Weinercannon

There's nothing quite like a rainy, early morning at a bike shop. Nothing happens for what seems like forever, all you can do is stock tubes, sweep, maybe organize a calf-off and listen to some music. Solomon and I drew the early shift this morning, so the day started the way most rainy mornings do around here.

The Bet.

What time to we get the first customer. Store opens at 8. I say 9:10, Sworas says 8:43.30. An upstanding young gentleman strides in at 8:42 to purchase a tube for his BMX bike. Here's the question though... He arrivedcloser to Solomon's time, but actually paid closer to my time. So who wins?

I say me.

For those of you keeping track of my school life (namely the ones financing it), yesterday was a pretty good one. Our EMS class ran a mass casualty incident, which was sweet. 7 cars all mangled together, 9 victims also mangled together, 8 ems crews arriving at different times and I get chosen to direct the whole mess. What a trip. I froze for a few seconds after we arrived, just stared at the other medic on my crew trying to comprehend what the hell I was supposed to do while 9 proctors stared right back at me... I snapped out of it, got things rolling and everything went smoothly from then on. After it was all over it was quite the feeling to be able to accomplish something bigger than writing some essay or selling a pair of armwarmers(even if it was all pretend).

I'll leave you with this image.
Matt Slaven (the shop's inventory manager and probable calf-off champion) lived in Nebraska for a while, and apparently one of his fondest memories is of the hockey game breaks. The players all file off into the locker rooms and a big dude appears in the middle of the ice with his trusty assistant, a mystery bucket and what looks like a home-made cannon. He then starts randomly firing hot-dogs (wrapped in foil)into the crowd on semi-automatic while his assistant reloads the wienercannon.
Huge fat guy shootin weiners into the drunken hockey crowd.

So There I Was, Givin'er

Evan Elken is kinda fast. Seriously.

Here's how the sprint at Swan Island went.

1 lap to go and it's some random dude, Crazy Cardio Carl, then Dirty Dave, then myself, with everyone else on my wheel. Drag. Everyone I wanted to be in plain sight with one lap to go is now behind me, where my eyes are not. Half lap to go, Carl's gone, Daves giviner all he's got and BAM he's got no more. As he blows he simultaneously wheezes something that sounded like "ghgaamaa" but turns out he said ADAM which is short for Curry, who happens to be RIPPING up the left side at about 80 miles an hour. I pull some massive acceleration out of pure nothingness to get on the wheel behind Curry(after punting some dude out of the way (such is life)) and I think "life is sweet." I've just gone from swamped and finishing 20th to being inches from grabbing the golden ticket. Curry finishes his heroic pull, turns right, I start the final push to get around big tall guy from the Wine Team and just as I pull halfway up to him and run completely out of jet power, and out of the corner of my eye I see this orange UFO go bbbrrwwaaAAAA!!! up the outside and demolish both of us by about 4 bike lengths. Woah.

The rest of the race was uneventful for me. I was lazy and hung out in the middle the whole time. The Gallery team were all over every break on the road, trying to get something started. They must have missed Tuckerman.

In other news, I'll be a certified EMT in 4 short weeks, so watch where you fall and break your hip from now on, chances are I'll be out to lunch.

DT

Gleukos at the Gallery

Come and get it. Lemon, orange and punch in powder form, so it's easy to mix any way you like. 15 Measly dollars will get you enough to make 2 gallons of sports drink. You know you want some. Do it now.

I Declare Myself Healed

So take that, you stupid rib. Showed you.

Happy mothers day to my mother. And to the team mother as well. And to any other mothers reading this. Big ups.

Friday night was my first race back, and it wasn't as embarrassing as I had predicted. 200m time was still relatively slow and Steven McMuscles pretty much walked around me with a full lap to go, but at least I didn't end up last. And my chest didn't rip apart. That's good too. Oh and you know what else is good? I got a killer sunburn while doing a 5-hour track workout on sunday. boo-yah. Sunburns mean sun. And sun is good.

So how about that Aaron Tuckerman eh? I've been keeping a lazy eye on the results from the Joe Martin nrc stage race, and I keep seeing that angsty little guy up in the top 15. Who spiked his PBR before he took off? 6th on the first hilly road stage, lead group finish on the flatish sprint finish road stage, 13th in the TT, and 14th in the crit for a grand total of 12th overall. Damn. Not bad for a field full of the best domestic pro teams in the country. What a angry guy. He's like one of those little tiny birds that look like thier made of paper clips and tree bark, but then you walk by and they dive bomb and peck you freakin eyes out... But uglier.

Rest of the boys were up thier fighting it out as well, Kirk, Logan, Richard, you guys get gold stars for just going to Arkansas in the first place, let alone racing your asses off in that godforsaken place.

Good luck at Tri-Peaks you poor suckers.

So it's official. I'm pretty much the slow guy on the team then. I'm cool with that. I still have until October to prove my worth. Just have to keep my eyes open (while driving) and keep working to get back to pre-rib form and beyond.
DT

I Didn't Know I Had That Much In My Stomach (and other recent quotes)...

Now that I'm feeling healed enough to giver' a little bit on the bike, I'm realizing how slow I am. 5 Weeks off the bike doesn't do much for your sprint as it turns out. Or your endurance. Or your anything. I've been riding off and on since my accident, but I've carefully avoided any efforts. Now that I'm confident that I can jump a few times without ripping my ribcage apart, I've started to get back into the good stuff.

Rode out to the track last Sunday to do a little workout with Brian and the crew. No worries right? What could possibly go wrong? This is where Brian says "haaay!" He says "HAY we should do some sprints!" Sure, why not?

First ride is against Casey Deck, who has just done about 5 hard flying lap efforts, is wheezing a little bit and looks pretty beat. I on the other hand have been riding in my granny gear for twenty minutes, so I think "no problem." We wind it up, come around for the final lap and suddenly I felt like I broke a shifter cable in my legs. Normally with about 200 to go I'd turn on the go-jets and run it home, but here it seemed like I'm stuck on cruising speed while casey lopes right past me. My heart rate, however has no problem jacking all the way up to the sky, and after doing a 13 second 200m I feel dangerously close to passing out.


Same thing happens against Beardsley the senior a few times. I'm doubled over gasping on the infield in between sets. Everyone else seems to be fine. Maybe 3 or 4 sprints into the day I start feeling "it." Very calmly, I put my sandals on, grab some water, walk up to the parking lot and loose my clif bar breakfast in some of the most violent spasming heaves of all time. I manage to cover most of the upper parking lot in bile. What an accomplishment.

Not surprisingly, I feel a bit better after that and finally take doug in the very last race... but barely... and with some very questionable tactics.

I was really looking forward to taking things up a few levels this year, but looks like I'm starting off by taking a few giant steps back. Looks to be a long and difficult summer, so steer clear of me after a few hard efforts.

DT