It's so big and shiny and has lots of plastic things to buy...wooo!
So, I promised myslef no less than 50 miles of road riding today, but the consequence of a Friday night on the town reared its ugly head this morning/afternoon and I only managed a weak 30.
Poison.
Tomorrow I'll be on the trail for definitely. I have my hand pruners in hand.
Finally, I have officially put down Tom Robbins' Still Life With Woodpecker for good at page 40-something. I just can't handle the perversion anymore. Don't read it...just don't.
Sorry Tom.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Rides: It Sure Is Windy Out!
And it made my damn lips so chapped. They hurt so bad.
After work I snuck in a quick ride on Range Road before heading down to The Warehouse for a shop ride at 1800. It gets dark at about 1900 now, so, things were short and leisurely. So, leisurely it was pretty boring, and, sadly, that was to be my last ride with the shop for the year. I can get in better riding on my own.
Overall I knocked out 32 miles at a medium pace.
This weekend I'll be hanging loose in Augusta. Tomorrow night there is a show at Sector 7 G. Starts at 1800...be there if you're cool.
Saturday = big road ride.
Sunday = big trail ride (and pruning).
Peace to my homies.
After work I snuck in a quick ride on Range Road before heading down to The Warehouse for a shop ride at 1800. It gets dark at about 1900 now, so, things were short and leisurely. So, leisurely it was pretty boring, and, sadly, that was to be my last ride with the shop for the year. I can get in better riding on my own.
Overall I knocked out 32 miles at a medium pace.
This weekend I'll be hanging loose in Augusta. Tomorrow night there is a show at Sector 7 G. Starts at 1800...be there if you're cool.
Saturday = big road ride.
Sunday = big trail ride (and pruning).
Peace to my homies.
Journeys: The Cold Mountain Trek (September 22nd, 23rd, and 24th)
Friday, September 22nd, 2006 - 1500
A forward note:
I did not take a camera with me on this trip and I now sorely regret it. The Shining Rock Wilderness is an extremely beautiful area and I wish I could share the sights with all of you readers, but I know in my heart that it is impossible for me to convey to you just how extraordinary it all was. The lacking adjectives maintained in my humble vocabulary could never do nature justice. If I could take the images that I captured with my mind’s eye, print them on paper stored in my stomach, and shit them out of my ass, I would, but I cannot.
Apparently Mapquest has been giving me the run around this summer. Mapquest now shows that it is much faster to take I-26 to Pisgah instead of Route 25. Who knows how many hours I have lost off of my life taking Route 25 all summer? Thanks fuckers.
The weather in Augusta had been wonderful all week yet; somehow, somehow, it managed to be RAINING when I arrived at the forest. Certain un-named newly civilian personnel are claiming that the rain is a special gift of mine following me wherever I may roam.
Special gift my ass.
That night, when I rolled into the forest pretty much everything that could go wrong did. Of course I could not find an available roadside campsite and of course there would be a traffic delay on Route 276 while I was driving to the Big East Fork trailhead. So, somewhere around 0030 when I did make it to the trailhead parking lot I rolled up my windows, locked my doors, and drifted off into a fitful sleep until 0800.
Sleeping upright will make you have the most fucked up dreams. I promise.
Saturday, September 23rd, 2006 - 0800
When I woke up I had no clue where I was. Who sleeps in the cab of their truck anyway?
I walked around for a few minutes, yawning, until I got my bearings and then packed my backpack to the perfection that I desired it.
Where was I going anyway?
The Cold Mountain Trek Day 1:
Starting at the Big East Fork Trailhead on Route 276 follow the Big East Fork Trail south until you reach its junction with Greasy Cove Trail. Continue by hiking up Greasy Cove Trail to its junction with the Art Loeb Trail and turn north onto the Art Loeb Trail. Follow Art Loeb Trail past Shining Rock, through the Narrows, and in and out of Deep Gap until you reach Cold Mountain Trail. Continue north on Cold Mountain Trail until you crest the top at 6030 feet above sea level and look for a superb location at which to camp.
The Cold Mountain Trek Day 2:
Descend Cold Mountain to the Art Loeb Trail which you will follow south back through Deep Gap and over the Narrows. When you arrive at the Shining Rock feature turn east onto Old Butt Knob Trail and follow it until you reach the Big East Fork parking area.
Get into truck and drive off while listening to favorite tunes.
There are no blazes or trail markers in the Shining Rock Wilderness Area which can create some confusion at trail junctions, especially those which occur at draft intersections.
It took three hours to travel the first three miles and I became lost no more than two times.
The Big East Fork was a gorgeous draft especially since it was slightly swollen from the night before allowing foaming white water to rush eagerly around the numerous boulders that littered the draft bed. After the first half hour of hiking I came to a very peculiar campsite. Peculiar, because of its contents. Draped over a tree stump was a Kelty tent, a tarp lay flat on a bed of leaves, and three feet away a lone Teva sandal lay on its side.
Hmm…I hope there are not any dead bodies laying around out here.
Deliverance.
I left that odd campsite, crossed a small draft that was dumping into Big East Fork from the west, and finally became lost…for the first time. The trail just disappeared in front of my boots.
So, I returned to the Deliverancesque campsite and did some looking around. Fortunately, it did not take long for me to find a group of rock cairns in the middle of Big East Fork just out from the campsite. I slipped into my sandals and waded across to the opposing bank to find the trail once again.
Shit that water was cold.
I became lost for the second time about two miles later, because, again, I failed to notice another draft crossing. I knew I had gone too far in the wrong direction when I came to a sign demarcating the southern boundary of the Shining Rock Wilderness. I sat down for a map check and ate a cereal bar. Just as I had figured out where I needed to backtrack to a gray haired weekend warrior of a day hiker with uber pimped out gear and threads rolled up on my candy ass. This warrior correctly assumed that I was somewhat lost and offered to return me to the Greasy Cove Trail junction.
When we finally reached the appropriate draft crossing approximately 400 meters back down the trail, I quickly slipped into my sandals and waded the stream. About halfway across I turned to find my new warrior friend visually considering vaulting a gap between two large rocks in the draft with his hiking poles.
Negative thoughts raced through my mind as I pictured the warrior’s old man knees and ankles, as well as various other body parts, shattering upon crash landing at the end of his short flight. I kindly intruded on his fantasy by moving a few rocks around in the draft to form a makeshift bridge of sorts so that he could cross unscathed. Once we reached the other side and were safely on dry ground he thanked me by giving me a lengthy “leave no trace” lecture which included his humble admittance that he was packing two cans of spray paint to cover any illegal trail blazes that he found.
Oregano and stone.
I was just glad that I did not have to pack his warrior self out of the woods, because he tried to impress a 21 year old kid with an Evil Knevil like stunt.
Greasy Cove Trail was long, steep, slow, and grassy, but it eventually brought me to Grassy Top, elevation unknown, from which I had my first commanding view of the surrounding terrain. It could be described as gently wind swept, but once again, I just do not have the adjectives to properly describe the view. I just cannot.
On top of the ridge I was able to travel much faster, because there were not many significant changes in elevation between Grassy Top and Could Mountain, just a few saddles. Halfway through this ridge top movement I came across Shining Rock itself. Shining Rock itself is basically a huge outcropping of quartz rock that appears out of nowhere in bumfuck Pisgah. As you know quartz is white and sparkles a lot hence the name Shining Rock (itself).
It would have been a cool feature to stop at had it not been infested with shrieking humanoid parasites known as Boyscouts.
Ah, the old glory days.
I scrambled across the Narrows, a razor sharp ridge with many large rock outcroppings that often required the assistance of all four of my appendages to overcome. A quick jaunt through Deep Gap and I was finally ascending Cold Mountain.
It did not take long to get to the top and it really was not that strenuous, just refreshing to finally be coming to the close of a 15 mile hike over eight hours. When I did reach the bench mark at 6030 feet I took a moment to stand on an outcropping and gaze south looking over the valleys and mountain below me through which I had just traveled. The wind whipped and wailed all around me chilling the sweat that saturated my shirt. Smoky gray clouds raced overhead nearly at my fingertips masking an azure sky streaked with color by the setting sun and jet black crows ca-cawed against the wind soaring from roost to roost. The green against the blue against the gray, the wilderness.
In moments like these I know that, sometimes, quitting something is the best thing you can do for yourself.
My stomach growled and my little feetsies were freezing. I pulled my socks and boots back on and hiked to the nearest superb mountaintop campsite.
At this time I would like to thank my Father Bolte for supplying me with a new MSR Sweetwater filter and MSR Whisperlite stove which both greatly contributed to my consumption of a Richmoor lasagna dinner that night.
The water boiled in well under four minutes…probably in fewer than three.
The world grew dark and cold, the wind howled, and I put my earplugs in and went to sleep. Somewhere around 0137 (exactly) a horrific thunderstorm, lightning included, woke me up.
Great.
Sunday, September 24th, 2006 - 0700
When I woke up at 0700 it was no longer raining. That was too good to be true. Matter of fact it was only 30 minutes into my return hike when it did start raining again.
Whee!
The rain itself was not that intense, but what I did fail to foresee was that the precipitation collecting on the vegetation that was constantly brushing against me would drench me far more than the raindrops that were falling on my head.
By the time I made it back to Shining Rock the water from the trail choking flora had seeped through my high technology synthetic pants and ran down my legs effectively forming two squishing lakes inside my boots.
Lake left boot, meet lake right boot. What the fuck?!
I suppose I could have stopped, dumped my boots, changed socks, and donned some rain gear, but I only had two hours left until I reached the truck. Throwing caution to the wind I squished on down the mountain towards my onward Tacoma.
Just north of Shining Rock on Old Butt Know Trail there is a campsite in a clearing on top of a mountain whose name I do not know. If you one day find yourself standing in this clearing with the cold, cold rain unmercifully pounding your feeble squirrel like body, please go 100 meters back the way you came and turn left at the first trail split that you come to. Just save yourself the trouble, because it will get damn cold in that clearing on top of that mountain.
Hard to move cold.
The descent is not bad from the top, but once you cross Old Butt Knob your life is in your own hands and if it is raining, well, I was only 85 percent sure that I was going to make it down without breaking something.
The elevation drops fast. The section of trail where it is steepest is Chestnut Ridge and there are a lot of chestnuts being lazy and laying on the ground. I think they are chestnuts. Maybe they were acorns. I brought one home anyway. Also on the descent there is not much hard packed dirt trail, just rocks and roots straight down the mountain. Fortunately, I only fell once, because the small dead tree I was grasping my right hand broke in half.
I escaped superficial damage.
After dropping about 2,000 feet in elevation you finally bottom out at Shining Rock Draft and make a left heading north for a 10 minute walk back to the parking area.
It was good to see my onward Tacoma.
Since all my clothes were waterlogged I took the opportunity to wrap my unmentionable area in my white Florida beach towel for the drive home.
Of course I put a shirt on before I got to Gate 1 at Fort Gordon.
(Sorry about the pictures).
A forward note:
I did not take a camera with me on this trip and I now sorely regret it. The Shining Rock Wilderness is an extremely beautiful area and I wish I could share the sights with all of you readers, but I know in my heart that it is impossible for me to convey to you just how extraordinary it all was. The lacking adjectives maintained in my humble vocabulary could never do nature justice. If I could take the images that I captured with my mind’s eye, print them on paper stored in my stomach, and shit them out of my ass, I would, but I cannot.
Apparently Mapquest has been giving me the run around this summer. Mapquest now shows that it is much faster to take I-26 to Pisgah instead of Route 25. Who knows how many hours I have lost off of my life taking Route 25 all summer? Thanks fuckers.
The weather in Augusta had been wonderful all week yet; somehow, somehow, it managed to be RAINING when I arrived at the forest. Certain un-named newly civilian personnel are claiming that the rain is a special gift of mine following me wherever I may roam.
Special gift my ass.
That night, when I rolled into the forest pretty much everything that could go wrong did. Of course I could not find an available roadside campsite and of course there would be a traffic delay on Route 276 while I was driving to the Big East Fork trailhead. So, somewhere around 0030 when I did make it to the trailhead parking lot I rolled up my windows, locked my doors, and drifted off into a fitful sleep until 0800.
Sleeping upright will make you have the most fucked up dreams. I promise.
Saturday, September 23rd, 2006 - 0800
When I woke up I had no clue where I was. Who sleeps in the cab of their truck anyway?
I walked around for a few minutes, yawning, until I got my bearings and then packed my backpack to the perfection that I desired it.
Where was I going anyway?
The Cold Mountain Trek Day 1:
Starting at the Big East Fork Trailhead on Route 276 follow the Big East Fork Trail south until you reach its junction with Greasy Cove Trail. Continue by hiking up Greasy Cove Trail to its junction with the Art Loeb Trail and turn north onto the Art Loeb Trail. Follow Art Loeb Trail past Shining Rock, through the Narrows, and in and out of Deep Gap until you reach Cold Mountain Trail. Continue north on Cold Mountain Trail until you crest the top at 6030 feet above sea level and look for a superb location at which to camp.
The Cold Mountain Trek Day 2:
Descend Cold Mountain to the Art Loeb Trail which you will follow south back through Deep Gap and over the Narrows. When you arrive at the Shining Rock feature turn east onto Old Butt Knob Trail and follow it until you reach the Big East Fork parking area.
Get into truck and drive off while listening to favorite tunes.
There are no blazes or trail markers in the Shining Rock Wilderness Area which can create some confusion at trail junctions, especially those which occur at draft intersections.
It took three hours to travel the first three miles and I became lost no more than two times.
The Big East Fork was a gorgeous draft especially since it was slightly swollen from the night before allowing foaming white water to rush eagerly around the numerous boulders that littered the draft bed. After the first half hour of hiking I came to a very peculiar campsite. Peculiar, because of its contents. Draped over a tree stump was a Kelty tent, a tarp lay flat on a bed of leaves, and three feet away a lone Teva sandal lay on its side.
Hmm…I hope there are not any dead bodies laying around out here.
Deliverance.
I left that odd campsite, crossed a small draft that was dumping into Big East Fork from the west, and finally became lost…for the first time. The trail just disappeared in front of my boots.
So, I returned to the Deliverancesque campsite and did some looking around. Fortunately, it did not take long for me to find a group of rock cairns in the middle of Big East Fork just out from the campsite. I slipped into my sandals and waded across to the opposing bank to find the trail once again.
Shit that water was cold.
I became lost for the second time about two miles later, because, again, I failed to notice another draft crossing. I knew I had gone too far in the wrong direction when I came to a sign demarcating the southern boundary of the Shining Rock Wilderness. I sat down for a map check and ate a cereal bar. Just as I had figured out where I needed to backtrack to a gray haired weekend warrior of a day hiker with uber pimped out gear and threads rolled up on my candy ass. This warrior correctly assumed that I was somewhat lost and offered to return me to the Greasy Cove Trail junction.
When we finally reached the appropriate draft crossing approximately 400 meters back down the trail, I quickly slipped into my sandals and waded the stream. About halfway across I turned to find my new warrior friend visually considering vaulting a gap between two large rocks in the draft with his hiking poles.
Negative thoughts raced through my mind as I pictured the warrior’s old man knees and ankles, as well as various other body parts, shattering upon crash landing at the end of his short flight. I kindly intruded on his fantasy by moving a few rocks around in the draft to form a makeshift bridge of sorts so that he could cross unscathed. Once we reached the other side and were safely on dry ground he thanked me by giving me a lengthy “leave no trace” lecture which included his humble admittance that he was packing two cans of spray paint to cover any illegal trail blazes that he found.
Oregano and stone.
I was just glad that I did not have to pack his warrior self out of the woods, because he tried to impress a 21 year old kid with an Evil Knevil like stunt.
Greasy Cove Trail was long, steep, slow, and grassy, but it eventually brought me to Grassy Top, elevation unknown, from which I had my first commanding view of the surrounding terrain. It could be described as gently wind swept, but once again, I just do not have the adjectives to properly describe the view. I just cannot.
On top of the ridge I was able to travel much faster, because there were not many significant changes in elevation between Grassy Top and Could Mountain, just a few saddles. Halfway through this ridge top movement I came across Shining Rock itself. Shining Rock itself is basically a huge outcropping of quartz rock that appears out of nowhere in bumfuck Pisgah. As you know quartz is white and sparkles a lot hence the name Shining Rock (itself).
It would have been a cool feature to stop at had it not been infested with shrieking humanoid parasites known as Boyscouts.
Ah, the old glory days.
I scrambled across the Narrows, a razor sharp ridge with many large rock outcroppings that often required the assistance of all four of my appendages to overcome. A quick jaunt through Deep Gap and I was finally ascending Cold Mountain.
It did not take long to get to the top and it really was not that strenuous, just refreshing to finally be coming to the close of a 15 mile hike over eight hours. When I did reach the bench mark at 6030 feet I took a moment to stand on an outcropping and gaze south looking over the valleys and mountain below me through which I had just traveled. The wind whipped and wailed all around me chilling the sweat that saturated my shirt. Smoky gray clouds raced overhead nearly at my fingertips masking an azure sky streaked with color by the setting sun and jet black crows ca-cawed against the wind soaring from roost to roost. The green against the blue against the gray, the wilderness.
In moments like these I know that, sometimes, quitting something is the best thing you can do for yourself.
My stomach growled and my little feetsies were freezing. I pulled my socks and boots back on and hiked to the nearest superb mountaintop campsite.
At this time I would like to thank my Father Bolte for supplying me with a new MSR Sweetwater filter and MSR Whisperlite stove which both greatly contributed to my consumption of a Richmoor lasagna dinner that night.
The water boiled in well under four minutes…probably in fewer than three.
The world grew dark and cold, the wind howled, and I put my earplugs in and went to sleep. Somewhere around 0137 (exactly) a horrific thunderstorm, lightning included, woke me up.
Great.
Sunday, September 24th, 2006 - 0700
When I woke up at 0700 it was no longer raining. That was too good to be true. Matter of fact it was only 30 minutes into my return hike when it did start raining again.
Whee!
The rain itself was not that intense, but what I did fail to foresee was that the precipitation collecting on the vegetation that was constantly brushing against me would drench me far more than the raindrops that were falling on my head.
By the time I made it back to Shining Rock the water from the trail choking flora had seeped through my high technology synthetic pants and ran down my legs effectively forming two squishing lakes inside my boots.
Lake left boot, meet lake right boot. What the fuck?!
I suppose I could have stopped, dumped my boots, changed socks, and donned some rain gear, but I only had two hours left until I reached the truck. Throwing caution to the wind I squished on down the mountain towards my onward Tacoma.
Just north of Shining Rock on Old Butt Know Trail there is a campsite in a clearing on top of a mountain whose name I do not know. If you one day find yourself standing in this clearing with the cold, cold rain unmercifully pounding your feeble squirrel like body, please go 100 meters back the way you came and turn left at the first trail split that you come to. Just save yourself the trouble, because it will get damn cold in that clearing on top of that mountain.
Hard to move cold.
The descent is not bad from the top, but once you cross Old Butt Knob your life is in your own hands and if it is raining, well, I was only 85 percent sure that I was going to make it down without breaking something.
The elevation drops fast. The section of trail where it is steepest is Chestnut Ridge and there are a lot of chestnuts being lazy and laying on the ground. I think they are chestnuts. Maybe they were acorns. I brought one home anyway. Also on the descent there is not much hard packed dirt trail, just rocks and roots straight down the mountain. Fortunately, I only fell once, because the small dead tree I was grasping my right hand broke in half.
I escaped superficial damage.
After dropping about 2,000 feet in elevation you finally bottom out at Shining Rock Draft and make a left heading north for a 10 minute walk back to the parking area.
It was good to see my onward Tacoma.
Since all my clothes were waterlogged I took the opportunity to wrap my unmentionable area in my white Florida beach towel for the drive home.
Of course I put a shirt on before I got to Gate 1 at Fort Gordon.
(Sorry about the pictures).
Nonsense: All Secure With A Nosebleed
My tour of duty at the 513th MI Brigade motorpool ended yesterday. I now know that there are 368 poles in the fence on the perimeter of the compound, 53 exterior doors into the main building, 3 small wooden crates in the back, and 1 orange cat.
2 nights of my life are gone forever. I wish that shit on no one.
I did get to ride singlespeed at FATS yesterday which kicked ass, because the trail was so dry and so fast. So fast, that I wrecked my shit when my face met tree. That sure didn't feel good and it made my nose bleed. Not too profusely though, just some drip dropping. My bike suffered a bent saddle...poor thing.
Anyway, shortly after this I'm posting my scripture on the Cold Mountain Trek, and, oh, don't forget that The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift is now on DVD!
2 nights of my life are gone forever. I wish that shit on no one.
I did get to ride singlespeed at FATS yesterday which kicked ass, because the trail was so dry and so fast. So fast, that I wrecked my shit when my face met tree. That sure didn't feel good and it made my nose bleed. Not too profusely though, just some drip dropping. My bike suffered a bent saddle...poor thing.
Anyway, shortly after this I'm posting my scripture on the Cold Mountain Trek, and, oh, don't forget that The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift is now on DVD!
Monday, September 25, 2006
Nonsense: Cheaters Is The Stupidest Show I Have Ever Seen
...and Kroger has the worst self-checkout scanner ever.
I'd like to apologize ahead of time for taking zero pictures while backpacking in Pisgah this weekend. I have already received negative feedback from readers for this promise that I did not fulfill. Let us all work together to get through this troubled and dark time. I Should have the big blog posting from the trip out no later than Wednesday.
So, I also saw Jackass Number Two last night.
HA!
Wow...it really was a whole other level. I think most people in the theater couldn't believe what they were seeing, but they were laughing anyway, as was I. You must be 18 to view.
For the next two days I will be diligently guarding my brigade's motorpool area which translates to my little legs not pedaling a bicycle until Wednesday. F that S.
What's up with those ditsy chics that drive VW bugs and wear oversized sunglasses?
I'd like to apologize ahead of time for taking zero pictures while backpacking in Pisgah this weekend. I have already received negative feedback from readers for this promise that I did not fulfill. Let us all work together to get through this troubled and dark time. I Should have the big blog posting from the trip out no later than Wednesday.
So, I also saw Jackass Number Two last night.
HA!
Wow...it really was a whole other level. I think most people in the theater couldn't believe what they were seeing, but they were laughing anyway, as was I. You must be 18 to view.
For the next two days I will be diligently guarding my brigade's motorpool area which translates to my little legs not pedaling a bicycle until Wednesday. F that S.
What's up with those ditsy chics that drive VW bugs and wear oversized sunglasses?
Friday, September 22, 2006
Nonsense: Sweden
Before signing off for the weekend I would like to inform all you readers (that don't exist) that I have finally read riderx's account of the Single Speed World Championship that went down in Sweden this summer. Click the link and read that ish. It was awesome and hilarious.
Beer, beer, beer, and riding. That dude is hardcore.
Yesterday's ride was perfect. Brown Wave to Skinny clockwise. 90 minutes.
See you on the trails.
Beer, beer, beer, and riding. That dude is hardcore.
Yesterday's ride was perfect. Brown Wave to Skinny clockwise. 90 minutes.
See you on the trails.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Nonsense: The Weekend
Yesterday was the most perfect day in the history of Augusta, Georgia. 75 degrees in the farenheit, zero clouds in the heavens above, and just the right breeze.
I took advantage of this wonderous weather by spraining my ankle while skating a kicker ramp on 7th and Greene. That hurt, but hopefully I can still ride singlespeed today.
The big plans for this weekend involve driving to Pisgah National Forest, once again, for some solo backpacking up and down the slopes of Cold Mountain in the Shining Rock Wilderness.
Cold Mountain is just over 6,000 feet above sea level so, getting that high should be pretty rad.
Silly hippie stoners.
I'll take a picture or two just for you.
P.S. don't forget that October 21st is NOT National Talk Like A Pirate Day!
I took advantage of this wonderous weather by spraining my ankle while skating a kicker ramp on 7th and Greene. That hurt, but hopefully I can still ride singlespeed today.
The big plans for this weekend involve driving to Pisgah National Forest, once again, for some solo backpacking up and down the slopes of Cold Mountain in the Shining Rock Wilderness.
Cold Mountain is just over 6,000 feet above sea level so, getting that high should be pretty rad.
Silly hippie stoners.
I'll take a picture or two just for you.
P.S. don't forget that October 21st is NOT National Talk Like A Pirate Day!
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Nonsense: It's Hunting Season
Well, not yet, but on October 11th South Carolina's small army of friendly outdoorsman will deploy to various public game lands across the state. What does this mean? Well, for the hippie mountainbiker it means no riding on the FATS from October 11th to October 24th or, yes, you will be shot.
Hippie.
Speaking of the FATS I did ride there yesterday. The weather down here in the south has been outstanding of late with temperatures below 80 degrees and an even more enjoyable humidity level. I rode Great Wall and Skinny in a counter clockwise fashion in approximately one hour on my singlespeed.
Watch out for those singlespeeds, they will fuck you up. My quads were burning, but it was awesome to be riding again.
Later in the evening I proceeded, with friends, to The Mission for some live music performed by The Mighty Sideshow, 18 Visions, and Evans Blue. While watching The Mighty Sideshow I involuntarily vomitted, a reflex that stems from my recent contraction of Horrid Ass Music Stress Syndrome (HAMSS). Other symptoms include; dizziness, headache, numbness or tingling, and failed attempts at running for the presidency.
Basically, the band wasn't that spectacular.
18 Visions rocked the muthafuckin house. Hailing from Orange County, California this heavy metal and heavily tattooed five piece put on a high energy head banger that had the whole crowd screaming. It was so good I bought a sick ass T-shirt from their merch stand.
Rock out.
And then there was Evans Blue, some Canadian band that has a song on the radio. The end.
Unfortunately, we stopped at IHOP on the drive home which further delayed our getting to the fort and getting some sleep. Getting home at 0200 and waking up at 0430 for PT is so not cool.
Nap time.
Hippie.
Speaking of the FATS I did ride there yesterday. The weather down here in the south has been outstanding of late with temperatures below 80 degrees and an even more enjoyable humidity level. I rode Great Wall and Skinny in a counter clockwise fashion in approximately one hour on my singlespeed.
Watch out for those singlespeeds, they will fuck you up. My quads were burning, but it was awesome to be riding again.
Later in the evening I proceeded, with friends, to The Mission for some live music performed by The Mighty Sideshow, 18 Visions, and Evans Blue. While watching The Mighty Sideshow I involuntarily vomitted, a reflex that stems from my recent contraction of Horrid Ass Music Stress Syndrome (HAMSS). Other symptoms include; dizziness, headache, numbness or tingling, and failed attempts at running for the presidency.
Basically, the band wasn't that spectacular.
18 Visions rocked the muthafuckin house. Hailing from Orange County, California this heavy metal and heavily tattooed five piece put on a high energy head banger that had the whole crowd screaming. It was so good I bought a sick ass T-shirt from their merch stand.
Rock out.
And then there was Evans Blue, some Canadian band that has a song on the radio. The end.
Unfortunately, we stopped at IHOP on the drive home which further delayed our getting to the fort and getting some sleep. Getting home at 0200 and waking up at 0430 for PT is so not cool.
Nap time.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Nonsense: Life
Yes, it is true.
I voluntarily withdrew from SFAS after the first week of training. I made the decision to withdraw knowing that I was not prepared to dedicate a significant portion of my near future, if not most of my life, to the Special Forces cause. I made my decision and I am moving on with different aspects of my life.
I am happy.
On Sunday the 17th I rode one lap on Range Road. Enjoyable. This afternoon I'll be back to single speeding on the FATS, my main squeeze, and then it's time for a rock show.
Evans Blue at The Mission. Doors at 8 pm.
Be there. Be square.
I voluntarily withdrew from SFAS after the first week of training. I made the decision to withdraw knowing that I was not prepared to dedicate a significant portion of my near future, if not most of my life, to the Special Forces cause. I made my decision and I am moving on with different aspects of my life.
I am happy.
On Sunday the 17th I rode one lap on Range Road. Enjoyable. This afternoon I'll be back to single speeding on the FATS, my main squeeze, and then it's time for a rock show.
Evans Blue at The Mission. Doors at 8 pm.
Be there. Be square.
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