Getting Old, I See

2 03 2009

I went OTB on Thurday. It is Monday morning and I still feel like I had my ass kicked by rocks just yesterday. The dogs have enjoyed all the time I’ve been spending around the house. Actually they still just sleep but I’ll wake them up and feed them snacks just for something to do. Been working a little bit on the bike, tweaking the blog (like the new theme?), and putting together a semi-thoughtout training plan for next month’s race.

Sanding rotors in my spare time.

Sanding rotors in my spare time.

Yes that’s a big boy Red Stripe holding my place in Zinn and the Art of Mountain Bike Maintenance. I am by no means a bike mechanic. Hell, I don’t even have a bike stand (which I’m currently in the market for). But one thing I hate more than cheese is paying someone else to fix my shit. So I’ve been taking this opportunity to learn a little more about how my bike works. I’ve also been attending a weekly bike maintenance class at our local co-op…very fun. Anyways, looks like I could use some new brake pads and should probably bleed the brake fluid one of these days. Who knows when that was last done.

Been communicating with my man Rhino about the upcomming race and doing some training rides. He did it last year, 50 miles on a rigid single speed. That requires balls the size of small dogs.

From: Rhino

I don’t mean to sound like Joe Douchebaggery Pro MTBer, but fuck Papago. Fuck those 3-4 hour rides.  You need to be climbing hard steep sustanined shit.  The Whiskey is like 15 miles up hill and 15 miles back down.  The climbing is sustained and never gives up. If you are not ready for some serious climbing you won’t be happy.

I love that guy. I don’t understand why anyone would pay for a coach when bros like this are available for free advice. Guess I should go find some hills to ride up.

This weekend was the Strong Beer Festival in neighboring Mesa, AZ. I didn’t go. I don’t have disposable cash at the moment and if I want a strong beer, I just hit up Papago Brewery and they’ll fill my growler with whatever >8% swill I see fit. Maybe I’m becoming antisocial. Maybe I’m getting old. Probably both.

Cut from the same cloth.

Cut from the same cloth.

That’s my real bro at the beer fest. The unconsenting female he’s grappled, I have no idea. In a way I miss those days of pulling a hundo out of the ATM, getting all sweaty and sunburnt while chugging booze out of a plastic cup, and waking up the next morning with no idea how you got home, how much you spent, or where your cell phone is. I’m not saying that’s what happened to my man over the weekend…but I’d put money down that the story is similar.

Next weekend is some other beer festival that’s much closer to where I live here in Tempe. I’m going to this one but as a volunteer for TBAG. I’ll be valet parking bikes in a secure area for all you who’d rather take your chances cruising home drunk cyclist style rather than drunk motorist style. Good call, y’all.

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