April 22, 1998
Oh Lord, can't ya hear me cry? Another savage epic. High of 40 degrees, pissin' ass, shag-nasty rain, just carvin' the flab off me like a molten razor blade through room-temperature butter. There is no rest for the wicked, and no ticket to ride. Just ceaseless coos of madness from the slightly round gyroscope in my innermost brain that slings me forward. The highway never ends, but this 6-hour hit parade did - right at the top of Beech Mountain. The name says it all. Lance fragged me miles from the top, and I was left crawling like a salamander in my 21-cog, blowing chunks of lung. Like I said, I be fit or I be dead. After sixteen climbs today, no stops at all, no stories of the old days, just side-by-side hard drivin', I am totally wasted.
Let me know if you'd like to borrow my copy. This book is a fast, funny, hilarious read. Check it out here.
Do You Believe in Santa Claus?
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These are desperate times in the natural snow department. I supposed it
could be worse. Alta has had 105" of snow so far this year and has a base
depth...
2 days ago
2 comments:
I love Bobke. What a character. I remember lining up a few rows behind him at the Tour of Canyonlands many years ago and he was spouting all kinds of funny stuff all the while astride a goofy polished aluminum soft ride mountain bike.
Did you lend me Bobke or Bobke II? My favorite story was when he REALLY had to go #2 during a race (was it the Tour?). It was so outrageous I couldn't help but laugh, and he tells the story so well.
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