"Let's Go Easy" aka The Kiss of Death

With Corey bowing out of the 155 due to a crankarm failure, we saddled up for some time a little closer to Lincoln and in the process came home with two banged up body instead of one.

From D St, we dropped into Wilderness with plans of popping out of the single track, onto the Jamaica North and heading South for a day of limestone and cornfields. With Corey's much discussed fitness proving all to real and my last year's cross gearing proving all too puny, we were making quick time of the place despite me spinning out all too often. We had also been passed by a small group and, without being dangerous, tempo'd our way back up to them just before 14th. Unfortunately, the fun ended abruptly as I washed out my overworn front tire and cashed it in a dusty loose turn.

The post crash accessment showed both wheels out of true, jacked up bars and brakes levers and one sore Snob.

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What's a little grass in your rim?

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We don't go straight. We go forward.
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Shortly afterword, Lonnie rolled by on his way to Roca for some suds and, after a chat, Cornbread and I rolled on toward Cortland. A headwind make it a little tough for chit-chat, as did the pace. The post Cortland ride back proved much easier for conversation even though we both felt like ads for AARP and starring in Cocoon.

Being the bikes geeks we are, talked turned to Landahl and War Axe (geared cross stainless, Corey?). Apparently, Corey is considering bringing a crew of his own to KC.

Let the good times roll.

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I tried to intimidate Corey by slicing the heads off of grasshoppers. He didn't fall for it.

A Great Moment in Evil Unicorn History

While it may seem I am staying up late searching the web for the best in single digit angry waves, I happened upon this thinking of cross and couldn't resist. (It's too bad that in today's cycling world winning as much as Nys seems like anecdotal evidence of doping.)

The 'real' Evil Unicorns have officially taken it up a notch for Landahl and will be serving one geared goodness in the Expert field. This isn't the Open Pro/Am as apparently that's co-ed only, but according to the Granny Gear staff (who are incredibly helpful) two teams who have hit the podium already this year will be there vying for series points.

We'll see what we can shake loose.

Honorary Evil Unicorn

The Man in Black.

Cold-Cocked

Despite fending it off for most of the Labor Day weekend, the cold which has crept up on me since Saturday seems to have finally taken hold today. Ah, the fun of a runny nose.

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Congrats are in order to Squirrel and MG for their respective wins in Iowa. Nice work, fellas.

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The Dakota 50 seemed to have been a scene. Documentation abounds.

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Over the weekend and just prior to a ride, I found via SiteMeter that someone had reached the blog by searching under the phrase "Evil Unicorns." Somehow, I turned the phrase over in my head until I had concluded that "throwing an Evil Unicorn" was a great euphemism for giving someone the finger, "you know, giving them the bird." One horn. One finger. What's not to love?

As I rode to work today, it occured to me that this will probably end up like my "discovery" of Pangea in fifth grade. After who knows how long of not paying attention to the actual point of class, I was ecstatic when I looked at a world map and could visualize how all of the continents could actually fit together like a puzzle. Of course, Mr. Rhodes blew my visions of grandeur with a dismissive, "It's called Pangea, Skip. Now go sit down." Damn Joy Kill.

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Thera-Flu Time!!!

Barriers to Entry

How boring am I, you ask? Boring enough to start taking pictures of downed limbs and trees on the trails around Lincoln. With everyone else across the country racing, it seemed I should have carried a chainsaw along on my rides.

Wilderness 1. Doubles as a small jungle gym.


Wilderness 2. Removed in about 30 seconds.

Branched Oak 1. The wall of limbs.

Branched Oak Two. The rythmn section just got harder.
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Jeff and I also came across an interesting scene at Branched Oak. A group of ten to fourteen turkey vultures must have been enjoying a bit more than a simple snack in the woods. As we crested a climb we spooked and the sky was filled ever so briefly with impressive wing spans. Hitchcock flashed through my head, but Jeff bitch slapped me to reality.

"If You Move, I Strike...

... and if you do not move, I strike. Oh foolish people."

While half of the Nebraska Cycling Scene prepares to head out of town this weekend for places known and unknown, I'll be rolling pedals near home. While the feet are vastly improved and rides continue to build, a 24 at this point would slow the impending reign of the Evil Unicorns and that, is unacceptable.

Speaking of the EU, the debate now rages: SS/Rigid category or Open Pro/Am (still running SS)?

Single Speed Cross Worlds: Road Trip to Portland?

I've seen this information on several sites:

The Portland Single Speed Collective announced it will host the inaugural Singlespeed Cyclo-cross World Championships in conjunction with a Cross Crusade event on November 11-12.

Day one will include a qualifying 'cross time trial, a relatively uncommon event although the AVA Cyclo-cross Stage Race has been holding one at the Alkek Velodrome for the past three years. At the Portland event, time bonuses will be given for "sketchy aero bar descending", fastest saddle-less lap, fastest saddle-less lap while on aero bars, fastest steep hill climb, and best six-pack bunny hopping.

Day Two is the Grand Boucle of Singlespeed 'cross, a 60-minute race around the notorious Estacada Bowl. One woman and one man will be crowned Singlespeed Cyclo-cross World Champion.

A way to get my ass kicked and visit Portland? Not to shabby.

Weekend Wake Up Call

The two blurry forms in the picture below are DK and Corey respectively. You may be thinking to yourself, "Jesus, Snob, learn to take a picture." The key here is that this is the view from my eyes after these two politely ripped me into the ground on the gravel hills North of town. That turning around and looking backward pose they have is something that haunted them all day from craning around trying to figure out how far back I was. I think they both have chiropractic appointments on Monday. Great ride though. It felt good to hurt.

"Seriously, I don't think he can ride that..."

And then there are these jackasses. Three Evil Unicorns sitting on a box. I visit our friendly neighborhood Jedi to see how the Swanson State Champs race went and BAMM!! There is this picture of my teammates for Lahdahl all grinning on the podium.

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Congrats guys

From L to R: War Axe Sam Rosenau, Nate Woodman, Mark "MOD" Savery.

Enough blogging. The game is afoot.

Assorted Snobbery: Trainspotting

"The best book ever written by man or woman... deserves to sell more copies than the bible." Rebel Inc.

Occassionally, I will say to Mrs. Snob that I am just getting less intelligent by the day. It's time to restore some mental snap with a classic.

I know you're not Renton, but which character are you? Take the quiz, wanker.

Somehow, I ended up as Tommy. I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Social Networking Will Never Be The Same

Johnny is returning the screw. ThreadPitch.

Who Is Dick Hickey?

Things are interesting in the cycling world, but not in the house of Snobbery. I spent most of the weekend reverse imagineering the pink IF back into a hour of pain CX machine from its gravel grinder alter-ego. I may prefer the aesthetic of the 29er, but the pinkie has a hold of my black heart.

Speaking of gravel, it's on again. TransIowa V.4. Call your neighbors, tell your friends and most importantly, bake G-Ted a pie to say thank you.

Jesse kept the WORS streak alive and is apparently drinking with Nebraska vagrants. Living dirty never felt so good.

Apparently a new, but strangely familiar face arrived on the scene for the six hour version of the Rapture in Misery race at Landahl. Dick Hickey took second despite cramping near the end of six. Urban Myth or Living Legend?

Can Ya Dig It??

Laughing at 2005 from 2007.

Kitten and Catnip

A strong Ore2Shore finish for the BKB. Meow.

Barriers and a Crisp Fall Breeze

Today was a pool of sweat and 100+ degree heat index, but oh so soon, barriers and cowbells will rule the day. (At least the feet were a bit better.) If it weren't for the Evil Unicorns, I'd be jumping out of my skin for October to arrive.

With Cross Nationals in KC, the excitement is even higher. Three day road trip and two races in which I can appropriately embarrass myself along with watching many of the best cross racers America has to offer. (Come on, Jon Page, come to KC!!)

Speaking of fast, Molly's working a fund raiser to help minimize the cost of a season's travel, including heading across the pond to toe the line at a World Cup level. She has two Vanilla frames on the block, one of which has a look that is near and dear to my hearts and stars.

Jaw Dropper

Evil Unicorns Are Epic

Nebraska Wrecking Crew for 24hrs of Landahl.

Single Speed/Rigid/Rocking:

Nate Woodman - Head Floor Sweeper

Sam Rosenau - Fabrication in his Future.

Mark Savery - aka MOD. Giving up suspension for 24hrs.

Skip Cronin - aka PussyFeet.

Seeing Red Through Black

An hour and a half into a ride today my feet decided to unleash some sonic nerve ripping action yet again to the point where I ended up pedalling 45 minutes home by switching from one leg to the other, letting one hang unclipped. (Insert string of cursing here.)

Tonight, the Sidi's meet my exacto knife.

The Superstition Twist

"A good pilot is compelled to evaluate what's happened, so he can apply what he's learned." - Viper

Having turned over the dismal effort at 9 Mile more times that anyone but me would care to count, I've now come to understand the real reasons for my poor performance. My lack of attention to superstition.

Clearly, my preparation in this area was sorely lacking. Some should really hit me in the head with a right-side up horse-shoe.

Let's look at where I got off-track:

* Lack of "War Paint." - As pointed out by the MonkeyGirl, the nails were clean. Or, as a Quik-Stop Clerk might say, "there wasn't a lot of pink going on." Historical data and metrics show this cost me three laps at a sub 90 minute rate. Ouch.

* Chopless. - Here's where common sense failed. It's tempting to believe that a cleanly shaven face will provide aero-dynamics and therefore faster average time. Learn from Snobbish foolishness. Chops allow on to channel the powers of T. Brown, Bob Roll, and Geoff Kabush (double strength if you are Canadian) and, not only turn phenominal lap times, but ride with technical abandon.

* Consumption of Cornbread. - Be advised. This is not a nutrition consideration. While not fully tested, there is anecdotal evidence to suggest that riding with Cornbread can assist in achieving greater levels of success. Some side effects may include singing Oasis during races, arguments over the legality of pirated music and conversations regarding your future life as a marine animal.

Of course, at this point, one can only hope that I can learn from my mistakes and put this knowledge into superstitous best-practice. "It takes a lot more than just fancy flying."

Happy Friday. Snob out.

September to Dismember?

September 2nd - Seven Oaks 24 Solo (pending full foot recovery)

September 15th - Manawa 12 Solo

September 23rd - Landahl (But it's not what you think)

"... But Let's Go Kill Some Birds, I'm Psyched."

Since the feet still ache, I've spent time reviewing what races I'd like to hit for the remainder of year. (Thanks for all of the suggestions.) One race no one mentioned but that I looked at today is the 24hrs of Landahl. I was actually starting to get excited at the idea of going for it until I checked out the price. $330 for Solos. That's over 3x 9 Mile.

I don't get it.

The same weekend there is a 12hr in Wisco just north of Wausau for $35. 4 times the gas yet still quite a bit cheaper (though shorter). I am sure the Granny Gear events are top notch, but are they THAT much better? It's sad and perhaps telling that I can do multiple races, hundreds of miles away from the crib for the cost of one 24 that's a little over three hours away.

In fact, the Heartland Race guys have a 12 hour roughly a month prior at the same local. They put on a strong race, so where's the value?

Not sure if this post counts as whining, bitching or appropriate observation, but I don't see how that kind of price point can stand up considering the other options available. As always, feel free to tell me why I am wrong. Frankly, I'd be happy to be proven wrong on this one.

Perhaps it's for the better. I can't ride rocks anyway.

Rule #22. Never commit to a race if you can't afford beer afterwards.

Snob out.

Leaning on a Broken Fence

* Back to wearing shoes instead of sandals.

* No stress fractures in my feet.

* Preride bruise still looking sweet after a week.

Now What?

Aside from a couple of cycling related "projects," I have no idea what races I'll do for the remainder of the season. Elk mentioned the Iron Cross, which is getting serious consideration, but what else? As always, suggestions welcome.

24-9: Pillar of Salt

The first phrase that came to mind for me when thinking about the 07 Version of 24-9 was HST's "Doomstruck Craziness." Not that craziness was really in full swing. It just seemed right.

Johnny and I rolled into 9 Mile and were excited to see Paddy, Dallas and their loyal Canadians setting up camp. "Here looks great." Johnny and I staked our claim on Mohawk Street and set out for a little preride of the course.

It's all happening on Mohawk Street.


Unfortunately, I decided to go down in one of the rock sections in a pretty unpleasant way and ended up with a nice melon sized bruise on my left thigh, not to mention the jacked up knee and broken camera reported by Mrs. Snob. You know how people will tell you not to go too slow through a rock section? They're right.


After the family arrived, there was general race prep and hanging out going around. At some point, Joe P, soon to be third place superstar, brought by some Founders. We chatted with Dallas and Paddy and life was generally good.

I was pretty stiff and sore from my tumble the next morning but stretched and felt optimistic and nervous. The prerace meeting consisted largely of me chatting with Dave Simmons and largely half-listening to the meeting itself. As things started to conclude I left got to walk back to the pit and kit up. We were camped just beyond the last finishing stretch. As I began to head back, I could see a small crowd of people gathered around looking down at something, then I noticed Paddy in the crowd, then looked down and saw my daughter's bike on the ground. I broke into a "concerned trot," but jumped into a full run when I saw Seven holding her arm.

She was spooked, bruised but fine. Apparently, some guy went flying through the camping area, into the course area and collided with Seven as they both had their head down. I scooped her up, her heading jacking me on the chin in the process and headed back to the pit with her.

Thanks Paddy for checking on her until I got there.

Needless to say, the race wasn't really on my mind for a bit. I put the IF near the start line and milled around the line up racer's waiting for the start.

Waiting

This reminds me of an album cover, but I can't place it.

Joe Partridge runs like a cheetah crossed with a gazelle, even with some jackass yapping at him.

So, Lap One rolls out and it's the usual bottle neck, open up, bottle neck affair. The course is a little dry, a lot of slight uphill and three or four sections of rocky knock you around goodness. I rolled in and simply rolled out for lap two.

Lap Two was interesting because I got my ass stung at somepoint. Literally. JRA and FUCK!! I started pulled at my shorts in case it was still there or the stinger remained and, frankly, have no idea if it did any good. Shortly afterward, the Captain of the Kitten Factory rolled by. (Kittens!!!) It would have been nice to hold his wheel for a bit and chat but I was still sorting out my throbbing ass and had to let him go.

"Beer me!!"

The abacus rests on a nearby table.

I don't know anything about bee stings or honey for that matter, but I felt waves of nausea for the remainder of the race. For some reason, I also felt worse during the first half of a lap. (More effort = more nausea?) Really, after lap four, things were eroding in other ways. My feet, which were already a question mark, started to say 'enough.' Of course, if you follow the blog much, you know my usual response is to say, "Enough my ass."

I think the guy on the right is trying to tell me something.

We started popping off my shoes after each lap and I was suprised when Johnny told me I was sitting somewhere around 4th or 5th in the race. He also relayed that Joe was running in first and that Dallas was also up high around 3rd. Normally, the standings would pump me up and they did, but not in the usual selfish way. I wanted Dallas and Joe on the podium. Looking back, I wonder if Dr. Freud would say I was already beaten?

Johnny was a champ in the pit.

Corey claims red eyes are my tell. Hmmm.

A short while after midnight, I started dry heaving, limped around the pit area for a while and finally called "No Mas." I didn't even bother to finish the 300 yards I would have needed to ride to log another official lap. If you start a 24 hr race and only ride a bit under 12, who cares how many laps you did?

In the end though, I don't think I would have made the podium anyway. I don't ride the tech stuff well enough. Straight up and simple. Here's a great example. At some time during the night, I caught up to Dallas. He'd stopped to adjust his lights just as we entered the first rocky section just after aid station one. I thought I would ride with him in the finest misery loves company fashion, but he simply rode away over the rocks. I tried to push as best I could but before we even hit the more overgrown portion of that section, he was gone. Apparently, I need to go ride Landahl next year. I recall how Rob railed the rocks in Arkansas. Maybe there is something to be gained there. We certainly don't have trails like that around here.
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Here's a few other random thoughts and comments on the weekend.

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I don't know Constatine Peters, but he deserves some props. 3rd last year SS Solo and 1st this year. Impressive.

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I saw Jesse finishing up a lap during one pit. He came around the last bend and fucking dropped he hammer. Impressive and inspirational.

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The BareKnuckle Brigade takes care of it's own. I got more BKB shouts than you can imagine, not to mention a few good conversations. At one point, a female flyer of the stars and hearts kept with me through most of a lap so I waited for her so we could chat. It couldn't have come at a better time as my feet were buring like hell.

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I also recieved several "Hey, are you endurosnob?" comments on course. It may seem stupid but all that keeps a brother going when he feels like shit. I even had one guy offer me a beer post ride. Good stuff.

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Namirita saved our cashews.

After packing up, we left them on top of the car but she pulled up at a light and pointed them out. Gotta have the salty treats for the drive.

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Johnny kept suggesting I drink a shot of Maker's Mark to puke and feel better. I didn't do it and I should have.

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Big props to Joe (3rd) and Dallas (4th). Class acts. Strong riders (even if Dallas says he's a runner.)

The Plug Was Pulled

The dry heaving and foot-pain won out during the night. After a lengthly (mostly internal) debate about whether the decision to pull was smart or "pussy", Skip hobbled to the showers and got a few hours of sleep. Tearing down and packing up this morning was so consuming that we don't really know many results. We look forward to getting home and hoping to find some posted results. Dallas and Joe hung strong all night, and we just assume that the LaLondes' team won as we heard of some amazing sub-hour times from them. Hopefully a few pics to post later and some commentary from our wounded warrior. Later, Mrs. Snob

Things Looking Down Now

Thanks for the positive comments. They are being passed on to Skip. Skip is currently having very bad stomach and feet problems. Dry heaves and Nike after effects have Skip in a holding pattern. Mrs. Snob

Things Looking Up

Unless you are Paddy- he is out due to severe foot problems, thinks he might have a stress fracture in his foot. Skip has hit his stride and is putting in some consistant lap times now and is feeling pretty good. He seems to be drinking and eating well which is sometimes a problem for him. Johnny checked the standings a little while ago and Skip was around 5th or 6th so hopefully his consistancy will keep him moving up. Still dreaming of the podium. Over & Out, Mrs. Snob

Bees, Heat & Feet

A bee sting on the ass during lap 2 derailed Skip for a bit. The heat is also an issue as the BKB kit is pretty gray and salty. Also, Skip's feet are really hurting him. I don't think we got the new Sidis in time to undo all the damage done by the Nikes. We will be icing his feet at his next pit stop. We are about 6 hours into the 24 now. More later --Mrs. Snob

Bruised Knee & Broken Camera

After going down in a rock section during yesterday's pre-ride, we hope Skip's gotten any bad luck out of his system. The display screen of our new camera is now cracked and showing a psychedelic design, so not sure how photos will turn out. Time chip pick-up is now followed by a racers meeting. Race start at 10am. -Mrs. Snob

Cocktail Bicycle Lounge

I spent most of the evening prepping the bikes for the oncoming of 9 Mile joined by Corey and Jeff who are getting ready for the Laramie Enduro. With my usual prerace mechanical meltdown out of the way (last night), I was able to move on to worrying about camping spots, pit spots, food choices and all of the other tiny details that make being a part of Team Overanalysis such a pain in the ass for everyone who deals with me when "planning."

Sitting at the shop though, I was reasonably relaxed and good to go, to the point where I accidently wore my house slippers in. Shouldn't everyone wrench in slippers? If only I had worn my smoking jacket.

"Seriously, what the hell is this?"

"Man, this just looks wrong."

Dark shirt and tan short night...

... slippers get in free.

Cornhusker State Games Adventure Race

One the way to work yesterday my phone rang, but not recognizing the number, I ignored the call. Shortly after hitting the office my hotmail popped up an email from Rock D. It turned out the call and the email were about the same thing, Kris and Rick has lost their teammates for the AR and needed a third.

I said yes to their invitation without really thinking about it. Finding teammates at the last minute blows so I wasn't going to say. I had a few misgivings. I hadn't run most of the summer and had a fear of twisting something and compromising next weekend, but all went well to the tune of 10th place overall. Apparently, we were in the Masters category, but I don't know the result.

I rode out to the start. Taking off at six-ish and enjoying a bit of sunrise. After an hour twenty of riding, I arrived at Area One, only to discover that's not where the race started. I was confused because Jeff, Corey and I had trimmed the trail back for the AR on Wednesday night. I followed cars with bikes around to Lieber's Point in plenty of time and thankful not to have missed the start.


The race went very quickly. Kris kept a strong pace on both bike and run, with Rick smartly keeping us from blowing ourselves up. It seemed to me that their was a fair amount of time turning pedals which I am sure worked well for us. The paddling section brought a split in the teams with Kris and I taking the inflatable kayak and Rick drawing the short straw with a tube. Kris and I were to paddle to one boat while Rick did whatever it took to get that tube out to a boat.

I was happy to be using a kayak paddle and Kris and I made good work of our time on the water, including watching our competitors, including those in front of us, paddle in all directions (some finishing in reverse). I don't envy Rick's time with the tube. There didn't appear to be any good way to swim with the. In hindsight, I wonder if you could have simply swam and continually pushed it in front of you?

Kris had the trailer there. We made good use of it while lounging back after the race. Ahhhh.

Things finished up with some of those silly games on the beach. Fill buckets with sand, fill buckets with water, tennis ball toss. It was like an elementary school Field Day. After a short run (which did allow one team to power past us) we jogged across the line, Rick turned in a foam flower (?) and we ate a little and watched the show.

The race was nicely put together and well marked by my account. I have to thank Rick and Kris for the last minute call. I really wasn't too excited about the race the nice before-hand. I just wanted to help out my friends. In the end, I had a great time in great company.

I like to call him, "The Pile Driver."

The Replacements

Aside from continuing to put miles in, much of my time "about the bike" this week has been around getting ready for 9 Mile. While many of the considerations are fun, like Johnny asking how many times he can hit me to get me back on my bike before I hit him back, others lead down the path to either frustration or a race I can be happy with or even proud of.

Two considerations which bare this out have revolved around the extremities; my hands and feet.

My feet have given me problems all year and I have no one to blame but myself. In the fall, I picked up a new pair of Nike shoes the day of a cross race because I had ground the cleats of my five year old Sidi shoes down to the sole. The Nike shoes were fine for cross. Over the winter, I used both pairs of shoes because the Nike shoes wouldn't allow cleat contact with my pink Candy pedals.

Unfortunately, once summer arrived and I got another pair of Egg Beaters, my feet began to ache as I wore the Nike shoes more and more. I stuggled through through TransIowa with foot pain and things culminated with the fact that my feet have continually ached into early July. Finally and, looking back, far later than I should have, I purchased a new pair of Sidi shoes with 9 Mile in mind.

If you have ever had a custom footbed or insert made for your shoes, you likely know the feeling of suddenly having your foot return to a proper alignment. I once ran a ski shop in California and was certified to make custom cork insoles for ski boots. When you made them well and put someone's lower body in proper alignment, they would be amazed, talk about the tingling in their ankles and knees and generally act like you had provided a new lease on life. This was the case with the new Sidi shoes. The flip side, of course, is that my experience with insoles should have had me changing shoes long before now, but at least the change has been made. Time to move forward.

My hands are another issue. Last year, I was riding with two functioning fingers on each hand by the end of the race and it took a long time for my hands to recover afterward. This year had been fine until Lumberjack. However, my post Lumberjack experience proved worse than 9 Mile and, as many of you know, prompted new bar considerations. However, the new bar, while an improvement, hasn't proven to be enough.

So, to steal from my conversation with Joe after Lumberjack, I am cheating. I'm cheating and my ego isn't dealing with it very well. I will be running a Reba at 9 Mile.

In the end, Mrs. Snob hit the nail on the head when she asked me what I would tell a friend to do in the same situation. 9 Mile only last 19 hours last year and my hands still aren't quite right. If I have a good race with a Reba onboard, I'll feel great. If I had to drop out with the legs willing but my hands unable to hold my bars, I'd be crushed. The Switchblade will go back on after 9 Mile, but I'm not taking chances on this one. Even if my heart doesn't want to do it.

With all that square, I can get back to the important stuff. Johnny needs certain songs in certain moments or certain times of the race. Time to burn some discs. I'm leaning toward The Germs "Lexicon Devil" for a race freakout, but who knows.

Suggestions are welcome.

On a side note, Mrs. Snob may "broadcast" 9 Mile with the help of my Blackberry. Be warned. She may find some of you for Dave Z inspired One Question Interviews.

Threes

Jeff, Corey and I took an early (for me) start out to Branched Oak and ended up several hours under our belts.

Corey and his angry knees offered early entertainment as we headed North out of town. Jeff asked how his knees had been feeling and after Corey mumbled a response, Jeff went to the guns.

"Have you raised your seat yet?"
"Well..."
"Have you raised your seat yet?"
"Not really... I sorta..."
"Corey, have you raised your seat post yet?"
"I raised it and then lowered it?"
"COREY, have you raised your seat post yet!?!"

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And a little tape to mark the spot.

Rolling.



Corey says this is the highest point around Branched Oak.

IF Love.

Ones

Blind.

Addiction.

Gobble.


First.

Date Night

"Come on. Bridge up, honey."

(Actually, I was impersonating Phil and Paul the whole time.)

Rolling a different sort of PAF.

Corey in the midst of over-thinking something.

Nice socks. Nicer guy.


Art shot.

In Two Words...

... Hell Yeah.

PAF Pitcrew

With Johnny confirmed for 9 Mile support, I'm now the weak link as rider and as foos partner. Game on.

Assorted Snobbery

Mottos have been a subject here at the Casa de Cronin recently. The kids have come up with things such as "Be Yourself" and "Don't Be Afraid" while I am usually a smart ass about mine. Continued weight loss and healthier diet has also been a big topic, at least between Mrs. Snob and myself. Well today, Mrs Snob and I met briefly prior to my continuing on for a ride through Wilderness Park. I still had my messenger on from my commute and she offered to take it for me.

"That's okay," I said. "I don't mind riding with a little extra weight."
"Is that your motto?"

Ohhh SNAP.
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Speaking of Wilderness. It's mowed, but you still can't see shit so be careful. Jay Thomas and I nearly collided today. Luckily, each of us was paying attention and keeping the heartrate low with Jay adding style points by nearing saving a lock-up to nose wheelie.
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My main my Johnny found another Snob out there and he's twice as funny as I am. The best kind of funny... the funny because it's true variety.
Bike Snob NYC.