AntiFinger Destalk Race

I sprained my finger today. It hurt. It sucks to type. I'm not typing a lot this evening.

You need to go here on Saturday. Destalk AnitRace.

I'm hoping for some public display of affection from Peter . . . . not levels of public display of affection that he exhibits towards Dicky, but still enough to make me feel wanted and loved.

That is all, carry on.

Lest We Forget

I can't imagine having to give up my life, my wife and daughter, my family & friends, my job, cycling and the things I enjoy to go off to war. I got to take part in a Remembrance Day ceremony today and had the opportunity to contemplate the sacrifices that others have made.

Fifth, my sore arse, and Curvy

On Sunday I got out for like my fifth ride since the beginning of September. It was an absolutely glorious day with temperatures around 14 degrees. Being a three day weekend for me I managed to juggle the schedule to squeeze in a ride. Freak'in hell man . . . +14 in November and riding a bike . . . I'll take it.

Hairy and scary white thighs.
Note: no chamois cream. 'Funny' how I forget stuff I always do when I am away from riding for a while. My arse didn't think it so 'funny' the next day.

Speaking of squeezing . . . . 207 lbs of manly girth managed to fit into my shorts. Thank Gwad for spandex. Yes, that's right 207 lbs. Fugg me. My riding weight for last year was 186lbs. That's a 21 lb difference. Shite! That being said, and if I don't mind tooting my own horn, most of it is muscle - the kind that makes the ladies gaa-gaa (actually it's all hidden under a nice layer of insulation). Three days a week in the weight room, P90x workouts, and defensive tactics workouts are putting the pounds on me. 21 extra pounds to carry up the hills in the Gats and only four previous rides in the past two plus months . . . . well, needless to say I was suffering.

Leaf-less and brown.

Despite the obvious suffering that I knew was going to take place, it was an absolutely amazingly most awesome'ness ride. So nice to be outside for an extended period of time.
I was joined by Curvy Butt, who has seen as much saddle time as I have this Fall. As we rode the flat stretches we occupied ourselves with creating excuses for getting off our bikes on the climbs in order to rest. Searching for red breasted wobbler hatched hooded southern yellow beaked Coo-coos was reason enough to slow the pace on the climbs.

Curvy Butt at the Champlain look-off, looking curvacious as usual.

This ride was just what I needed. Incredible how much a little saddle time changes your perspective on things and how good it makes you feel. It was good to stretch the legs out to help me get ready for next weeks intergalatic event - the Destalk Antirace - if you please.

Leaves and The Leafs

Three days home this weekend on account of Remembrance Day this coming Wednesday. So nice to be home with the family and my mind off of school and training.

Got caught up with some yard work. All the leaves are down and lots of bags to be filled. Freak'in leaves . . . must be the third time that I've raked the entire back yard.

Didn't get a ride (toady) in but I did get a chance to work on a bike - my little neighbours bike needed some fine tunning.

The Leafs, as opposed to the ones I was raking all morning, haven't been able to help themselves, so I figured me and The Peanut would have to do our part while watching Hockey Night In Canada. The Peanut with her newest Leaf hoodie.

Go Leafs Go!
Seemed to help as we scored the first goal of the game against Detroit (only the second time this season that we opened the scoring in a game). The Peanut would only catch the first period and would have to wait to find out that we won - only the third win of the season and two in a row. Toronto fans everywhere are preparing for the parade. Maybe in her lifetime she'll see Stanley Cup arrive in Toronto . . . I'm not holding my own breath to experience that though.
What can I say, I am a sucker for punishment.

Shoot me (or the blog) now

Some days . . . . some days . . . . some days I feel like pulling the plug, putting a hole through the blogosphere and putting this blog out of it's misery.

Really, what's there to BLOG-ITTY-BLOG about? This is supposed to be a cycling blog, right? Not much cycling going on and won't be for some time. And when I do finally have something bike related to say, do you really want to read about me training in my basement on my trainer for the next four or so months? You could fuck off right now and not return until late March and I might have something worth writing about. Or, I may not.

Meh.

I've made the decision that this year I am not going to be chasing the sponsorship bus around trying to land free shit - even if it's stuff I already use and have used for years - like Crank Bros products, Kenda tires and tubes, Ergon grips, Progold Lubricants and so on. If I'm approached by any company to use their products (and I believe in them and like them) I'll use them. But I'm not seeking out any kind of endorsement love. **Note: any corporation wanting to sponsor an overweight, middle of the pack (at best) hack who rides single speed in Canada . . . . . my e-mail is over there --> Yes, that does sound like an attractive offer - how could you resist?!**

First, it's a lot of work tracking down anyone willing to sponsor you. It's a lot more work trying to convince them that you've got anything to offer them - especially true if you lack skill, talent or any kind of natural ability. Secondly, time - I don't have the time to hit up sponsors. It takes a lot of time contacting and convincing sponsors. I'd much rather be using that time laying around on the couch or making frequent trips to the fridge.

I will be keeping the Misfit placard over there ----- --> for next season. I've got a contractual obligation to represent Misfit Psycles (apparently they own part of my soul or something ?!?) and the suits are unwilling to take their pointy claws out of my over weight carcass until they have somehow retrieved their financial investment for providing me with the bestest pink bike on the planet that I get to squeeze between my sweaty, hariy thighs. A nice thought to leave you with . . . my hairy, sweaty thighs.

What weekends have become

Feeding the Peanut last weekend mashed up bananas and blueberries . . . Mmmmmm, yummy.

Being away from home, sometimes for two weeks at a time, has put things into perspective for me. I miss my bikes dearly, but I miss my Peanut and wifey more.

Next season, preparation (training) and racing won't be without it's challenges . . . the obvious and usual challenges: losing weight, not eating so much, fitting into my bib shorts, not overeating after a hard ride/race, cutting back on eating outside of meal times, trying to get out the habit of getting up at 3am to eat, etc. New challenges: juggling time between family, work and riding.

How does that saying go? If you fail to plan, you plan to fail.

Cheesy as it may seem, but it's true.

*Perhaps the relevance of the above map is lost on you . . . . Remembrance Day is approaching - get your poppy. *

With time and commitment restraints I'll be looking to get the most of all my training rides. This upcoming season will be new, it will be different and I look forward to the challenge. All of this means smarter training. Means a plan.

Now, that being said, I'm not the smrtest guy in the thingy . . . . but I knows fun when I sees it and riding has gots to be fun regardless of training or no training.

But then again, why train when apparently winning is for losers and losing is the new pink, which replaced brown which previously was the new black, which originally replaced blacker.

So here's to losing. Here's to coming in second in a three bike race. Here's to finishing mid pack and totally meeting and exceeding all expectations that my glorious sponsor has placed upon me in order to gather some sort of fiscal return on his original and silly investment which I place between my sweaty, hairy thighs everytime I go for a ride.

Know where I can get a copy of a good training bible?

Get your ride on

One of my two most favourite times of the year in the Gats.

I poached this last week off Joanne Holden's site (without permission I might add - I don't have her e-mail - sorry Joanne if you're reading). You many have visited before, Musicians On Skis. It's a pictorial blog, so no heavy reading - perfect for cixelsyd illiterates likes me.

She takes a mean photograph, and most deal with nature and outdoor activities that take place in Gatineau Park. She's also a great source of info during the xc ski season with trail conditions.

If I am lucky, I may get one to two more road rides in this year in the Gats without having to look over my shoulder for traffic - just the odd ride blowing by me.

Most of you . . .

. . . . were right. And no surprise if you put two and two together.


If you're ever given the opportunity to particiapte freely in a pepper spray deomonstration, take my advice and turn it down. In fact run away.


If you're on the bitter side of John Law (take note future drunken participants of the upcoming Destalk AntiRace) who is feeling a little trigger happy with the extent and reach of his judicial powers and slightly trigger happy on his issued can of OC spray . . . run away and don't look back.


I can honestly say, and in my humble opinion, from the stand point of someone who has had numerous painful injuries, lacterations, concussions, rectal exams (wooo weeee you've got long fingers doc!), broken bones, pulled & strained muscles and legaments, a few surgeries, broken hearts and hurt egos . . . to date, being sprayed is in my top five most painful and uncomfortable experiences I have ever had.


Think: liquid thorns in combination with the worse sunburn you've ever had mulitplied by ten and throw in a good dousing of battery acid to top it all off . . . mix it all up in an areosol cannister, shake and have someone apply liberal amounts across your eyes (from ear to ear) at seven feet away. Good times, good times indeed.


Took me three hours to get my eyes in a somewhat open manner. The intensity of the spray causes something called acute hyperventalation syndrome - in other words it takes your breath away without even having to breath it in (more of a psychological occurance due to the extreme pain it causes). My eyes were swollen, bloodshot and sore for two days.

It was more painful than watching this famous interview.

My eyes! They burn!

Captions this:

Destalk AntiRace

Misfit Psycles Destalk AntiRace . . . .personally I prefer The Peter Keiller Appreciation Day Race.

I really do appreciate Peter Keiller - so much so I double checked the spelling of his last name before publishing this.

I know that if I don't attend this event feelings will be hurt. The Empire is a sensitive organizational power built on low self-esteem and the need to be recognized, acknowledged and loved by all.

Personally, I know that the only reason my attendance is requested is Peter wants a quazi police presence and someone with more legal knowledge (especially those offences dealing with public drunken'ness) than the average bear to help bail out Misfit members from the local drunk tank and rescuing dirty, mtn bike dirt bags from the clutches of John Law. Let it be known, I have as much knowledge and authority as a chocolate cop - no use of force options will be present . . . just my sheer sexiness.

My free time has been at a premium the past couple of months, and will continue to be so until the beginning of December. Since June of 2000, cycling has never taken a back seat to much of anything (ask my wife!). Alas, visions of sugar-plums dancing in my head and dreams of cracking down on traffic violators have influenced me to chase my goal. Thus my absence from the cycling blog-o-sphere and single track as of late.

This Vs. her . . . .

Time spent with a bunch of dirty, drunken mtn bikers or my little Peanut . . . . not a tough decision.

HOWEVER . . . .

In a death-de-fying feat of multitasking management skills, I have attempted to schedule (that's with a strong "schhhh" sound at the front) this AntiRace. With family somewhat in the neighbourhood of this galactic event, I should be able to swing taking part in most, if not all, of this schwin-dig. Be it known, I have a 39 hour pass from full immersion in becoming the next Sheriff Lobo and I hope the Empire appreciate my presence (90% certain - I still have to check with my wife!) - so much that I may even receive a little sumthang sumthang for my efforts - like a new sticker for my down tube.

And with the promise of soccer moms in attendance, how could I say "No!" ?