I adjusted the photo I took of myself the other night to make it a little more family friendly.
You might ask yourself why in the throws of illness would I think to grab my camera and snap a shot, and the only answer I can muster is simply because I don't yet have a photo of myself barfing.

It really is the ultimate in narcissism.

And besides, I think the bathrobe is a pretty nice touch.

If it is the flu, I now have an excuse for my piss-poor performance on Sunday.
If it's not, then I guess I can just attribute my race result to a general level of suckness.

That being said, my debut at the JanSport party was anything but noteworthy.

There was free food, an open bar, a shot bar, a photo booth, a poachable swimming pool, a bevy of attractive people, and most notably, a margarita pissing statue, none of which I was able to take part in;

If you had your ear to the ground on Wednesday night some time around 7:30 you might very well have heard my heart breaking.

Though being the consummate professional that I am, I stuck my head into one of the meeting rooms to take a look at what was left over to see. The most notable was what for all intent and purposes a miniature external framed backpack, the framework for which was removable, leaving you with a double strapped messenger bag. Internally there was a drawstring closable dry sack and a multitude of pockets and closures. This is what it looked like if you were standing next to me and you were super tall, or if I was on my knees begging your forgiveness;

Most of the show had been broken down by the time I'd arrived, so I only got to see a little bit of the 2010 line. The expedition bags I think were probably the coolest, and after my recent backpacking trip up the Yuba River (check the old site I used to write for) with my 25 year old bag, I think it might be time for an upgrade.

Moving on.. Now that I've got a Facebook page, it cuts my time looking for crap on the internet down to only like, 18 hours a day. Sometimes though, I'll spy one that will pique my interest.
It's chock full of bad words, but I'm a simple minded man, so I'm ok with it.

'Insane discoveries that science can't explain'.

For those of you who don't care about that specific sort of historical phenomenon, here is a photo of Larry Woodruff in 1980;

I know for a fact that some of you are aware who Larry Woodruff is. For the rest of you, wish on your lucky stars that one day you might.

685 sent that photo on to me, and though there truly is alot to love about it, I think my favorite part is this guy;

Here is one for the "wow, man.. That's sweet, but gross, but sweet, but gross" file;

Since I am seemingly the only bicycle related website that never had a recap of the SSWC, I may as well throw up George's version of what transpired, but unless you've been living under a rock, you might already have gotten the idea;

"friend,
check out the crap that went down in Durango the other weekend.

that event was rad.
toodles,
g"

It must have been, cause people won't stop talking about it.
So, Complayna posed this question to me, and I in turn posed it to George, and though it's probably an erroneous query coming from a person who for the better part of 15 years has raced in an orange jumpsuit, I still have to ask- What's the deal with costumes at bike races? I wore one last year in Portland for the first and only time, but I couldn't begin to tell you why.

Of course Gaahl (the individual I was dressed as) had just recently come out of the closet, so the chances that I would have dressed up like him on that day anyway, are pretty high.

(Photo by Brujo.)

Anyway, Complayna's query is an interesting one. What has transpired in the last five years to have made dressing up in costumes at bike races all the rage?

It looks like, despite the above photo, I just very well might be one of the only people who doesn't get it.

Alrighty.. I'm gonna roll on outta here to continue evacuating my system. I hope you all appreciate how difficult it is to not only post here consistently, but to do so while taking intermittent breaks to vomit.

Signing off with respect, and cold sweats,