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Bikes. Parts. Chaos.

All I wanted for Christmas... was to stop barfing. Yep, got me a good case of the old stomache flu / food poisoning / attempted-murder-by-radioactive-doping over the holiday weekend. Pretty much thought I was going to die. I even willed all of my freaky tall bikes (not tallbikes, just tall bikes) to Snacky. I think I barfed out some key brain cells though, because now I find myself using words that, while close to what I mean, are not quite on the mark. For example, aw hell, I can't think of any examples. But trust me, it's like my brain searches for the word, but picks the last thesaurus entry for what I mean. Anyway. A couple of weeks ago Brauer Power, B Rose, and I road tripped it out to Pittsburgh (home of Yuengling Beer, said B Rose, and some truly spectacular drinkers) for the 17th (can that be right? sheesh.) annual Punk Bike Enduro. Suffice it to say that this grandaddy of Non-racing yahooery is a freakin' good time and I recommend it to everyone. Well, not to this guy: The day was pretty spectacular, in that no parts of my body froze. My feet did look like those of a dead guy who'd been drowned in a swamp and brought up 13 months later by a hungry black lab, but that's what you get in that neck of the woods: Pittsburgh is a great town. They got professional wrestling at the Moose Lodge, liquor raffles, and shit tons of muddy trails to ride - and nobody wants to keep you off the trails when they're wet because they're always wet. So, next December get yourself to Dirt Rag's big party and make an ass of yourself. I did and it felt good. And when Christmas comes around, just feel all the love and joy of the season between the twelve or thirteen times you have to run to the john and puke like a ninteen-year-old at Padre Island. -Skip -----