What it is that is afflicting me, this thing that it is, whatever it is.
This thing that just so happens to be one of the things that’s been going around (or perhaps the allergies bound on mimicking it) seems to be intent on overstaying it’s obvious unwelcome.

There is no need to visit the doctor.
Take this.  Stop that.
Prescription Pill Culture.

I have resigned myself to life in a haze for the foreseeable future.
Insomuch as I can foresee anything through this fucking haze.

Most Best Thing I Hate Taking:

Buckley’s has been a staple in the mandatory psycle kit since before I psycled.
Professionally.  Give or take.

Unnecessary Aside Number One:
1986.
That was when Buckley launched the “It tastes awful.  And it works.” campaign.
Respect and desperation drove that first purchase.
Bikes were bikes and I wanted a TOPAZ.
That same year Kevin Bacon was inventing fixed gear bikes.

BUCKLEY’S is the longest standing unreciprocated partnership the Empire enjoys.

Since then and all but forever, 100ml bottles are smuggled in my luggage whenever I move abroad (evidentially this sickly elixir is not available in your America).

At times, during peak cycling season, my inventory rivals Shoppers.

Partially consumed bottles can be found in compartments of every Camelbak, multiple medicine cabinets, desk drawers, with camping supplies, in the overnight bag, backpack and possibly my pants pocket.  At this moment.

Dosages are doled direct from the bottle.
Serving sizes are merely ’suggested’.
Relief is instant.
Replenishment is every four.  Hours.
Usually less.

I drink it at the starting line; Ocups-enduro’s-marathon’s-stage race’s.
I use it to wash down my Endurolytes.
I spit fire.

I could quit at any time.

As suggested, through self diagnosis, a night ride would set things right.

Things came and things went until things started.
Things went pretty much as expected.

Weather fucktuations tend to have an abysmal impact on hydraulics.

A fast freeze on Friday began the lever slide.
A jump back to mid teens (this night) finished the job.
Nothing but grip.

Not necessarily Magura particularly…but particularly Magura, sadly.

This is Craig.
Craig led the adventure.
Craig rides with a Camelbak.

Craig is dangerous.
Craig doesn’t ride with Buckley’s.
Craig doesn’t ride with a tool.
Or spare.
Or pump.

Just a Camelbak.
And incredibly olde aluminum parts.
And a fork made of plastic.

I have an AwesomeStrap.
I carry one of everything.  (al)Mostly.

In my strap I carry a hand pump and a spare.  Only.

Unnecessary Aside Number Two:
Michael, my TR 07 partner, runner of Dukes, inventor of Lap Dogs, brought such gaseous garbage (in gross) each and every day.
He clinked when he pedaled.
It wasn’t olde age.

Michael, prone to flats, proceeded to expended each and every days supply well into the alpine ozone before begrudgingly allowing me to blow it up.

Michael would put the frosty shells in my center jersey pocket.

An inexcusable solution completely devoid of an actual problem.
If you ride with gas, you ride with Hitler!

Crank Brothers PP, all you’ll ever need.

Unnecessary Aside Number Three:
All the cool kids recieved a personally mammogramed edition at Breck Epic 2009.

Further more.  Suspicion, assumptions and unadulterated rumors promise that Mike MicCronic will have something entirely more exclusive for those that register for the Breck 2010 early’ish…like me…go ahead, check the list…I’m not there but I SHOULD BE.
More for another time.

Incidentally, the ride, my therapy ride, the ride was great.

I felt way better then.  During.

Not any better, not any worse.  Now.

It just goes to show you.

This entry was posted on Thursday, October 22nd, 2009 at 12:37 and is filed under Breck '09, General Stuff. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.