Bodocks R Us

Bodocks lurk around many turns

Another fun filled weekend down in Clayetteville. SORBA MidTN hosted a trail work weekend at the Cotton Mill Preserve to cut in some new trail bypassing the rocky double track 2 sisters climb with a sweet new meandering singletrack climb. Followed by a swoopy roller coaster singletrack descent. Perfect weather was enjoyed for a great weekend of outdoor activity. Perfect sleeping weather too. Sunday ended up sunny and warm, the perfect cap to the weekend. Despite a smaller turnout, we managed to get the new sections opened up. Thanks to the machine work on Saturday. Sunday was mostly clipping, chopping, benching, and finishing work followed by riding (more on that later). The new additions along with the other rumored changes are going to make DSG '10 off the hook.

Thanks to Clay and Amy for providing lunch both days and for the cookout Saturday night. Thanks to Clay, Darryl, gRant, H., Amy, Hunter, Lucy, Eddie (Edgar, Evan, Eric?), Michael, and REI Bill and his son for all their hard work this weekend.

JD showing off his BR Dragonslayer

Buddy and Monkey with their BFF Collars.

H. and the big fern covered tree.

The Catahoula line bosses keeping checks on the progess.

You can almost feel the weight of the brain power going on in this photo of decision making.

Clay driving the machine...

... or is the machine driving Clay?

Opinions are like asses and some people have both hands full.

Feels good to sit down and stretch the legs after a long weekend of trail work.

Tougher than a $2 Steak

This past weekend I had to switch gears (literally) from back country mountain biking to city dwelling swamp cross. Seeing as I had 2 hounds filling up the back of the car, space was limited to the passenger seat for all my gear. The overnight lowers were forecast to be in the lower 30's, so most of that available space was taken up with keep me warm clothing and bedding. One small bag of cycling clothes and another containing helmet, shoes, and tools squeezed into the remaining space.

I've mentioned before that I'm a huge fan of the toolie roll. To me, it's more Awesome than a box of awesome. Which is rather ironic and a bit serendipitous that this is a post that I had planned back on Monday for today. And today being the day a whole box of Awesome happened to show up at the house.

The box contains several of the newly redesigned Awesome Straps (the Alpha Niners are huge by the way, big enough to securely suspend a Dicky high up on an RV ladder rack, in the event Blair or anyone else is reading), a couple belts, two dog collars (one being modeled by a stick chewing JD who just recently outgrew his puppy collar), shock cords, and a few other Awesome items from our friends at Backcountry Research. So far the collar has lasted 2 hours and 7 minutes in the life of a Catahoula. JD is up for the testing task. We'll post an update on the collar after a few trail days, river swims, and greenway jogs.

JD's nickname is Monkey and the box happened to contain two sets of Monkey Fist Straps (also handy for securely strapping a Dicky to a tree or RV ladder rack) as well. These came at just the right time. I currently have one gear strap to use, then often have to search for some string or bungees to strap stuff down. This also leads to 8Ball breaking spokes on my wheels. Not anymore. The 4 Monkey Fists will resolve the bungie/string hassle and my spokes can travel free of fret. Plus they are are in badass black and kick ass silver. There's nothing faster than silver and black. Though if I need a bungee, I'm covered there as well. Just note that the bungees carry an ocular trauma warning. There's nothing jocular about ocular trauma.


So, back on point. This weekend I needed to swap out gearing and perform some minor maintenance to my bike away from the home shop. Since receiving my toolie roll, I've always kept all my most often used bike tools in the easy to access/tote around rubber burrito roll. Allowing it to tuck easily and efficiently into the limited space available in my gear bag.

Clay's driveway and a cooperative sun offered me a makeshift bike shop. The rear rack on my car was a decent bike stand stand-in and the toolie roll offered search free access to all my tools and a handy place to keep all the small parts together.

I love the thing more than a Fondoadie (for you sick & twisted commentainters).

Christmas is coming, I recommend getting your hard to please biking curmudgeon that has everything a toolie roll. They may not be excited at first, but it'll soon grow into a favorite convenient item. Unless they just like digging through shaving kit bags for tools. But those types are hard to please anyway. Just send them a Walz cap and be done with 'em. Better yet, buy yourself a toolie roll and a Walz cap and forget about those hard to please curmudgeons.

Odie to My Roadie Fondoadie

The Man, the Myth, the Legend before any of the myth, legend, or manliness.

There once was a slow cross-roadie named Fondoadie. He worked so hard to make his bike go faster but it was always a disaster. So one day a boy named me decided to let the poor little Fondoadie join his reindeer games.

He still hasn't forgiven me for this

The Fondoadie learned to climb and sprint although he still can't seem to sleep away from his own bed. So despite some badgering and the promise of a cabin bed in lieu of a tent, the Fondoadie headed out with the me for a long endurance cross race.


Whilst riding pimp carbon wheels and clicky bits on his cross bike, he soon left the me in the mucky muck spray on his way to fame an fortune and the top steps of the podium, or so he dreamed. After the flats gave way to the ups the beauty and strength of the singlespeed showed it's true form and soon the me had caught and shortly thereafter dropped the Fondoadie never to be seen from again until about an hour or so after the me had finished.

T'was good times. One of the me's favorites actually. The Fondoadie is a fun nemesis.

Leap forward nine months, almost like having a baby, and the Fondoadie is a much hardier and hardened beast of burden. Legs sculpted of granite, just like his massive furrowed brow of doom, the Fondoadie is a freight train of pure performance pain. He can crack walnuts with his knees and balance bridges on his calves. A cross creature to be feared.

So scary: The one handed sand pit master.

Sunday he proved just that. The Pro/1/2 race was off. Some stiff competition and a quasi queasy doubtful Fondoadie was seen at his car preparing his fallout plan of tanking out early in the A race to focus on kicking the me's butt in SS.


But no. The starting "go" went off and a fire was seen sparking behind the Fondoadies beady black eyes of doom. He steamrolled off the front and blazed a massive gap on all comers. Lap after lap he held his gap before finally succumbing to the blow bomb and was reeled in by two of his strongest competitors. Alas, twas not to be the day of victory for the Fondoadie. Or was it?


Wait, trickery! Deception! A massive counter attack and the Fondoadie is free! Off the front and re-opening a gap only a can of whoop ass in bottle form can offer! The gap sticks and Fondoadie the freight train powers his way to a most impressive win.

Our hero and his chrome bar tape

I'm going to miss the Fondoadie (he'll be racing for team Beer Brats and Birkenstocks or something). I've become such a fan over the years. Way to rock out some impressive form this weekend. Oh and thanks for not inviting me out to dinner after the race, it didn't hurt my feelings that badly. Really. It was more fun to just head off all alone. No worse than the ass whoopin' you handed me in the SS race.

It's not over till the Fondoadie sings. I'm working hard at not working hard, so watch it next time bub. Oops, I mean Mr. Bub.

And Everyone Kept Saying Egg

The weekend brought to you by numbers 19 and 28 and their huge $1 payout

I've been in a right funky mood lately with a hectic schedule and a yearning desire to head off for a vacation (that's vacay for SLJ) at some far off exotic location. Friday I won the lottery. Two whopping $1 bills (that's $2.068 Canardian) and decided to take the time and set out for an overnight adventure long since overdue. $102 dollars in my pocket, a car full of pups and bike gear, I headed out at 6am on a 34 degree and drizzly dark Saturday morning for the most magical of places, the Mountain.

Regrouping. Photo by ScraffyZ

Although I'm not sure who in their right mind schedules a multi city Sorba chapter group ride for 8 am an hour plus drive away from all chapters, but whatever. Beggars can't be choosers, but choosers can be lawyers.

Nine brave shivering souls gathered at the stratospheric 2180' elevation of the Mountain and headed off into the cold, foggy, wet, drizzly morning for a lap of paradise. Rocks, roots, and leaves all covered with a nice slick smattering of water left traction in high demand, but the sandy mountain soil of the trail offered near pristine conditions. This is why I love the Mountain so. It's technical, it's deceptive, it has magical soil, and it always promises prodigious rides of legend. Typically breathtaking overlooks offered nothing but views of clouds that engulfed us and whisping winds that stole your warmth, but nothing could remove the smile on my face.

Awaiting the stragglers. Photo by ScraffyZ

It started to rain more steadily as we neared half way and some of the group were wearing down from the extra effort mandated by conditions. So half the group headed back to clean up and fire up the grill while the rest of us hurried on to finish the loop. The lively pace and banter added to the convivial atmosphere despite the cold and rain. A better day on the Mountain couldn't be had, but then again no day on the Mountain can be bad.

Jose at the free lunch climb. Photo by ScraffyZ

Lake Cheston

After the ride I took the pups out for a run around Lake Cheston then joined in the frivolity taking place at the Pavilion. Members from Chattanooga, Huntsville, Nashville, and Atlanta were represented. I'm not sure if it was the weather or the ungodly hour (we're mountain bikers not roadies) that kept most people at bay, but they missed out on a perfect fall weather ride.

ScraffyZ (photo by ScraffyZ?)

From The Mountain I headed West along route 64 winding my way across the valleys carved through the foothill mountains. This picturesque stretch of road offers much to the child of family two lane road trips and soothes the soul. For me it was a lonely stretch save for the snoring of sleepy puppies while my music and the landscape joined together to create a life-sized IMAX reminiscent of Silverado's vast cinematography. I slowly made my way into the mystic.

Once in the boomtown of Fayetteville, I stopped in at the park hosting the weekends cyclocross series to check out the scene. I just caught the tail end of the Pro/1/2 race and the beginning of the single person singlespeed race. The rain and the cold having kept many racers at home apparently. Though while the pups and I hung out, the sun started to peak out and the temps started to rise. Tomorrow's races seemed promising.


From the park it was over and up to Casa de Clayskull. What was supposed to be a non-invasive night of car camping at the barn with the pups turned into a "the barn and gate are locked, but the house is open" bed camping night at the Higgin's household. Dinner and entertainment also provided. It was a full tilt B&B without the associated bill. Remember kids, when your feeling down and out take full advantage of your generous friends.

Playtime at Clay's

JD meets Buddy

JD performs the Buddy Jump

Clay, Amy, and Miss Lucy took me to a phenomenal restaurant in the eye blink town of Kelso. A couple glasses of red wine, some surf and turf, and dinner art competitions kept us all entertained while Clay stood up every 5 seconds to greet people as they passed our little table in the front window. Remember kids, when your feeling down and out take full advantage of your generous friends.

JD says "ha ha suckers!"

Sleep came early that night with a full belly and a warm bed. The pups and I had our own room high atop the Casa de Clayskull. Three large windows facing East awaiting the morning sun, my natural alarm clock set. Cool crisp air filling the room from the center window Clay had left open for me reminded me of the cold night air of Leadville.

Up early with the lazy Sun the next morning I'd planned to quietly sneak out of the house with all the fine silver and electronics so Clay and Amy could have at least a portion of the weekend to themselves, but I couldn't find where the Monkey had run off too and Dish wouldn't help me carry off the tele. So quietly I searched room by room for the Monkey only to find him cuddled in bed with little Lucy and her stuffed horses.

JD aesthetically pleasing with the pink decor

Every Dish needs a little Girl to love

With my plans to pilfer and run abated, Clay and his sonic care toothbrush having stopped me, I enjoyed a cup of coffee and conversation while Clay cooked pankalecakes and eggs for me and Lucy. They were too good to me, overextending and over accommodating as ever.

The Monkey Farmer trying to fit in in Fayetteville

Giving up on fitting in and just trying to blend in

After breakfast I left the Higgin's Compound and headed off to the park for day two:weekend two of the Beat the Freak Cyclocross series. I parked facing the wind so the hatch would create a warm wind break for me and the pups and set about registering and preparing for the races. The course was well laid out with a more and more common in the TN races spiral of doom and long muddy slogs around a pond. The course favored the power rider with only the single technical area and one set of barriers. It was going to be a hard time trial effort for me.

Basking in the sun, hiding from the cold wind

A group of 10 or so lined up for the old, not old Masters class (though I think there was an old, very old Masters lined up too). Being the only 26" fat tired ss in the group I held off on taking the hole shot. Big mistake as it made the first 2 laps through the spiral of doom much harder on myself having to veer around the slower and wider turning cross bikes. But by lap 3 I was solidly off the back of the 3 or 4 leaders and was able to find my groove trying to stave off my fellow grassroots Moots/Swiftwick teammate & proctologist Steven. I managed to claw my way back to nab 3rd place thanks to the prodding and jeering of Clay and Jeremy. Once again finding my rightful place in the number paradigm.

Upping his game by talking smack by proxy

For the SS race I got the hole shot and battled back and forth with the Great Fondoadie (soon to be bed, bath, and bernie or something, what's the new team name again?) for 3 laps before he left me in a wallowing heap as he motored off with a 30 sec gap on me. Luckily we lapped little not old enough to drive Max (the jrs raced with SS) who so kindly passed on a message for me from the Fondoadie: "He said to pedal harder". Thanks Max. (I'll save the tale of the unstoppable Fondoppable for another day this week. It is deserving of it's own post in my mind. )

On the way to Fayetteville, I told Clay some people get to go to exotic places and experience things like SSWC in Durango and I'm getting a weekend in Fayetteville, to which he responded "And I think your the winner." I'd have to agree. Thanks again for the incredible hospitality.

The Dog Eat Hand Days of Fall

Gnawing at one of the hands that feed him

Time seems to disappear between Tuesday morning and Thursday afternoon. I've know idea where the time goes but it's gone in an instant while simultaneously feeling like not enough time to get everything done yet it's taking forever. Hurry up and blink??

A fitting London-esque post work beer night

Amidst the missing time and endless rain, I did manage a few hours of socialization with friends I don't see regularly anymore and enjoyed a nice home cooked meal with H. while vegging on the couch to cbs.com for a couple hours. Two rarities that remind me it's ok to enjoy time off the grid every once in a while.

I lasted 35 minutes before remembering why I prefer to just get wet and cold

For those racing fans, I've been dealt a double blow to the calendar. I have to work the weekend (the monthly 12 days of hell) of SWANK which has been pretty depressing. After missing out on SSWC, ORAMM, 12 hours of Canal, and Dirt Gut & Donuts I was really excited about a weekend spent in Pisgah. The second blow is the Friday of Thanksgiving, I'm scheduled for 10 hours when I was hoping to hit up the first Annual Gravel Grovel up in one of the other Nashvilles. Man this whole working thing is really cutting into my non-working time.

Fall, the other rainy season in the Southeast (like winter, spring and summer)

Actually I'm only saddened at the loss of the routine. I'll find other adventures to entertain and satiate my wandering soul on the weekends opposite the monthly 12 days of hell. Either that or I'll book a weekend at Mulberry Gap - trails, gravel, incredible food, and pup friendly.

The downhill slide of the work week has begun, soon it will be Friday followed by a Monday full of late tasks. Where'd I put that damn plate?

This isn't just a spoke in my menstrual cycle

I really need to apply myself more to the verbiage aspect of the blog. I'm missing out on great stories solely because I'm unable to aptly capture a digital image of the subjects. Like for instance the other day...

I was heading out of work in the vehicular congo line that is the ritualistic exodus of the parking garage, when I witnessed a gaggle of girls pedal past the exit. Sitting a car behind the lead car, I could only see their helmet-less hair blow on past. As I made my way up to West End, I took a right to avoid more of the congo line and lost sight of the stop sign running female pedal-cyclists. While awaiting yet another stop light, I looked left and spied the gaggle of fixie females heading towards me in a clump down West End amidst mid rush hour traffic.

(not the actual bike. photo from google search)

The lead fixie Heather was riding a pink brakeless fixie with matching pink deep V rims and white tires. No helmet, no gloves, no reflectors, designer capri jeans, a top matching her pink painted fixie, pink flip flops, and quite possibly no clue. Flanked by 3 Lieutenant Heathers aboard similar green, blue, and white designer apparel store fixies (one with a hip wicker basket accessory probably to carry the Smirnoff Ice) as they rode down West End in an disorderly orderly mob of hip fashion and flip flops.

At first I was admittedly a little turned on at the aspect of a rogue mob of brakeless fixie girls terrorizing the urban streets of downtown Nashvegas, but then with the realization of no brakes and flip flops, fascination turned into repulsion thinking about how the urban fixie has turned into a mere fashion accessory ala jelly bracelets more than a vehicle for punk anti-car establishment, greener/healthier lifestyle or even for the simple fun factor. These girls weren't out enjoying a ride, flipping off the system, or saving carbon footprints they were out to be seen living the Copenhagen model life vs modeling the Copenhagen life.

Still wish I had a picture.

Arguing both sides to myself, I proceeded across West End making my way to Church Street ('huh, Church Street, no $hit') I had just argued that at least they are riding bikes and drawing attention to that fact and maybe in their Heather's-esque manner they'll bring others over to the pedal-cyclist camp, even if they were bad role models of how to legally/safely ride/interact with traffic and their choice of footwear not so form over fashion (at least their accoutrements matched - points awarded), when I spied another picture worth more than 1,000 words.

Coming towards me was what I first thought a camel riding Arab perhaps on his way to market. Upon closer examination it turned out to be your average everyday businessman, only not so average everyday. He was riding a touring bike with loaded panniers and fenders, leaned over onto his clamped on Landis-mantis styled aerobars (in traffic), white shirt and tie flapping into the breeze.

(photo from google search)

So what's so odd about a business dude riding on aerobars (no access to brakes) in traffic? Nothing really, aside from the loaded rack and panniers combined with aerobars seemed kinda funny, but it was the fact that he had a white YMCA styled towel wrapped over his head and secured there with his helmet. Framing the front of his face like a parka while the back draped out behind like a Foreign Legion cap.

I was at the nexus of the bike fashion accessory universe. The corner of cool and cool perhaps? But I thought that was in the Jar?

(photo from google search)

So much happens day to day that I can't even keep up. Like the return of boat shoes. I thought the sockless loafer and shorts thing died with pink raised collar Izods in the 80's? Or the fact that people all around here are always on their phones. They don't even stop talking while they order their Subway subs or while they are presenting in meetings. I've even seen two people eating lunch together both talking on their cell phones, seems awfully redundant. Even the janitor I walked past to the stairs today had 2 phones clipped to his belt and one to his ear as he mopped up the floor surrounding the H1N1 vaccination booth.

To paraphrase J.D.: "Yeah, but this is [Nashville]. I mean, if you don't have a [crackberry] in your hand you might as well be wearing a dress. "

Pop Quiz

The Great Fondoadie is:

a. sad because he just lost a sprint
b. still suffering from the lingering effects of the death cloud
c. pinching a loaf
d. upset about the quality of my recent blog posts since my becoming employed.

Old Greg's bike is awesome because:

a. steel is real (heavy)
b. fenders, the curb catchers of the bike world
c. the water bottles match my rim color scheme
d. it would look dope with faux wood paneling
d. it has a little backcountry awesomeness strapped on

This is a shot of:

a. $12 tires in the wild
b. $12 tires in the dirt
c. $12 tires on a rare 26" wheel in the wild
d. the only dirt $12 tires will get to see this week

This photo is kinda like a Sasquatch sighting because:

a. like a Sasquatch, gRant on a bike is a rarely seen phenomena in the wild.
b. there were noises accompanying it that still strike fear in the hearts of brave men.
c. we're still amazed he made it that far.
d. like a Sasquatch, gRant's MootoX is a rarely seen phenomena in the wild.

The Great Fondoadie is saying:

a. "I keep my ass kicking gel back here, you want some? Tough cuz you can't have any!"
b. "I think there's still some room in this pocket for your excuses"
c. "I love the chicken dance!"
d. "I can't reach my Skoal"
e. "This is how all the hip euro cats sit on their bikes."