Confusion is part of life. A necessity of sorts. Without confusion, there'd be chaos. Not the kind of Utopian chaos promised by the Dil Pickle Club. Chaos by paralysis. Order without confusion. Directions. Expectations. Failure. Confusion is the ultimate camouflage. Understanding this, at least once you've partially convinced yourself of such, you might ask "how is it that anything gets done at Misfit Psycles"? Until this spring I simply DID ...
No August. No Anaheim. All Vegas. Fucking Morons. Dear Retailer: I would like to thank you for attending the 2010 Interbike show in Las Vegas. With your support, this year’s event was able to attract more than 1,200 brands and 550-plus members of the media. As a result of this intense coverage the cycling industry was exposed to a global audience via endemic cycling media, along with prominent mainstream outlets such ...
Something funny has been taking place at MPHQ. Since I got Wood earlier this year. Though apropos, I don't mean funny in a meringue to the face kind of way. Funny strange. First I was like, Ob-La-Di. Thomas was working. Thomas was doing what he was supposed to do. Thomas was good at what it was he was doing. Shortly thereafter, just when I'd come to terms with my new ...
Your emails and calls of concern for my well being have been heard. The outpouring of love was nearly gratifying. Seven emails. Four calls. One week... To the asshole that called my parents looking to buy the remnants of the Empire for a cardboard coffin and six-pack of Pabst. Fuck You. Imagine their disappointment when I informed them I wasn't dead. Resoundingly unmotivated to recount the final days of the ...
Fully and completely aware that reviews for the second and (to some extent) the first stage have not yet been published. Anywhere. Perhaps starting article #1 for Bike Mag with "Fuck" was a miscalculation. Perhaps they just haven't gotten around to it. Stage 3. 9100' of climbing. 12,200' of vertical. Crossed the continental divide, twice. At mile 14 I experienced my very first flat in NINE stages of the Breck Epic. Terminus endus ...
Evidently tired of painting carbon things red in an effort to increase sales, NINER has invoked some recent old news as it's current marketing campaign. (Near) team rider Team Dicky commented; "It's about time. I've been asking for more heat seeking lazer shit or rocket propelled explosive-type crap for years." Bike Rumo(U)r bossman, Tyler (and rider of a Bush edition Jet at Breck), had this to say; "I'm ...
Time to moving casually away from the Heinous Hong Kong Hustle. Almost. I was (re)(in)spired by the link in Anthony's comment. If I can actually get my shit together (long) enough to ship two frames to Whitehorse...no, YES...the map. The world is just too fucking flat for this frame to simply disappear. No. Something less specific, a Niner or a kitten, maybe. I must say that ...
HOT AUGUST NIGHTS: August 28-29, 2010 Albion Hills, Bolton, ON Misfit Psycles Presents: The Really Big Dance Party And: Big Fat Team of Flaming Terror. The big fat list; Scott Mount Del Grams Kyle Smith Kim Jones Marc Risdale Craig Barlow Erica Sprules ??? ??? ??? (Me*) * I know I have missed names, otherwise and eitherway, there is space so email. I am currently extremely tentative...I was planning on returning for the opening ...
Days made better by bike. Tolerable. Nuisances, annoyances, bothers and other drivel imposed thusly by the mindless, by fates or by cause all taste a little less bitter considered in the context cycledom. This mornings commute was particularly feisty. Partially powered by regret, regret over an entirely sedentary weekend. A weekend of inactivity justified (in part) by contrast to a week (mostly but already) devoid of riding. A weekend fuelled ...
There is trouble brewing. Big book learned, brain bashing I'm more accredited than him trouble. Obviously devoid, Corporate Psycles finds themselves embroiled by association. Nasty smelly trouble. We are the veritable man-meat in this drama sandwich. A spicy kolbasa of awesome exploding from the soggy constraints of pure bleached bread product. Not the kind of nasty that results in premature male pattern blindness. Not the kind of smelly that you ...
Stage 7 of the Trans-Sylvania Epic went down almost exactly 27% better then we had planned. According to plan, we would steer clear of the looming fiasco in the GC. Despite being all professional, hair-less and supported to the gills it seems odd to me that these skeletal stinkers couldn't sort their shite out in the previous 6 days like everyone else. I suggest that you could presume it's because none of them ...
Day 5 would be a gentleman's day. Gentlemen wouldn't race. As noted by those NOT included in the gratuitous podium shot, we rode, sometimes ran, we did not race. It was a day of neutral starts and neutral transitions, each and both leading towards short bursts of legged fury into funnel necked flaming pits of pointed rock-death. Ride fast, explode and pull aside. REPEAT. Flats on flats for many. Our own ...
Day 4. Single most hyped about day of all.
A day that lived up and drastically exceeded all expectations.
Imagine 32 miles of pump track.
Missing and not around the world's cycling community continues to teeter on the brink of implosion as yet another message was left. Another Tuesday has passed. Another ride, another night without the LEPPER. In addition to his more obvious powers of cycling prowess and personal awesomeness, the LEPPER, merely by his very presence brings forth a silent balance and calm to all those around him. If we ever NEEDED the ...
Everybody hates airlines. FACT. Ernesto hates airlines. Airline passangers hate using airlines. Airline employees (evidently) hate working for airlines. Post 9-11 airlines have been granted omnipotent powers of complacency. Licensed to disappoint clusterfuck morons of flaming impunity. FACT. To question them, to doubt their service or intent, to resist their inaction and indifference is an act of intolerable defiance. Nothing short of unpatriotic. A attack against all humanity! "Sir you ...