Super C.X.

Last Saturday I took one of the best rides I've ever been on. I rode from the downtown area, over the Sundial Bridge, worked my way over to the North side river trail and took the steep, up and out section to Quartz Hill road, out to the Hornbeck trail. I rode the loop of the ditch trail and back the Hornbeck proper. Then I rode back in. The whole key to my wonderful experience was the fact that I was riding my 1990(?) Bianchi cross bike. That bike is by no means the best road bike nor is it the best single track bike, but it will smoke a full-on mt. bike on the road and it works great on off- road trails like the Hornbeck. I found perfect conditions out there, no mud and no dust. Just that beautiful hard pack with a hint of moisture from the little rain we got earlier in the week. I would love to run a road/dirt time trial someday and see if I could get others interested. Maybe a mini Paris Dakar rally for bicycles.

More Stuff!

We had a great "Bicycle Swap and Sell" on Sunday. The place was buzzing with people buying, swapping and trading, parts and complete bikes. I want to thank everyone who came and by all means, come on down for next one. Maybe some time this coming Fall.

My Best Thinking

I have often wondered, is possible to damage one's brain by engaging in anaerobic exercise for extended periods of time, (a.k.a. hammering your friggin' noggin off on a bicycle!)? I have noticed that after a morning long ride, I often spend the rest of the day in a sort slack-jawed stupor, mumbling incoherently, eating everything in sight, then sneaking off for a wee nap. When I get up, I take two Tylenols, make dinner and vegetate in front of the T.V. until early bedtime zonk-out comes.
I think I may be just a little too competitive out there when I'm riding with others or when I happen to see fresh meat... I mean another rider, up the road ahead of me. I made a pact with myself that this would be a "base building" year wherein I would spend quality time riding well with in my aerobic zone 90% of the time. But last Sunday I was up to my old tricks again, blasting off the front of the pack only to be buried (200 meters from the summit) by guys who look like they're made of beef jerky.
Now, armed with this knowledge, I plan on really paying close attention to the messages my body is trying to send to me. So, tomorrow night at the Lemurian kick off ride from Chain Gang, I plan on riding nice and easy on the group ride up Rattlesnake on my one-speed with Noel and Stewart to the Top-Of-The-World. Yeah, Right!

Captain Look Out rides Again!

You know, lately I've been getting a lot of mail regarding the whereabouts of one "Captain Look Out," the fictitious moniker of a once-powerful Mt. Bike rider here in Northern California. The problem with nailing down this semi-mythological man's being is that those who knew and rode with him are all either dead or missing large pieces of their reasoning power. I will not try to pretend that many years ago Mt. Bikers didn't believe that certain herbal concoctions were not only necessary but essential to performance enhancement.
Oh sure, I've caught fleeting glimpses of what might be "The Captain" through the years. Riding an ancient Gary Fisher bike, a beard to his knees, out there flailing away at the pedals, alternately screaming out curses and blessings to the oblivious passersby in their cars. Well, in honor of this once great icon of cycling, we are going to be holding our first annual Sell and Swap Bicycle Meet. We look forward to seeing you there and who knows, maybe "The Captain" will bless/curse us with his presence.

Life Cycle

I am alone, riding a trail that I have been on hundreds of times. Only the bikes have changed through decades of being out here. A certain amount of natural and man made influence can be seen. A large section of the trail fell into the creek in 1995, necessitating a new route up and around the slide. I've seen new houses go up, stealing into"my" trail areas. So far they are just little breaks in the tree line, high atop the surrounding ridges. For over 20 years now I've been riding "out west of town." I try never to forget how lucky I am to have these areas to ride my bikes in. They are spaces where my soul can soar and I can play out my alter ego existence as the next great, up and coming world champion, be it youth, veteran, master or senior.

Bicycle Swap Meet.

O.K.! It's official. We are going to hold the first annual Bicycle swap meet on April 27, 2008. That is Sunday, the day after the Lemurian bike race. We'll get going about Noon and go until it's over. Bring your trade-able, sell-able stuff and a folding table or ground cloth and let's swap and sell! Also, make a list of what you might be looking for (between now and then) because if you're like me, you'll get there and go blank. Hope to see you there!

"I am not a Communist!"

"But I do tend to be a bit Socialistic at times." I am hatching another plan involving bicycles, this one is a swap meet. You bring your boxes of crap and I bring mine. We swap and sell our crap. I leave with crap I can use and you get new crap too. It's amazing how much crap I've accumulated in the last 20+ years of crapling... I mean cycling.

Strange Dreams

My brain, recoils like a gun stock against a discharge of the words, Martin Luther King Jr. was shot on this day 40 years ago. My brain, is not able to wrap around and hold the reality of petrified wood. In my brain, God is a Walt Disney-like chap who created the earth and then buried and hid rocks and fossils to make me think the earth is much older than the bible tells me so. In my brain, a scheme is hatching wherein I go to O.J.'s five and dime and buy a bunch of small, hard rubber balls to sling shot at the Mo-Fo crow who sits outside my house each morning, cawing and croaking like a mad man in my early morning dream-sleep. Fuck it! I'm up!

Monkey Boy and the red-headed step child

So I made a complete fool of myself* by inviting a young whipper-snapper out to "MY HOUSE" aka Turtle Bay East CX course and challenging him to a four lap, impromptu cyclo-cross race. It would not have been so bad if I hadn't made all those smack-down comments throughout the day to him at work. Of course, it was warm yesterday but I truly believe that if I hadn't aspirated my own Power Gel Puke on the third lap, I would have finished better.
*Please disregard all previous references of my being "The Woody Allen of cycling", "Jimmy the bottle rocket", or any of the countless other derogatory monikers I have proclaimed of myself in earlier entries. This was "THE BIG ONE" folks.

A ride with Noelly Frejole and Brook

I have been noticing that Noel is rollin' out for Sunday rides just about the same time as the Gazzigli Boyz are on Sunday mornings. So I hooked up with he and Brook yesterday and we hit the Hornbeck recreation area. What a fun ride we took. Noel reminds me of a kind of Sir Edmund Hillary of cycling. He is incredibly strong and big! Brook is a bike handler extraordinaire. Incredible flair and style. We laughed our butts off and rode some superb trails. I took my Monohopper and hung in there fairly well. My quads started locking up a bit towards the end of the ride, when I would get up out of the saddle for climbing (one-speed). But all and all I had a great time and hope to do it again next Sunday. Come one come all. The more the merrier!

Freak-out!

1975, We were a motley crew of long haired, harebrained pranksters. We were rolling through downtown Reno Nevada (the"BIGGEST LITTLE CITY IN THE WORLD") in a 1960 V.W. bus. It was spring break and day 6 of a road trip that had taken us to a "vision quest" in the North West section of Nevada (the area is now used for the annual Burning Man festival.) Three of our party of seven were standing in the back of the bus with their heads and shoulders sticking out through the roof hatch of the bus yelling at the top of their lungs "Eureka.. We found it!!" Then they began tossing small handfuls of peyote buttons to the bewildered crowds of blue-haired, day-gamblers as they shuffled down the side walks toward their tour buses.

I had, up until this point, just been sitting in the back of the bus brooding and mumbling my general disdain for this whole affair and kept quipping little statements of dissension toward Matt the driver and hatcher of this silly scheme. Where upon the inevitable killer-bong made it's way back to me. In a fit of one-upmanship, I took the biggest hit of monster hash of my life and rose from my seat like a ghost from Marley dream. My smoking head was now sticking out of the top of the bus and I began screaming like a madman, "That's it! You've bought the whole pig... Hocks, Tripes and chitterlings!" "Now go roast the Bitch on your sacrificial fires you Mongrels!!!"

Smoke and particles of spittle continued to issue forth from my yowling yapper as my tirade escalated into a truly disgraceful oration, well beyond anything proportionate to the relatively prosaic situation into which our little band of hippidom had found itself. The crowd started looking on in fear and disgust when suddenly, to my horror, I realized that two of the crowd were my grandmother and grandfather Dixon. But worst of all they saw me! "Oh Charles!" leona pouted. "Isn't that JIMMY in that dirty old hippie wagon?" "JIMMY HONEY!" my papa sang out in a melodious, artificial voice. "Jesus Christ...We're BUSTED!!!" I yelled and dove into the back of the bus then buried myself in a mound of sleeping bags.

I never completely copped that entire story to my folks or why I was unable to look my Nana and Papa in the eye for years after the debacle.

Evenflow

Wednesday night ride at Turtle Bay East, smells of Chamomile and Ceonothus filled the swirling air, while fresh green grasses rolled along in lush, long waves. Lupine in bloom with purple flowers, yellow little ones, shimmering bright in rainbow-light, storm skies broken. Shiny oak leaves young and tender, buzzing in the high branches. My machine, smooth and quiet as I roll through the course, still looking for that perfect lap. Then , I think I put one together. At least , it was perfect for me.

Nothing means Anything!

I love to try to get down to the real nitty-gritty of the inner workings of peoples minds. My own included. I have a dear friend (we'll call him Cap'n) who is a self proclaimed Atheist. I have no problem with that as long as there is a well considered philosophy behind it. But through the years, catching glimpses of the inner workings of Cap'n's mind have been like trying to read wisps of smoke from ships on horizons afar*. The other day I was reading a sort of philosophy for dummies book and I came to Existentialism. There it was! Cap'n is a flippin' textbook Existentialist! I finally had him pinned down. I quickly contacted him and feigned a position of matter-o'-factness and asked if he had read any Nietzsche lately. He asked me "What the Fuck" I was talking about. "Come on Cap'n!" I said and started going down the list of existentialistic attributes his life espoused. "I don't know what you're talking about!" He demanded. "Dammit Cap'n, to say you don't believe in God and then have no philosophy to bring some "meaning" to life, is tantamount to a monkey sitting at a typewriter randomly pecking out The Lords Prayer. No doubt about it, I gotta find a new breakfast cereal!
*Paraphrased from Pink Floyd.

I give you, The 1987 MONOHOPPER!!!

The project started by stripping every piece off the frame and forks. I had Nick from Bikes Etc. shave the derailleur hanger and rack lugs off. Then he machined out the axle drop-outs. When he returned it to me, I prepped and painted the rear triangle, forks and select other parts with orange Rustoleum, rattle-can paint. We rebuilt the bottom bracket, head set, pedals, and hubs, then replaced the hollow axle the bike came with and installed a solid axle. Then Randy worked his magic on the wheels by first making the front wheel round(!) and then he dished and spaced the rear wheel to create a perfect chain-line with a new BMX style single speed free wheel (20t) and single Sugino chain ring (40t). We trimmed it out with blue cable housings and orange "Da Kine" grips.

Wednesday Night Ride

A beautiful, squally, gusty, balmy ride I did take upon me old Bianchi cross-bike and a better man returned from that ride than the s.o.b. who left his family and home in tatters only 90 minutes prior. Golly, what a difference a ride makes in my mid-week, frenetically charged, raging bull, caffeinated, mind fire. Bottom line, traction; perfect, temperature; perfect, course; clean and empty, bike; super fast. Family; recovering nicely.

Goathead 101

Amidst a large volume of conflicting theories, myths and folklore I, J.Fuzz Feely would like to put forth my hypothesis on the life and times of the dreaded scourge of cycling, the Goathead puncture vine. Right now, even as I write this article, five Gothic skater boys (they work surprisingly cheap!) are scouring the local area in search of sproutling Goathead vines that will become the curse of 2008. I will assemble a month by month specimen collection and build a diorama with the help of "Wild Bill" the homeless, cardboard wiz-dude. All will be faithfully filmed and edited by that guy, who used to be a regular guy and frequent contributor to the now defunct, alternative Redding paper, The Flying Penguin (defrocked?). With any luck the whole project should be completed in time for the Fall, local artist/scientist film festival at the down town Cascade Theater alternative, Carpet Mart At Night Club. Remember, we're not real scientists... We just conduct a lot of experiments with plants and chemicals!

Birth of the Mono-Hopper

Well it's finished and it's...spectacular!? My Phoenix project (up from the ashes) was completed last Saturday P.M. and ridden on Sunday. It is pretty sweet and a ton o' fun to ride. In many ways I kind of put the cart before the horse and ran into some unforeseen problems that I thought would kill the project for sure, but with the expert help of Randy, Noel and Nick at Bikes Ect., I am riding a relic of my early Mountain Bike days, with a funky new twist. If you don't have an old 80's Mt. Bike that you've retro fitted into a one-speed in your stable, by all means build one. Chances are you've got an old steel framer hanging in the shed that would be perfect for it. You've also got a group of Gurus right here in Redding who'll help you do it!

The Art of Ugly

It's weird, I am starting to like what I've done with my old Rockhopper. At first I couldn't seem to step back and see the whole picture. But now, that it's mocked-up and rolling, it looks pretty good. I'm getting some positive feedback from others and I guess it's gonna be just fine!
Basically what we are really dealing with here is this. A little boy (Me) is motivated by fear (Dad) and thinks that the eye of a confirmed mechanical master is going to take one look at the monstrosity and laugh his all-knowing-ass off when he sees it. The very same ass that tried to grind and beat that sweet little bike into the ground. Hmmm!

Ugliness

Speaking of Plan Nine From Outer Space, I had an opportunity to get acquainted with my inner Ed Wood Jr. this week. It seems that I (like Ed) am also a hopeless, corner-cutting, penny-pinching hack, who is content with a sort of "wham-bam-slap and go" kind of work ethic. The result of which has created what may be (arguably) the world's-worst, "Custom" bicycle ever.
The combination of a brain aglow with this damned viral crud everyone is spreading around and my innate Ed Wood nature afforded me numerous opportunities to step outside of myself and watch my sorry ass at work. (layer upon layer of consciousness!) There was also a kind of Billy Bob Thornton, Bad Santa-like dynamic to it. Bottom line, UGLY! OUCH!!

Plan 9 from Planet Earth

I bought my Specialized Rock Hopper from the old Chain Gang, on Park Marina, in the Spring of 1987. I loved the chunky, S.I.S./Index 6-speed shifting and the super powerful, Shimano U-Brake.
The bike also featured the "computer designed" Biopace chainrings. I rode that Rockhopper all over the north state. I even raced it in the Norba sport division, cross country race in Mammoth. Then in 1991, I purchased a Specialized Stump Jumper Comp and the old Rockhopper became my loaner bike. Eventually my Dad took full time procession of it. The bike went back and forth between he and my brother. Both men espouse a sort of John Deere tractor mentality when it comes to machines. If it don't shift... stomp the hell out of it!
Well I reacquired the old Rochhopper recently and my God, she is much the worse for wear! I cannot believe that the old girl was still ridable. Virtually every moving part was either worn out or damaged. I planned on doing a restoration but when I found the cracked rear drop out I changed my plan. With the help of Nick (welder/fabricator) from bikes Etc. I am making it a dedicated one speed. Stay tuned for photos.