Friday, April 21, 2006

Put Me In, Coach

You know what's stupid? Not racing.

I hate hearing about what happened in this or that race, knowing that I could have been there and would have had a killer time..

Oh well, at least I'm riding again. Still no lifting any time soon. Baby steps.

Check out Thursday's front page at CNN.com. Killer picture of a bike filling up its tires at a gas station, accompanied by an article about the skyrocketing price of gas...

p.s. My personal quote of the day for today has been "I'm more into revenge than justice..."

DT

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

i'm goin' harry....

The crushing pain's over, so tommorow's the first ride. We'll shoot for two hours, see how it goes. Not doing anything for a couple weeks has been driving me slowly insane. Thought I was going to come unglued yesterday when I got caught in traffic for 5 whole minutes... things are getting desperate.

Any longer period of rest tends to turn me into a bit of a lunatic...

Anyway. Ipod situation is solved. The new black 30g video is quite nice.

Supposed to be mid-60s and sunny all week... maybe i should take thursday off...

DT

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

meanwhile in france...

Pretty amazing how much time you have when work is slow and you can't ride or lift. It's really kicking up the blogging to the next level. Don't worry though, gimme 4 more weeks and I'll go back to updating every month or so.

Meanwhile...

Anyone been paying attention to what's going down in Frenchy-ville? That country has some seriosly liberal labor laws (say that ten times drunk), and thier system works pretty well. Poor bastards tried to pass a law allowing employers to fire employees under 26 within two years of thier hire date without cause, making the ex-employee inelligible for any kind of unemployment support.

Students and socialists had an absolute fit. Pretests everywhere, riots in the streets, general mayhem all over the place and all aimed at killing that one law. Seemed for a while kinda futile. Students vs. government.

But they won. Forced the government to overturn the law.

I'm not saying it's right or wrong. Just interesting.

Indymedia article
NY Times article
MSNBC article

DT

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Kicking ass vicariously


Since I'm all laid up eating ice cream and feeling sorry for myself instead of riding for the next 6 weeks, I've decided to start racing vicariously through all my teammates. I'm starting with Sea Otter, where we did a pretty tough course with a bunch of pros, and I kicked ass. Here's one shot of me kicking ass:
Yeah, it was pretty tough, I was rocking pretty hard at the front, but I didn't stop there. Oh no. I took a break for a minute as you can see so I could give everybody else a rest, but really I was just letting everyone slip into a false sense of security. Check it out, this Health Net dude is wondering where I am. Wondering if he can relax or not.


I'm on pretty kill form and I've dropped some extra poundage from last year, so I decided to giver a little on the hill a couple times. You can see here that I'm not really breathing that hard as I string everybody out and split the field into little whimpering groups. Phill Ligget would have said something like "he's looking cool as a cucumber here," and then he'd be all like "he's really putting them in a spot of bother now!" I'm pretty sure I was in my 12.

I beat Gord Fraser in the finish, but I was out of the money. Nobody was there to give me a prize for rocking that hard.. but i know i rocked it and thats all that counts...

DT

all photos from www.steephill.tv.

Sunday, April 09, 2006

meds (an update)

Vicodin is pretty rough stuff. Flexerall (some crazy muscle relaxer/sedative) ditto. Not sure how people can get addicted to this stuff and still function. It's like I've been on a two second delay for the last few days, I'll think about doing something like picking up a watter bottle to take a drink, the muscle command will lose a few details in translation, then two seconds later I'll watch myself knock the bottle off the counter onto a computer keyboard at work. Thank god for public transport. Likewise, everything I said in those first few days afterward fell about 20 yards short of making any sense at all. I'd think of something, the sentence would rattle around in my neck for a few seconds and come out as some slurred idiot rambling. Somehow dealt with those unpleasant jackals from the insurance companies within the first 48 hours while in a waking coma.

Friday was my first completely unmedicated day (ran out of vicodin... muscle relaxers scare me) and yeah, chest hurts, back hurts, head hurts, but it was manageable. Nightime sucked a big one though. Seems to be no way at all to avoid resting on or compressing or stretching that rib. That one stupid rib.

Feeling a bit manic without the ability to ride or lift.

Had dinner with my parents and watched Big George take a big dive at Paris-Roubaix today. Felt good to get out of my highrise box apartment (as cool as it is) and hang out in a big house with a few spazzy dogs. Nothing funnier than watching my previously submissive smaller female collie-dog mount and try to hump our much bigger young male collie. She's awesome.

Sounds like Tuckerman had a pretty sweet ride at Sea Otter and ended up 20th. Results are here. Good thing too, cause I told norrene beforehand that if he didn't beat Gord Fraser I was going to kick him off the team and send him home, so I guess he can stay.

Picked up the new Placebo disc "Meds" today in the spirit of the occasion. Pretty good stuff. Mostly about drugs, believe it or not. Solid album, it'll take a few more listens to see if it's as good as the last one, but signs are good.

DT

Saturday, April 08, 2006

Mullet Haiku (extended version)

Shampoo stings my eyes,
I will never feel that twice:
slick hair smells like gas.

O! Squirrel brother,
Your tail, my hair. We are one.
Yet I must eat you.

I liked that foreign
legion movie so much, I
grew me one them hats.

Brown edged tank top sticks
to my white clumpy armpits
Somehow I get laid.

Flowing down the back
helps to keep mind closed, hate
released by short top

My hair is slammin
like Stone Cold. Can I get a Hell
yeah? Hell yeah. Hell yeah.

This super cool hair
and a bucket of chicken:
What more could I want?

my slick snakeskin boots
my silk shirt with rooster prints
always colored jeans

Lynnrd Skynnrd didn't
win no spelling bees. Who cares?
They rock the trailer.

Razor set to one.
Do front and sides and then stop
Reaffirm my style.

Metallica is
for first graders. Nothing rocks
harder than Winger.

Dogs urinate where
they so choose. And so do I.
Red and blue lights flash.

Teen runaway, I
hate my dad. Yet I am one.
Fly, thunderbird, fly.

Ponytails are for wimps.
But if you let that hair loose,
you are my brother.

New white tank top tucks
neatly into tight black jeans:
redneck romeo.

Short like your schooling.
Long like your prison sentence.
The penal haircut.

Bald on the top and
long on the back. Behold my
glorious skullet.

My mullet and me
like to climb up a tree. We're
the best friends that could be.

Dad likes my mullet.
The nurse calls it a critter
carpet. My head breeds.

One day I will dip
and race cars. Until then I
ride my bike, chew gum.

With long hair in place
how else can I rebel? Hand
me the bong uncle.

Under the Christmas
tree: tight black jeans and a comb.
I've been extra good!

Short for dad. Long for
the daughter mom always wanted.
Everyone's happy.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Jacked Up. again.



Not much to say about this one. My truck happens to be out of commission, so I drove Jenny's car to the race on Sunday. It was a road race, flat, exposed, crazy crosswinds, and a big break that we almost caught on the final lap. I was pretty cooked. Hitched a ride in the team van back to Vantucky, picked up Jenny's car, went to save a friend stranded at the bus station and gave her a ride back to Willsonville. Must have dozed off for the half a second it took to aim the car straight at a center divider on I-5 north. I jerked back to conciousness on impact.

Managed to escape with a broken first rib, a banged up knee (steering columns are hard) and a sore everything else. No airbags were involved, so I took the brunt of the 60mph impact with my chest.


How's that for accuracy? Couldn't have hit the divider more on the driver's side unless I had opened the door and jumped out at it. Awesome testament to the safety of the honda civic. And seatbelts. The fact that the car sustained this much damage without transfering too much of it to yours truly is quite astounding.

So the only question now is how much will it cost to repair the divider (yes, it's very damaged, and yes I'll have to pay for it). As for now, I'm taking painkillers, muscle relaxer/sedatives and a few days to recover. The doctor says 6 weeks for the rib, but I think he's full of shit. I'll give it a couple. 4 max.

DT

Thursday, March 30, 2006

the man. again.

Midnight. Finally home. Full day today; lifted early, rode with Curry and Solomon up the cemetery, ate heroic amounts of biscuits and gravy, went to work and stayed there until a mere 20 minutes ago. Stupid sale, can't set itself up for some reason.

The city is inexplicably dark tonight. Sky is clear, no fog in sight, it's just wierdly dark outside my window.

The iPod died today. One minute I was adding the new Editors album and the next thing I knew the damn thing had no songs and was completely unreadable by my computer. Pretty sure they install these little devils with a self-destruct timer that bombs the shit out of it's own internals after enough expensive new versions come out. Another classic example of The Man trying to get my money. Trying to get me down.

Damn the Man.

A few new kiwis are in town. Met Richard at Fresh Pot this weekend. Haven't been able to get an impression yet, although rumor has it he doesn't drink coffee. Suspicious. Curry has returned a bit bigger but off the sauce for the next few months. Can't actually tell he's any bigger, but he claims to be a good 7kg's over weight. I give him a couple months and he'll be destroying some careers again this summer. Tuckerman on the other hand came over a few kgs underweight. That skinny little freak. Dude looks like he's stuck in some ancient potato famine. I feel like taking him to McD's and supersizing his goofy ass. Maybe the two g-units will just even each other out. We'll see.

First race this weekend. Dead flat. If a break goes away and a orange dude doesn't win it everyone's fired. I'll cover the field.

DT

Saturday, March 25, 2006

Sunday, March 19, 2006

ahh, erg.

This is a modern torture device.

The thing is so stable, so rock solid that nothing moves but the cranks trying to turn that 80 lb. flywheel. The fancy pully system behind the flywheel means that Brian can sit back there and choose how hard he thinks I should go. For some reason we always seem to disagree on that one. I can't see the wattage output from the SRM, I have no control over the resistance, all I can do is try not to let the pedals grind to an embarrassing stop. Guess what the garbage can next to the bars is for?

Massive effort tonight.

8 kilos full bore.

Underestimated the wattage on the first two and went through so much awful pain I nearly didn't make it to the end of the efforts.

Headaches started immediately after the first set.

Started losing vision after the third.

I think my heart is sore.

I need a cookie.

DT

Thursday, March 16, 2006

Cops and Kiwis

So yesterday one of our mechanics rolls out the door of his apartment on his bike (in the rain) on his way to work. He slows at a stopsign, looks both ways, sees that the sleepy residential street is as empty as Wal-Mart during a Nascar final, and casually rolls through to his right, straight into a cop squatting on a BMW with a cup of coffee in his hand. From 10 feet away the cop yells into his megaphone PULL OVER RIGHT NOW!! The motorcop hands him a $242 ticket for disobeying a traffic control device. Drag.

You're doing the environment a service and saving yourself from credit card debt AND avoiding contributing to the terrifying state of oil in the world, just minding your own business, riding perfectly safely, and someone wants to ding you for it anyway. WTF. Saying that a person on a bike needs to put his foot down at every stop is like saying a car needs to turn it's engine off and put it's parking brake on at every stop. Some of us live on about that much money after the bills are paid every month. What are we supposed to do then?

On a completely unrelated note, Tuckerman landed at PDX after his 24 hours of travel limbo last night. The Godfrey's cat Digger will be so pleased. Tuckie's ramping up for a big St Paddy's day, followed by a huge season of racing, with a large number of Muchas Gracias burritos peppered in between.

mmm... burritos.

DT

Monday, March 13, 2006

Sun's Out

It's early. Cold. Frosty. But sunny.

Solomon wants to go ride, I want to drink coffee. That bastard. Guess we'll meet at Stumptown.

Guess the Veloshop got jacked up a couple nights ago, some idiots smashed one of the huge plate glass windows. Molly may have terrible grammar, but at least she runs a pretty killer shop, so you should go buy some sweet track stuff from her.

I guess Portland's pretty spoiled on the killer bike shop front. Between the Gallery, River Shitty, Cycle-Path, Veloshop and Bike Central, if you can't find what you're looking for around here, you are a freak and what you're looking for is probably really lame.

Oh and hey, when did Floyd Landis become the man?



And why is he wearing those glasses?

DT

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Post Race Hypothetical Wrap-Up / Pirate Crit Series

First Bannana Belt of the year was last weekend. Here's how it would have gone if I had been there instead of here (at the shop).

I would have slept as long as possible, and therefore I'd get a pretty late start. On the drive I'd probably listen to NPR for a while to wake myself up, then I'd transition over to something more aggro like Raw Power by Iggy Pop or maybe even some old Dropkick Murpheys. I'd show up about a half-hour before race time and sit in the car until everyone starts to line up.

The start sounded pretty hard, with a couple guys going blocks from the parking lot. I'd laugh at them from the back of the group and joke around with Skerrit or whoever else is around back there. After the neutral zone break comes back, I'd probably be amused at how much bling-bling is rolling around in my field. The opera of screaming break pads on new carbon wheels would make me smile on every little roller. I usually try to take it (really) easy for these races as to avoid the embarrassment of getting dropped in a easy road race, but I think yesterday I would have gone after the first sprint like in my usual spring fashion. About 500m before the line, while sitting around 3rd to last I'd change my mind and decide to go for it, fly around the field in the gutter and miss winning it by about an inch. I would have done this twice and spent the rest of the day hurting and thinking I should have done a few training rides this winter longer than 3 hours.

I think I would have finished about 8th.

After that I would've hung out in the parking lot for a while with a few friends and talked about how I didn't win because "I didn't really care" and "it's just a training race" instead of just admitting that I'm weak and I don't like it when it's cold.


Speaking of racing, cold and sprinting, who's up for a wednesday night training crit series? Anybody? I'm thinking maybe a couple of different courses, no categories, kinda like fight club for bike racers and any other hooligans who want to show up.

I'm down, are you?

DT


Check out my sweet new custom track bike

Saturday, March 04, 2006

Virtual Magic Mountain

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=6869399616004720005

Olympic Bummer

http://www.nbcolympics.com/wgal/5121495/detail.html?call=wgal

City Made of Cookies

http://www.nicecupofteaandasitdown.com/theWife/biscuitcity/

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

New Strategy; Bagpipes

New Strategy for complete national and local domination.

Travelling personal babpipe band.

They follow me to races, march into the infield and start playing battle songs while I warm up.

Went to Kells Irish Pub for a Guinness and some fish+chips with a few friends the other night. Place was packed to the walls, people everywhere. The air had that electric Saturday night tension that makes every second seem like the one just before everything breaks loose.
The Irish band on stage finishes up a raucous set and wanders to the bar. Things quiet down momentarily. Just as people start to get restless a low drone starts... you know... droning. No one knows where it's coming from, few even know what the sound is until the snare drums start pounding. Seems far away but it's getting louder and louder. Louder and louder until a bagpipe band walks straight past your table in full kilt-kit playing as loud as bagpipes, snares and bass drums can play.

I'm not even Irish and for some reason this sound made me want to stand up and fight everyone in the room. Everyone. Right then. If that stuff brings out the anger while I'm sitting at a table with Jenny and a few other girls, imagine how amped I'd get while warming up... That would open the door to "the room" and push me right through.

Plus, can you imagine how crazy that would look to the other guy? How insane would I look?

Anybody know a good bagpiper?

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

HA! JACKED UP!

So at superweek last year I was trying to survive 2 hour crits, going so hard I dislocated and unhinged my jaw to facilitate better airflow into my pathetic, kiddy-balloon style lungs, and out of knowhere this dude in the Uraguay-an national team kit (which I recognized from geting jacked around by two different Uraguay guys at the AVC a couple years ago) rides up the curb on the inside and bunnyhops back into the street and gives me a full body-check which sends me into Dave McCook, who gets pissed, starts yelling and body-checks me right back into the curb. I stayed upright with some magical powers and by closing my eyes and thinking of how retarded it would be to crash in the middle of the field with 30 minutes to go, surrounded by a hundred guys who are all faster than me.

Anyway. The Uraguanian ends making an absolute KILLING by winning every prime over 10 dollars for 5 races straight by riding 200 meters in front of the field for lap after lap after lap. Stories run rampant about his vicious and idiotic riding style and terrible personal hygiene.

Then USACYCLING.ORG drops the megabomb:


"COLORADO SPRINGS (February 16, 2006)

USADA sanctions Uruguayan rider

The United States Anti-Doping Agency (USADA) announced today that Alvaro Tardaguila of Montevideo, Uruguay, an athlete in the sport of cycling, has accepted a two-year suspension after his sample tested positive for the prohibited substance recombinant human erythropoietin (EPO) and an anabolic agent.

Tardaguila’s two-year suspension begins on October 17, 2005, the day he received credit for serving a voluntary suspension. He is disqualified from the Downer Avenue Bike Race held in Milwaukee, Wisconsin and all subsequent events. USADA handled this case of a Uruguayan athlete as directed under the UCI rules since Mr. Tardaguila tested positive at an event in the United States

Friday, February 17, 2006

Bikeless Post

Today I'm not talking about anything related to bikes. I'm all in a tizzy about The Great Danish Cartoon Fiasco. This whole thing is getting way out of hand. Here's the timeline:

Danish cartoonist draws a frame of a dude with a turban, a bomb and the word Mohammed written on him.

Muslims get pissed.

Everybody freaks out.

An Israeli newspaper reprints the cartoon in an article explaining the outrage.

An Arab newspaper reacts, creating a contest calling for reader submissions of offensive anti-jew holocaust comics.

The same Israeli newspaper reacts to the reaction, calling for ITS readers to send in thier own offensive anti-jew holocaust comics, saying (I'm paraphrasing but I swear I'm not making this up) "when it comes to jew-bashing, no one will beat us at our own game."

Today (from opb.org) "In the northwestern Pakistani city of Peshawar, cleric Maulana Yousef Qureshi said he had personally offered to pay a bounty of 500,000 rupees ($8,400) to anyone who killed a Danish cartoonist, and two of his congregation put up additional rewards of $1 million and one million rupees plus a car."

Holy crap. Over million bucks plus a car for the assasination of a cartoonist? Are you kidding? Is this for real? Are we that evil? WTF?

DT

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Hey Yo New Guys, What's Up?

Season's coming faster than i care to think. I think Tuckie that skinny wanker is showing up in mid-March. Scotty'll be over as soon as it stops raining (so july or august?) and I don't know about the rest. Looks like the team's taking shape for another year. People from all over the place will be fighting the power in orange. Bring it. More kiwis, an east-coast yank and portlander by way of... some other places. So to Ian, Kirk, Logan and Richard: welcome to the crew. Also Steven Beardsley and Heather V will be joining me on the track this year. Boo-ya.

Today's crash brought to us by steep tracks and toe-clips.


Sunday, February 05, 2006

Seahawks, Rectangles and Malaysian Crashes; a Recap


Today's Crash Of the Day courtesy of racing in January and the Tour of Malaysia.

Saw a bunch of bands for free last night. Most impressive was The Rectangles. Kind of like Cars songs played by a combination of every early 80s english punk band ever. Singer was the nerdiest ever, looked like he had just crawled out of a stormtrooper costume. He was spazzy to match. So uncoordinated he fell off the stage twice. Tried to climb on top of his keyboard (which was perched on top of a rickety two-leg key stand). Thought he was going to swan-dive into the crowd at any moment, but he ended up staying up for an entire song as the 9 keys he was standing on droned on and on and on... classic.

Not normally a huge football fan, but go Seahawks. It's 2:10 and we're watching pregame on the bigscreen shop TV...

Wierd. Never know who's gonna walk into the shop at Jay's side sometimes. Congressman Earl Blumenauer's wandering around in spandex checking out accessories for the pair of Trek Portlands (his and hers?) he's about to purchase... He looks skinnier than he does on the news. Nice guy though. Funny seeing people like that out of thier element. Maybe in a neon windbreaker instead of a red power tie. Makes my life interesting.

Pregame shows crack me up. What are these guys saying that hasn't been said for the past 2 weeks every day on espn or in any sportsbar in the country?

How 'bout that sun eh? eh? Wonder what Ping-Pong's doing right now.

URGENT NEWS ANNOUNCEMENT:

SAUL RAISIN WINS THIRD STAGE AT MALAYSIA
What an animal. US U23 (u24 now?) slays em' on the big stage. Awesome.

Friday, February 03, 2006

Two Ways To Hate Yourself

Way #1: Lactic/Analactic/Vo2 Threshold Testing.

Went to the always impressive Nike campus yesterday to spend some quality time in the top-secret super-shwank athlete testing facility. It was like walking into a Austin Powers scene. Huge electronic locked doors with giant "RESTRICTED AREA" signs on them. Lots of brushed aluminum and diamond plate steel all over the place, huge rooms with cameras everywhere, the odd human skeleton model here and there, and lots of prosthetic feet laying around. That was probably what struck me the most about the facility. The feet. Everywhere.

The testing itself was brutal. My shiny new bike was set up on an electonically controlled trainer that measures power output in the form of watts. The idea is, the rider goes through a load period of 4 minutes at a certain wattage, at the end of which you get a rest of 30 seconds to a minute while the lab people draw blood and analyze it to determine how much lactic acid is circulating in your body. Then it's back up to load, with another 4 minutes at 40 more watts than the previous load. Over and over. If that's not bad enough, you're doing the entire process with your nose blocked off and a mouthpeice jammed in your face so they can record how much CO2 you're expelling and how much O2 you're taking in with every breath and how often and bla bla bla. You get to repeat the load over and over and over with increasing resistance until you collapse or throw in the towel.

We started at 150 watts, made it to a full load at 330, a sustained heart rate of 210, white and red spots in front of my eyes, a splitting headache, loss of motor skills, and an inability to communicate.

I have only hurt that bad once on a bike (new zealand, tour de vinyards, takaka). I wanted to spit the mouthpeice out, I tried, I couldn't.

I won't get the official results unil later today, but at one point on my final effort I overheard one of the lab techs (sorry guys I'm not so good with names) mutter "holy shit" under her breath as she watched my breathing and lactic rates. Hopefully that's good shit...


Way #2: Listen to Bill O'Rielly

Honest, it was a mistake. I was just flipping through radio channels looking for a traffic report and I heard an irate old man screaming about (i swear I'm not making this up) Muslims all deserve the stereotype of terrorist extremist because "all of the 9/11 hijackers were followers of the Koran." A soldier back from Iraq tried to argue for reason and (surprise!) O'Rielly attacked him.

ACTUAL QUOTE: from the blowhard about religious extremeism. "I think I know what I'm talking about, I wrote a book on the subject."

ugh...

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Looks like Walker Texas Ranger the grunter guy won't be returning stateside next summer. Looking to stay in NZ, finish his degree and stop being a slave to the bike. Smart guy.

So looks like I'll need a new madison partner this year. Hopefully Scotty gets in town before June 12th or whatever it is. I'm not too into doing a 6 day by myself... Maybe convince some of the Canadians to come down and do the endurance 6 day AND the sprinters 6 day. That'd be a good time. Talk about killer training...
DT

Saturday, January 21, 2006

from BikePortland.org

"Cyclist sues TriMet

Long time bike advocate and current city employee Randy Albright (seen here at a June Critical Mass ride) has filed a lawsuit against TriMet seeking damages of over $48,000. The suit, which was filed last Friday, details an incident which occured on the Hawthorne Bridge back in January 2004.

I recently met with Randy to get his side of the story:

On the morning of January 22, 2004 he had just entered the west end of the Hawthorne Bridge heading into downtown when he noticed the bike lane was full of gravel debris. The roads had just thawed from an ice storm and despite several attempts to get maintenance crews to clean out the bike lane, it remained unusable. Because of this dangerous situation, Randy was forced to ride just to the right of the main traffic lane.

A few minutes later a TriMet bus came up from behind and buzzed him “less than a foot” from his handlebars. This was much too close for comfort in Randy’s mind. A few minutes later Randy caught up to the bus near a stop (still on the bridge) and proceeded to walk his bike directly in front of the driver’s window, yelling and screaming at the driver (for anyone that knows Randy, this is not hard to imagine). Before long, the other traffic continued on, but Randy remained in front of the bus, causing a delay.

[*Note, the bus was standing-room-only full at this time.]

This delay apparently upset the driver and one passenger in particular because suddenly the bus door opened and a man stormed out. He approached Randy and instantly began hitting him. The first punch broke Randy’s lip open (later needing stitches) and eventually this “John Doe” wrestled Randy over to the sidewalk (see photos).

After the incident, John Doe walked right back on the bus, the door closed, and the bus continued on into town. According to timestamps on the images made from TriMet video, the entire incident took less than one minute .

Randy and his lawyer feel TriMet is responsible because the driver:

Failed to operate his bus safely.
Allowed John Doe to leave the bus at an unapproved stop.
Allowed John Doe to return to the bus after committing a criminal assault and battery.
Failed to call the police after witnessing a criminal assault and battery.
Failed to call for medical assistance.
Facilitated assault and battery by a patron.
Randy has met with TriMet and reviewed video of the incident (that’s where these photos came from). Despite being cooperative with Randy’s requests for information, TriMet claims that John Doe is responsible for the incident and they have not assumed any responsibility so far.

In the background of all this is the fact that many cyclists have had run-ins with TriMet busses. Just glancing at my close call submissions, I found five of them involved a TriMet bus (here they are 1, 2, 3, 4, 5).

That being said, I’m not so sure Randy handled this right. Did he really have to make a big scene and get all irate with the driver? Would he have had more luck by just taking down the bus number and going through the proper channels? My heart says I can’t blame him for getting upset, but I wonder what would have happened if cooler heads prevailed…and so does Randy. At one point in our meeting, he said sheepishly, “I don’t hate TriMet or anything…after all, I take the MAX to Zoobomb!”.

But regardless of Randy’s outburst, there’s simply no justification for a TriMet driver allowing a passenger to beat someone up and then leave them without any more respect than roadkill. And what’s up with this psycho passenger? That guy needs to relax and stop assaulting people he doesn’t even know. Too bad no one knows who he is because I’d love to hear his side of the story.

Perhaps the judge will make TriMet begin a new cyclist safety training program. If something like that comes out of this we all win, because regardless of how it turns out I think there’s a real need for cyclists and TriMet to work together to share the road. They’re the heaviest road user and we’re the lightest, it’s a recipe for disaster. "

http://bikeportland.org/wp-content/images/albright_man2.jpg
ALT="http://bikeportland.org/wp-content/images/Albright_web4.jpg">
ALT="http://bikeportland.org/wp-content/images/albright_man_1.jpg">

January at the shop

Mega slow. Not a person in sight. We opened the store and didn't see a single soul for an hour and a half. Pretty impressive for a popular bike shop.

What we're listening to right now:
Deerhoof

What we're watching (at home):
Lost (yeah i know, it's addictive)
House (jerks are funny)
The Man With The Screaming Brain
Napoleon Dynamite

Top 5 Portland Burrito Joints:
Cha Cha Cha
Ole Ole
Rafael's (they deliver.. boo yah)
Azteca/Mazatlan
Manzana's

Now we're listening to:
Pavement

Saturday, January 14, 2006

BURNABY

Was cool.
Racing indoors is way beter than training in the rain and sludge.

Damn those cannucks are fast. Always fun to race with Bruneau and Chater and the gang, those guys can really drive thier bikes. Highlights are as follows:

I didn't actually take out any Canadians with mind power, but it seemed like I did when one fell off his bike and landed at my feet while I was watching Dave's kierin round. Dude track surfed for a good 30 meters before coming to a stop right in front of me. Just looked down and went "you okay?" He was fine, the bike not so much. Looked like that $5000 corima was going to need a little duct tape.

I didn't save Dave's life, but I saved my new teammate Steven's. He came underneath me on the apron in a kierin and I was about to launch him into next week until I saw how orange he was. All good, the officials didn't dig it too much, and informed him that the apron isn't a cool way to go unless you want to get relegated. All in all he rode well against a pretty stacked field all weekend.

I drank about a case of Gleukos.

Pretty humbling weekend in all. Lungs felt great but the legs felt small and weak. Rode a pretty crap time in the 200, only good enough for 4th in the sprints, 5th in the kierin, and although I finished both races, I still managed to f*# up the sprint in both long scratch races.

Dave wore his PBR shirt during our Olympic sprint. Awesemely poetic.

Matt Chader won everything. The dude's been eating his Wheaties. He slays all in the sprints and kierin, then goes on to make everyone look like amatuers in the long scratches and the points race. He either has the best endurance of any sprint guy or the best sprint of any endurance guy. Or he's not realy a man, he's a robot that looks like a man and says "hoose" instead of "house" Thought it might be the Tim Horton's coffee, but I saw him at Starbucks the morning of the second day (I almost tripped over Bruneau's tree-trunk-like leg walking through the door. That guy's hard to miss), so I guess he must train or something.

People in Seattle don't know how to drive. I-5 was closed in 2 spots along the way. Damn rain is tough to drive in, and it's so uncommon in Seattle.... fortunately Steve's new video ipod and a few Ben Stiler movies kept the long-ass drive tolerable.

Must go to the gym... i'm feeling weak just thinking about it.

DT

WTF?

Yo blogspot, what's up?

Missing 3 posts for some reason... All that work for nothing. WTF?
DT

Saturday, December 31, 2005

Breaking Stuff

I hate breaking stuff. I can't afford it. I spend enough money on brake pads, water bottles, cables, cleats, chain lube, and all that crap as it is. You know what sucks the most? Breaking wheels. Wheels aint cheap. Long story short, today I ripped the threads off my grass-track hub and totaled the thing, but I'm not even pissed.

Here's the long story long.

Grass track consists of a bunch of track racers who all get together on Saturdays to beat up on each other, improve handling skills and get a good workout. Standard equipment is 1 crappy bicycle (fixed gear, no brakes, drop bars and cross tires) 1 semi-smooth grass surface (soccer field, football field, etc.) 10 cones to mark the short 100m track, and a good rain jacket. Racing consists of kierins, scratch races, match sprints, drag races, madisons and such. Skills excercises are Gauntlets. Everyone rides together in a mini group, one person starts at the back and must make it to the front by going up the center of the group (who does not allow the rider to advance). All contact is legal. It's always rainy, so the surface is always soft with mud and grass, so crashing isn't a big deal. Points are awarded for ultraviolent maneuvers and killer saves. It's a good time.

Anyway.

During the last set of drag races this morning, I was 20 meters from the line, I wasn't gaining on Stephen fast enough and I thought to myself "oh shit, I'm gonna loose." This is where I gave it the hardest final kick ever and SNNAP!! no more resistance in the pedals, I fly forward and nearly take my wisdom teeth out with my stem. Managed not to crash, rolled to a stop, checked out the hub and started my victory dance... YES! That's right. Tore the threads apart. Granted it's the crappiest, cheapest hub Suzue makes (how strong can a 30 dollar hub be?) but it still kicks ass.

Monday, December 26, 2005

The Rib-Eye Killer

Christmas is a big deal around here, so I don't joke around when it comes to my pre-christmas preparations.

THE EVE
Everyone knows the importance of hydration, so in the days leading up to christmas I make sure to take in plenty of fluids. Fortunately coffee and beer are mostly made of water, so I don't actually have to change much in my daily routine in order to achieve this.
Despite the fact that I'm a sprinter, I'm not interested in becoming a big usesless overweight sprinter, so I go for a flat couple of hours on the bike path. You know, for the calories. Then it's up to the parents' house for food, a South Park holiday marathon and presents. Riding kilos has taught me the value of a good warm-up, so I hopped on the couch, turned on some bad christmas movie and got started off with 10 or 12 cookies, a pile of christmas fudge and a few drinks. This is where my dad discovers that it takes more than an hour to cook a 90 pound steak, so dinner gets a rain delay, and I get more cookies. Jump forward to the main event and it's a glorious occasion. I start off easy (as I usually do) with some baked potato and a little salad, and then wind it up to a big finish with so much steak I think I sprained my stomach. Good thing I did that spin yesterday.

THE DAY
Three words: Bacon, biscuits, gravy. Real gravy too, not that lame stuff that comes in a bag. Add more coffee to the recipe and you get a morning of goodness, followed by a whole day of stocking-stuffer candy. Pure magic.

Pre-Burnaby Predictions:
During the burnaby weekend events in a couple of weeks, 4 people will slide off the track all by themselves and blame thier tires ("those blue ones just don't grip as well..."), Beardsley will do a better kilo than he did at LA (or I'll probably have to punch him in the face) I will win the sprints in front of some other endurance guy who will show up and smoke all the other sprinters "just for training," Keith Bruneau will ride okay then go so hard he rips his cranks off in the olympic sprint and Dave will surprise everyone by winning the madison by himself after doing 3 months of secret roller workouts out of sheer boredom (no more kiwis in the house).

SO. Coming soon: THE BURNABY REPORT (or How I Saved Dave's Life and Crashed A Canadian With Mind Power)

Thursday, December 15, 2005

FINALS ARE OVER

And you can file that one under BOO-YA.

Seriously. You can.

Friday, December 09, 2005

End of an era?

So the team's budget has tripled in the last couple of days. Apparently Orange is a cool color to be in, because a few companies seem to really dig us.

Here's why this is good and bad.

It's good because we'll get to travel more, and it will lighten the financial burden of said travel on us young impoverished athletes. This new situation forces us into one of responsibility for our results. We can't just write off a race if we're not having fun anymore because we know that at the end of the day, these companies don't want to pay for a loosing team. Therefore, we're gonna go harder and get faster (or else).

It sucks because of everything I said above. We're gonna have to act like professionals in public now, and that's no fun. We're not an overly adult group (despite what our ages might say). We like being loud, obnoxious retards, and we still will be, but now we have to make sure we're not wearing team stuff, and we have to make sure we're not acting like idiots in front of the wrong people (which could be anyone). See the dilemna? Results and pressure are good, but they can bring you down hard if you're not carefull and realistic.

Yin and Yang, bla bla bla. Good and bad, I know. It's still a little intimidating, but hey, I'm into it.

Guess I'll have to start training one of these days, eh?
DT

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Scott Allen recovery update

For those of you who didn't know, Scotty ran into some medical issues a few weeks ago and had to be hospitalized. This isn't the first time Scott has had to hit the white sheets, but he's built tough, so he's coming back. This time he's pledged to get off the streets and stop slinging crack, he even plans to put out a record with Dre. We all wish him luck.
http://www.viceland.com/issues/v12n10/htdocs/dos_donts/14.jpg

Scotty fresh out of the hospital

Monday, November 28, 2005

face

Anybody see the pics of the Sydney Thousand? Anybody else wondering what is on Rene Wolf's face? I know he's german and "euro" and all that, but it looks like he took one chin first into Ryan Bayley's significant posterior.

Gross.

http://www.cyclingnews.com/photos.php?id=photos/2005/nov05/sydney_thousand05/KU3L2028

Sunday, November 27, 2005

burrito as a metaphor for life

'tis the season for life-affirming quotes, so here's my favorite. For those of you who aren't yet die-hard fans of TooVanillaForYou dot blogspot dot com:

Chestre Concordia said...
True story.
Think of it this way. There are two ends of every burrito, and even if you prefer one end, you'll still have to eat the other one sooner or later...

Really makes you think doesn't it? If it doesn't make you think, you are either really good at math and not very hungry, or you don't have as much time on your hands as some other people...
DT

Saturday, November 26, 2005

Turkey

On the way to turkey dinner #3. or 4. not sure.

YES as the previous post implied I am in the CIA now, I'm a special agent in charge of going to foriegn countries and blowing shit up, they just don't know it yet. Nothing to do with the slow winter months, no more bke racing till spring and Anatomy and Physiology completely smashing my brains out. Yeah. It sucks.

GRASSTRACK. grasstrack is probably the coolest thing since those twisty caps on beer bottles. i think my helmet is 4 sizes bigger since I tried to headbutt my way through Abers' chest this morning. rock n roll.

More later, if anyone still reads this thing.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Monday, October 24, 2005

Death Ray

http://www.solardeathray.com/

Friday, October 14, 2005

ZOMBIE

We Want To EAT YOU.


movie of the week. rent it, netflix it, do whatever you do.

Sunday, August 28, 2005


We saw this dude at some real serious Italian parade. He didn�t seem to know anybody and was rarely playing his trumpet but the verdict was: This stumbling little Chinese Jerry Lewis with the ridiculous facial gestures is the whole reason we hate normal people.
 Posted by Picasa

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

In LA...

...I ate (on average) 2 burgers per day.

...I almost got hit by at least four cars per day (driving or riding).

...I decided that Portland NEEDS an indoor board track. NEEDS. This is not negotiable. It's the biggest load of crap that this amazing facility is located in LA. Come on. It never rains there. We need it way more, and we could get ass-loads of spectators to come out to races ("beer available!"), unlike the ADT center. Seriously, in a city of 4 million I expected more than 15 people to show up to watch the national championships.

...I decided to never move to LA.

...I rode the coolest track. ADT doesn't seem to be a world-class venue based on times on paper, but it feels like THE SHIT. It feels rediculously fast and automatically turns you into The Man.

...I drove through Compton (because the track is about 5 blocks away). Yeah, it really does suck there. No wonder Tupac was so pissed off.

... I posted a bunch of PRs but still wasn't super psyched with my times. Hopefully nationals will be in LA again next year so i can see what I can do after a season of track training.

...I got a bronze (kilo) and a fourth place medal (team sprint). They both look bronze.

... I Barely beat Steven Beardsley, who before nationals had the annoying habit of beating me in every kilo we did. Secretly, I filled his tires with cement, but don't tell him.

...I lost again to McLaughrey. Did a 11.5 at Victoria (outdoor concrete) a year ago, so the 11.6 wasn't what I was looking for, but oh well. I qualified. Last.

...I watched a lot of daytime TV. That whole in between session break can get crazy long, and Judge Judy doesn't help much.


More later. Maybe.
DT

Saturday, August 06, 2005

So that was lame...

Seems like the habit of posting every couple of days has meant I'm posting more useless crap these days. Problem is, I tend to get pissed off about things, react to them and post them for the whole world to see. Not a great way to make friends, I know. So maybe once a month then, if that. This blog was created so friends and family could keep track of me as I travel around, not to be my personal gossip column, which it's steadily becoming.

Just one thing however. When I get pissed off and react to some action or something someone says, I usually write about it here. My name is on this site. People know who I am. I'm not trying to hide my identity under some loser "anonymous" tag. I love hearing different opinions (whether I agree with them or not), but the rash of anonymous comments I've been getting recently aren't even worth responding to, because the person writing isn't taking any responsibility for what they're saying, and chances are great that they'd never say anything similar in person. That's sad, and I just can't take it seriously. That's the thing I hate about the internet, when it becomes some faceless mud-slinging venue. I don't want my blog to be one of those. I'll make changes to it to avoid that if neccessary, but I would hope that people can be civil on thier own. That's my rant for the day.

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

Sprint Night and a Throwdown in the Dirty 'Couve

I finally got around to attending an actual match sprint night last week now that it's almost the end of the season. It was pretty rock. Walker showed up as well to fly the flag of endurance, and things got interesting right away. First round was an all-Rubicon battle with Walker and I both looking to advance into the next round. I jumped him when he wasn't looking from a lap and a half out, led out a damn long sprint and almost got beat on the line. Honestly, he came at me so fast in the last 5 pedalstrokes that I thought I was doomed for sure... It looked to be a long night.

One of the semis ended up being Mclaughery vs. Zac Copeland. That was quite the event. McLaughery tried to do the old 200m afterburner trick, but Copeland fought the power well and ended up riding Stephen all over the track, up to the rail, back to the apron, back up to the rail, around the block a few times and by the time they made it back to the finish, Zac barely held on for the win. Dude's got skills.

So the final was old school dude vs. young dude trained by old school dudes. ROCK. I've been waiting to race this cat for months and I certainly wasn't dissapointed. I pulled first, sat up on the backside and took a hard right turn uptrack right into his burly little frame to show him that I was up for any shenanigans he could throw at me. I turned so hard that just about anyone outside of Brian Abers would have had a few fillings knocked out, but Zac just flicked away and smiled at me. This guy sprints the best way; he's got a huge bag of tricks and he can use any of them. I knew this well enough to jump him long as soon as he gave me a little room, so I did with a lap to go, and made it stick. Wicked. I'll definitely have to rock a few more sprint nights before they're over this year...

VANCOUVER CRIT

Now that's a cool course. About a billion corners per lap, a little uphill drag that wrecks some people's rhythem and a super-short finish straight make for a killer course. Too bad only 30 or 40 people showed up for the 1/2s. The complete lack of prize money may have something to do with that... (Windows XP upgrade for Windows 95? What am I supposed to do with that? Can I buy food with it?) Anyway, it was a rough day for Orange to say the least. Not 20 laps into the race we're coming around a fast, downhill corner and SCCRRRASH Aaron goes down. Dammit. That looked like it hurt. A small group takes off just after that crisis, and fortunately Walker the Stalker's in it, so I can relax and follow counter-moves. However. Not 5 laps after Tuckie tastes asphalt, Scotty's sliding across the street in the SAME CORNER. What the f@#$! WTF! Seriously... this corner is eating our team alive.

Laps go by, the group laps the field with maybe 8 to go and Curry and I drift back to drag Walker up to the front of the field. We get separated somehow and end up with Adam and Walker cruising up through the inside, while I'm on the outside, just as Walker gets pinched, hits the deck and goes skidding across the pavement. Dammit. He gets back in, Scotty and I go to the front thinking everything is sweet, Scotty rips it up with 2 to go, I nail it on the front with a lap to go, pull off and see Walker right on Mikel, and everything looks good. Bummer thing is, because it was inside the last 8 laps, they didn't give Grunter the free lap, so he gets 6th instead of 1st or 2nd. Drag.

Before the race, Norrene told us how there were tons of sponsors at the race, so we shouldn't crash.... COINCIDENCE? probably not. DT

Thursday, July 28, 2005


Remember the Minutemen? Those backwater hicks from Texas and New Mexico taking it upon themselves to protect America from those dastardly Latinos? Well. This is them. Posted by Picasa

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

A Functioning Memeber of Society...

...maybe

I've been blissfully unemployed for over a year now, and I'm afraid to go back. But rent in that apartment next month won't pay itself, so it looks like the days of sleeping late and doing nothing but riding are coming to a close. Now I'll have to sleep late go to school, go to work, ride my bike and THEN do nothing. Drag.

So if you need some kind of wonderful Trek product in the next few months, drop by Hollywood Bike Gallery and say 'hey.' Or 'hi' or whatever.
DT

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

HEY! THAT'S ILLEGAL!

Apparently, in Boise Idaho, jumping from a tall stairway railing into the deep end of a pool can land you in jail.

But before I get to that, one gut point goes to Scotty for racing on a "maybe broken" hand. After pulling some intense, military-style manuevers in a friend's front yard, one of Scott's hands is now considerably bigger than the other one. It's just not right. Like if someone put breast implants in his palm and covered it all in bad mascara. Why anyone would do that is beyond me, but whatever the case, it's big, it's ugly and apparently it hurts. Trick is, he can't go to the doctor unless it's broken FOR SURE. And maybe it's not that bad...

By the way, Boise is a long damn way to go for a crit. There, I said it. Granted you can win big money if you have a great day, but if you don't then you're still 7 hours from home and down a hundred bucks or so. Which sucks.

So the pool thing. I didn't know it was illegal. I knew it was dangerous, but nearly everything worth doing in life is risky or dangerous in some way. And honestly, who puts stairs and a securely welded, iron railing with a level section about 6 feet above and 2 feet away from the deep end of a hotel swimming pool? Obviously people who want you to enjoy life, that's who. For some reason the current hotel proprietor doen't have any zest for living, because after Tuckerman and I had taken a few test jumps ('safety first' may not apply all the time, but 'safety at some point' sounds reasonable enough) before the backflips started, he comes barreling out of his fake-plant infested, badly wallpapered, heavily brochured front office just about to have a coronary.

"YOU CANT DO THAT! THAT'S ILLEGAL YOU KNOW!"
This is where we try not to loose it, dont laugh dont laugh....
"A KID JUMPED OFF THE ROOF AND IMPALED HIMSELF ON THE FENCE AND DIED LAST WEEK YOU KNOW!"
Okay wait. Obviously this guys a touch sensitive but wait. wait. If the kid was jumping of the roof of this two story building, that's a 20 foot drop and a good 8 feet laterally from the pool. Pretty safe to say that this kid was never destined to make it far in life. If he didn't have a real, actual death wish, his life span must have been shortened by genetics and a complete lack of judgement. Ever heard of the Darwin awards? To try this jump, he would easily be an honorable mention. Second of all. To hit the fence he would have had to jump out towards the pool, change direction in midair and go backwards a good 6 feet to get to the fence which is underneath the second floor walkway, or he would have had to sail a good 40 feet all the way to the other side of the enclosure... both of which are possible... if you are a bird...

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

PORTLAND AVC parts 1 and 3

For real this time.

SO the AVC didn't go as planned.

I didn't race very well, I wasn't really into it all that much and I didn't make much cash... That being said, it was fun.

KILOS HURT SO MUCH, THEY REALLY DONT MAKE ANY SENSE...
But I keep doing them nonetheless. This is what happens when people tell you that you're really good at something, even if you don't like it that much. Once again I rode a spectacular first 3 laps and a gawdawful last half lap to finish somewhere mid group. I've since retired from the kilo forever and ever, but I'll probably come out of retirement for Nationals just for kicks...

THE BIG SALUTE
SO my sprints this weekend were nothing spectatular (except for one wicked near-crash with Carl Boucher), but the final Repechage round was interesting. First off, let me say that the descision to run the sprints as 3 and 4 ups bummed me out. The descision was made most likely in respect to timing issues (meaning, the officials didn't want to sit there all night and run a million sprints... whatever, I probably wouldn't either), but as a racer, it's a drag. Sprints at World Cups and Nationals are all one on one, which makes for better spectating and better racing (I think), but either way, they're not here.

Long story short, the final rep ride is 4 people, as it usually is, but two of which are riders on the same team. One dude lives here, and one was paid cash money to come here and race in this team's kit for a few days instead of his national team garb. So the local boy attacks on the first lap and his rent-a-teamate goes to the front and sits there, allowing the local guy to walk into the finals without the slightest challenge. Say what you want about the responsibility of the chase going to the other two riders, but I wouldn't want to drag an Olympian to the line to let him outsprint me for the one final rep spot either. Every person I talked to who saw it happen said the same thing: It was a cheap way to win, and a bit of a bummer to watch. The huge victory celebration was particularly grating to some people, so when the rider finished last in the final, it was agreed that it would have been nice to see one of the faster riders in the final.

KIERINS ARE COOL
What more can I say.

There was more bumping, hooking, crashing and general madness in this year's AVC kierin that any other event that I've been a part of. Except for maybe last year when the motor ran out of gas in mid-race and Josh Kerkof nearly dove straight onto Mike Murray's back. That was funny. Anyway. Big time craziness in this year's edition, and it was so fun that I wasn't even all that bummed that I missed the final by about a tire's width. Favorite moment was easily from the final, when Josiah NG (crazy-fast Malaysian kierin specialist) is on the motor, starts leading it out at Warp 3 and Stephen Alfred decides that he's not going to take it anymore, blows everybody a kiss goodbye and crushes everyone in his path. It was impressive. He came from the back, halfway up the track and blew by everybody like they were standing still. Revenge is sweet...

You'd think the guy would be tired from such an effort, but hell no. As the evening comes to a close, he hauls off and demolished the flying lap record set a few years ago by Jeff "Iron Chef" Labauve. Every person in the packed stands was absolutely loosing thier mind the whole time, and barely got a break before Jenny Reid powered out a record time for the women's side. Unbefreakinleivable. The way everybody was loosing it you'd think the Cubs were winning the World Series the day after aliens had landed and declared president Bush "Idiot of the Universe"... It was intense...
DT

Portland AVC

Coming soon... really.... I promise....

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

"Cyclist dies in crash at end of Portland race"

from msnbc.com:

PORTLAND, Ore. - A cyclist died when he crashed headfirst near the finish line during a road race at Portland International Raceway on Tuesday night.

The 29-year-old cyclist from Milwaukie, whose name was withheld pending family notification, was 300 yards from finishing the 40-mile race when he lost control of his bike, said Lt. Allen Oswalt, a spokesman for Portland Fire and Rescue.

The cyclist slammed headfirst into a steel post filled with concrete.

“He was wearing a helmet, but it didn’t do much at 30 mph,” Oswalt said.

Oswalt said the cyclist suffered “huge head trauma” and died at the scene.

Race organizer Jeff Mitchem said the cyclist, who had several years of racing experience, was in a pack sprinting toward the finish line when he tried to pass on a straightaway and veered off course.

“As soon as he hit it, the sound was such that we knew it was serious,” said Mitchem, who also participated in the race sanctioned by the Oregon Bicycle Racing Association.

Portland International Raceway is designed for auto racing, and the cyclist hit a support for a fence that keeps cars from the crowd, Mitchem said.

Mitchem said medical personnel treated the cyclist within seconds, but there was no chance to save him.

© 2005 The Associated Press.

Monday, July 11, 2005

No Bank, But Hey...

I've figured a few things out in these days of stupid heat, pro envy and killer crits. Sticking around local races can get your confidence up and is good for morale, but big races like this put the big picture in perspective. It's safe to say that I'm in a pretty small group of top sprinters (road and track) in the Portland area, but thrown into a big-time race like this I fall into a big group of average joes who fight just to finish, let alone go for any placings or money.

Seems the biggest struggle so far has been with failure to commit to anything (university, racing, career). I'm not getting to where I want to be in cycling by continuing on the present course. SO. It's time to go. Time to do it. Give it a go. I'm not giving up on the rest of my life, just scaling a few things back. Take fewer classes for a couple years, concentrate on training in the winter instead of trying to juggle 3 ambitions at once. As for the rest of the season, I may not be winning any pro events, but a nice new jersey from track nationals would be a great motivator... DT

Superweek, Airline Sardines, Pimp Glasses and the Jase Chase

So I'm signing in at one of those snazzy new "self-service" kiosks at PDX and a little screen pops up to ask me if I want to upgrade to "economy plus" for an extra 25 bucks. This is where the next 6 hours goes very wrong. I know th eextra 25 bucks will buy me legroom, wider seats and maybe a night's rest, but no. I'm poor. I'll be fine.

Then as the clock struck 11:30pm I squeezed in between two 300 pound sacks of body odor and hair for a less than restfull night.

"It's okay" I think. "I'll just crank up the A/C and get some shut eye."
You know how on most planes you reach up and twist the little ventilation nipple above your head and that cool, dry air rushes out? Not today. When the head stewardess came by to inform us that the AC wasn't working properly, but we should be 5 minutes ahead of schedule, I died a little inside. There I sat in a pool of sweat, 90 degrees, pressed on both sides by hairy, sweaty flesh, knees pressed up into my chest, staring straight ahead watching some awful Lindsay Lohan movie and some bad sitcom reruns with no volume, for four hours.

Enough whining. On to Chicago.
Scotty and I arrive around 4:57am. We have 36 hours to race time. Damn it's early after a sleepless night. Mikkel picks us up at the airport, we chuck the bikes into the van and off we go to nowhere in particular. We have all of Friday. "Should we find a motel and crash? Go to the course? Get some food?"
"Downtown" I say. "Just head straight for those buildings."

Chicago is a big place. It's real big. The Portland skyline wouldn't make it halfway up to the top of the buildings here. Looking up at the Smith Tower and all the enormous skyscrapers downtown is like driving around through a canyon all concrete and glass. And holy crap is it dirty. Trash everywhere. And it's big, by the way. We have a day to kill, so we decide to kill it wandering around town. We bludgeon time shopping for things we'd never buy, we sit in cafes sipping water, and search for the Ultimate Pimp Glasses. These glasses will be huge, gaudy, and the number one secret to surviving the week. Hours go by and finally, there they are.
They're big, they're white, they're extreme, and they are 16 dollars. They make Scotty into some kind of alien rock star, sitting in a lawn chair in the back of a seatless van, packed with bikes and wheels.

Driving down some random city road at one point, imagine my surprise to see a beach covered in bikinis and swimmers. Awesome. That is one big lake.

So after a day of cruising, we retired to a South Chicago Super 8 motel and rocked out to Beverly for the first stage. Damn it sucked. We're talking a one mile circuit through a very old, leafy neighborhood. Packed into the circuit are about eight hundred and ten corners and a crappy false flat/hill. After about 10 of 60 laps I end up watching from the sidelines as Scotty's brother Big Jase racks up a cool grand int field primes. Some Aussie guy wins.

DAY 2
We are the only white people in South Chicago. Just thought I should add that.
The second day's crit is a good 4 hours north of Chicago, so it's back into the van and back out on the road to Menasha, Wisconsin. This one starts out much better as I dive-bomb through the first hairpin leading the field, then spend the rest of the race fighting to avoid getting dropped. 40 laps later I have a heart-attack on the bike and loose my grip on the field, doomed to watch again. Some other Aussie guy wins and Scott rides like a man and ends up around 30th or so, gets some cash and we get on our way.

DAY 3
Another tough day for me, another couple dead presidents for Scotty. We're back at the host house a half-hour west of Milwaukie, and tommorow's a day off. DT

Friday, June 24, 2005

An Open Letter To...

... To the guy riding his "chopper" up and down main street today:
What is your deal? Are you socially retarded, or do you really believe that beautiful women will hear the ear-splitting howl of your whatever cubic-inch engine and throw themselves at you, frothing with desire? Do you think this makes you cool like the guys from Easy Rider? You're not cruising down some lonely highway, enjoying the freedom of the road and the air on your receding hairline, you're blasting up the street, turning around, blasting back up the street, turning around, and doing it all over again. Over and over. Back and forth. The best part? You're wearing EAR PLUGS! WHAT?!!?! Are you for real? I mean, yeah it makes sense, because you're grenading around on the loudest bike on the planet, but that's what mufflers are for. If you're concerned about your own hearing but not about my eardrums bursting every time you rip by, then you are a serious dick.
Is this what a midlife crisis looks like in the era of Orange Country Choppers and that Biker Build-Off show? I thought you guys just buy Camaros and cruise around past High Schools looking awesome? Good job Discovery Channel, way to wreck my eardrums.

...To the guy walking down main street with a ten foot surfboard:
You are so my favorite person right now. This is either a righteous fashion statement saying "yeah, I don't give a rat's ass that I'm on a mountain 2,000 miles from the ocean, I've got seawater in my veins and this is my magic carpet," or this guy's a stoner who found the thing in his brother's basement and just had the amazing idea of chopping the fin off, strapping his feet to it and hurtling down a mountain. Like SURFING ON SNOW. It's stoner ingenuity at it's finest and he'd probably make a fortune if some other cat hadn't had the same brilliant idea like 20 years ago.

...To Chuck Palahniuk:
Haunted's a wicked book. One of your finest. Good work.

...To USA Cycling:
Maybe somewhere at sea level next year? That'd be cool. DT

Park City I Hate You

and your little dog too...

That crit was tough like bark and crazy like the Jacksons. Good lawd that sucked the big one from the very first lap. Last year the course was flat, huge and dangerous. This year it was hilly, huge and dangerous. I thought it would be sweet because it was in the same area, but they basically took last year's 3 corner course and moved it halfway up a mountainside. Just look at the numbers: 120 starters, 15 finishers. The top ten was almost a carbon copy of last years road race. Skinny little dudes who normally hate crits were the only ones that made it past the first half. Of the 15 that finished, probably 13 were pros.

It was hurt city: population me.

Anyway. Walker grunted it out for an hour before loosing it, the 12 TIAA CREF dudes controlled the day's events and Tyler Farrar almost jumped off his bike and strangled half the aforementioned team. Seriously, they played him like a fiddle. He missed the two man break of the day, and everytime he'd make a move there would be 4 powder blue jerseys on his ass refusing to do squat. Sucks to be him, and it's a bit of a negative way to race, but big farrRRAAAR was the strongest unit in the race, so they weren't about to hand him any favors. I wouldn't pull him around either...

Next up... the long drive home, some big training, then off to Stuipidweek.

Friday, June 17, 2005

Ballard...and Days 1 through 4 of the Six

Here's Ballard:
Four corners, drenched in rain, ice-like bricks in one corner, dry slicks on my wheels and 80 people who all want thier chunk of a few grand in prize money. BANG the gun goes and I'm third into the first corner, which is a damn good thing because all around me is CHAOS. Guys are hitting the deck like nobody's business, easy corners are becoming completely impossible, every single corner in the first five laps claims skin and carbon.
Aaron jams it at the front and escapes with a few punks. I have lost vision and most motor control trying to stay on Kenny "G Money J Lo" Willians and Russel "I Hate You" Stevensen. These jerks are on the edge of control and pushing me way past my max effort, so I blow to pieces and curse the name of Ballard and the Seattle metro maybe 20 minutes into the race.

Aaron ends up crashing cause he's a f$@king mountain biker, but he still laps the field which is pretty heavy. He gets a gut point for that one. Maybe.
Scotty survives by utilizing the brilliant strategy of being behind every single crash and sprinting to get back up to the dwindling field. This may seem impractical, but it works for him.

Meanwhile at the six day, every day is run under threat of heavy rain, 3 days of which rain out completely. Scotty gets one gut point for riding the first 30 minute madison by himself. Walker and I call truce and just follow wheels, but other teams aren't so nice and not nearly as cool, but Scott hangs tough and even scores a point in the final sprint. The following few days are a big ugly battle between the kiwi team of Scotty and Adam and the orange team of yours truly and Walker the Stalker. The pink/fred meyer team puts up a valiant effort, but can't quite work out the sprints. Walker and I win every madison and every night overall, but due to an unfortunate error in the points race (namely, not starting it ontime), we lose 15 laps and the overall. Whatever. Still came out with a few hundred bucks at local bike shops and a few days of good hard training leading up to.....


.... U23 Road Nationals.
12 hours of driving usually isn't too bad, but when it's at night and your route is the wasteland that is Eastern Oregon and Idaho, things get boring. After a good sleep on a uber-comfy couch, daybreak in Park City means wandering about town, searching for mexican food and the host hotel.
Damn this place is average.
Kind of reminds me of Vegas minus the strippers and neon. Too much money floating around, too many facades on buildings to make everything seem "natural" and "ski lodge-ish." Concrete slap-up construction covered in a plastic/wood veranda to make the local Albertsons seem like it belongs. The fact that the town is completely dead certainly doesn't help its image. Must be what most ski-towns look like in late-june. Just bare-bones staff in cafe's and pizza shops. Just enough cops to cover race duties and parking lots. Seems like most houses here sit empty untill the snow comes back and the executive accountants and retirees stop by for a weekend soiree. Places that would sell for 150k in Portland flash For Sale signs that trumpet costs reduced to 600 thousand. Crazy cost of living, but still pretty cool to take the chair lift that starts in the middle of town up to the top of the 2002 winter olympic ski slopes that overlook the town.

Crit is tommorow at 10am in front of the lavish Deer Valley Resort. 60k of sun and fun. DT

Thursday, June 09, 2005

An Apology, an Update and So Much More....

If the tall blond-ish girl from the Mt. Hood circuit race feed zone is listening, I'm sorry for puking on you.

Honestly. I didn't mean it, I wasn't aiming for you, I just happened to be looking at you, trying to grab a bottle when my stomach detonated after 3 climbs and a couple hours of ouch. Not sure if it was the dehydration, or the redbull or a wicked combination of the two, but whatever the cause, I'm sorry.

To punish myself for not riding through it and finishing the stage, I lined up for Tabor this week. If you've never ridden the Mt. Tabor circuit race before, I'll give you a track-rider's perspective of the weekly event.

When you arrive at Mt. Tabor park on the SE side of town, it's gorgeous, leafy chaos. Winding roads, a killer view of the city, ancient trees, hippies smoking grass on the course, dogs everyewhere, skateboarders, mt. bikers, curious residents, laborador walkers in comfortable shoes, bike racers, punters and hecklers all mixing in a typically Portlandese way to make another wednesday summer evening in the Big P. Line up in the start shute and crawl immediately and quietly into the hurt box. It's uphill, it's downhill, it's uphill again over and over for 15 laps. Some residents and racers in earlier categories recognize the evening beer-drinking ambiance and crack open while we're on the course, so the heckling gets better the farther you make it.

Tuckerman spent at least half the race riding in the gravel, in the gutter, in the grass and generally off the road just to f*@k with people. Little freak surprised no one when he throws down a big sprint up the gutter to win the evening's glory. F*@king mountain bikers... DT

Sunday, May 29, 2005

I Hate Crashing...

...especially when it's not because of some insane last corner manuever or a big-time kamikaze hook. Oh no, the crashes I hate most are the ones that can get chalked up to dumb luck. Take the national qualifier scratch race for example: Early in the dog and pony show I was rolling along, minding my own business in the sprinters lane when WHAMMY some guy comes flying uptrack from the apron and nails my rear wheel as hard as he can. I go rolling across the track, my tire comes rolling off the rim, my skin rolls right off my legs and my bars roll right into my frame, leaving a nice golf-ball sized dent.

Fabulous. Just the thing to make my recent knee problems go away, a good crash.

Ok. Fine. I'll just attack, spend the rest of the race off the front with 2 other guys and get dropped rather suddenly with 5 to go. Sounds like a plan, eh?

Sure seemed smart at the time.

After than dismal performance, only a good ride in the sprints would make my day worthwhile. So naturally I got punted out of the gold medal round by Ryan Miller, a roadie, albiet a very fast and very smart roadie. That one mostly boils down to the fact that I had the chance to close the door on him in a big way, but I second-guessed it and let him walk all over me. Damn. Next race however was against my all-time nemesis. Big Mr. Muscles had also just been beat by a sneak-attack move when he also could have had the race won, so we were on equal levels, morale-wise. This guy can do 200s at Alpensrose like nobody's business, so I wasn't about to let him do one, instead I made him do about 4 and it worked. Barely. I was so depleted after that battle and all the scratch race shenanigans that I couldn't even bring myself to line up for the points race. Man I'm a weako, eh?

On the brightside, we smashed everybody at last week's PIR. With Walker leading me out at mach 10 - jumping the field before anybody was even thinking about sprinting - it was kinda hard not to win. Magic.

You know what else is magic? Bloc Party. Friday night we kicked it old school and rocked out to an amazing show put on by these British lads. There's a lot of talk about Vice, the magazine/fashion label/record lable/marketing machine that backs these guys. Local music snobs get thier panties in a twist when the words Bloc Party are uttered because of the sheer genius of Vice's advertising strategies. Vice is in a rare position in marketing (where thier target audience actually trusts them) and as a result, the bands and the fashions that they push tend to do really well. This case in particular is a great example of why people pay attention to them, and why they are so successful. They promote great bands. Bloc Party is awesome. We had a wicked time. Say what you want about the ruthlessness of the American advertising machine, but when it exposes me to great music like this, I'm not so pissed about it. I'd rather they get behind talented artists and use whatever "guerrilla marketing" techniques they have to get said artists into the open, instead of putting more money behind Jessica Simpson or Clay Aiken.

COMING SOON: MT HOOD, and the never-ending climbs of... Mt. HOOD.
DT

Sunday, May 22, 2005

"They Just Keep Beating On Each Other..."

The boys somehow made it back from the Great Middle American Adventure, and the real racing has finally started... That's right, criteriums and track racing, the true sport. Track has actually been a bit weak lately, out of 6 nights I've only made it out twice. One night I missed on account of my tendency to not pay attention to things, and the other 3 were rain, rain, rain. We have successfully completed a kilo night and a "sprint" night though, and what fun they were. Here's my thing with kilos. Kilos are a genuinely bad thing, and I can't imagine that anyone actually likes them, it just happens that certain people are naturally pretty good at them, therefore the event survives. Nothing hurts more than the last lap of said TT, except maybe the embarrasment of everyone watching how slow that last lap is. I went out so stupendously hard out of the blocks that in the last lap I was seriously considering sitting up and coasting in. I won, but it was with a pretty sad time for a track rider expecting to perform on a national level.

No matter, Friday night is sprint night! Yes! I'm a big fan of match sprints, it's one of the things that I've always been pretty good at, and it's fun to be the lone roadie in the top 3. HOWEVER. Instead of running match sprints, the organizers have decided to hold "sprint events" on every other Friday, this being one of them. "Okay" says I, "Kierins are cool, team sprints are cool, handicaps are cool, this'll be alright." But guess what, instead of actual sprint events, we're gonna do a 10 lap points race with 2 (count em') TWO sprints, a miss n'out, (which I can't complain about much) and an unknown distance, which turned out to be 3 laps.

Are you serious?
I mean, who does this?

Sure maybe I was a bit bitter about not winning the two races which rely on luck, but that's just the thing. There's a couple reasons why top-flight sprinters don't come out of Portland, and this is a big one. Riders improve by doing races that require skill, physical ability and brains, not just luck. A 3 lap unknown distance is like paying 10 bucks to play dice on wheels, it's not even that fun. I understand that the organizers want to make things fun so more people will show up, but why not run sprints on sprint night? Having a sprint night in the first place is a big step towards developing local talent, but running easy races doesn't attract top riders and doesn't do much more to develop that talent. Enough wining. On to the party.

It's a bummer when people tell a host they will show up at a party and never even bother to show up. The Godfreys put a lot of effort into preparing for a certain number of people that said they would attend, and the house was practically empty. Those who were there certainly made the most of the evening, the beer that was intended for about 30 people was consumed by about 6, and the hosts now have enough take 'n bake pizza to last a few years. Heads were shaved, cake was eaten, music was cranked and we had a wicked time anyway. So there.

On a happier note, Rubicon threw down the big one two punch at the Swan Island crit. Everyone's favorite pan-flat cornerless circuit was drenched with rain for the start, which pissed me off so much I had to take my anger out on my legs, and began an ill-advised campaign to make myself hurl by attacking from the gun. The group I ended up in was caught, and the rest of the race turned out to be a great big Rubicon vs. Bike Gallery attack-a-palooza. Halfway through I was tired and not too convinced that a breakaway would work, so I sat back and watched Aaron, Scotty, Walker and Carl stick it to the field like Tina Turner. Here's how the last half-hour went:

Aaron attacks and drags someone with him.
Then he drops them.
So he rides by himself 50 feet in front of the field for the next 5 laps.
Aaron gets caught.
Gallery dudes counter-attack.
Walker counters the counter.
Gallery counters his counter.
Carl counters the counter of the counters and starts a group that Scotty gets into and promptly tears apart.
Aaron goes again.
Splinter The Announcer Guy is beside himself and keeps saying stuff like "Rubicon and Bike Gallery just keep beating on each other. It's like Tyson Vs. Holyfield vs. Ali vs. Tonya Harding"
These cats just keep going at each other, people are yelling, the sun comes out, I jump the field with a half lap to go with Todd Littlehales and Walker The Stalker on my wheel, Walker stalks Todd, throws down a mighty powerful last 5 pedal-strokes to take him down to Chinatown, we strut across the line for a neat one-two finish, I throw the hands up like a big time champ and everybody does a happy cha-cha.

COMING SOON: PIR, TRACK THURSDAY, TRACK FRIDAY, TRACK NATIONALS QUALIFIER and maybe another boring rant or a snazzy piece about how much school is not the coolest thing on the planet. DT

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

TST Is A Pile of Crap And I'm Never Going Back

This one's been held up in the proccess (namely, Norrene's missing laptop) for a few weeks, but I figured since I took 10 minutes out of my life to write it, you should have to take 10 minutes out of yours to read it...

Sending bike racers into a gas station mid road-trip is like letting a group of recovering alcoholics roam around in Liquor King. We can walk through the doors knowing that everything inside does terrible things to the human body – that we should all just use the restroom and leave – but we inevitably walk out with armloads of pop-tarts, hostess cakes, donuts, candy and energy drinks.

Oh the energy drinks. Those terrible 20 oz. cans of amphetamine cocktails with names like Rock Star, (‘party like a rock star!’) Red Bull, (‘red bull gives you WINGS!’) Monster, (‘unleash the monster inside’) Full Throttle, (‘120%’) and others like Kronic (don’t ask). 3 hours of the shakes and nervous energy followed by a massive sugar-induced insulin-crash that sends you searching for the nearest aggressively named can or a nice place to pass out. This is the drink of the athlete’s summer, a vice of otherwise healthy people that takes all winter to detox from. It was only a matter of time before we dove into that evil stuff, but I was hoping to at least make it until the first track night.

But here we are, walking out of an AM/PM in god knows where, central Washington, black spaz-juice in hand.

It’s going to be a long season.

Ever had that feeling that something’s wrong despite no signs to indicate anything other than smooth sailing?

Ever had that voice somewhere in the back of your head telling you that you’re not going to make it through the day?

I thought it was just Rock Star mid-level paranoia until we rolled up to the start of the Tahuya Seabeck Tahuya roadrace 8 minutes after our group had left. So if the rain, the early morning, the drive and the freezing temperatures aren’t enough, try a $25 training ride. After about half an hour of chasing it became apparent that we were making zero ground, and my cassette made it abundantly clear that it was loose and trying to wreck the hub on my carbon wheel, so back to the van I carefully rode.

Unrelated sidenote: There is a club in Seattle that rides in poo-brown uniforms. That’s right. Poo-brown with baby-blue and white stripes. I uderstand they are sponsored by a coffee shop, but whoever is responsible for those kits should be kicked in the shins anytime they are within 10 feet of any kind of design tools. And they should receive a flying head-butt from Scott Allen, I hear those solve practically anything.

Next in line for the Scott Allen flying WWF style head-butt: Team Rubicon. No not the orange ones that are all way cool and ridiculously good-looking, but the new club (also out of Seattle) that calls themselves Team Rubicon. Now come on, I know we’re in different cities and all, but Seattle and Portland are practically the same racing scene, we’re all at the same races and there’s only room for one TR. How about Whatever Velo presented by Rubicon Finance? How about ANYTHING other than Team Rubicon?

Instead of taking our anger out on organizers or competitors, this time we took our anger out on our stomachs: Dairy Queen style. Double western bacon quarter pounder, two corndogs, extra fries, large blizzard and a coke later I was pretty convinced that Scotty wasn't going to make it home without some catastrophic gastrointestinal event, and god knows we've had enough of those in the van lately...
DT

Monday, May 09, 2005

Love And Death In the Time of Lactic Acid

If I don't find some Action soon, if I can't confront some great Evil and do battle like Xena, then I just might crack. This lifestyle of hanging out and going to school just isn't cutting it these days. Granted school has its place and I'm not ready to cancel all classes and career ambitions, but my cycling career ambitions have been pushing thier way to the front of my head lately. 20 and a half years in the history books and where do I go from here? A: Straight through school, putting racing on the three year backburner? B: Straight into racing, putting school on the indefinite backburner and hoping cycling will work out big time? Or C: Somewhere halfway, with 2 classes per term and twice the training time?

Short term goals are such: Rock the house at a few local crits and maybe a track race or two to ease the oncoming waves of ADD and maintain passing grades 'til summer, where it's all battle, all the time. SuperWeek and the AVC, Twillights and tours, BC and LA, love and death in the time of lactic acid. PIR and sprint nights at the track will have to do for now, but these dog and pony shows can only hold my attention span for so long.

Speaking of PIR, missed the first week, but still managed to get second overall. A few classy moves and a week with a 6-man killer leadout made for a quick recovery points-wise, but still not enough to get that first spot. Damn the man. Looks like this year's arch-enemy will be Nate Dills. That bastard beat me straight up last week and that means things are gonna get drastic. So untill then, DT

Thursday, April 28, 2005

LINK MADNESS

Wicked cool links for wicked fun times:

http://www.mysticalball.com/ It will blow your mind.

http://scottallencycling.blogspot.com Scotty can tell a mean story when he isn't busy being such an animal.

http://www.phobiaguide.com Everyone loves phobias, especially hypochondriacs.

http://www.kcna.co.jp/ We all know what Bush thinks of North Korea (read: Axis of Evil, Outpost of Tyranny, etc.). Ever wonder what they think of us?

http://www.punchbaby.com/ Tons of crazy ads, wierd games and bizzare video clips

http://www.threebrain.com See above, but better.


I promise I'll get around to the Late TST, Dairy Queen Death, Espresso Heart Attack one. Really. Stay Tuned. DT

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

So I'm Unreliable

And not too punctual with the updates. Such is life on the full-time college schedule.

Anyway. Leading the competition for the worst thing of the day (as reported by www.foodfightgrocery.com) is the right-wing country/pop/shittymusic duo The Right Brothers. Oh man this is good stuff. Here's a tasty sample of some of the songs (I swear to god I am not making this up): You Can't Racial Profile, Tolerate This, It's My Money, Trickle Down, Dear Mr. Reagan, and the smash hit The Waffle House.
There's not much I can say about this that would sum it up better than thier own bio: "The music they make has been described as “a lethal weapon for conservatives”, “a moral booster for the troops and their families” and “the perfect tool for converting liberals to the right”. no artist has ever tackled the issues addressed by The Right Brothers. Topics on their albums include: the abortion debate, illegal immigration, taxation, Ronald Reagan, the melting-pot (or lack thereof), America’s right to defend herself regardless of what the rest of the world thinks, appreciation for our brave soldiers (past and present), political apathy, and more. The Right Brothers are in tune with today’s political issues and that is reflected in every word they write.

Wow. The perfect tool for converting liberals is a couple of talentless back-assward hicks who sing about Reagan and illegal immigrants? What!? Are these guys for real?

Wait.
Wait.
Is this some sick April fools joke? Go to http://www.therightbrothers.com/, listen to some samples and you'll find the terrible answer.

So back to the reality-based world we go, and as I'm sitting here not working on whatever history paper or math project is due tommorow, the rest of the young goons on the team are packed into a foul-smelling van, 12 hours into the drive to Athens Georgia. Big Jase barely had time to unpack his bike before it was repacked and ready to roll out on I-84 for the next few days. Of course it's nice to be sitting here in a comfy chair in the college library instead of cramped in the stickerbus for 50 hours straight, but part of me is very bummed to be missing out. I'm a sucker for long cross-country burns and even more a sucker for reckless behavior in strange cities, but alas, here I am. Plenty of summer to go, and plenty of crazy road trips to enjoy.

Soon you'll all be regailed with an amazing tale about how we were late to TST, almost died of Dairy-Queen overdose and nearly gave Aaron a heart-attack with a double espresso. Stay tuned folks, I gotta get to Math... DT

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Memories of the last few weeks come in flashes with loose connections. So busy, no time to relax, no time to train, no time to sit down and write. Stepped off the homecoming plane straight into full-time work and full-time student responsibilities, then ran smack into the Bike Gallery sale and I'm still a little unsure of how it all turned out.

THE SALE...

...was endlessly entertaining and likewise frustrating. It's a warehouse sale of bikes and crappy parts. What you see is what you get. No haggling is neccessary, we still won't lower the prices any more. All these things were abundantly clear to every unfortunate soul who walked through the doors, and yet no one seemed to pay any attention. "Do you have any bikes that are closer to the 50-100 dollar range?" No, man. Go to K-Mart. "Are you sure, not even in the back?" The back of WHAT exactly? This is a warehouse!! THIS IS THE BACK. "Okay, well do you think we could work something out to bring this 400 dollar one closer to a hundred?" This is when I smile politely and inside I'm going "get out of my store LIKE NOW!" and the mental image of me nocking over rows and rows of bikes and fenders and pannier racks as I run at top speed for the door, toward the light and my final escape... but no. The next person approached me, "Does this bike come with any clothing?"

POST SALE MADNESS, BIKES, CARNAGE, RICH FEARLESS BUSSINESSMEN....

5 days of this grind melt into one another, and suddenly it's all over. The last of the customers are still wandering around, but an hour and a half after closing time, we're not worried about customer convenience. Rows of bikes are re-aranged, tables stacked with components are carefully placed on the outside of corners, mechanics and salespeople rip through the warehouse at dangerous speeds, warming up for the festivities ahead.

We race $300 cruisers around slick concrete floors with reckless abandon, (damn the torpedoes) store-bikes destined for a showroom floor slide on beery puddles which appear mysteriously in every corner. This is an excercise in all-out intensity, in high speed handling on bikes never meant for more than 5 miles an hour, and the ability to accept your fate at the hands of those intoxicated fools ripping around next to you. The best way to beat your boss is to make sure he ends up sliding toward the wall of spectators on his back. The only way to win is to be ruthless and stupid.

The average blood-alchohol level rises and spectators become increasingly frenzied as the foot-down competition begins. Take an area about 10 feet square, put 15 people in the middle and the last one standing wins. Some call it circle of death, the rules say "don't talk about the rules." Just don't put your foot down and you win. Players crash to the ground in ugly piles of steel and aluminum, I survive thanks to a kid's size mountain bike and plenty of luck and cheerleaders. 4 left, but it's just me and Jay Graves now. A punk new employee versus the owner of Bike Gallery. A skinny bike racer versus a former BMX superstar, now turned cutthroat bussinessman. I had my money on Jay anyway. Things go smoothly untill I'm slammed into boxes of seats which come crashing to the floor, we power through, someone's yelling KILL over and over. Eventually my full-speed headbutts to the kidneys are my downfall as I throw myself off balance and down to the concrete. Jay is defeated in the final to an uproar, a cheer like you'd hear in an English soccer match, the crazed and rarely felt joy at seeing your boss take a fall.

Events continue long into the night. Skid contests, trackstanding, more racing, more drinking. By this time I've left, my only ride back home is heading out and I'm not one to miss the bus. Back to school in the morning, back to work after that. Hopefully back to racing soon, this work thing is getting to my head. DT



...and you thought I was done... HA. Been a while since I posted last, so I'll sum a bunch of stuff up real quick-like:

  • Passing of the Pope. Anyone who says they didn't like the latest John Paul is either a staunch Protestant or just didn't know much about him. I strongly disagreed with him on a few big issues, but I respect the guy for walking the walk. Ol' JP was a genuine leader and did all in his power (while he still had some) to help people in need. He was one of those guys who actually believed and practiced what he said, unlike most modern figureheads. Big ups to JP.
  • Michael Jackson. Now for the other end of the human spectrum. If we could stop paying attention to this twisted freak, that would be awesome. Granted he was a great entertainer 30 years ago, but now he's a lost and confused creature who doesn't need to be in the limelight.
  • Social Security. Still doomed.
  • Willamette Week wins the Pulitzer for investigative reporting. Awesome stuff right here. In this situation, The New York Times and The Oregonian were "The Man" and Niel Jaquiss from the WW proceeded to "stick it to the man" by fully scooping one of the biggest stories to come around in NW politics in a while, researching like a madman then writing a ball-busting story that prompted a full public apology from Niel Goldschmidt (sexual predator politician/power broker) and much gnashing of teeth from the Boregonian.
  • Boonen unleashes the fury. So this guy hauls off and smashes the best classics riders on the planet at the front, in the hills, over the cobbles on his way to victory in 2 ProTour classics in 2 weeks. Not only that, but the two hardest belgian classics on the entire calendar. Not bad for a "field sprinter." Tour of Flanders AND Roubaix? Are you for real?

Now I'm really done for the day. I promise. DT