Evil Cycling

C.D breezed through the state of Northern California recently, and with his arrival came the opportunity to step out and show him some of the East Bay backroads that helped sculpt my thighs into the clubs of power that they are today.

In no particular order, some of the topics that we discussed were;

Finding contentment in one’s own life.
Making art.
Portland.
Oakland.
Sam Elliott.

And all with the world was just as it was supposed to be.

My socks smell like strawberries.

We do all that social media bullshit, the Twatter, the Facesit, you know. It allows us more avenues to annoy folks with our inane brand of bicycle related drunken assholeness. We share things like cool vintage race clips, gross out shit that makes our inner teenagers giggle, or just plain old tits.

What’s more fun is drawing attention to ourselves from folks who don’t like us for a variety of reasons. Not that that is hard to do, because it isn’t, in fact we are mostly deserving of hate and ridicule. We hate ourselves, you should too. Pissing off Lance-o-phytes is easy. Funny to see the hackles get up with some of these sorts.

But it’s nice to see those of you out there who get it, who like it, and have a laugh or two at our expense. And it’s nice when random images like the below pop up. Kinda makes the hate just a little more frothy.

In recent years he’s recognized his own long time struggle with alcohol, and has taken steps to be clean and sober.

Amigo Number Two and I have yet to take those steps, but there’s nothing like waking up the morning following a mini bender and being shocked into sobriety.

While Friday evening was boozy, Saturday morning was nothing if not confusing when the first things I saw as my eyes peeled open was an Elvis lamp;

A Star Wars blanket;

and A-Team curtains;

It was like Hot Tub Time Machine, but with a bigger headache.

Take it from me kids, just because your friend is sober, doesn’t mean you have to feel the need to make up for them.

That will be all.