Please forgive me, as I used this title a couple of years ago, but upon finding the above image (which, by the way, if that was brought to me in a restaurant, I would start a riot), and coupled with the short pile of fodder we have to sort through, it only seemed appropriate to dust it off.
I’m pretty sure I am.
Now that I’ve done my time in the battlefield for the first two in the Golden State, for round one;
Photo by Jon Suzuki
and round two;
I’m considering taking the show on the road and seeing how other people handle their business. Like, perhaps to drop a selection of city’s names into a hat, pull one out and allow the residents to play host, as we slowly kill ourselves together.
Or I’ll just fly to Seattle.
When I fist saw that I could only thing “Travis who?”
Personally, I would pay good money to see these three go head to head again. I’m sure Duane would as well.
From DPow! of Maximo Supremo residents Minneapolis West Design Works, I got this short slice of soul that’s 98% guaranteed to make a sucking day slightly less so;
Though I’m pretty sure Don momentarily lost hs mind when he said “-four of the hottest young men in the business, and by hot I mean they’re really doing it, and doing it out of sight.”
I’m not hip on the crazy vernacular of youth, but I’m reasonably sure that was just a bunch of mumbo jumbo strung together in a fit of drunkenness.
And speaking of which, back in October ace photographer Cory Keizer (Soze) sent me this little ditty, which is an image for the ages;
Alas, membership was to be the only bright spot in my time spent living in Marietta, Georgia, but it was simply not to be.
Finally, in closing I’d like to share a thoughtful correspondence that I recieved a few weeks ago regarding this most recent run of the AHTBM Smokey and The Bandit replica woolies;
Got the Bandit jersey. Badass. Even nicer than I imagined. I don’t know the story of how they came about, but the first time I saw one, I wanted it. Bad. I usually don’t want stuff–just don’t see that much that resonates–but the
Bandit jersey was different. Thought I’d tell you why.
My Daddy was a truck driver (yes, I’m a Southerner). Back in the mid-70s, prior to Smokey and the Bandit, he used to haul freight to Texas. He drove a cabover Kenworth K100 with a V8 Cummins in it. Not as nice Jerry Reed’s W900 KW, but a pretty damn nice truck.
Daddy used to haul Coors back from Texas. He knew a place where the guy would sell him ten cases and give him the eleventh case. Not a bad deal. After a trip, I’d hear him downshifting his truck to back into our driveway in Charlotte, and I’d run out to meet him. I was eight. He’d get out of the truck, worn out from driving all night, give me a hug, and go take a shower.
An hour or two later, his buddies would start showing up at the house to claim their beer. They’d open some of those cool, squatty Coors bottle and stand around the truck, talking about how damn good the beer tasted. I’d hang out by the truck, too, a little man among men. Every once in a while, Daddy would offer me a swig of his beer.
Awesome stuff. We still laugh about those days.
Once Coors moved east, they quit drinking it.
Anyway, I was talking with my wife on the way to work the other morning, and I mentioned for the fiftieth time how damn cool I thought my Bandit jersey was. Then I said something like “I wonder why?” My wife said, “I know why. It brings together your past and your present.” She’s right. I’m an English professor and cyclist who prefers bikes, books, smoked meat (especially deer and pork), bonfires, bourbon, and beer with my buddies to just about anything else. I don’t care if I ever have a nice car as long as I’ve got nice bikes. But I grew up with trucks and fast cars (Daddy’s) and beer, and somehow that Bandit jersey has captured that magic for me. Thanks.
I know I’ve expounded about the grief involved in doing these two runs of that jersey (every step of the way was a monumental pain in the ass), but to receive an email like this (and at the risk of sounding flippant), it truly makes every bit of hassle and headache absolutely worth the trouble;
I’m touched by Tanker’s words and am honored that he chose to share them with me, and in turn allowed me to share them with the eight to ten readers.
I make no bones about it- what we have here on a regular basis really is a steady diet of nothing, but every now and again, whether we like it or not, we accidentally supplement it with something of substance.