2010 Frozen Onion MTB Race

PBR...is there anything it can't do?

Yeah we're still riding bikes. Should be skiing by now though, but hey...

A Bicycle Named Sofia

Experienced bicycle mechanics, like heart surgeons and great cities such as Rome, for example, are not built in a day. It takes many, many years. Yes, there are schools in places like Portland and Colorado Springs, where in a few short weeks you can earn an official certificate stating that you are a “certified” bicycle mechanic, but you will be far from an “experienced” bicycle mechanic. To earn the “experienced” distinction, you need to travel down a long, bumpy road, full of rusty twists and corroded turns, recumbent-sized potholes, and frugal customers who need new drivetrains. Once you’ve reached the end of this road, you’ll have a skill that few people possess, and you’ll have a trade that you can use to make a living, sort of. Best of all, every once in a while, you’ll get to use your skills in the real world to make someone very happy. But first, there are some things you must do.

You need to cross-thread the bottom bracket shell of a custom steel frame. You need to grind your knuckles deep into a greasy chainring. You need to squirt Tri-Flo into your eye. You need to spend 20 minutes scratching your head, trying to figure out why the rear shifting suddenly isn't working any more, only to discover that you clamped the rear derailleur cable against the chainstay while installing the kickstand. A few years later you need to do it again.

You need to stab the end of your finger with a frayed brake cable. You need to wonder why, after cutting it twice, the steer tube is still too short. You need to have a tire, whose bead isn't properly seated on the rim, explode like an artillery shell in your face. You need to promise a customer that you'll remove that frozen seat post by the end of the day. You need to be able to fix a brand new Huffy for less than the customer paid for it. You need to spend an hour on your hands and knees searching the floor for the world's smallest screw. Only then, an experienced bike mechanic will you be. Or so I thought.

A few weeks ago, while hanging out with two of my best college friends, Carl and Puff Debby, and Debby’s pug Harley, I was able to put my experienced bicycle mechanic skills to good use. P. Debby showed me her old Columbia five-speed tandem that for years had lingered in a dark corner of her basement like a corduroy bean bag chair. She casually mentioned that she sure wished she knew a bike mechanic who could perhaps get it running. Bike mechanics love this kind of thing, and I am no exception, and I declared that today, this sweet Columbia five-speed tandem, which would otherwise make me cringe if it came into the shop, would roll.

We hauled it out of the basement through the bulkhead and into the light of a beautiful fall day. Puff Debby got a bucket of hot soapy water ready, while I dug through her husband’s toolbox, hoping for nothing more than an adjustable wrench. To my surprise, along with a proper set of screwdrivers, I found a complete set of metric box-end wrenches. Not only was this bike going to be clean, I thought, it was going to be dialed.

After I had adjusted the brakes and the shifting, tightened the bottom bracket and headset, and straightened the handlebars, I discovered something that in all my years as a bike mechanic had been a mystery to me: the purpose of the 11mm wrench. I’ve worked on thousands of bikes over the course of almost 20 years, and all that time, the shiny, unblemished 11mm wrench never left the hook on the tool wall. At last, on this day, I finally figured out that it is for tightening the fender bolts on a Columbia five-speed tandem.

When it was all shined up and tuned up, the moment we had been waiting for arrived. Carl named the bike Sofia, Harley grunted in approval, and we took a few photographs to capture the moment. Finally, Deb and I took it for a spin down the street, carved a perfect 180-degree turn around the cul-de-sac, and returned safely to her driveway. It ran as smooth as frogs’ hair, and the recently tightened rear fender didn’t rattle one bit.

As a bike mechanic, it is moments like these that give me a sense of fulfillment and satisfaction. I rescued an old bike, I put a smile on a good friend’s face, and I finally figured out what the 11mm wrench is for. And to think that before then, I called myself an experienced bicycle mechanic.

Room with a view

Brewer's cousin (the one on the left) in a promo for a planned community in Vegas. Good stuff.

"McCarthy Decides to Say Hello" from the Best Honeymoon Ever

Scootchline Blunt. right on

October: Snow, Colors, John Paul Jones and Dave Grohl, Boston

whoa

We call 'em wind fairings. What do you call 'em?

snowboards
deflector shields
billboards

Yoga or drink.. tough call.

Savasana
Position of total relaxation.
Balasana
Position that brings the sensation of peace and calm.
Setu Bandha Sarvangasana
This position calms the brain and heals tired legs.
Marjayasana
Position stimulates the midirift area and the spinal comumn.
Halasana
Excellent for back pain and imsomnia.
Dolphin
Excellent for the shoulder area, thorax, legs, and arms.
Salambhasana
Great excersice to stimulate the lumbar area, legs, and arms.

Ananda Balasana
This position is great for massaging the hip area.
Malasana
This position, for ankles and back muscles.

Don't mess with the Face

Butt Face

Riding Back From the Sunset

A single brown flip flop, a blue track jacket, 82 empty beer cans, and a black leather belt were just a few of the items scattered around G and Sue-per Brevis’s homestead after our most recent employee going-away party. This most recent employee going-away party was to honor two of our favorite fellow employees, Chuck and Chinch Bug, and it was the greatest employee going-away party we’ve had all year. In fact, it was so fun, and the reveling reached such a height, the Brevis’s, knowing that this party could never be topped, proclaimed that they will never host another employee going-away party again. Related pics.

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Despite the good time had by our gracious hosts and by all, there was an undercurrent of sadness flowing like a cold river. We were losing two of our best employees, and even a thrilling team obstacle course challenge and a rousing tournament of Beer Pole couldn’t completely distract from the real reason we were all there. But we were happy for them, and we took comfort in knowing that Chuck and Chinch Bug are following their dreams and heading out west, and that this is a positive step in the right direction for them both, and that most likely, in only a few short months, they will have found that the grass is actually quite brown on the other side of the fence, and they will come right back home and ask for their old jobs back.

The boss likes to say that they always come back, which is very often true. I am no exception, having made the big break a couple of years ago. I was the General Manager/Service Manager/Marketing Director/Event Coordinator, and after a seven-year run, I could no longer summon the galaxy-sized amount of energy required to enjoy it any longer. “There just has to be something else I can do,” I said. “I have an English degree, and I need to use it,” I said. So I gave my notice, we had a big employee going-away party, and I rode off into the sunset, leaving behind countless empty beer cans, all of my favorite fellow coworkers, most of whom I had personally hired, and one very good job.

Two months later, at my new job, miserable and disheartened, I sent an email to my old boss asking if he needed anyone to sweep the floors. Within a week, I was back as Ryan 2.0, a new and improved version of my former self. Although that new job had been a horrible nightmare straight out of the deepest pit of hell, it was the best thing I could’ve done. In only two short months I learned how important it is to have fellow coworkers who you like. I learned how critical it is to have a boss who likes you. And I accepted the fact that the bike shop is where I belong, apparently.

Chuck and Chinch Bug, meanwhile, are still gone. Chuck is fulfilling her dream of living in Montana and writing, while Chinch Bug is in school learning how to put shoes on horses quickly and effectively without getting kicked or bitten. When they were working at the shop, Chuck graced the sales floor with her warm, friendly personality and vast product knowledge, and Chinch Bug hid out back and ordered bike parts and bike accessories and did bike repairs with the precision of a ginsu knife in the hands of a sushi chef. Unlike Chuck, his outward personality was a bit more on the cool side, but inside, he was a warm as a freshly baked dish of homemade macaroni and cheese right out of the oven. I hired them both, and over the course of their time at the shop, they ended up falling in love. And it was Chuck, recognizing a possible love connection, who introduced me to her “tall, beautiful, and smart” friend, whom she felt I might get along with, and whom, three years later, I married. We appreciated her work as matchmaker so much, that we asked her to marry us, and just about everyone from the shop was there as witnesses.

We have a truly amazing staff and the world’s greatest boss, and we are very fortunate. We become great friends. We fall in love. We ride bikes together. We descend upon our favorite watering hole together. We buy houses. We have babies. We sometimes go away. We often times come back. If Chuck and Chinch Bug are reading this, we miss you both, and we hope things are going great. In case they aren’t, don’t fret. We just so happen to have two openings for floor sweepers.

vegas 2009

U2, Gilette Stadium, 9/21/09

Car Rack Advice is Live!

Hey folks, today we are launching a new blog that offers comprehensive advice on car racks. After countless hours of deliberations and gargantuan heaps of money spent on a team of marketing geniuses, we have settled on a truly unique and catchy name: Car Rack Advice.

It may not be overflowing with info yet, but our bloggers, Rack James, Racky Racoon, and Rack Dawg are hard at work, so before long, there will be more info than you can shake a crossbar at.

Without further ado, here it is: Car Rack Advice

Quite common, actually.

Race to the Top!

Slick, edited version-


unedited version-

Pint of Beer: $11. Rental Car: $547. Best Honeymoon Ever: Pricey.

One of the hardest things about my job is, and will always be, the re-entry into the workplace after a vacation. It’s like waking up from a beautiful dream by falling out of the top tier of a bunk bed onto a cement floor. Eventually, the pain goes away—or just simply blends in—and you settle back into your routine, and life in the real world rolls along at a steady 55 miles per hour.

My most recent vacation was our honeymoon, and armed with that as justification, I got away with taking three weeks off in the height of summer without getting fired. It also rationalized having spent outrageous amounts of money on things like an $11 pint of beer at the airport and $427 for 300 euros at an ATM in France. Upon realizing the rotten exchange rate, my heart sunk all the way down to my queasy stomach, but after a few transactions, I was able to sweep the shock of the dreadful Dollar-to-euro conversion under a rug woven out of apathy and honeymoon bliss. Not until I got back did the shock re-emerge, covered with dust bunnies and sharp teeth.

You can always buy a new car, or a house, or huge tracts of land, but you only get one shot at an extravagant honeymoon. Ten years from now, when we pay off the last of the credit card debt incurred from our trip, will we regret having taken it? I’ll let you know. But until then, I will stand by my assertion that we most definitely will not. Let me tell you a bit about our honeymoon, and perhaps you can decide.

Our first destination was Ile de Porquerolles, a Paradise-Island-kind-of-an-island located in the Mediterranean, 12 miles off the southern tip of Hyeres, France. I owe a world of thanks to the couple who came into the shop and told me about the place years ago. Back then, I was going on my first European trip, and they insisted I go there, but I never made it. This trip however, I did, and, after 24 hours of traveling on two planes, three buses, one train, and one ferry, we arrived. The place was as amazing as they had described: seven miles long and three miles wide of nature preserve, vineyards, glorious beaches, mountains and cliffs, all caressed by a gentle breeze and the constant pulse of cicadas, which from sunrise to sunset relentlessly chirp with the rhythm of a freight train carrying a cargo of zippers and baby rattles.

For five days, we would rent bikes and cruise the canopied dirt roads around the island, eventually settling down at one of the beaches, where we would break out a bottle of wine, bread, cheese, and of course, olives. Our favorite beach, La Plage Blanche, had umbrellas, comfy beach chairs, and towels available exclusively to the guests of Hotel de Langoustier. We were staying in Hotel les Medes on the opposite side of the island, but if anyone from Hotel de Langoustier ever asks, please say that we are indeed the Boulet couple from room 450, and that we really appreciated the amenities.

The next stop was Marseille and the start of stage three of the Tour de France. The thousands of people that lined the street near the start line were held back by four-foot-high barriers that were as easy to step over as mounting a horse on a carousel. Once inside the VIP area, we made our way to the Astana team bus to catch a glimpse of Lance Armstrong. We waited outside the bus for 45 minutes, and finally, after almost being run over by team cars and crushed by the fan/media circus, the bus door opened. The anticipation of seeing our hero was at its zenith, and there, in the flesh, in living color, only an arm’s reach away, with the reflection of camera flashes lighting up his face, was none other than Ben Stiller. The guy we were really waiting to see came out last, and as he was making his way to the start line, I managed to pat him on the shoulder. The debate continues as to whether my shoulder pat was the good luck he needed to hold onto third place, or the bad luck he didn’t need to lose his first tour in eight attempts.

After Marseille, we traveled to Arles and finally Nice, which were both very amazing and very French. On our way back home, we swung by Ireland for four days. The verdant countryside, the English language, the delicious Guinness, the cool, overcast weather, and an abundance of ATMs capped off the best honeymoon ever. Who needs a house anyway?

FaszinationKunstrad

Wicked cool... but, really, there's actually an Indoor European Artistic Cycling Championship?