COUGARS!

At once thought to be too wrinkly-old and fuckin' orange-tan long-nailed creepy for my taste, I must say that I have recently been happily converted to a Cougar fan. But that's a story for another place and time, homies.

(You're the bomb-dizzle, Sharon.)









I am wicked stoked for the events this weekend. I'm gonna tear off some freakin' Nair-ed legs and eat them with some chamois butter on Cervelo toast.

You heard me, bitches.

Could there be a better city to ride in?

What could a righteous dude complain about when this is the view on the ride?

I mean, other than the weirdos on the lakefront path, and the incessant need for runners to clutter up the whole joint like they own the place, and the freak temperature lability, and the butter face barista rejecting me again, and that fucking dude that always tries to drag race me on the path although he knows I'm the M F-ing shit, and the increasing number of stroller-type contraptions under foot & wheel, and the punks that are always draining the vein in my courtyard before and after every Cubs' game, and the highest price of gasoline in the nation, and Oprah's eternal BS.


But other than that, what's there to complain about?

Correct Bicycle Disposal

Giro

Between selling like Del Griffin, riding like Lance and watching the Giro... I hardly have time to chat up the GNC boys or hang out at the LBS in chamois, hoping for an impromptu group ride to erupt out onto the pavement.


Although all the ancestors I have known have basically been American, there is a swelling of my heart and a feeling of homecoming when I see the Italian landscape littered with bicicletas. Especially when I spy fine Italian birds. I need to immigrationally relocate to a foxier, more Italian country. I think Italy may fit the bill.

I've found true love!

Forget the many lovely ladies in my long (you know what I mean...) career.
I have found a new and true blue love!

Junx was gettin' raw and rugged, which doesn't help with the aforementioned lovely ladies (I'm looking at you, Sharon!)

I'll steal your honey like I stole your bike...

Although I love buying full body rain gear, I really dislike riding in the rain. I completely dis-enjoy having a nice arid ride and then all of a sudden finding myself all John Cusack, sopping wet in a parking lot somewhere. This occurred today of course. But there was a kick ass pot o' gold at the end of the rainy ass rainbow!

So I was standing at the sketch bus stop, ringing out my arm warmers and licking the fog out of my glasses, trying to figure out the best damn way home. Through this gnarly shrubbery, I spied a tiny wheel. Like a fuckin' midget leg crime scene. And I investigate and lo and behold there was a mini bike! Like all intact and shit, all smooshed into foilage, begging to be my bitch. So after some maneuvering, it tramped its bitsy ass back home with me and here we are.

I gots a freaking mini bike!

Brainstorming has begun. It has to be used in the right sitch. I would totally commute it to work one day so I could bring the thing right up to my cubicle, but they've been sending me out to our suburban office frequently and that mini bike ain't goin' that far. Perhaps I will warm up on it at the next race. Try to convince the Freds that I'm going to race the thing.

Or shit! Just actually race the thing.

No, couldn't do that to the Cervelo! Especially after the de-greasing I just gave it.

Craptastic!

You know what I just realized was amazing?

Blackberry with headset while biking!

Brilliant! Why didn't I think of this before??

Straight shooter with "Upper Management" written all over him

All right, all right.

So I had this work thing out of town that kept me from bloggin' the shit up. And I had the sweet ass company issue lap top... so I could have used it for more G rated events, but I there really wasn't anything to regale the abiding fans with. To sum up the whole damn conference: Midwest Sales Team kicked the crab-scratchin', Sam-Adams-drinkin', swan-boat-pedalin', bofug-lovin', Bill-Buckner-hatin' New England Sales Team's asses off. Just like the red-headed step-daughters that they are, I am sure they are being beaten with a strong switch by the hairy arm of Corporate right now. Some awesome doodling from yours truly from the lame ass lecture portions of the ordeal highlighted above.

Sure, I got some miles in, but they were completely useless. Coach M. went into a full-blown meltdown over the training log I brought back. He paced back and forth and swung his arms about and everything. So upon my return, it was all-cycling, all the damn time. I was instructed to repent for my ghastly sins and get the legs spinning out some serious miles at serious watts. The Dude obliges. Which leaves little time for this sort of self-indulgent nonsense.

The fitness is back to pre-conference legit-ness. I've got a night off and a leg-shredding ride tomorrow with the boys over hill and bloody vale. Tomorrow por la noche, I will tear some mother-fargin' shit up- in full kit- at Looptopia.

See your asses there!

Cha Cha Cha

If you can avoid acquiring a bout of diarrhea in the middle of a long ride, I would advise it.

I went through 2 toe warmers, ruined my saddle bag...


... and I will never wear that hat again!

Back off!

I know, bitchnatches, it's been a while.

I've gotten a lot of complaints, but dang, yo!

I had this conference and Coach M. and I are into some mad training and I am improving on some honorable skills.

So be patient and I'll give the full skinny soon!