Lunch on the Road

R.I.P. Lux Interior

Signposts to the Season of Hate

Ask not what hatred can do for you...

but what you can do for the Haters.

Near Death by Cliche

I hadn't thought of officially counting the cliches involved in my near miss today until half-time started and I sat down to type this out.  

As I stopped at a street crossing southwest of Lincoln today, a woman with quite fashionable oversized sunglasses decided she only needed to look left for her right hand turn and, while carrying on what I sure was a critically important conversation in her live, started to one hand the wheel and turn right into me.  I looked up, catch her daughter's petrified eyes as her Mom then saw me but, of course, instead of stopping, Mom decided the solution was to punch it, cross over the other side of the road and then rip a hard right turn in front of me.  Of course, then she gunned it down the road in a great impersonation of a getaway drive.  

Ride it like you stole it, but drive it like you might have killed him.

I've told Mrs. Snob that if I do ever get ran down and the driver is identified to have someone check the driver's cell phone records.  Since it will likely come down to a "he said, she said," that could be the only 'true' account you might get from the driver.

In a strange twist of circumstance, the rest of the gravel driving public, including several white trucks and SUVs, almost seemed to, not only know of, but be offended by this woman's ridiculous driving.  Acknowledging, waving and generally driving like champs and making me remember that most people are pretty reasonable, it's just the idiots we remember most.

Be safe everyone.  (Cliche count?  I number it at five.)

Soloist

With the Pinewood Derby (Best in Show) and a girl's basketball game (victory) eating up my morning, I missed the D Street Gravel Convention and found myself rolling solo through a strangely sunny and warm final day of January. I pulled the Fixed Niner out for some heavier rotations and discovered just how fall the fitness has fallen.

It's always interesting to climb back on any single and ride a familiar route.  It provides a touchstone for where your fitness sits and let's you know what you need to get done.  I discovered I have a lot to do.

Birds of a Feather

Perhaps it seeps in through the windows or slides through an open door, either way, the plague known as over-analysis has taken over our house.  With NAHBS only a few weeks away, Snappy Cap preparations have consumed the Casa de Cronin.

Mrs. Snob has faxed me show floor layouts, booth decor and any other detail up for consideration, all in an attempt to make her first show memorable and stylish as only Mrs. Snob can.  

After an email back and forth leading to the selection of a booth on the main aisle across from the Vanilla enclave, last night consisted of moving furniture out of the living room and grabbing a tape measure to truly visualize what you can really do with a 10x10 space.  (At the time, I had silently wondered if we would tape the space off Les Nessman style.)  The concept is there, several unique elements are set so it's now all down to execution and a little bit of madness.

With sessions to attend for War Axe in mind, John and the Ninja assisting in the booth, and the show being in one my former home towns, the show is likely to be a whirlwind which I won't completely absorb until Nate, Sam and I arrive back in Lincoln after the twelve hour drive.  

Whenever it soaks in, it's hard to imagine our first NAHBS won't be a memorable one.

An Answer...

... to 17 hour hands?

This Damn Blog

It's so easy anymore to throw out a Fight Club quote for nearly any circumstance or social occasion, so in the interest of continuing to let the dominos fall, let's do it again.

"The things you own, end up owning you."  So predictable.

Many of the links to the right were in need of updating, including one that you now apparently need permission to read.  I didn't even know that functionality existed.  Links used to stress me out but I stopped caring.  Not that I don't care about the people who right them, but I have found I am the proverbial creature of habit, not efficiency.  In someways, my links are a rundown of my favorites, but in other ways no.  Some blogs are my gateway drug to other blogs (some of which I visit more frequently than the ones on the sidebar.)  Others don't update that often, get light visits because of it, yet they remain my favorites.  Fickle?  If you say so.

What does that little rant amount to?  Not much, I agree.

Aside from War Axe, racing and shrinking seem to be occupying most corners of my mind lately.  Thankfully beyond double-digit downsizing, I'm starting to look again at the little mythologies that I start to believe mean I am faster than last year.  Again, having stacked a bulk of racing before the end of April and not having a clue of what to do until Nationals rolls around, this time in October.  Maybe I can lose a winning blackjack hand by that time (as in lose 21 pounds), but history is not on my side.

Side Thought:  My daughter has a softer jump shot than you.  (But, she can't go to her left so play her tight and take away the drive to her right.)

Yours in randomness,

Snob

Calling All Photogs

In finalizing the new War Axe site, I'd like to put together a gallery of War Machine from last season.  If you have photos you wouldn't mind sharing and attaching to an email, we would appreciate it.  I think it will round out the new site nicely.

Mileage Like the Mailman

As in, neither wind nor snow...

It seemed to take a long time for it to happen, but my mind has finally clicked into the mode which makes you want to eat miles. Week after week I was coming up short but now I can look back on this week and be satisfied. Of course, the becomes keeping it up until Spring rolls through and we all grab number plates, line up and go.

No, Corey, I'm still not waking up that early.

StillLife

Assorted Snobbery: Doing It Wrong

The problem with visiting Elk's Blog and then wandering about YouTube's selection of Fugazi and The Evens is coming across the snippet below. It could potentially cause you to want to leave your office, take your computer to a coffee house and work on a little upstart frame fabrication company instead of actually doing your day job.



Of course, the fact I started piling on miles this week has also left my legs in a state of pleasant tiredness, which also makes me want to go get coffee and work on War Axe. Can't go wrong. Can't do it right.

The American Pit Bull

I have to believe that as long as their have been cyclists, they have been chased by dogs.  And if your riding habits put you on gravel or in rural parts of your world, it likely happens enough that you've developed your own way of coping with the offenders, with it's own peculiar order of operations.  A friendly voiced, a sprint, water shot out of bottles, bottles themselves; all in a effort to stay one step ahead of a bite aimed for your achilles.

Of course, I've been through my fair share of dogs sprinting through yards.  Most come to say hello but a few have wanted a little something more.  Today was a first though, as I pushed into the West wind on Bennett road just southwest of Lincoln.  My head was down as I mashed my way up a hill.  As I crested, I looked to my right to see two dogs in a dead sprint toward me.  The second dog barely caught my attention though, because his buddy was a large white, muscles ripping, American Pit Bull.  My eyes went wide.

Of course, not every Pit Bull owner runs the 40 in 4.4 and tortures dogs in his spare time.  In fact my brother has a Pit, so I slowly dismounted to put my bike between myself and the block of flying muscle.  "Hey Buddy!!  Come here." 

The tale gave him away and a little love-fest ensued with my new single serving canine friend.  His owner came out just as I started scratching the dog head.  He walked out and I said, "most of you guys freak out, but he wouldn't harm a fly."  I just smiled, gave the other dog a little pat and headed out.

Even though all was well.  That moment of looking up and seeing the Pit in a full sprint toward me had still jacked me up.  At least it helped me finish out my ride strongly.

"Throw'em Con!!"

Worked from four windy hours in the but the stoked on the new War Axe
t-shirts in undiminshed.

Thanks to the Hoss Creative and Screen Ink for the style council.

Crap, It's Starting to Feel Real

UFO sighting number one.

(Personally, I think this photo, and the others, are photoshopped.)

Sickly Scent of Desperation

Naturalist missives about the circle of life aside, it is ironic and seemingly pathetic to me how I feel the same ruts, paranoia and passion start and restart the same times each year, a passion victim case study in how difficult it is not to constantly hit 'repeat.'

Now, sitting here in January with the earmarks of a season to come queued up waving in the distance, my little panics about riding and training keep creeping up my back to stand on my shoulder and ask me why 2 degrees is too low, cookies still catch my eye and 8am is too early to meet people to ride.

'New' Chrome store in SF.  Yet another do-over.

At least now, those panics prove to be more archangel that devil, prodding me along as opposed to providing a load bearing weight.  Eight pounds lost.  Bikes restored to standards.  Finding fitness under the dust-covers.

So as the cold temps continue and trainer time turns the movies I own into the movies I quote, it's the little twists that spark fire.  Little steps with War Axe, strides with Susan's Snappy Caps and races viewed with a competitive eye and others for the sake of new experience. 

More space.  More product.  Same great vibe.  Same shitty phone camera.

NAHBS.  Ouachita.  TransIowa.  Kanza.  24hr Nationals all sit in that queue, holding places in line to be filled.  Revamp.  Rewind. Repeat.  I'm ready to let the archangel on my shoulder lead on, even if I am not sure I'm ready for where we are going.

You Are Not the Coffee You Drink...

City Lights

Bayside

Hipster is so Mainstream

20 Feet from the Hotel

at the Contemporary Jewish Museum of San Francisco...

Another Day at the Playground

Homestretch

December Suprise

Pleasant surprises aren't many during the holidays anymore, but today
proved an exception.

Depauw University has turned an old quarry into miles of trails which
are perfect for trail running and I decided to explore nearly all of
it today, continually driven on by surprising views and a sunny day.

The highlight was popping out of the woods to the surprise of a quarry
rim trail with a sky stretching for miles. I ran constantly eyes
right until jogging down through the base of the old quarry, dodging
small ponds which reminded me of tide pools out west.

If ever there was an oasis in the midst of a vacation, this was it.

The Only Thing Missing Is a Train

Hello Springfield!!

I think I jinxed us with my last post. Our plane flight was cancelled
in Springfield, Illinois late yesterday, so, stranded in a strange
city, we spent the night and have rented a car to get to Indy.

I've been throwing out "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" quotes this
morning, buy they're lost on my crew and so fairly pointless.

So, to steal a phrase from Henry Rollins instead, "I like lemons."

Silver Lining

Amid cancelled and delayed flights today, a small ray of sunshine.
Late arrival in Indy means breakfast at Cafe Patachou and espresso at
Hubbard and Cravens.

If I could work a ride in, I might actually prefer the delay.

Merry Christmas

Dandyism

There have certainly been times where I've been accused of being too concerned with aesthetic.  Of crossing the blurry line between enjoying the balance of life and art to join the vast amount of the masses who forgo practical application for the strict line of thinking which asks, "How do I look?"  

On the whole, I think I've managed to keep a balance (and have friends good enough to raise a halting hand when I start to go off course).  So, while I ride pink bikes and wear "snappy" caps, the questions of quality have always held firm enough to keep the balance and maintain enough class to keep me out of the gutter.

I think that balance is also why I find myself continually interested in the Rapha Continental Project.  Though the may be called poseurs and the product carries a sometimes cringe worthy price-tag, I still find the rides, routes and written words inspiring.  As I said when I posted the video of the Gentemen's Race, it seems to be "road racing I can get behind."

Now, they have introduced a extension of the Project called "Continental Calling."  Submit an epic and lead the Continental gang on a ride for a day.  So while the kids have the proverbial sugar plums dancing in their heads tonight, I will likely have routes running through mine.  If things worked out, I might even have someone create a cap for the occasion.  Seems like something a "dandy" would do.

Winter of Discontent

Hang Me Up to Dry

It occurred to me today that, though we gathered multiple bloggers in a single house, no one posted anything and therefore, nothing happened.  Or, to carry the theme too far forward, apparently the first rule of the party was that you don't talk about the party.

Thanks to everyone who came, particularly if you drove six hours in a borrowed car and strolled onto my back porch to fight a frozen door open and have your arrival stun me under the Christmas tree lights.  

In all seriousness, I hope everyone enjoyed themselves.  I know I did, even though in the end I realized I don't have the game to stay up until 4am anymore (unless of course, I'm on a bike.)

"Forty Is the New Minor Threat."

Quote from Johnny.  Invitation stylized by Mrs. Snob.

Use of crappy camera phone.  Me.

I really did think I would be dead by 40.

First Snow

Yes, I inadvertantly left the Niner outside... Whoops.

"The Secret of My Endurance."

Riding Through the Park and Reminiscing

I am a reflector.  One of those people who takes the end of the year too seriously, even too existentially (which proves the point) and replays the last 365 days under a pessimistic microscope just to confirm what an absolute sad-sack the season has been.

Why bother?  Good question.

Today, handling the roll of caboose with some of Lincoln's finest, I was cruising along, think of 09 as it fast approaches and how I could have done 08 a bit better.  It didn't last long though.  The sunshine and good times broke through all that heavy handed retrospection and I found myself just enjoying the day, cruising the fixed gear and talking to the fellas, sometimes about bikes, sometimes not. 

Of course, just like the day's reprieve from cold weather, it was just a delay of the inevitable deconstruction of year's events.  I'm looking forward to 09, but need to remember there's still a bit of 08 left to enjoy.  "If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you might miss it."

Assorted Snobbery: Long Division

Are We Happy?...

Yeah, we happy (and hopefully, Sir Wilhelm will feel the same way.)

Bad Boy Scout

Flat. Wrong stem length. Morning walk.

HItting the Reset

Uh, Corey, I don't think that's helping...

Fitness runs from you like it's hunted.  

I experienced the wake up call I expected over the weekend, riding with Corey both Saturday and Sunday and paying for my wayward efforts of the last few months.  However, what you couldn't see in my red face and heavy breathing was a satisfaction to be training again with goals ahead.

2009 is just around the corner.

Feeling Gravity's Pull

Measured Steps

It's come to this. I am so often frustrated with my discipline with food that I have taken to measuring everything. So far though, it seems to be working.

Team Over-Analysis Out.

Stockings for Stuffing

Is not a reference to turning in old socks in exchange for a Thanksgiving sidedish.

Instead, it's a ridiculous turn of phrase that popped into my regarding the simple fact that War Axe has now another style of sock available and a new way for you to get them.

I also spent quite a bit of time working on a new website for our foray into metal fabrication. Above is a glimpse of the new header as a preview but look for a new site near the end of December. For those of you that know this not so secret secret, send me a note and let me know what you think.

A Classics Kind of Day

Having risen too late to join the group ride, I opted to embrace to overcast skies and cool temps with the road bike. Despite it being a fall day, the brisk, cool chill reminded to of the Spring classics, so why not spin it up and imagine what it might be like to battle it out along cobbles and packed Belgium streets.

Of course, as I allued to yesterday, the Spring of 09 remains upfront in my mind. Browsing the web for potential races and trying, despite committing to a few of the usual suspects, to also freshen things up in 09

So far, the notepad reflects the following:

Ouachita Challenge April 5th. (written in pencil, pending a sometimes flakey travel partner.)

TransIowa May 2nd and 3rd. (jotted down in permanent ink.)

Dirty Kanza May 30. (used the same Sharpie as with TI.)

Laramie Enduro August 1. (the #2 is back in effect. )

Payson Stampede aka 24hr Nationals September 26th and 27th. (ballpoint pen)

I'm sure there will be more internet searches and writing implement selections to come.

Black Friday: The First Day of 09

Pathological?  Maybe.  Every year at this time I feel compelled to 'start again' and get ready for the next season.  I tend to review what went wrong with the season that's coming to a close and plan out where I'd like to be in the upcoming year.

Today, the habit reared it's ugly head in spades and as I rode three easy hours on the fixed through Wilderness, I went from reviewing a year of near misses to excitement over the prospects of 09.  "This is the first day of next year," kept rolling through my head.

I guess I have some hopes for 09.  Or, more likely, I just need to lighten the fuck up.

Why so serious?

Dial A Cliche

Socks and ties are usually mocked as horrible gift ideas.  Hopefully, that's not the case with these.

Spent a few hours working on the new War Axe site today.  Aside from a banner a couple more content pages.  We are almost there.  Stay tuned for the new looked arriving in time for Christmas.

Toothpaste for (Thanksgiving) Dinner

Toothpaste For Dinner

Key Demographic

A sidestory to CX Sunday was finding the pink bike really appeals to
the gradeschool and toddler crowd.

First, James Blake's lovely daughter tried to kit up in fine pink
pagentry. She's pictured below.

Then, as I hung out on Hooligan Hill, a little girl stared me down for
a while before finally saying, "Are you the pink bike racing guy?".
She went on to tell me that she also loved the stars on the BKB
longsleeve and that I had the "neatest outfit of the group."

I got my ass handed to me again, but those moments were classic.

DFL.

When it comes to racing, I am absolutely guilty of being the eternal optimist.  "I know I haven't been riding much, but maybe...."

Saturday was no exception, but reality, as she often does, raised her pragmatic head and put me in the place.  After a start which made me feel like Han Solo trying to jump to light speed only to have the Falcon go nowhere, I realized quickly that I was running too much gear for the last half of course and pedaling squares.  Then, one of last step up, I pulled out of a pedal, went over the bars and tried to plant myself into the ground.   It wasn't the worst crash, but I struggled to get back into my pedals and, once I got going again, was far behind the field.

I then just rode out the rest of the race.  Funny how cross still hurts no matter how hard I seem to think I am going.  Fun as hell, but nothing I am very good at.  To add bizarro-world insult to injury, I got a free pair of socks for my last place efforts and I felt completely idiotic standing by guys who actually rode well.

I had hoped to try to hop these, which was probably just wishful thinking.  Zubrod got a nice video of Nate Woodman owning these things.  Makes me smile just thinking about it.

HST Defines Cross?

"We are like pygmies lost in a maze of haze. We are not at war, we are having a nervous breakdown, again."

Looking forward to the weekend.

Assorted Snobbery: Creep

Great use of Flash. Fits the mood at the office.

A Busy May

I just read on MTBR that Kanza is slated for May 30th, apparently the 300 plus miles of gravel afforded by TI at the beginning of the month simply isn't enough Vitamin G.

"Major," by Todd Balf

When we lived in Indianapolis, our house was less than two miles from the Major Taylor Velodrome.  However, I was often more interested in the skate park that shared the area or riding my mountain bike in the nearby single track than taking in a day of racing at the velodrome.  Even the fact that Marian College, an incredibly small school nestled in Indianapolis, consistently won track National Championships against largest schools in the country never really peaked my interest.  (In fact, this year, the won their 11th title and 3rd in a row.)

Fast forward to this year and, thanks largely to the upsurge in fixed gear riding, I found myself fascinated by what little I knew of Marshall "Major" Taylor.  A few weeks ago, I picked up "Major" by Todd Balf in a coffee induced fit of team over-analysis at Barnes and Noble.  While I knew going in that Major was America's first African-American World Champion in 1899 (a fact that had garnered me a few pie shaped tiles in Trivial Pursuit), the rest of his story remained largely a mystery.

The book solved that problem in spades, providing not just details of Taylor's life, but attempting to convey the times in which Taylor found himself.  Taylor turned what seemed to amount to a side-show acceptance by racist white America into a life which in many ways transcended the hatred and injustice of the time.  As a precursor to Jackie Robinson, he truly did fight through the color barrier which was established in sport.

I have to admit that as I watched the presidential election results come in, I thought of Major Taylor.  It's interesting and disappointing to read about what he dealt with in his life.  (Can you image today an American World Champion initially being buried in an unmarked grave?)  The hundred year gap between Taylor's pinnacle and our present day is a fascinating side-story to the actual read of the book, one well worth the cover price.

Taylor wrote an autobiography.  I think I will track that down next.

Assorted Snobbery: Fugazi - Waiting Room

A friend of mine was commenting on how lame music was in the late 80's and how sterile crowds were back then. I asked, "Do you think that maybe it was the shows that you went to see?"

Then I sent him this...

Signing Day

A gorgeous fall afternoon spent chasing Corey through Wilderness lead to an evening at MG's filling out postcards, sometimes correctly, sometimes not so much, but in the end, we at least achieved a small step toward finishing TIV5.

Rob's Ready.

And so are the rest of us.

A Simple Saturday

Whenever the guy you work for starts a meeting with the phrase, "today we're experiencing a valley," you know the rest of the meeting isn't going to be one you leave ready to take on the world.  Luckily, I've managed over the years to deal with the ups and downs of the world.  I go to therapy by riding my bike.

Road Hard

Today required a couch trip and delivered in spades.  Windy, fine.  32 degrees, sure.  I dropped into Wilderness single track, pegged it and spent the next 90 minutes searing my lungs and getting over the week.  Some things in life deliver as expected and the bike, for me, remains one of the most consist ways to take the world to an even plan, whether or not anything else around cares deliver or not.

Put Away Dry and Warm. 

Uh, Con, What Do You Think You Are Doing??

I know, like father like son.

Assorted Snobbery: One

When I moved to Nebraska, I learned that we're one of only two states that can split their electoral votes. Maine happens to be the other. When I rode to vote today, what stayed on my mind was the idea of getting that split. While everyone seems to be predicting an Obama win, even Karl Rove, I would still love to see that split occur. It may be emotional more than anything, but I'm still hopeful this red state will show a touch of blue in this election with that one electoral vote. (Fundamentally, I'd really like to see us do away with the electoral college, but in the meantime...)

That said, just go vote, no matter who your choice. It's better than standing on the sidelines.

"Ahhh Yeah."

DK Sums Up the Day

"I am a Doctor of Journalism..."

Mr. Corey Godfrey sat down with Sam and I tonight for a War Axe Q&A
Lincoln Velo style.

"What periodicals do you read to stay current on events in the cycling
industry?"

"Oh, you know... whatever happens to be on front of us."

"Could you name one?"

"No, but I can see Trek from my front yard."

Tape Measure at the Ready

The end of February just got interesting. Apparently, there's no North American Handmade Cycling Cap show (yet), so I'll be back in Indianapolis pedalling 'wears' and scouting the scene for future events. Look out NAHBS.

If you plan on attending, stop by and say hello. We used to live in Indy, so we'll provide the 411.

"Hey, Nice Tube Socks!!"

On my commute home, I always pass a house which, while able to pass for a crack house, is apparently low budget daycare run out of someone's home. Generally, there are kids milling about and often a few older kids playing football in the street. When I pass through, I generally disrupt the game and so have tried to roll through no-handed and try to get the kids to throw me a pass. So far, no go, but I'm not giving up.

Today, was a little different. Given it was 25 degrees out this morning, I had gone full bundle up, including a new Snappy Caps winter prototype (toasty) and fleece knickers under a pair of mountain hardware manpri pants. This always leaves the shins a bit exposed and so, on go the Chrome 'tube socks.'

Of course, after 5pm, it was 55 degrees and balmy, so the fleece got stuffed in my messenger, which left a nice 4 inch gap of skin between the socks and the bottom of my shants. Stylin.'

With no football in the streets, I didn't even think to look at the crackhead daycare house until I heard the voices calling out as I passed. "Hey Man! Nice tube socks!!" It cracked me up to the point that I turned back, much to the shock of the kids and, with Paul Newman's Butch Cassidy in mind, rode back by rolling up the knickers further to expose the 'tubies' and goof with the kids. After a couple of laughs, I rolled on.

It was a nice way to end the day, but I'm not giving in until someone hits me on a crossing route down 25th street.

Working Girl

Mrs Snob, mid-muse, designing winter warmth and conducting a hostile takeover of the bike lounge.

Progressing to a Prediction

A.

B.


C.

D.

(Laughter Included.)

Driving Sam Crazy Is As Easy As...

RAPHA Cross Roller Race - Oregon Manifest 2008 from RAPHA on Vimeo.

Bending Over Backwards to Stand Up Straight

My last IM from the office to Mrs. Snob today read, "but I have worked until I few moments ago and now I am fucking done."

Now, all I'd like is an evening of decompression with the family and a Saturday that includes taking a leaf covered turn too hot and sliding out in a fit of laughter.

I Get It and Don't Plan to Forget It

Things like the Oregon Manifest show make it obvious why people love Portland. The depth of the scene is amazing.

It does remind me though of a conversation Nate and I once had. He mentioned something Wayne Coyne of the Flaming Lips had said once about staying in Oklahoma City. The point, as expressed by numerous punk bands as well, was to build your own scene.

We're going to keep working on our scene.

Forks out the door and more on the way.

7" Wool brown and black goodness coming for your feet.

T-shirts designed and ready to be ordered.

And lastly, Cornbread keeps threatening a War Axe interview for Lincoln Ve-Low. I told him to have some fun with it, so I wonder what he plans to ask.

Trips Trips Trips

Three's a Charm?

I've fought with the idea of doing the Granny Gear series solo for a couple of years. The cost Solo always made the decision a 'no,' but when the Evil Unicorns rode Landahl last year, all seemed very worth it. But Solo with no single speed class... I see Chris and Scott are mulling things over as well.

Maybe it's a certain series of hundred mile jaunts and a few gravel grinders instead. Mrs. Snob also suggest the EU go for the series. That certainly wouldn't be a bad way to ride through 2009.

Assorted Snobbery: "Coffee is for Closers Only"

Wasting Days

With both my back pain and fitness level in sharp decline, I took off for a couple of hours today, just because. I should probably also add blogging to the list of things in decline. I think it's time to start looking at next year's racing schedule. Time to put some goals in place to crank up the drive.

Growing Out a "Boonen."

Forgetting How to Use a Camera

Oh, Gary, flattery will get me everywhere, I hope.......

Guitar Ted conveyed that at Interbike Gary Fisher said that the Snappy Cap G. Ted was wearing was really cool and he really liked it. I am incredibly flattered and feel almost famous, well, not really.

Level of surprise that Gary Fisher would like the aesthetic of Snappy Caps: zero, considering his regular attire looks like a Snappy Cap exploded into a full outfit.

Gary, your Snappy Cap is on the house, just place your order!!!

Also, Snappy Caps is now offering its FALL/WINTER MIXER PROGRAM. You get to pick your fabric: wicking, windstop, or wool and then the brim fabric/racing strip(ribbon) combination. Ear flaps are an option too. We still have Ready-To-Wear caps and Custom Cap Service.

Curvature of my Girth

After weeks of feeling like my body was twisting a bit to the right, my back finally bent without bending back and lead my down the road to my first visit to a chiropractor. Now, instead of bleeding lungs and beer hand-ups, I'm looking at x-rays and going through the information provided to help me truly get back on the straight and narrow.

Last week, I had restarted my fitness ball routine. In the midst of an exercise, I felt a pull in my lower back which made me pause, but didn't truly hurt. However, the next morning, I knew there was a problem. My back on the lower left side was sore and my cocky strut was reduced to a bit of a hobble. At the office, sitting became a problem after an hour or so and I decided to get my back checked out.

While chiropractors seem to have a file full of urban legends, my first visit followed the course of any other doctor's visit with a dash of "let us prove to you why we aren't quacks" thrown in.
X-rays and good conversation lead to another appointment where I would be adjusted for the first time.

My appointment this morning started with me being led to a room where my films were already up on a light board. Right in front of me was a picture of my spine from the back, curving to the left near the bottom of my back then slowly arching back to the right as you moved up toward my neck. "Fuck me."

Dr. Stone entered and, though she wanted to give me a little overview of the program, I asked her to jump ahead.

"Let's talk about that and then fill in the details."
"It's not as bad as it might look..."

We again entered a land of information share where I described racing a rigid single speed and she countered with how the spine, and therefore the central nervous system, would be impacted. Apparently, banging around on a rigid singlespeed may not be the best thing for a person's back. Imagine that.

Then came the adjustment. I was surprised to find that the idea that she would be wrenching my body in different directions was an outdated concept. While there was some pressure, most of the adjustments were done by what would best be described as an air gun which looked a lot like a giant syringe.

I went from my right leg being over an inch shorter than my left, my right shoulder slightly out of socket, and that general feeling of being twisted to feeling taller, balanced and even (though a bit dopey as well).

Though better, the back is still pretty tender and I've got another visit on Monday.

Best to everone racing cross this weekend and thanks to Hoss for the event last night. It was nice to see Lincoln's finest for a while and forget the fact that my back had me feeling 70 years old and not terribly wise.

RAPHA Gentlemen's Race

Unsupported. Unmarshalled. Road Racing I can get behind.



"Fun?..."
"No, miserable."

The Story...