Welcome back to the pit

Well that was interesting.

Took a wee bit off to try my hand at the backside of the industry for a while.

Fuck that,

it's an incest ridden clan I can not seem to find my way amongst.

Do things that make you happy they say.

So I am back wrenching, a lot less pissed and a lot smarter.

You can teach an old dog new tricks if they want to learn.

I must want to learn because I am also hitting the books full time as well.

Fifty hour a week job and then some learning off the clock.

Let's get to the smarter.

I chose where I wanted to work like I would chose where I would want my bike wrenched upon.

Step one.

Would you shit in there?

Would you let your lady friend sit down on the seat?

There is a long time myth of really disgusting bathrooms making a shop hardcore.

Really?

If they can't be bothered to clean up their own shit you feel good paying them to 

fix your bike?

It's all about attention to detail, personally that is one big detail.

Step two.

I really have no need for anyone to fix my bike. I can do it just fine.

Now say I was out of town, without tools, and we all know about borrowing tools.

Click

So where would I bring my bike?

Probably not to the guy whose shop looks like hell.

That whole mystique thing is shit.

Probably a good wrench but not with all the carbon, hydro, squish, and computer shit

that permeates our industry nowadays.

 I want to be seen and trusted as a technician -- hell I want to be paid like one as well.

So the dirtbagwithattitudeholeinthewall is out.

I want to serve people who take pride in their bike and want to see me do the same.

Step three.

Interview the shop. 

wait, what?

Yeah man. If I am going to spend 9-10 hours a day there I guess I should 

WANT TO.

Fuck going to a place I hate everyday, that's why I left the other deal.

What are the owners about?, the people they hire?, do they have the same goals as I do?

I don't want to get a check and go, feeding some other guys dream.

Hell man I want to get some of mine as well.

Are they in it for the same reasons I am?

I prefer to not shlep at a mom and pop. 

Nothing wrong with them but I know where I fit best,

I want what I want.

So I guess I should choose a shop that gets down like I want to get down.

It's only fair

then the people paying me are happy

because I am happy.

Happy is good.

yourbikehatesyou

How to get the shit kicked outta you this weekend...

Step one:

Enter your local bike shop and saunter up to the wrench.

Wait until he/she is just about to spin a wrench and ask any of the following:

" did you watch it"

Uh, WTF are you talking about?

The porn link my buddy sent me?

A1?

or this:

"what do you think about Lance?"

I'll go with the Drunkcyclist.com on this one

Step two:

Proceed to ignore being ignored and continue to try to show the 

crew you are in the know, and begin to bedazzle them with your personal insights into

wecouldgiveafucklesstoday.

Step three:

This one is simple.

yougetyourwankerassbeaten

with this:

It's nice as hell outside today,

go ride.

And keep you mouth shut about Doprah.

Some of us a nursing a two day bender...

death game

judgement day

How do you define your success'?

Is it having the right worldly possessions, being in full tune with trending technical 

who ha's ? 

Is it critical for you to be on top of the latest look, cutting edge fashions that are here for a blink?

 A movement so flighty it changes direction more than butterflies in the wind. 

Most people I surround myself with are unlike

the rest of the followers.

No beat.

No drum.

Just a wanderlust built into their very soul.

A passion for doing,

hearing the whisper, the faint murmur,

the thing deep inside that says 

Hell why not?

A good friend always tells me:

" all you gotta do is do it"

Bam.

Think about that for more than a second.

" all you gotta do is do it".

You have, more than once, become your own worst enemy.

Chances are that if you are here reading this you are one of the few people

 smart enough

 and strong enough to 

wake the fuck up, and do.

As a angst ridden punk rock skate rat

 "the trick" would haunt me, taunt me, and on occasion break me.

No matter how many times I slammed

something drove me to get up and do it again.

Deny the pain its place in the body, however briefly. 

It would have to wait,

because I was going to get it,

that trick was an obstacle in my path.

In my world, I conquered, I could out sweat, out slam

and sure as hell out bleed

ANY obstacle that was denying me my victory.

It's easy to sit there and say it's all too hard.

Right now you are hopefully drinking a cup of Joe, tea, or whatever lights your daily fire,

planning your victories.

Or as the same friend says:

" good bad ideas"

If you are reading this because you have been behind the monitor for too damn long.

Get the fuck out and do.

Plan your next good bad idea by opening the door, grabbing whatever propels you through life,

and go smash it.

Today's goal was to learn kick flips again and maybe some variations.

(I learned the opposite of this ^)

I learned that skating, is like losing a fight every minute.

There are glimpses of victory. 

Brief respites from gravity's pull.

But if you are doing it right, most likely you are losing most of the time.

( insert me there )

And I'll be damned if that doesn't feel great.

The other option is quitting.

In cycling it's the climb.

Road or mountain.

It's all the same pain.

Sure you make it to the top,

but it wasn't fast enough.

( Straight up, if you Strava that climb,  see that Johnny beat you, and then you get shitty, go fuck completely off. YOU should drive yourself to beat YOU. Johnny doesn't even know who the fuck you are.)

So you ride more. 

Push a bigger gear. 

Just smash over the obstacle in your way, floating over it, not letting the earth dictate your pathway upon it. 

You win.

 One more gear.

Soon your mouth tastes like your own blood. 

Your heart is residing in your ears and pounding out other worldly rhythms.

 The lungs that fuel you are thimbles, more air escapes than can ever hope to enter.

The top?

There is never a top. Just a place you quit.

"all you gotta do is do it."

You judge your accomplishments by the pain you feel in your body the next day.

That's how you know you are doing it.

yourbikehatesyou


teach it some respect.

Dirt.Soul.

It's the weird time of year for most of us.

Weather tempts us to ride with rays of sun peeking through clouds, but the bitter cold air drives you inward, home bound.

For some it is the best time of year, the desert heat retreats to bring all day long adventure and moderate climate. The rain turns every corner into a slice of pie, freshly cooled and waiting to be sliced.

 I miss that sweet desert smell.

Unless you have experienced it there is no 

way to describe the way the desert floor smells when the ground can finally drink water.

I am not talking about the flora.

I mean the actual dirt, sand, and rock.

Any mountain biker worth their cuts knows what the dirt they ride on smells like.

It's simply inescapable. 

In my youth, earning my scars in Michigan, the earth smelled of death and life itself.

Earth wormy topsoil gave way to leaves rotting on the beach. That is the smell I grew up riding.

A very unique blend of rich leafy decay hiding sand. 

Your tires cracking open the topsoil gave subtle whiffs of the beach. 

Spring time brought about the smell of babies.

How else can you describe the complete onslaught that is Spring in Michigan?

Rainy, humid days giving way to cotton ball clouds swimming in a sea of perfect blue.

Life erupts from the ground, and from every pore in every cyclist.

I moved from the world of grey and greenhouse to the Sonoran Desert.

Twice.

People imagine images of wastelands when you mention the desert. 

Keep thinking that lemmings.

There is no greater misconception that I know of, and that I welcomed.

I was fortunate enough to live in the desert during two La Nina/ El Nino phases.

The desert Flora opens up in ways that are both mystical and unimaginable. 

The dirt.

Sage, mesquite, and floral bouquets that mingle with your soul as you carve your way

further and further away from the well worn path.

The Sonoran Desert creates a drug that drives you,

invites you to push it further,

explore that area,

drive deeper into yourself and 

go.

Just go.

There is no greater spectacle I have experienced on two wheels than

the three months of riding created by nature during the La Nina/El Nino phases.

It is something every rider should be graced with.

It will fill your soul,

encapsulate your body, 

destroy every preconceived notion you ever had about the desert.

 I am resurrecting myself from the pits of a three week hell. The flu and a sinus infection tag teamed me.

Sub 20 degree winter weather joined in the party for a menage a trois of epic doom and gloom.

As I am getting older, I realize the body hurts more when not used.

The bike becomes a temptress dressed as a dungeon, its chain shackling me to the bed, and smothering me in mucous and full body molecular pain.

Yesterdays ride on the front range was as pathetically delicious as one would imagine. 

A terrible performance driven by the joys of sun, warmer temps, and thawing high desert floor.

I am in a mix of geographic regions. Trees share fields with grass and cacti. 

Dirt is a mix of decaying leaves and granite heaved from the earth.

My nasal passages hide the beauty of smells from me.

Still plagued with the aftermath of the sinus infection, my body is driving me forward 

to explore the dirt.

The smell will come. Its sweetness pangs at my soul.

For now I will enjoy its feel and sights.

I will ride until I can experience the hidden treasures of its bouquet. 

I am eagerly awaiting adding another aroma to the palette.  

Your bike rides should be more fun...

By now many of you poor shits are riding in cold. 

Possibly snow.

Oh yea, you got a fat bike.

Sorry 'bout forgetting how badass and ahead of the times you were.

In case you didn't realize it the Fat Bike craze is...

Well,  Huge as Fuck.

Which makes you a little less cool than you think you are.

Sorry.

In fact a lot of you think they are for snow only.

Welcome to the world outside your box.

Muther truckin pool riding, pedal grinding, and the bastard ain't even fucked with snow yet.

While all that shit is great

I feel like someone in our high society of bike loving, beer drinking, love making, ass hattery should have thought of this...

Like.

A 

Loooooong time ago.

Just get few dumber than your average girls to slut it up and place handle bars on their hips.

Don't worry I am sure they got Fat versions also...

See?

( was that mean? )

thisbikelovesher

Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder....

I have switched teams.

Not in the sense that 

that statement now takes form.

But in another sense.

I have left behind sweltering,

pavement contorting,

face melting 

heat.

I moved to the mountains.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire,

way too literally at this point.

As most are well aware, this state is one of fire breathing dragons. 

Each taking their turn, leaving nothing in their wake.

These dragons come in many forms,

lightening, natures stimulant;

an errant car dragging a muffler along;

my least favorite dragon....

the two fully engorged douche nozzles

who decided shooting a full propane tank

was what the day called for.

Igotnothingonstupid.

It was supposed to be my land of dreams.

Epic rides, leaving behind manicured society,

and grabbing my bike to bridge the gap between man's control

over environment,

and it's epic dominance of us.

tuning to the news,

both local and national, 

the stories are of grief

and flaming.

I learned to ignore, 

grabbed my bike, and head into the hills

To hide from the false prophet,

man.

I turned wheels to trail with an old friend from the waving hand of the north.

We sought out refuge from the delusion of society.

We grabbed a few hours worth of escape,

and realize,

just pawns in one big chess game. 

Which leads me back to switching teams.

myhandsnolongertoilforthebitch.

I sought refuge from the retail Cussed o mer.

Two jobs ago I lost my soul.

I started this here writing 

to cleans my mind from the filth I spent my days in.

That filth was the retail environment I was taking wage from.

This particular establishment

tiptoed around the dollar bill.

This $$$ was god almighty.

With it you could do no wrong.

If you possessed $$$ you ruled the kingdom for as long as you wished.

You could swear, spit, cuss, and threaten.

You were always 100% right.

You had $$$

There was no

"divorcing the customer"

" removing the cancer"

there was only 

$$$.

Andthatshitruledyourass.

This was no mom and pop.

This was 

corporatefuckinginsuranceandvacationsickdays

hell.

Folks I strayed.

I fell hard for the hook.

soulwassold.

I lost.

After too long I returned to the flock.

I found refuge in a mom and pop,

but there was a catch...

another evil????

The beloved Triathelon shop.

The fall from grace of every wrench...

or not.

Brothers and sisters

let me tell you it

was.

the.

best.

shop.

I have ever spun a wrench at.

The Tri geek was extreme here.

It had much force.

And it delivered.

Payed for every recommendation given.

No arguing over labor charged, if done right,

and with a mechanics intent

to make it right

to make it perform magic.

This was heaven.

Evenformyeverlovingmountainbikingass.

That's right kids,

I loved a TRI shop.

And.

I.

Am.

Ok.

Then life happened. 

We moved.

And now I work behind the Wizard's curtain.

Industry Job.

yourbikehatesyou