Cue the Banjos

You Ready?

Doubt

Typical prerace doubts began creeping in today. Could have, should have, etc, etc. As one of my former college coaches used to say, "It's too bad your so smart because it can make you a complete headcase."

At least I got the nerd look going on the shades. So I got that going for me... which is nice.

No idea what kind of connectivity will exist down South. Hopefully, I'll be online from the road.

Sprung

Four hours of spring time goodness. An inadvertant TransIowa test run for the IF Cross Machine leads the loss of wheel (momentarily) and Andy Rooney. All on CBS Snobby Morning.

Jeff and I rode the Jamaica North trail south passed its finished section and on through the skree topped railbed until we popped out on Roca road. It was such a nice morning, even the turkey hunters we went by were cool to us.

Train in Vain.

The skree ride wasn't with its casuality though. After Jeff commented that my rear wheel looked like a drunk rodeo clown, a closer inspection revealed a small concern.

The bridge appears to have bigger concerns.

3 Hour Tour

Sleeping in meant no PCL for me, but it looks like a great crew enjoyed the gravel. Solo'd for three today. Upped the pace for one of those and felt pretty decent while still pondering exactly how firmly my ass will get handed to me at Oauchita. Time will tell.

Big Wheels Keep On Turning (And yes I need to cut that zip-tie).

Apparently, CVO and I like to take the same pictures of CW.

1000 Yard Stare

Assorted Snobbery Note: I was informed yesterday that "Chasing Cars" is a completely overplayed song and that I should be banned from musical commentary for a year for not knowing so. Too much punk and not enough mainstream culture, I was told. Who knew?

Snobbish Anniversary

This one's gone to eleven. Happy Anniversary, Mrs.Snob.

Chasing Cars

I'm not a huge Snow Patrol fan, but that song brings a sort of pleasant melancholy that just works. I guess I should have posted that thought on St. Paddy's Day since they're an Irish band.
*****
Barring another barrage of weather, I think the cross bike will be in effect for TI. It asked so nicely that I cannot refuse. Saturday may be a good time to test that theory.
*****
RoadTrip? Got space Johnny?

9 Mile Registration is Open

July 28-29. Game On.

Here's to this not being the only race I finish this year.

Assorted Snobbery: Fight Me I'm Irish

Kansas City. Fourth Largest St. Patrick's Day Parade in the country. Who knew? Even though I found out last year I am English and not Irish, I still think of myself wearing a kilt, so dye my head red and pass the green beer, brother.

The crowning St. Paddy's Day moment showed that often your friends have your back, even though you may be oblivious to it. The crew and I were walking back to our hotel after a late dinner when a drunken Johnny Knoxville knockoff starting shouting across the street to some unknown assailant. We were on a two-tiered sidewalk, with Seven and I on the highside when Johnny decided to yell, "Lick my fucking balls." My rules are pretty simple, cuss like a sailor, I do, but not around my crew. However, before I could even take a step down the stairs, his friends saved the day. "Danny, look around man," said one. "We're really, really sorry about that," said another. "Thanks guys. Take care of your boy." Faith in humanity momentarily restored.

A few other notes. I didn't see a lot of people riding. Bummed me out a little, but I was in a horrible area unless you want to go full blow attitude all the time. Seemed like there was nearly an accident at every corner all the time.

People don't take kindly to someone running hard on a highly angled treadmill with the NCAA tourney blasting over the sound of the treadmill. I turned the TV down though.

Missed the race but Lincoln did not. Large Props to Sydney and Matt for taking the six hour wins, not to mention the rest of the crew for clearing having fun. Not to mention, BKB represent.

The Kemper Museum Welcome Wagon.

Don't Call Me Junior.

The Ceramics Building at the Intitute.

Couped Up.


Road Trips, Ball Point Pens and Future Tattoo Lovers.

Consolation Prize Fighter

No Spoke and Pony. So, the correct answer turned out to be zero. The trip to the area was meant as a mini-vacation for crew and, while I might have raced if it had only taken a half day, the logisitics make the race a full Saturday affair so I am falling back and spending the time with the family as planned. The IF will have to wait until Ouachita to wish it had another engine.

Speaking of crew: GF 29er Crew.

Speaking of IF: Win One.

Spoke and Pony

It turns out I will be in KC the weekend of the Spoke and Pony, so now the questions are three or six hour and which gear do I run. Suddenly the season is in my face.

Finished product complete with dirt chaser.

Even Mediocre Days Are Great

If I weren't feelings so worked, I am sure I would wax on about how nicely the weekend would have tucked under the heading of Living A Cycling Lifestyle.

Finished the new IF on Saturday, with an ample amount of assistance from Tony T and Jerrod at the shop. I was already heading in when Jerrod called asking if a High Life Delivery might be in order and, of course, it was. It occurred to me while heading home that my complete ineptitude with a wrench is only enabled by the "shop hangout factor." If I knew what I was doing, I'd be done faster and thus would dimish the fun.

Sunday felt like summer in San Fran. I know it hit sixty, but I was cold the whole day. Rock D and I took the new ride out to Branched Oak bright and early. Day Light Savings is a bitch and it doesn't help when you're up until 4am the night before. Rest hard? Hardly resting. I was a bit overgeared for the long day I had planned but the conversation was good (thanks to Rock for carrying it) and the IF wanted more than gravel, but I don't think the trials are quit ready for that.

Got back to town just under forty miles later and just past the meeting time for the group ride to Panama. Fortunately, the Avey-ator missed it too so we meet at the Casa du Cronin, I switched to the cross bike and we headed to Panama. Apparently, we took the short cut because we looked back at one point to see a peloton of about 25 cats bearing down on our slow poke legs. We were on a slight uphill which would have made a great photo, but a capture of "The Catch" was not to be since my camera told me there was no memory card. Dare I Say, Genius?

After Panama, the week's illness started catching up to me. I shut things down a little earlier than planned but still managed a very long day in the saddle. Finished up by watching the Paris-Nice prologue with Mrs. Snob and crashed into a deep sleep.

Too bad I don't have the pictures to prove any of it.

Two weeks out from Ouchita. Whoa.

Assorted Snobbery: A Fighter's Heart

Usually when I am down for the count (pun intended) whether it be from illness, drink or other assorted issue, I read and this time was no exception. While no high brow literary awards are going to go Sam Sheridan's way for A Fighter's Heart, I enjoyed the hell out of it. Despite feeling at times a little too much like magazine articles pinned together for a book, it was an intriguing look at the art and pyschology of fighting.

In particular, I was engrossed with the idea of gameness. The idea that even if one's getting pummelled, he's still willing to toe the line and keep fighting. Of course, I am sure gameness has gotten a multitude of fighters in trouble in the ring and over the course of their lives, but if you're just riding bikes, why the hell not?

Strep Throat

Ya gotta love it. Would someone please remove these 18t cogs from my throat?

Day of the Living Dead

And a lot of "on your left." Not a lot of bikes but a lot of runners and walkers half asleep along the routes today. Bumped into JK and the MonkeyGirl at the Works. Longest ride of the year so far.

Around 10am, and the boys (Butch and MW?) are getting last tracks before the melt.

Z-Dog. Sans air guitar.

Pugs.

JK sings Abba and dreams of his 29er to come.

The Reveal

Not all the parts are in, but you'll get the idea.

Z-Dog, lost in a heavy guitar solo.



Dammit Phil, quit glaring at me.