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So Long, And Thanks For All the Fish

"Today is my last day working at Surly Bikes."

I stole that line from Sov's final blog but it's as true for me now as it was for him then. It also probably felt just as strange to write but it’s true. Today is, in fact, my last day working at Surly Bikes. It's also my last day in the bike industry — at least for now — which is an even weirder thing to write. I've worked at Quality Bicycle Products (our overlords) for just about 9.5 years. I'm currently 29 years young. Now, I'm no mathlete but it seems to me that I’ve spent about a third of my life so far on this flat earth working around bikes. And that’s just fine with me.

Nearly a decade in the bike industry, summed up in a single photo.

Alas, the time has come for me to step away for a while and see what else is out there. I can’t thank my fellow Surly comrades — both present day and those of Surly past (lookin' at you Corson, Boliver, Sov, TreeBeard, Jesse, and Skoglund) — enough for everything they’ve done for me. This hodgepodge of weirdos and dirtbags have become like family to me — except I actually like all of them. And then there are all the people I've met on the periphery of Surly. I'm talking about the Cass Gilberts, Jared Harbers and Brad Quartuccios of the world that I otherwise maybe would've never met had it not been for Surly. For that, I'm forever grateful. On top of the amazing people I've had the chance to work with, it’s been an absolute honor to be the voice of a brand I care so much about for the past couple years. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

I also want to thank all of you, dear readers, for humoring my dumbass jokes and putting up with my terrible puns and crude attempts at humor. (Also, huge shout out to all of you with no engineering background that still insist on telling bike companies what they’re doing wrong. You’re truly the all-stars of the bike industry. What ever would we do without you?)

Lastly, I’d like to leave you all with a few blogs I’d always intended on writing but now you don’t get to read. Sorry.

I'd always planned on telling you all about:

  • That time I broke a rib from sneezing and slipped on some ice cubes and hit my head on the way down and had to lay in a puddle of spilt water and shame.
  • That time I was in a foreign country and drank four oil cans of Foster’s and woke up the next morning and someone had shit in my pants (not gonna say which country. HINT: It’s actually not Australia)
  • That time I drove six hours to see Carcass and ended up getting kicked out of the venue before they played because I fell asleep on the bar.
  • That time two dragonflies flew into my mouth on my ride to work and they were deep in coitus. (That actually happened yesterday. It was… weird.)
  • That time I ruined my OG Surly Hoodie by mixing too many long island ice teas with too much fried food and years later was gifted an immaculate photo blanket commemorating it that shall forever be dubbed “Puke Blanket.” My wife hates it (honestly, can't say I blame her) and makes me keep it locked away in a closet but sometimes when she’s not around, I take it out and look at it.
  • That time I went halvsies on a Subway sandwich with Bret Michaels

On second thought, maybe I'll have to do some guest blogs from time to time.

If you'd like to follow along with the goings ons ins my life, I can be found on Instagram at @sweeetbeeef. Be warned, it's less bike-related content than you'd think and more cats and ravioli than should be allowed.

 

Now, normally I leave you with some music, but I figured this time I’d go out on a slightly different note.

 

Sweet Beef, out.

Sweet Beef's avatar

About Sweet Beef

As Surly’s devilishly handsome Copywriter, Joel got to write his own bio. He also names things, writes the words in the Intelligencer and on our web site, and sticks his fingers in other various pieces of Surly propaganda. He even knows the difference between an “en dash” and an “em dash.” Never one to shy away from a snack, we are anxiously awaiting what’s going to happen when his metabolism inevitably chases him down and wreaks havoc on his soft, pastry-filled body.

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