Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Screw that bastard Tony Kornholer

OK. I am REALLY pissed off this morning. For those that may or may not know, last week that fucker, Tony Kornheiser, said more or less to run cyclists down with their cars. He also made fun of cyclist attire (yeah, because baseball, football or basketball player's uniforms look so fuckin' cool.) I sent a few e-mails to ESPN and here is how it went.

Here's my first e-mail, limited to 450 characters on their website.
I would like to know the action ESPN is going to take regarding Mr. Kornheiser's comments last week about encouraging motorists hitting cyclists with their cars. When he made comments regarding Ms. Storm's outfit, he was suspended. Now he has gone too far in the recommendation of running people on bicycles over with their automobiles because he doesn't like them.
I sincerely hope you do something about Mr. Kornheiser. People's lives are at stake.
And, here's the response I got.
Thank you for contacting ESPN and giving us an opportunity to respond, though it should be noted that Tony made these comments on a local radio station that is not owned or operated by ESPN. Yesterday, Tony spoke with cyclist Lance Armstrong privately and apologized for his comments. Lance appeared on Tony's radio show today to talk about it. You can listen to the interview at the station's website:


ESPN Viewer Response

Here is my last response, dripping with sarcasm. I am sure this response will get Tony Kornholer fired or at least suspended.

Thank you for responding. I guess because he did this outside of ESPN's control, it is OK to tell people in 2 ton cars to run cyclists on 25 lb. bikes. I think I remember Michael Irvin being fired from ESPN for being inappropriate on his own time, but he was only endangering himself, not thousands of viewers.

I suppose if Mr. Kornheiser said run football, baseball, or basketball players over something would have happened, as those are your core audience. Cyclists don't watch ESPN so it is OK to just pretend it didn't happen. Oh, I forgot, he apologized to Lance Armstrong. I guess we're even.

HIghly disappointing to say the least.

Fuck Tony Kornholer. Fuck ESPN. I need all 5 readers of this blog to flood ESPN's offices with e-mails demanding his resignation (or suspension at least).

These douche bags that have nationally syndicated radio shows, whether it be Rush Limbaugh telling us how to deal with the drug problem while popping illegal Oxycontin, Don Imus calling a college women's basketball team "nappy-headed 'hos" or this Tony Kornholer, have lost their touch with reality and don't understand the power of their comments. Suppose they have 1,000,000 listeners. If even 0.1% of their audience acts upon their comments, we'll have 100 cyclists mowed down in the streets. Even 1 is too much.

Thank you for listening to my rant. We now return you to your regular scheduled nonsense...

Monday, March 22, 2010

Excuses are like assholes...

We cyclists are great at making excuses about our performances. We love do it way before there is ever even a problem. I remember back when I was racing mountain bikes a lot, before a race would start, you hear all over the place "Yeah, I'm not feelin' well." "I threw up this morning." "I was out all night partying." "I haven't ridden in a month." etc. This way, if that person did poorly in the race, you'd know why, but if they did well...well, you'd be impressed that they overcame their adversity, how ever phony it sounded.

Now, I realize some of those people were telling the truth, but it was easy to lump everyone together. I have prided myself in only saying anything like that if it were absolutely true. Hell, before any race, I never felt good. I felt like I was gonna throw up. That is all part of the nerves before a race and your body knowing what it was about to go through. That is why when I used an excuse yesterday, I felt like a dumbass.

Yesterday, I planned out a ride with the Prince and the Triathlete. We're finally seeing some Spring around here, and the trails are mostly dry and rideable here in Rapid City, and it was time to get out on the bikes. Long story short, the Prince and I rolled up M-Hill hoping to meet the Triathlete and his couple of riding partners.

The trail starts out fairly unmercifully, shooting up about 6 or 7 switchbacks. It is a fairly tough way to start out, but once to the top of those first switchbacks, it kinda levels out for a while. At least levels out enough to recover slightly and get your heart-rate and breathing under control before shooting back up more switchbacks to the top.

So, about on the 4th or 5th switchback, I was wonder what the hell was wrong with me. My legs hurt, which was fairly normal, but I was having acid reflux like a mother-fucker. But, I didn't want to stop, so we kept trudging along. I thought after we got to the level spot, I'd feel better and we'd make it up to the top.

Finally on the second set of switchbacks, I couldn't take it anymore and I had to stop. My entire chest felt like it was on fire. I stopped and told the Prince "I don't know what's wrong, but my gut is on fire. It must of been my lunch." I know he believed me, but I didn't believe me. But now the deed was done. My excuse had been thrown out of my mouth like a Jersey Boy throwing a Quarter Pounder with Cheese wrapper out the window of his IROC.

I have done so much work this year getting ready for the riding season, I couldn't believe I used an excuse, much less needed one, so early in the season even though it was true. I didn't want to use an excuse. But as I sit here and type this out, I am hacking up something that shouldn't be inside a person's body, much less their lungs. I think at some point I breathed in the acid boiling up my esophagus so I couldn't stop coughing after the ride, which is why I'm hacking shit up.

The nice thing is I have this blog to reaffirm my excuse, giving credibility to my excuse. The Prince and I are going to ride again this week. I just hope that the next time we ride together, I can just use my normal excuse; "I'm a pussy."

Saturday, March 20, 2010

I've tasted the sweet nectar and now I don't wanna go back...

I've almost completed 10 weeks of roller training. As a matter of fact, after this morning's workout, I'll be starting a new phase of my training. Currently, I am riding the rollers of inconvenience 3 mornings per week and lifting weights 3 days per week. After today, I'll be increasing the rollers/riding workouts to 4 days per week and decreasing the weights to 2 days.

What the hell does this have to do with a man eating corn (which may or may not have been me in December)? Let me explain...

We all know that one kid growing up that was smothered by their parents' insecurities. The kid that didn't get sugar ('cause it's bad for you). The kid that didn't get to shoot a bb gun (you'll shoot your eye out). The kid that could only watch G rated movies (if you see a boobie or hear a bad word, you'll be a bad kid). Then there was the coup-de-grace kid, the one that couldn't do any of those things (I don't care if other kids are having fun being kids, you won't go to heaven if you do any of those things). These kids basically had no freedoms and if they deviated from this ultra-straight arrow lifestyle, there were severe repercussions from their parents.

Then, after they moved out of the house as a late teen/early adult, they go absolutely fuckin' ape-shit. The kid with no sugar? Yup, Little Debbie snack cakes with maple syrup on top, chased down by a Jolt Cola every night for dinner. The bb gun kid? Has gone completely David Koresh/Waco Texas, has a whole arsenal in his house, a bus bunker buried in his back yard. The G rated movie kid? All he watches is Forest Hump, Titty-Titty-Bang-Bang or Shaving Ryan's Privates (which are all 50% off next door to where I work, but that is a different story).

And the kid that didn't get to do any of those things? Well, that's my theory of why those extreme muslims blow shit up and hate Americans. I'd bet the Amish would do the same thing, but all they could do is throw boards at us, which we can protect ourselves from easily. Actually, have you ever seen the Amish Gone Wild? They get one year of life out in the "real" world when they turn 18 and go completely out of their mind. Fuckin', drinking, drugs, etc. every night. It's truly wild.

So what does this have to do with riding bikes? I've been riding indoors basically for 10 weeks. Last weekend I got to ride outside two days in a row and now I want nothing to do with riding the rollers of inconvenience. I've got a little chin/goatee thing going on right now, which my wife says is a hard-core Amish beard, so maybe I'm like Amish Gone Wild.

Riding the rollers have paid off, as last Saturday I rode with a group of guys,, actually all of which are faster than me, and I hung with the pack really well. Actually, I was up with the front of the group for most of the ride. So, I don't want to quit riding the rollers, but I've tasted the freedom of riding outside and now, like those kids, I am ready to go ape-shit. But Mother Nature's got different plans and I am sure this riding outside consistently isn't going to happen for at least another month.

Maybe, just maybe, next winter I will be able to taste this freedom once and a while. And I won't be a biker-gone-wild when I have to ride inside.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Next time I see a hipster, I'm punching him in the nuts.

Since my last post, a lot of stuff went down. Most of which I won't bother to describe, but I was on a road bike ride on Sunday (YES, outside! Spring is coming...). I thought I'd go out and see if my early morning escapades on the rollers of inconvenience are helping me.

The short answer is yes, the long answer is who the hell can tell. When I started out on my normal "you've got an hour and a half or s0, A.K.A. my Summertime morning road loop" I was bucking a headwind the whole way up the "climbing" portion of the ride. I took a few minutes off of the last time I rode it, which was at the beginning of my training, so I think I have gotten stronger/faster, but I didn't get a good feel for it since I was going against the wind. I felt kinda whipped at the top of the climb, but again, the wind was fairly strong.

Anyhow, enough of my excuses. Without getting into another boring diatribe recalling the minutia of my ride, on the descent portion of my ride, which I can get well above 40 mph, I was almost hit by a fucking hipster-wannabe driving a PT Cruiser. WHAT THE HELL? First,
I thought there was a rule that all hipsters bummed rides or rode their fixies. Second, no, and I mean NO SELF RESPECTING MAN would EVER, EVER DRIVE A PT CRUISER. Third, the car had Montana plates on it. Really? A hipster, driving a PT Cruiser from Montana? I guarantee that he was kicked out of Montana for being a pussy and he's just driving around until he finds a commune of hipsters that will take him in and make him one of theirs.

After the incident, I pulled in behind said PT Cruiser into a parking lot. The little fuckin' puke got out of the car with his girlfriend/sister. Immediately, he started in that I was too close to the road. I barked back that I had every right to ride down the road if I wanted. There was a little back and forth between us and he realized that getting his ass whipped by a guy in lycra in front of his girlfriend wasn't very "hip", so he turned around and took his girlfriend into get his cigarettes and PBR.

This interaction made me start to wonder what the hell is up with these "hipsters"? Do they not see how they look? I am sure a few of them get the irony of their look, but most of them are following along. Like check this out... these hipsters are RUNNING FOR PUBLIC OFFICE! WHAT THE HELL? I can almost guarantee they are running under the Tea BAG Party. Serious. These two are running a real campaign running for Mayor and City Council somewhere down south. I bet they'll win.

But, I get the feeling while the whole hipster movement is winding down country wide, and it is just getting wound up here in South Dakota (we tend to do stuff a bit behind the rest of the
country). I got this pic of a hillbilly-hipster and I'd bet he is from SD. How fucked up is this cat? He's got a Juliet Lewis/Where's Waldo/Eddie Vedder circa 1990 look going on, carrying a Red Ryder carbine-action, two hundred shot Range Model air rifle with a compass in the stock and a thing which tells time, wearing his size "0" girls jeans.'re cool. About as cool as a douche bag left in the freezer over night.

All right. I am done bashing hipsters. I guess I am getting old. I don't get it, which sounds like something an old person would say. But, sculpting your facial hair, wearing super-tight clothing and having the androgynous look isn't something I get. I didn't understand it when David Bowie and Mick Jagger did it 35 years ago and I don't understand it today. Oh well, wait around long enough and the giant shirts and pegged pants of the '80's will be back in fashion. And then I'll dig through the closet and get my old clothes out. THAT will be cool...

Friday, March 5, 2010

Like a stein with a hole in it, I can't hold my liquor anymore...

OK, so I have to preface this whole conversation with a bit of backstory. Every year I quit drinking. Alcohol that is, as if I quit drinking all together, I'd dehydrate and die. Anyhow, I quit for about 40 days, resetting my tolerance for alcohol. I used to quit for Lent every year, not because I am a good Catholic (actually, I am a tree-hugging-atheist-liberal according to the Princess) but because it is a good time frame to do it. BUT, smack dab in the middle of Lent is the grandest of drinking holidays, St. Patrick's Day, and not drinking on this day is, well, sacrilegious. My great-grandmother Murphy would not approve of not drinking one in her honor on this day. I must mention that usually on Easter Sunday, I am READY for a beer. I crave one. I want one and when I have one, it is a delicious, epiphany like experience. The wait makes the beer taste all that much sweeter.

This year I had the great idea, "I'll quit drinking from January 1st until the Superbowl. That is 37 days this year, close enough. I can reset my tolerance-meter, still drink on Superbowl and drink on St. Patrick's Day. Perfect." Only I added one thing this year that I never had in the past. I added a fairly serious workout regimen which will play in later. When Superbowl rolled around, I had a party at the house and was looking forward to having a beer. And when I did, to quote Homer Simpson, "It was gooood...but not great." But, I thought maybe it was because I just was running around, prepping food and making sure the party guests were having a good time.

So, now that I am back on the juice, I made one more "rule" for myself. No beer Sunday through Thursday. Only on Friday and/or Saturday nights. This kinda sounds like I was a lush before, which I wasn't, but I didn't mind having a beer or two at night with my dinner.

Now, on to the real part of the story. We had our monthly Queen City Rambler meeting last night at a bar/restaurant in Sturgis called the Knuckle to hammer out some details of the impending Spring bike trip. This year we're planning on buying two 15 gallon kegs for the trip. Last year, we ripped through a 15 gallon keg in a little over 2 days. But, therein lies the rub for me. I don't know if I'll be getting my money's worth this year.

Last night I had two beers with my dinner. Now, I'll admit the first one was in a vessel the size of a damn coffee can, but there were only two lines for beer on my receipt, so I only had two beers. And this morning, I feel kinda pasty. What the hell?

In the past, those two beers wouldn't have phased me, even after my Lenten abstenence. Now, this morning, I have a ever-so slight headache and I shit a cubic yard of something out, though that could have more to do with the jalepeno/swiss burger I had at the Knuckle, whose latest Health Department certification could be highly suspect. I attribute this to the "training" I have been participating in since the first of the year.

I am highly disturbed by this development but I know, with some extra training, I can work through it.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

I've Made a GRIEVOUS Error.

I think that when I die and swing by Heaven to get my sentence to Hell, I am going to find out that God is a comedian. I have a problem that most don't ever have to worry about, much less act upon. Have you ever seen a skinny dude with a hairy body? Nope. At most, they may have a hair dickey, which they can crop, shave or otherwise wax off if they so desire. BUT, have you ever noticed, the bigger the girth of the dude, the hairier they are? See, I think God thought "Well, odds of them taking their shirt off in public is slim, so lets fuck it up all the way and ensure they NEVER do and make them hairy. Hairy enough to scare little kids. I know there will be those few odd balls that will do it anyhow, but they'll be the exception."

Me...I am class 7 hairy. Robin Williams is class 9 hairy, which is equivalent to SPF 50. Due to this fact, A BIG mistake was made. You see, Sunday was "hair-cut" day in my house, which is where the problem began. Since I just buzz my hair with clippers, there is no sense in paying a barber $15 to do this when I can do it myself (with the help of my lovely wife). While she was trimming our son's hair, I got the clippers out and got them ready. As I looked down, I thought "you know, it is getting damn hot to ride the rollers of inconvenience with all this hair, I should give myself a trim." And boy did I ever.

I realize the old adage that "the difference between a good hair cut and a bad hair cut is 7 days" is fairly true, but try ITCHING like a mother-fucker for 7 days. SHIT. I now look like some cancer-patient-monkey, that has some sort of mange, with all of his body hair falling out and itching all over like he's got lice. What was I thinking? Well, truth is, I wasn't. It was definitely spur of the moment and now I am paying for that.

I will say the rollers of inconvenience were much more tolerable this morning...but have you ever tried to ride rollers with no hands while itching your back and chest at the same time? No, of course're not a caveman throwback like me.