I Can Dereliect My Own Balls, COMPADRE.

Last Sunday. Short course. Third SS. 28th out of 120. Equivalent time of 5th Open, 3rd Masters. Stoked. Mud. People in blue ano not riding their bikes properly. I kissed a rock, got beaten by a French guy and generally had a boiler busting good time. That's about as much as a race report y'all gonna get.


There was some horsing around with Thom before my start, we waved off the old man, who nobly and bull headedly completed the 45km.


Just after.


More just after. It's been noted by Beans that he appreciates my "uncluttered Handlebar".

It was so very goddamn freezing last Sunday.My appreciation for my Ultimate Hoodie has been growing daily in an inversely proportionate manner to the temperature falling. I don't know about "going beyond" however I do like the deep hood. Worn under my olive drab fatigue coat it makes me look somewhat like a stalker vigilante/train jumper. I'm going to call the look "FAUX-BO"


I know, I'm gorgeous.

I've been listening to Modern Guilt by Beck a hell of a lot lately. I was about to stick up "Gamma Ray" or some other thing, then I found this infinitely more intriguing performance. It get fruitier around the 2.00 mark.