If you happen to follow FacePsycles, you've probably and already seen a super-self-indulgent poster project that I intend to be forcing on this years BreckEpic. So, and this is just a biased insistance, register already. Furthermore. If I was to do a poster for TRANS-SYLVANIA as well, something undead and booby maybe, I could possibly afford to go there as well. Perhaps (any)SOMEONE ought suggest that to Mr Kuhn ...
Not because I had one. 2012 Peter was entirely unhung. Facts being as they were (or where not dependant on perspective), what my leisurely solo stroll up 4 O'Clock Rd didn't flush out - my swim to the front door certainly did. Further validating a prior Darwinian order, I shall not ever (perhaps and forever never) be left all and alone to face life-like-tasks. Incapable of simplicity, I will and do, find ...
This well and could be a long (stage) report. But it won't be. If it was, left to it's own devices that is, it'd be so full of bullshit that you wouldn't believe a word of the real shit that follows. You'll just have to take my word for it. Stage 4 was a big-boy day. A stage which, in the past, I have excelled at (of course I use this ...
Like the most, I have grown accustomed to enduring tales of whoa whilst travelling. Todays adventures where of the not sort. No lines. No attitudes. No problems. Aside from the majority of this time, which I invested in boredom, I had an opportunity to finalize most all the necessary calculations. Calculations that, while meaningless, would result in thoughts, some of which motivated me towards a process of action that would (...
Officially and openly speaking. There is no singular part of me or my that is ready to depart for Breckenridge this up and coming Saturday morning. Save perhaps my vastly improved tolerance to clear alcohols. My lack of preparedness has even (very recently) been challenged by the enactment of the ultimately impending in advance of any opportunity. Better the now as they say... Foremostly. The four of you FacePeople that ...
We (being I) have entered the final stage of preparations for this months impending trifecta; BRECK EPIC SSSRWC CELEBRITY ROAST Flights, acquired. Accommodations, made. Equipment, well in process... As you might recall, on July 31 I appealed for assistance, hours later actions were enacted and by August 3 I can affirmatively confirm that I indeed have (most) of what I need in order to be done. Most. Most because the wheels were (...
The BRECK EPIC is coming. Looming. Threatening. An impenetrable fiscal fog, blackening the heart of mine August and spewing loss well into the fall. To the most and unknowing, participation is entirely voluntary. To the rest, it is anything but. The Breck Epic is absolutely ineludible. Like so much of a necessary evil. Like crime(s) committed in the interest of some good. Or. Like Valentines Day. Damned if you ...
The Breck Epic is less than a ways away. Riding, to some extent, has been done. And it's worthy of note as well, I've enjoyed it. Immensely. Finally. Effectively, however, what's done is done. As it pertains to preparation. For me, travel takes over come this July. So, what's left (pre-Epic) will and shall be considered TAPER*. * Look it up, all the pro's do it. It shall be a great ...
The 2012 edition of the BRECK EPIC will be a go in some and so 60 days. For you, there can only be three possible responses; You have entered. You have not entered, you will be doing so, you are just slow. You have not entered, you will not be doing so, you are a pussy. Certainly, if you have entered, you probably and already know that you aren't number ONE. Because ...
I am no stranger to sustained and repeated failure. I've done it much, I do it well. I've grown comfortable with, if I'm not most partial to, it's sting. I excel at decelerating. It's not mere failure that constitutes my current cycling complication. It's the graphic (evidently intentional) journey through the stages of; laughing stock (A) to potential (B) to loser (C) to complete disappointment (D) that I despise the ...
Last (BRECK) day. The other day. For Stage SIX of the BRECK EPIC there was miles and there were feet. Distance and vertical I'm told. Surely to hold trials, tribulations controlled by a medieval system of measure. Updates of a (more) timely fashion, while obviously more appropriate, would not have reflected the intense (and debilitating) nature of STAGE SEVEN. Five days the previous, the hangover is now subsiding. Suffice to ...
Stage FIVE. 40 miles. 7somethingthousand' of climbing. Wheeler complete. Repairs held. Legs held even more so. Although they needed to be reminded regularly that it was in fact a 'bicycle' race and not a 'Hey fuckwits, what say we grab our bikes and walk around the backcountry for six days and see how much we can puke at altitude' race. So I rode more than in past days. Sometimes quickly. Mostly ...
With repairs made. Repairs holding. All that remained for Stage Four was to ride out the 7600' and 40 miles. Ride I did. Rode indeed. There was a glorious five mile uphill sprint. A return to better days. Better results. Rider after rider fell to my superior powers. Then. There wasn't. There were no explosion. No fire. No sparks, blood or any grande spectacle of mine demise. Legs stopped. But still. ...
Stage ONE provided a major kick to my general preparedness. Stage TWO was only marginally longer (2 miles or 30 km). Stage TWO offered 50% more vertical (at 7300'). I could wax for some time about how this feels. But. None of this matters. Above all. The hub stunked. The cranks crunked. Something had to be done. Hub rework took place between beers the night prior and utilized our ample shop inventory. Steak ...
Ten reasons why New Peter is going to kick the living fuck out of the BRECK EPIC 2011. New Peter did not get working wheels. I say this without an ounce of surprise. New Peter needs not one-thing that actually works. New Peter is broke and financially pathetic. There will be no Porsche. No stripper powered massages. No cocaine sandwiches and no 100$ bill tire patches. A budget limited to petty theft ...