EVERY DAMN MILE

It started with an idea sparked by Bob's trips in the mountains of NC. Travel light, ride hard, rest easy. I'd been thinking about it for a couple months. Slowly piecing it together in my head. One morning at work, probably around 6am, I mentioned it to Joe. He thought it a good plan, wanted to know when it would come together… then asked if we could do it right away. The Sierras are indescribably beautiful. And there's no way to experience them like being on a bike. The roads feel remote enough, the riding tough enough, and the skies expressive enough.
DAY ONE: Oakland to Sacramento by train. 59 miles to Pioneer, CA. Climbed 4600 feet.
DAY TWO: Pioneer, CA to Markleeville. 63 miles, 7,500 feet of climbing.
DAY THREE: Markleeville, CA to Bridgeport. 63 miles, 5,850 feet of climbing.
DAY FOUR: Bridgeport, CA to Lee Vining. 26 miles, 2,200 feet of climbing.
DAY FIVE: Lee Vining, CA to Yosemite Valley. 78 miles, 5,900 feet of climbing.

FARE THEE WELL, MISS CAROUSEL

Well, the Co'Rolla breathed her last breath Tuesday morning. She wasn't sounding so good on the way to work, decided I should drive around the block a little and let her warm up. It became pretty apparent she wasn't going much farther. Turning around on this little side street, she just damn give out. Our last minutes together were good ones, she was trying, coughing and sputtering, but in the end her race was run. She wouldn't even turn over, seized up. I had to push her into this spot, and then today the truck came for her. She's a cube now, waiting for a ride to China for her next incarnation. I got her 6 years ago, and we came just shy of going one hundred thousand miles together. Thanks to everyone who rode along. It was a good ride.


Char bought her from some crackhead in San Jose off craigslist. This was his sketchy bill of sale. You read that right. $950.

Some of you might remember this view.

Chariot of fire.


Hallowed be thy name.

BEST HAPPY HOUR IN TOWN

Fifty minutes to the top of the ridge, 70% of it uphill. Up and downs watching the sun fall for another twenty minutes. Drop down the mountain and slide into the market for a deuce of IPA. Six minutes back up a really tough grade to the park. Sun is setting as you polish off another dead soldier. Fly down, through traffic and everything else you sought to avoid by heading into the hills. Back home. See you up there next time.

I want a SPIDER WEB, a DAGGER, a ROSE, a PANTHER, a SKULL, 2 GIRLS IN MARTINI GLASSES, and a sleeve with a SAMURAI DUDE AND FISHES (and cover up my kanji)—all on my neck.

Professor Griff hipped me up to this (him being dramatically hipper than me).

Do tattoos matter? Do they matter to the wrong people for the wrong reasons? No and Yes.

Is GRIME smart to stay ahead of the pack? Yes.

THIS TOWN IS POPULATED BY 100% PURE PUSSIES

Found this one in the archives. Chicken was having a bummer Fall back in '98. After the Motang Dynasty tour wound down he was back in Gboro, feeling restless. For months he would dust off a tasty sixer, cut the side off the pack, and keep us posted on the comings and goings back home. It was a major event when the mail arrived—did we get a postcard from Chicken? what kind of beer was he drinking? 

Checking the mailbox hasn't been the same since…

NEW BOARD

I bought a new skateboard. The first one I have purchased out of a shop in a long, long time. It has a big piece of weed on the bottom. Weird. After the helpful skateshop employee in Columbus gripped it for me, I felt compelled to take a picture of it with my cell phone. Even weirder. I am old now.

Birthdaze

Happy Birthday dudes. Miss you guys.

WHITEY IS STILL ON THE MOON

R.I.P. Big time. We're all imperfect, we're all fallible, but Gil's talk outweighed his walk. What else is there to say?