Rants on Cycling and on Life


Political Signs....
In this Political Season we find that people often decorate their lawns with various signs in an effort to inform and educate their neighbors of....well....of their political views.

Here is a link to some images of a person's homemade political signs that are worth a look.

I am not positive
but I feel that the creator of these signs may have also brought the world the MEESE IS A PIG T-Shirt and the THIS IS NOT A FUGAZI T-SHIRT t-shirt




Some of them are almost too scary to look!

This Tuesday may prove to be more scary than this Sunday, Halloween itself!

Red Bean, Stone Soup, and maybe a little too much of the Happy Juice

The Washington Post has been running an article on local personality Frank Connell. It is a fun little piece of PR that documents the efforts of some merry prankster named Frank and his attempts to start a Cajun burrito joint with his cousin Mike (who answers to cousin mike) on the main strip here in Mount Pleasant. It is a sad story to see unfold in front of your eyes, plays out with a sad piece of drama. What could be a good resturant and maybe the future of two young men's lives (well, one young man Cousin Mike and the already ageing Peter Pan that we know as Frank Connell) may rapidly turn out to be lost money to a unknown number of investors. For me, Frank would not have been a horse to bet he is surely a long shot.

The latest edition the activities of Frank play out like that of some common crackhead or junkie as he appeals to the local bank to cut him some slack on his constantly over drawn account due to some personal stuff that no one needs to hear all the while demanding to know why it is taking so long to get approval for a business loan. Sad to say that this man is a better cook than a businessman. And his tongue is more likely to get him a handful of change on the corner than a loan at the bank. He would make a skilled "artful dodger."

I have encountered Frank many times over the past many years, usually in more of a party situation. Well, maybe me getting a drink at the bar and Frank toasting the world like it is New Year's Eve, every night has that wreckless attack like it is his last. In my younger years I may have had more patience; maybe even pleasure, in the antics of such a character, but as my bar adventures are fewer and fewer between I do not want my hours in the pub to be wasted by a self absorbed clown with an alcohol soaked liver telling me of his misadventures (only to forget that we ever spoke the next time I encounter him)

gotta roll
fatherhood calls

if Red Bean had a liquor license I would head over there tonight to catch the next act

see BARFLY is Mickey whatever his hasbeen 80's superstar name was


It seems that Halloween is not a day, but a month these days.
Which is great as I started to think it was a holiday that had been lost for the kids and only maintained by the adults.
I was wrong.
The kids dig it! The costume thing is awesome for them....and the candy....well....who can say no to the candy?

the above shot is of Dean and myself at the National Zoo for Boo At the Zoo
Trick or Treating at the Zoo
Get to check out all the animals at night doing some sort of Halloween thing.
Promoters are there trying to get our kids addicted to their products by handing out freebees!

That shot is funny because it was a free shot that was taken by AOL and posted (along with any other shots taken) on their web site.
I am not sure if images men in skirts with little boys should be circulating on the internet.

and yes
I have the legs for that skirt
but I most definitely do not have the stomach for that shirt

AIGA: Get Out and Vote!
a bunch of designers putting down their cigarettes and coffee and telling you to vote

I stole this link to the AIGA: Get Out and Vote Poster presentations from joe foley's Blog


Doc Oc teaches the kids how to BLOG!
not sure if it gets you where you need to go
dam JAVA or whatever high fi designer crap they used to make that site


So this afternoon I took the dogs into the woods after work
not only did I have the dogs by my side, but I had Grant on my back
at 9 months he is almost too large for me to manage
perhaps a few more months and a few more pounds
a few more back aches and a few more advil
fall is in all of its multicolored glory
the dogs were racing around in a maddening way
looking to find what sort of trouble they could find
was it the lunar eclipse from last night
the approach of Halloween this weekend
or that Roscoe and Brutus just do not get the work outs that they did when there were no kids around to soak up all of Lisa and my time
as I walked I figured that I could make a few phone calls
normally it is not my thing
but I figured that my conversation with its natural pauses, changes in tone, and varying vocabulary may give Grant the impression that I was talking to him
although he has heard all the cycling stories that I was sharing with Snoopy

it was a good hike
that is one of the nice things about not taking a long ride after work (by long I mean longer than my basic commute)
got home early enough that even with the early sunset I was still able to get out into Rock Creek park with plenty of sunlight and also plenty of time to get out and get back

snoopy and todd are headed up north for a cross race
somewhere in new england...
hope they get some nice mud

Landcruiser SOLD!
well, actually
I ended up donateing this old truck to the American Kidney Foundation
very glad to see it go
prefered giving it away rather than selling it
as I feared that there were so many problems that I may have not been able to share the long list with the perspective buyers
I did try to be honest....
but I am only human and was not forever completely honest on every issue
in sales....honesty is not the best policy!
as honest as I was....I think I most definitely shot myself in the foot
best to play ignorant if you want to make the sale
guess I did not want to make the sale


When I was a small blue eyed boy with a blonde-ish brown Bruce Lee bowl cut in the second grade my father took me to the football field of Bethesda Chevy Chase High School for my first soccer practice on the Our Lady of Lourdes CYO (Catholic Youth Organization) Soccer team. Soccer was new to this country and our team consisted of an amalgamation of a few different grades. Most of us had never heard of soccer nor had ever played anything more than the basic activity in gym class. We were a rag tag group of kids, but the Bad News Bears was a top box office hit in that era so we were En Vogue. After that first season with the Lourdes (OLOL) team I was picked up by one of our opposing teams of that year. FLANNERY. I had remembered them from the year as not just the fancy gold uniforms...they were better organized. Our lead player was one of the youngest and the smallest on the team...they ran plays...we ran the swarm. It was not hard to remember our opponents the FLANNERY TEAM as Dennis Flannery was not only the name of the coach, but also of their second grade star player. Our coach Bill Kirvan put me on man to man coverage of Dennis. I had been instructed. "STICK TO FLANNERY LIKE GLUE IF HE GOES TO THE BATHROOM....YOU GO TO THE BATHROOM!" It was like an assignment sending me off to war. Bill Kirvan with his Steve McQueen good looks and his game winning hook shot....he was the coach of all coaches with his wide hand wave in his little VW bettle with the horse hair seats. It was a fond memory of our game against Flannery.

(Bill Kirvan would remain an influence in my life as my basketball coach and as the father of the children who had the Kool Aid house in our neighborhood. I am sure that as he grew more familiar with soccer he grew to be the powerhouse coach for soccer that he was for basketball)

I had been scouted out. There was a league developing fast and furious and this was a good team to get on. So I did. I left the instruction of Bill Kirvan for the guidance of Dennis Flannery. We were older and the structure made sense. After all third graders should be paying attention when their coach is talking to them, not picking at the grass like some sort of who knows what taht children of that age tend to do. The league was the Montgomery Soccer Incorporated or MSI...their jerseys unlike our Lourdes jerseys had numbers and various sizes.

It was a new era. There was some sort of SOCCER EXPLOSION. PELE was in contention with LUKE SKYWALKER for the coolest guy in the universe award. chronology may be off. Luke Skywalker may have still been in the studio, but you get the basic idea. Soccer was IT! All of the kids with any sort of European heritage had such pride. Their "football" was reclaiming the name from our football. This is not to say that most every kid in the 3rd grade other than me knew all of the words to HAIL TO THE REDSKINS. Afterall everyone watched football, collected football cards, played football, but that football was pick up and not the pad and helmet game that we saw on tv. Soccer was the game the kids were playing on Saturday and Sunday afternoons at every high school and elementary field in the tri-state area. It was all the rage and all the buzz. Teams had reputations. Coaches had identity. Every team was known by the coaches last name, not the team jersey color, as the team color was random and not chosen. But, the team name...that was determined by the team's coaches last name....and everyone watched out for the team's coach's son. Our team was no different. Denis Jr., which no one called him, we just called him Denis, was the star....and agile skilled ball handler with a keen sense of the game and an excellent leadership ability as well as know how to create plays....all at the standard age of a third grader.

this drunken red wine induced rant is starting to wander
my words are headed towards a Brazilian immigrant and his golden cleats rather than an over enthused mom and her well worn work boots, laces never tied, and her baggy paint covered jeans.

more later
do not want to risk waking my younger son Grant whose crib shares a space with my computer

it is the next morning
let me see if I can regain my train of thought and finish this idea
as it seemed to be a good one last night

Our Flannery team grew and changed. There was the unsuccessful merger with the Saban Team (French father to Ariel Saban, the coaching personalities did not mix) Then there was the move to the "Select League." It was an emotional time. Basically the team went from a gathering of friends to a team that had try outs, recruitment, and CUTS! We became a traveling team with mandatory practices and games on both Saturday and Sunday. Dennis Flannery was an excellent coach that stressed fitness and skills as well as sportsmanship and teamword. We always ran a great deal and always concentrated on our drills and everyone treated everyone with the basic respect. It was an odd time for me....I was a bit of an introvert...well, okay I was a geeky kid without being popular, without many friends, and without fitting in with the rest of the group; some things never change. Yet, I managed to maintain on this select traveling team and fit in the best I could.

During these many years on Flannery I have many great memories. I can recall trying to keep stride with Mr. Flannery as we did our pre-practice mile runs. And I can also recall the cheering and support that was offered by Mrs. Flannery. She was at every game dressed in her casual garb. She was cheering and screaming with great passion. Mrs. Flannery like most parents was involved in setting up the fields, providing orange slices for halftime, and Cragmont soda at the end. But, somehow it seemed that Mrs. Flannery did not have time for the social banter with the other parents, she was too engrossed in the game. She did not just cheer and support for her son Denis, but she cheered for everyone on the team. It was humorous to watch her "mime" each trap, kick, and pass with her body as the ball moved up and down the field. I remember dribbling the ball up the sidelines or going to take a kick and having her run along side of me giving positive instruction and moral boosters all the way. There were times when she showed up at practice. Mrs. Flannery always got a kick out of my running with my mouth open rather than breathing through my nose, but over the years she accepted that it was my style. There were post season parties...sometimes at Shakey's pizzeria and sometimes at the Flannery House in Chevy Chase. These parental figures had a strong impact on my life.

Then as High School approached I grew tired of the select league and made the decision to quit Flannery so that I could move to an Open team and get that coveted center halfback spot that I had no chance of winning from Dennis. I moved to the less star studded Nolen team. Many of these players were the "rejects" from the move to select that happened some many years earlier. It was back to the Bad News Bears for me, perhaps a crowd that I better belonged to. We lost most of our games. I scored more goals than I had in the years prior, but my skills diminished. Enjoyed being one of the "stars" and did not mind moving to one game a weekend instead of two or three; the long weekend tournaments were not missed at all either.

Bethesda was still a bit of a small town back then and we belonged to the same Parrish as the Flannery family so our paths crossed from time to time. There were always pleasant exchanges. Then High School and then College came about and soccer moved to the high school and college level and so did I, although I managaged to make my college team for 4 years of varsity and my high school team for one year of junior varsity. During those years I would run into Judy Flannery more than Dennis senior. Either going into the grocery store, the library, or seeing her working at the local Racquet and Jog store. At each meeting she always went through a great inquiry of how I was doing and what was going on. I loved to talk about myself so I always loved these encounters. She was someone I respected and it tickled me to have her so interested in my "goings on." I had heard about her running growing into Triathalons, but never on these meetings did she route the conversation to herself. But rather, if I ever asked about such things she would give a short response and then bring it back to me. Always giving me a good boost to my moral and self confidence.

As the years passed our meetings grew to be more and more sparse. After college I heard more and more about Judy's successes in the world of sports. At parties I would see some of her daughters, the younger Megan and Shannon. They knew me as the kid whose parents got married in their back yard while they were in Europe. This was true, my father had married his second wife in their backyard while she was house sitting for them while they were overseas for the summer. I would ask about their mother, and their family and they would keep me informed. When their mother was mentioned in Sports Illustrated for her Master Triathalon achievements we knew that she was doing something big!

Then some years later while Lisa and I were just boyfriend and girlfriend we went traveling in Southeast Asia. While we were gone unknown to us Judy Flannery was hit and killed on a training ride on her bike. The specifics of the circumstances are unclear. As I heard it....basically, a car driver was drunk, too drunk to drive so he had his underage unlicensed 15 year old take the wheel. They were headed down River Road when the cyclists were coming the other direction. The father grabbed the wheel and forced the car into the oncoming paceline. The lead two cyclists were able to split to each side. Judy was in a tuck and was hit head on. Killed on impact. There had been no time to respond. The driver got a nominal fine. The story got blurred. The child passenger in the back seat told one initial story, then edited his tale. There was a service and a memorial, athletes from all over the area and all over the globe attended to pay their respects to this model athlete and friend. When I got home I was greatly saddened to hear this news of this family friend. My father had saved the newspaper clippings for me and shared with me an account of the services. I cried. I cried for many reasons. I cried because death is sad. I cried because a family lost its mother. I cried because I man lost the women he loved. I cried because I lost a friend. I cried because I would never see this person again.

The stories my father shared with me of all the men and all women that Judy was able to touch and inspire. I learned that this relationship that I had with Judy as a child was similar to the relationship that she shared with athletes of all ages and skill levels until the time of her death.

In my youth that soccer experience was a big part of creating who I am. My coaches had a great impact on developing my sense of self. Judy falls into that same set of influences. Earlier this week I had the opportunity to see a film called "JUDY'S TIME" This film is a short documentary created by Erin Flannery, the eldest Flannery child. Erin was a student at USC getting her masters in film when her mother was killed in this 'accident.' It was a touching piece, well produced, certainly as interesting and emotional to those who knew her and to those that did not. The story covered the tale of a women going from housewife to a World Class level triathalete. In this film the identity of Judy's personality was presented eliquantly. Again I cried. It was sad to see that so many people felt the same feelings of grief and loss for her senseless death. Again I mourned in my head for her loss of life and for her family's loss of her.

need to get back to work
I have babbled enough
I will be crying without a job if I do not get back to work

maybe I will proof this later
and try to make some edits so it makes more sense
have not read it
so I have no idea where it meanders

Trek to Athens

A film maker from Harrissonburg Virginia had the ambition to make a film documenting the quest for the Olympics with a concentration of Trek East Coast Hometown Heros Jerimiah Bishop and Sue Haywood. There journeys were long and impressive but did not take them to the Olympics. Nor did the bicycle manufacturer Trek opt to sponsor the making of the film so the film became OFF ROAD TO ATHENS. Jason Berry also created several films documenting the Shenadoah Mountain 100. I most definitely will be watching and waiting for local showings of this film.

here it is Wednesday
halfway through the week
best to try and get out a Race Report from Saturday's event before the information is less than timely
and before the details of the event are forgotten and blurred with all of the other races and rides of the months before

Race Report: Panorama Paranormal 6 Hour Mountainbike Race

Usually at this time of the year it is to be expected that any race report to be written would be covering the trials and tribulations of cyclocross as this is the season of pumpkins, leaf piles, and cyclocross....but NO! There are still mountainbike races to be raced, and I raced one last weekend just outside of Charlottesville Virginia; The Panorama Paranormal 6 Hour Race.

Somewhere towards the end of the summer a friend and frequent riding partner, Chris Redlack sent me the link to the 6 Hour mountainbike relay event and asked me if I wanted to team up with him as a Clydesdale Duo. Without hesitation I gave Chris a full hearted YES! But, unlike my promises to race the 12 Hours of Lodi Farms and the 24 Hours of Snowshoe with him....this was a promise that I was determined to keep. As the race day approached I watched the weather channel and endured the rain on my short 15 minute rides to and from work but could not find a solid reason not to ride this race. Sure I had not been on any dirt to speak of since the Shenandoah Mountain 100 nor had I been pounding the pavement of the bike trails surrounding the city, but a flat semi-technical mountainbike course relay with laps running roughly a hour each would not demand much training or prep...just a couple of cans of Red Bull could do the trick. So as the weekdays passed by I spent a few hours cleaning up my bike, packing away enough cold/cool weather gear for 4 laps, and set a few cans of Red Bull on ice.

Finally Saturday arrived....

There had been fleeting notions of heading off to Yoga in the morning with a fully packed car and driving straight out of town from there, but....that would have taken more preparation then I tend to possess. So, instead I spend the hours before noon Saturday morning with Dean chasing me around the basement and Grant trying to crawl behind me as I ran about the house gathering various cycling glasses, gloves, and skull caps. Eventually I resolved myself to departing with what I had. If there were shoes, lights, a helmet, and a bike I was good to go. As it turns out I managed to fit two bikes inside the spanking new Honda Element, with the front wheels off....with the seats left at standard extension. It was an impressive fit.

A few minutes after noon I was mobile!

The drive was nothing shy of pleasant. It amazed me how much more pleasurable it is to drive a car where the stereo is louder than the engine, the defroster and wipers clear the windshield, the heater heats the car, and the seat is more like a massage chair than a tractor saddle. The Landcruiser was quickly forgotten. It was all about the Honda Element now! The money saved on gas was spent at Wendy's. I figured I would grab enough food for lunch and for dinner.....a Single Classic, a Spicy Chicken sandwich, and a four piece chicken seemed to be enough. Cold cokes were in a cooler along with various other snacks. I was set. With the radio playing I drove forward on towards Charlottesville, before Wendy's could be more than a speck in my rear view mirror I had already finished both sandwiches and was devouring the greasy fried chicken. My stomach ached...was it hunger or was my body rejecting this meal. Assuming it was hunger I ate right through the pain. Clydesdales run off a different sort of fuel than different athletes.

Arrival was painless....even with the standard I-66 bumper to bumper traffic here and there I was able to arrive at the race site in under 3 hours. Minutes after my arrival I met up with Chris, moved my car along side of his and we began the pre-race prep. In an illogical fashion I went from task to task never finishing suffering from that prerace panic. Chris offered to flip a coin to see who went out first....I opted to go out first just to give me something to do. I hate waiting around. Chris did not dispute my offer, he tends to be pretty mellow about such things. With the bike ready to ride I slipped into my gear and headed to the startline....the race start had been delayed 20 minutes.... More anxious time to kill. I HATE LATE STARTS! Sure, I tend to arrive late, but I like to arrive, get on my bike and race....all of that standing around time just makes me more anxious.

More and more people started rolling in late.....
The field grew rapidly as the late start time grew more near.
Anxiety grew greater and greater as I thought about the competition, the trails, my bike, and my current level of fitness.

The race started with the classic LeManns, which means that the racers line up and run to their vehicle , which in this case the vehicle is a bicycle.

With the racers lined up I stood a few racers back in the pack. With the promoters count back from five I felt myself running in the front with a few was less then a sprint....not even a mad dash. I got to my bike and entered the single track within the top ten of the pack. Once in the woods the racers settled into a bit of a groove. Each twist and turn was completely foreign to me. Never knowing what was going to be around the bend I respected the pace of the racers in front of me, but was feeling anxious just the same. At times I tried to convince the racers in front of me to pass when they could, but I did not do much to get around anyone on my own. With a few costume wearing riders around me I tried to find a rhythm. A racer in a lion cosutume seemed to be pacing well and I followed on his tail, literally. As we made friendly passes around each racer in front of us the not so cowardly lion (who later turned out to be a bear and not a lion at all) managed to break his chain. Then I moved forward and further catching another set of riders and accepting the pace of another racer right in front of me. To my displeasure when following closely on another racer's tail we went over a little dipptee-doo and through some rear wheel hit harder than it should and I flatted out!


I pulled over, dropped to my knees, and cried out to the gods...WHY ME! WHY ME! WHY ME! Then went to my pack and and pulled out a spare 29 inch tube and began the process of replacement. One by one all the racers sped past me. I was that joker on the side of the trail. Even the lion had repaired his chain and was moving past me. Luckily for me this is a 6 hour race and a flat repair tends to take not much more than five or six minutes, so I regained composure and assured myself that the race was not over yet. Eventually with the flat repaired I was back on the bike and rolling on the trail again. It would be safe to say that I went from the front 10 racers in the group to being one of the last 10 racers. In a matter of time I got back into a groove and started the process of reeling in and passing the racers in front of me. The course was a pleasure. Nice tight winding single track, dense woods, a little rolling up and down, but no climbing....a good course for a CLYDESDALE! When lap one was over I passed the metaphorical baton off to Chris and he started rolling...wondering to himself...what took this guy so long! There had been not time or reason to be long winded about why my lap was not as fast as all those that rolled in before me.

With Chris out doing his lap I figured I had 50-60 minutes to do with as I pleased. As it turns out what I pleased to do was to get out of my clothing that was soaked with sweat, stream crossings, and mud and get into a nice and dry set of socks, shirt, and tights for my next lap. Then made sure to get another spare tube for the next lap, while cleaning my chain and checking my bike for any needed adjustments I was dismayed to discover that my rear wheel's hub was drastically loose....I raced around in search of some cone wrenches. In the search I got tired of hear the reply, "not here...but at home I have all sorts of tools" to my question about whether or not they had a set of 15mm cone idiotic..I am not taking a pole about who owns what....I am trying to fix my bike....I refrained from responding sarcastically to each ignorant response and went about my search. Eventually I was able to borrow the tools needed for the job from friend, rival, and fellow Clydesdale Bill Davis. Had not seen Bill since he stole victory from me in the final seconds of the Fairhill Classic in late August. He was good enough to share his tools. As I worked on my bike I learned that Bill is recovering from some knee surgery, thus causing him to take it light and race in the COED class with his wife. We said our good byes, wished each other luck, and soon enough I was at the START/FINISHLINE lining up to waiting for Chris' return from lap one. With two laps down I could clearly see that we were below the hour lap average thus assuring me that glorious 4th lap. There was no way of knowing our status with the other Clydesdales or the rest of the field overall, but I resigned myself to riding as hard as I could and accepting our place with those faster in front of us and those slower behind us.

The course and the campgrounds had a wonderful Halloween atmosphere. Discounts were given to racers in costume; there was Fat Bastard with his wife Wonder Woman, Death was on the Course, a Pimp...and of course a Ho...and a few others. The promoters had set up a large fire pit near a projector playing the latest and greatest kids films with a SPOOKY Halloween theme, I think I caught Shrek and Harry Potter in the background as scurried around before the departure of each lap. The grass roots atmosphere offered the potential for friendliness and bonding, but the two person format offered little time other than racing, repairing, fueling up only to rinse and repeat. The geared Karate Monkey Held up well. The first flat was the only flat and the hub stayed tight throughout the race, the Karate Monkey Single was there waiting to be ridden, but I did not feel the urge to spin the single....more over....I did not feel like rattling my bones without a front shock......

The course was slick and wet and got to be more wet and slick as the night dew began to collect and as each racer dripped and drained water from each stream crossing. There were endless opportunities for crashing...luckily I kept the risks and the crashing to a minimum. By the third and fourth laps I had a good idea of the sections I had to approach with momentum and which sections were best left for dismounting and hiking. There were some very odd mulch pile obstacles on the course. Each was ridable, at first I had thought them to be senseless....but as the night grew cooler the warmth of the composting mulch piles became more prevalent, thus giving an extra Halloween-esque feel to these mulch mountains with steam shooting out various peaks. The warm steam coming off the mulch pile reminded me of childhood and how as a child I would try to ride my bike up and over similar such as an adult I do not seek out such things as frequently, I became grateful for them reintroducing me to some of the simple pleasures that adults do not look for in life. Such as clearing this mulch pile, an obstacle that a logical adult XC mountainbike racer would go around and not over. The course as a whole was not unlike Schaffer Farms or Lodi Farms; which made it a great place to race, but not really a set of trails that I would make such a long trek to simply ride.

Rolling into the finish and passing through the smoke machine I found Chris waiting for me with a beer in hand. I looked to the clock and saw that my time for my fourth and final lap was just at one hour. I had failed to set the course record time on my last lap. Guess stopping to chat with Phil Rice out on the trail set me back a few minutes. But, I could not resist, as a parent and a clydesdale I have always found a a great appeal for the forever friendly and competitive Phil Rice. On this night Phil was containing his competitive side and flexing his parental side by racing with his daughter. I could tell that she was getting a bit flustered, not sure of her age, but I think she is a tall third grader. Any way you slice it ,it is impressive that she is out there and equally as impressive that Phil would opt to bond with his daughter rather than duke it out with the fellas. Perhaps I will be riding and racing with Grant and Dean in my future...we can only hope!

Any excuse I make, the flat on the first lap, the bonding with Phil, or the need to pass all of the other racers who blocked my momentum there is no taking way that Chris was the fast guy on our two man squad. Someone had to be faster and someone had to be slower.....on this day Chris was the fast guy which on a two man team made me the slow guy. We ended up taking first in Clydesdale, beating the next team by one solid lap. Days later when the results were posted we learned that we finished third overall, which is an added bonus. It is always great when the Clydesdales are able to show the other classes that we are not just bigger....but on some days and on some courses we are also faster.

Perhaps next year I will make the Panarama the tale end of the season and Lodi Farms the beginning....rounding things off with two very similar events that offer some of the great comeraderie that mountainbiking is all about. Oh! When I go to the Panarama Paranormal next year.....I will bring Lisa, Dean, and Grant for the event as well. It most definitely was an atmosphere that shows the world that mountainbike races are not just about bikes.


A Wonderful PRE-HALLOWEEN DC Tradition!

There are few days in Washington DC where you can find this type of energy....
Head down to 17th and P Street tomorrow evening before 9PM to catch the High Heel Races! (Drag Races)
Not sure if I will be headed down there as I am nursing a cold
if I am at half strength and the lisa can handle the kids
expect me to be standing on top of the McDonalds checking out the madness!