree with a festive, but smaller, mug of his own.

I would like to say things got better, but that would depend greatly on your definition of "better."

Not the feel good you're looking for (now with musical accompaniment)

As terrible as yesterday's post was, it was still something of a cathartic release.  I've had a long, drawn-out, unnecessarily emotional week.  Ups, downs, and all arounds.  Why this week?  Why not?

Yes, I just admitted to having something similar to "feels."  I'm only (half) human after all.


Sorry, sometimes my desire to reference popular 80's culture can not be squelched.  If you only had some idea how long it took me to find that video... I coulda photoshopped many heads onto many bodies in the same amount of time.  The things I do for your love...

But after publishing a blog about zip ties and drooper posts, there was a certain palpable release of pressure. Seriously, I saved it.  Feel free to stop by the house and palp it some time. 

On the way to work, an entire Dirt Rag article wrote itself in my head.  I don't know where it came from, but it just formed magically over 50 minutes of urban cruising.

Then I'm at work and I read something that almost had me sitting there in tears.  Something that upset me more than the current state of my injured ribs and my cluttered work bench combined.

Really, I've been staring at this mess for days, and it's starting to affect me on several levels.  I thought that like most of my problems, if I just ignore it long enough, it will sort itself out.

Droopy

You know the moral of the bird trapped in a pile of shit?

I feel like that bird.  Not that I'm dealing with a pile of shit, but I'm sitting in my bike room looking at things that need to be done and thinking about doing them...

but still doing nothing but sitting and thinking.

The tires on this bike need swapped, but one of the tires I need is on that bike, and that bike needs tires swapped before the Trans-Sylvania Epic, so if I already have those wheels in hand, it seems like a dandy idea to go ahead and do them all at the same time, and I need a plan for the upcoming family-less Saturday, but I'll be at the Bike Party Friday, so I don't know how a plan can even be made for Saturday if I don't know how I'm gonna feel about anything the next day, and then there's a Dirt Rag deadline looming on the near horizon...

Yet last night I just hung out with Brian B and looked over his post-PMBAR wheels and BS'ed until The Pie came home and the rest of the night was spent sitting on the porch drinking the rewards of the evening's labor.

Tis the season, I guess.

Lotsa racing and planning will do that, suck my will to do anything in the interim that could be considered the least bit productive.  And it's only May.

I did manage this:

Small victories.

Yoga Breathing

Cold, wet, covered in mud, shivering...

I've been here before.  Actually just a week ago.  Many times before that as well.  Too many.

I chant a mantra to myself in these situations.  It calms me down and prepares me for what I'm about to do.

"It will get worse before it gets better."

Breathe in, breathe out.

What I want is to be magically clean, dry, standing by a fire or in front of a heater, wearing a puffy coat, sipping on coffee.  That's not reality.

So I drop everything, head to the nearest body of water, and get down to business.

photo cred: Eric Wever

2013 PMBAR: Throwing Shit at a Fan While Standing in Front of It

This will take awhile...

So, a rendezvous with Zac was planned right after work.

As much as the driver was impressed by Zac's packless PMBAR set-up, she was not pleased to be held up for a photo op.

Zac went to get into the passenger seat of the rarely driven Fit of Rage.  He discovered an ant farm in my passenger door.  We dealt with it by delivering a blasting shower from our water bottles washing away ant and egg.  Nature would have it's vengeance.  Don't try to rain on or reign in Mother Nature.  She will stick it in your ass.

Sign in and gear check was first on the agenda.

 photo cred: Eric Wever

Endless Bikes' Shanna Powell was checking each racer's capacity to love.  Packless set-up approved, it was on to the next step.


We got to Brevard, had a couple/few beers at the Jordan St Cafe, and headed over to the Salman residence.  Instead of sleeping, I just relaxed with my eyes open listening to the cacophony of subtle noises.  Creaking floorboards, a sighing dog, my PMBAR partner hacking up a lung due to his sickness he had hoped to be over by now...

At least it all stopped when I got up at 6:00AM.