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.