An orange beast slouches towards St. Louis. I can feel it in my bones. And I'm tall, I have big bones. They're sensitive. And what they sense is a furiously orange juggernaut leaving a path of terror and burned villages in its wake; to be tamed, finally, by my enormous mass and unstoppable thirst. Uh. Thirst? Since when has thirst defeated a horrible fiend? I must need some
Hawaiian Punch.
The path of havoc started in Wisconsin, as the terrible beast was born in carbon fiber molds and paint booths by skilled craftspeople. Not knowing what they did, the monster was set free in the world. A few bizarre occurrences in Madison, followed shortly by inexplicable catastrophes in Chicago, culminating in near-apocalyptic events in St. Louis as the orange "Mad One" nears its destination. The first Horseman of the Apocalypse is upon us! Er, make that the First Bicycle of the Apocalypse! Cower in fear and tremble before its righteous wrath! Whoa. What was in that Hawaiian Punch?!?!
In other news, poor
George Hincapie has failed to attain victory in yet another
Paris-Roubaix. Poor George. I kind of identify with George, as we're about the same height, and roughly the same age. I think of him as the guy who had the commitment to actually live my childhood dream of being a pro cyclist. He's managed to do pretty well for himself, but not without years of toil, strife, and poverty. I'm more of an instant gratification kind of guy. And I'm not
fast on a bike, so there's that. Ol' George did marry a French model, though, so maybe the whole biology/robot thing wasn't such a wise choice in retrospect. Nah, I have a sweet orange bike on the way...George will never be able to ride an orange bike, due to sponsor commitments! Ha! Take that George! And good luck next year.
Well, not brutality in the violent sense. Brutality as in wind, 18mph with gusts to 35mph. And I, cleverly, went out for a bike ride. The route I chose provided mostly brutal cross-winds, which are the worst kind. You are constantly fighting the bike to go straight, rather than cruising sedately along. I feel bad for those road bikers who live in perpetually windy areas. Like Kansas.
and the picture of the bike formerly known as my TCR:
Chainstays so short they had to smush the seat tube to fit the tire. By comparison the Trek should be very Cadillac-like. I don't race, I don't need crit geometry. And even the SUB:
Sadly, the SUB is the only bike I can actually ride. It's an awesome bike, make no mistake. But it has heavy wheels and knobby tires - not exactly a speed demon. And I sometimes wonder how much longer the SUB's frame is for this world. It has a lot of miles. 13,000 on the computer, and I changed the battery a couple years ago. No visible cracks in the frame, and it rides and sounds fine. Hopefully it does not snap in half at an inopportune moment. I think the SUB and I will have to spend a lot of quality time together this weekend, to take my mind off the coy and elusive Trek...
My Trek's paint was, apparently, butchered. Not allowed to dry enough before wrapped up and shipped. The mangled bike appeared at the local bike shop Monday, only to be sent back for them to try again. Dam. Ah, well, everyone makes a mistake now and then. Perhaps a Vice President from my place of employment was cross-training at Trek and, predictably, screwed up. Our Vice Presidents do that a lot. And we have a lot of them. Which explains our plummeting stock price. But Trek is fixing it pronto, so that's commendable. Now another week to wait. And I appreciate the LBS giving me a ring to let me know the situation, that was classy.
The path of havoc started in Wisconsin, as the terrible beast was born in carbon fiber molds and paint booths by skilled craftspeople. Not knowing what they did, the monster was set free in the world. A few bizarre occurrences in Madison, followed shortly by inexplicable catastrophes in Chicago, culminating in near-apocalyptic events in St. Louis as the orange "Mad One" nears its destination. The first Horseman of the Apocalypse is upon us! Er, make that the First Bicycle of the Apocalypse! Cower in fear and tremble before its righteous wrath! Whoa. What was in that Hawaiian Punch?!?!
