Mt. Bike Now

Terriers are awesome. At 12 years of age, Indy still pursues the elusive mole… sometimes in the confines of the empty compost bin

Trophies are nice, but they tend to sit around and collect dust. Not the case with the Slobberknocker trophy. Ryan’s George Foreman grill was falling apart (thank gawd), so I finished it off with style.

The stuff we eat while we ride is horrible for our teeth (this includes you, Mr. “I eat real food.”)  Turns out, no matter WHAT you eat, if it includes sugar, and you consume it while your mouth is relatively dry, your teeth will suffer. So, this morning, I went to the dentist for a crown. They asked me if I wanted to pay $30 extra for gas, and, while I’m not particularly bothered by dental work, I agreed to it… just for giggles. The receptionist looked very uncomfortable when she asked if I didn’t mind the charge, and I commented, “not at all- most drugs cost more than that.”

I suppose my wit is not always appreciated.

Fast forward a little- I’m laid back in the Chair, nitrous taking effect, and I begin reading the “101 things to do in life” poster on the ceiling above the Chair. It included things like “leave the toilet seat down,” “send lots of valentines day cards,” “never refuse home-made brownies,” and “call your mother.” Through the expertise I’ve gained from watching the TV show Criminal Minds, I gather that the author of the poster is a slightly overweight, single, middle-aged white woman who either didn’t get along with her mother at one point or has a child that never calls.

I digress.

I think she left some valuable words of advice off of the list.

-Don’t let this (your time in the dentist’s chair) be the only time you’ve experienced mind altering drugs.
-Try yoga. You don’t have to be athletic, flexible, strong, skinny, or anything else of the sort. In fact, the worse shape you’re in, the more you’re likely to benefit. (I’m looking at you, MOM)
-Most people are jerks. Some just do a better job at hiding it.

I’m somewhat certain that I had more of these in my head while I was laying there and being subjected to various drills, impressions, and suctions, but those are the highlights.

On a totally unrelated note, I sold my geared Air9 Carbon frame and fork. If you’ve been around the internet at all lately, you’ll know why. It was ordered on Valentine’s Day- a sure-fire reminder that carbon fiber is far superior to any precious metal/gemstone conglomeration. I’ve been told it should be on its way sometime soon after the Southern Cross/Southeastern Bike Expo weekend. I can’t wait to stare at it.

Lastly, in other “taking care of your significant other” news, I’m going to be coaching Ryan. Yes, I have a coach of my own, but it’s really going to be less like coaching and more like “educated training advice.” Time will tell how well I do and how well he follows instructions.

(Warning, this is about to sound a lot like a pseudo-philosophical rant that your one “stoner” friend might tell you an hour or so after eating a “special” brownie…)

In light of the giant, heat-producing contusion on my right thigh, I haven’t done any riding since I arrived home from Louisville on Sunday. I decided yesterday that I’d venture to the mall in search of a pair of jeans. However, rather than actually go into stores and try things on, I ended up wandering around pondering the meaning of life instead.

I mean, the entire contents of the vast expanse of building seemed incredibly useless to me. On the flipside, there are individuals who would feel that their well-being would be compromised if that building burnt down tomorrow.  Which led me to think, Why?
What I figured out was that the average individual needs this stuff because they dress up/down/out/etc to do things. Those things that they do add interest to their everyday life. The clothing defines you and what you do. I’m not judging or saying this is bad at all- quite the opposite…

I find those things useless because I don’t do anything.

All those things that all of those people are doing in order to need to dress up/down/out/etc. don’t exist here. Most people would think that, from the outside, that sounds incredibly boring- a large portion of my everyday existence is dedicated to being able to ride a bike faster than everyone else. Outside of that, I work on bikes, and many of my friends are bike people. I’m not saying this is bad at all, either, just that I briefly noticed the stark contrast between my reality and that of the general public.

It’s not for everyone, but I love it.
(Thank you, mall, for provoking my deep thought of the day. )

I’ve got a soft spot in my heart for stencil street art. This little jewel is from Euro-artist FAKE:

Enjoy.

This post is a little backwards, so if you want a look into the December 24th debauchery, skip this sentimental stuff and go straight down to where you see the alien holding a glass of wine.

Since I don’t personally know anyone who was born on December 25th, I typically take the day to either ride my bike on reduced-traffic roads and/or visit with family. Today I drove down to Drew, Mississippi, where my grandmother (on my Mom’s side) lives. We eat large quantities of various casseroles, then everyone rolls around on the furniture like colicky horses and “visits” for a while before dispersing.

Granny, Aunt Scarlett, and Mom (front to back)…

Several cousins (l-r) Brad, Brittany, Aunt Georgia, Brad’s Wife, Brent, and his wife (the hair in the foreground):

We agreed that Brent (who works as a crop duster pilot) and I used to be “the bad ones,” but now, his kid has taken over that role. Probably so, considering I thought she was cute, and I normally have a strong dislike of anyone under the age of 20.
Uncle Johnny and the “new” bad one along with Uncle Pete and my dad…

And yes, hate on it all you want… Those ARE house shoes, and exactly zero f***s were given.

My family is great, though often times when I visit, I feel like Roger from American Dad.

Yesterday, the foldies (nickname for any non-bike shop employee) celebrated making it though nearly 1 month of being really busy (good thing they don’t work in the bike shop, where we’re generally slammed from the first day of spring until the first time the temperature drops under 50). Everyone in the store gets to let their proverbial hair down a little, have a catered lunch sandwich, and drink a beer or two. This year, Matt Robbins put his PT training to the test in checking out all of Boyd’s vertebrae injuries:

After that, the atmosphere was electric. Like a tazer.

When I left work, Matt and I took off for a little night ride. He rode Death Bike 3000 for the first time… it basically did OK, unless he had to pedal harder than 300 watts:

I guess he still has a little work to do on that one.

Basically, a good two days of laying off a little and pretending like I’m a “normal” person instead of someone who is systematically repeating a cycle of destroying herself with intervals and recovering just enough to rinse and repeat. Tonight, whiskey. Tuesday, back to work.