That's what I'm talking about

The station directly next to this on, a mere 80 feet away, was ripping people off for $1.99.
Mmm...free market economy

FSX

The temperature is hovering right around freezing. My fingers lack feeling. The thin red layer of polyester that had been holding a small amount of heat against my body is now gone. It's laying on the concrete floor of the garage underneath a red and blue children's bike. I took note so I can return to it as soon as I'm done. I'm standing in a driveway, surrounded by multiple World and National champions, an Olympian. I'm wondering why I drove through a snowstorm to get to where I am but ahead of me there's a dark strip of mud that leads into a group of trees. It reminds me why. I can't see it very well with the three small LED's coming from my light. I'm not sure I have enough battery power for the night so have to wait for the last minute to turn it on. Now I'm shivering, watching my steamy breath floating in front of my face, obscuring the light shining from my head. The image of my surroundings reappears as the condensation dissipates. Someone yells "Go", cans crack open, then laughs. The man next to me laughs as well. Harlan. He's not Bill. Bill is the official starter. He laughs too. Comic relief. Or more accurately, comic continuity.

We've been racing for a little while. It doesn't feel as long as it probably has been, but I can hear a bell coming through the trees. I'm dripping with sweat now, my fingers noticeably warm. I'm comfortable. One more time down the driveway, up the run-up, through the swing set, dodging the childhood gang that's bound to pop out somewhere like ghosts in a haunted house. I hop the second to last barrier just behind an unknown rider. I recognize the red knee warmers, it must be Taylor. Taylor's hair isn't that big though. There's only one hippie with hair like that. I've been chasing Topher all night, now I'm right behind him. Around the slick goat-pen turn. He knows somebody is coming. Not who though. Each of us slam the chain onto cogs a couple teeth harder than ones we were just turning. We're accelerating towards the final set of barriers. The finish line lies just a few feet beyond the second wooden plank.
I'm a sucker who can never turn down a good sprint. But not through barriers. We keep accelerating towards them. A few strides prior to crashing into the first barrier, I ride the brakes, unclipping my right foot and swinging it to the ground. Topher mimics my movements. His much faster than mine though. By the time I have both feet on the ground he's about to stride over the second barrier. I see the beam of his light swing straight up into the canopy of trees above us, his bike falls from his shoulder, he makes some noises that I couldn't make out as words. Concerned moans come from the spectators as they try to make sense of the high-speed action.

His botched barrier won the hearts of the spectators. My assist went unrecognized. I did get the pass though.

Just between me and you, I'm starting to fancy my cross bike. One week ago, I could only ride in the drops. Then I took it for a straight up trail ride in Valley Forge and made myself stay in the hoods. It paid off. Last night, I rode entirely on the hoods. And went even faster.

I've hit 10,000 views this week. I guess people like what they see.

backyard bike racing

The Emmaus crowd is the best. When Bill Strickland opens up his back yard for local bike jockeys to play around in, crowds show up in throngs. I like the atmosphere, it's serious to a point, but the night is always grounded on the fact that because it's Bill's backyard, anybody who acts like a dick is well....quite simply, a dick. Don't be a dick. Its fun. Its dark. Its hard. Its muddy. It heftly awards those who enjoy, or at least are able, to down PBR's very quickly. but its not mountain bikes. This week it was raining as well.

I crashed twice, ran a lot, got beat by Topher both races, and rode the entire duration of both races in the drops. because the hoods make me feel insecure. Not about myself, but my safety and well being and my ability to not get thrown into the ground.

Friday morning, Jenny and I, at her unprovoked request, took a two.5 hour spin down to Manyunk for some lunch, and rode back. It was raining as well.

For the third day in a row, for the first time since Bear Creek, I rode yet again. Following the cross trend of the weekend, and even more torrential rain storms Friday night, I rode the smoother trails of Valley Forge. My cross skills improved appox 10 fold. I can clear medium sized logs and ride on the hoods. I came across a doe being chased by a 6 point buck, who was chasing off at least 4 other bucks, trying to claim the doe as his own. They starting mating. I stopped and watched. Is that weird?

-I'm not sure i used the word "throngs" in the proper context

TCOB- Taking Care of Business

Finally a truely original idea.

To our knowledge, Matt and I have just listed for the first time ever, a half eaten food item on ebay. At first glance, it may not seem like a huge deal deal, or for that matter, a profitable one. But don't be fooled, the food item is not what's really at stake here. This is about the exploitation of a new and original idea. Hopefully, this will take the nation by storm and we'll be famous. The paparazzi will have a field day, Katie Couric will have to interview us, and if all goes well, we'll be special guests on The Colbert Report. Or something like that.

So spead this to as many people as you know. But lets make on thing understood, this is our idea. Accept no imitations.

On behalf of Matt and Aaron: The original sellers of half-eaten food items.

Street Fighters

Personally, I'm a fan of the 360 windmill aimed at the opponents carotid. The strategy was there, execution not as much.