As I mentioned previously, I would like to limit the runs of bags to smaller batches so as to not overwhelm Ian, the individual who lovingly crafts each of them by hand.
Place your order now, and I can almost guarantee that your bag’s thread will be spun from the beard hair of the man himself;
Also, if anyone can tell me what kind of bike Ian is riding in the above photo, you win the distinct honor of knowing your ass from a hole in the ground.
As long as we have broached the topic of holes in the ground, and how they may or may not relate to one’s ass, Michael ‘Tweeted’ me the following link that is one part dumb, and two parts dumberer.
If yu think yu kan handl it, the ful story iz hear.
Did you catch that footnote in there? The person who is concerned with his baby’s well being also happens to be a twice convicted child molester.
I’ve said it before and I’m sure I will say it again- The fact that it’s more difficult to get a driver’s license than it is to create an entirely new life form becomes increasingly shocking to me. Then again, every time an inbred hillbilly has a child, Walmart gets a new customer, and that’s good for the economy, right?
Speaking commerce, as I’m sure most of you are aware, the disaster in the desert otherwise known at Interbike (or ‘Innerbike‘ for those of us with lazy tongues) is just around the corner, and as usual, I have been furiously searching for something to wear that will allow me to present myself in the most appropriate light possible. After finding the following item, I think it’s safe to say that my search might very well be over;
But aside from an undersized tuxedo, what would possibly do such a thing justice? Luckily Chris from Electra Bicycle Company had my back and sent me this sharp little number.
I can already hear my dance card filling up.
An individual who wouldn’t be afraid to wear a rubber prosthetic in Las vegas is the enigmatic Jordi, pictured here engaged in some rad getting;
If I remember correctly, he used to be employed doing something along those lines anyway.
Now back over to the mail bag, from Ken I got this short and sweet one;
“Thanks for the SF Weekly link, and never forget…
-”Your ass backwards if you chase hoes, chase the cheese they come with the shit.”
I think that’s funny, but funny in an uneasy sort of way. Laughing at Laurence Koolaid Maroney is not a lot unlike laughing at a retarded kid, and as you and I both know, that’s just not nice.
Sean sent me a shout for an event that warms my heart and is exactly the sort of throwdown for which my fantasy road trip is tailor made;
The Durango Gay Mountain Fest.
A beavy of fat tire loving homos and homettes, all coming together in a beautiful mountain setting to engage in their mutual love of the fat tire?
And for those of you who might think I’m being facetious, let me assure you, I am not.
Two things I like just about more than anything are riding mountain bikes in Colorado, and partying… No… raging until my face falls off, and very few people in my life know how to tear the holy hell out of a celebration better than the gays.
Though if I had my way, the BBQ/pool party would have been scheduled for an entire day.
Alright, before I go I have to show off a pet project of mine. You see, two years ago I decided to place an order for a 29er with my pal Rick Hunter. Upon receiving the request, he flatly questioned “don’t you already have enough bikes?”
That’s good business practices right there.
Anyhow, as I chipped away at my debt to him with anything from bribes to beer and everything in between, I began amassing a collection of parts. Friends from all corners of the industry very graciously provided me with whatever odds or ends they might have had stashed away in their desks, closets or garages.
As I mentioned to someone recently, ‘for a 40th birthday present to myself, I ordered a custom frame and started collecting parts when I was 37.’
After all is said and done, I have turned the final set screw, and crimped the last cable on the newest addition to my stable;
New bike wood is in full effect around here, and I finally see what all the hubbub about 29ers is.
On that note, it’s Monday. The sound of clocks being punched is ringing out across the land and the nation’s work force are filing into their respective cubicles.
Though from my perspective, today seems as good a day as any to call in sick.
If you need me, you know where I’ll be.