I bought a 500gb harddrive to save my memories and two bottles of wine to forget them.

The crawl home contentious, the drive home weary and dreadful, the walk home always is.

Get home, sit there and stare into the television that you have for 8 months not. Get home and do not feel sorry for yourself, like you have for the past 8 months. Where you get is not home of course, you left home.

This bed is not mine. It has not been made concave by my body. It will not slide Jules into its center. It will not slide anyone. These sheets are not mine. They are cleaned way more often than mine ever were. This carpet is not mine. I hate carpet. This refrigerator is not mine. It is half the size of mine.

I had three bowls of cereal for dinner, in a bowl that is not mine & with a spoon that is way too big and makes me regret the amount of Honey Bunches of Oats I can fit into my mouth.

I pretend that I am ok here by myself with nothing to do. I don’t want to be a professional cyclist. My femurs aren’t long enough anyway.

California Salad

Filed under turn screw thoughts
Fear & loathing they did brought

I have carved myself undo grief
Growth & thought in new beliefs

The sun here rises not until noon
Good thing I am not a morning person

THE LION KING

Ahh yeah. So I am in Palo Alto Cycle the other day, just checking out the local store (which was right on the prologue course) & and who do I see? Mario flip'n Cippolini. Dude was shopping (note the man bag!!) for cold/wet weather clothing to race in! I am serious, we saw him wearing a vest that he was trying on in the store. Dude is tall. Taller than I am. He also got third (behind Boonen & some other dude) a few days later.

Sweeping through a corner in downtown Santa Rosa, thousands of people line the roads hoping to get a closer look at their favorite elite cyclist. And there were a ton of the best cyclist in the world on hand at the ATOC. Boonen, Cipo, Bettini, Leipheimer, Millar, Friere, Cancellara etc.

George Hincapie ate shit big time less than 5 feet from me. I was watching Bettini come out of the tunnel in full rainbow treatment, his face gnarled in suffering and pain as he was firing at 35 mph. As the peleton races by, it creates a calm in the air before blasting you with a sudden gust of wind. Just as the calm before the storm started settling in, I hear a "ping!" and a tree fell in the forest of lycra. Clad in a High Road kit it did not cross my mind that this tall slender figure was George. CRAZY. Dude slid on his shoulder for 5 feet, Joklies broken in pieces and his DA lever mangled and twisted. The Mavic neutral support guy took like 30 seconds to get his chain back on his bike & it took everything I had to not do it for him.

With only 300 meters to the finish, George lost no time & would win the final stage of the race a few days later.

Body art.

I have, for some time, had an overwhelming curiosity about getting some pretty major tatooing done. Being someone with a some-what artistic mind, it is hard for me to give in to the fact that someone else would be creating this art work upon me. I thought that maybe a way around this is to have that artist mimic or duplicate a peice of work that already has meaning to me. At least, in my mind, it seems a safer bet than letting loose the artistic license of some person who gets to forget about what they have just done the moment I step out of site.

Nope, your right, there is no way around it gg, if you want a tatoo you are going to have to risk it & it would be better to love it for the "experience" as much as for the art.

Well, thats bullshit. It's a one time shot man. It's $500 worth of ink and bleeding that can't be undone. That's a freaking gamble.

Let the research begin...

All my children will be successful.

How can I argue with that? Mom wins.

I am disappointed that Griff did not reply to this. I even put a picture of him up. I guess that means I need to put a picture of his best friend up. If you didn't know, Griff loves Greg Lemond. Really.

Six words.

They say picture is worth a thousand words. You only have six.

Tell gg all about yourself, your life, your thoughts and your interests in just six words.

What will your memoir be?

Mine?

Well, you can't win them all.

I expect something from everyone who reads this blog. I will post my favorite this weekend.

Need motivation? Try this.

New Digs

Could be worse. At least I remembered all of my joe making paraphernalia.

Over the valley and through the woods.

Way back when I was in charge my people knew that when riding with the "boss" you did not take him on roads with "hill", "pass", "peak", "mound" or "view" in the title.

New Rules.

A new day, a new location and a new time stand begging for a change in the rules. Rules, my friends, are meant to be broken.

My first ride takes me through Alexander Valley, a popular area for wine making just outside of Healdsburg. I weave in and out, back and forth over the Russian River, the water becoming clearer, bluer as I glide further north and into the vineyards.

I don’t know why, but the air feels as though it has been filtered. It is crisp and clean and invites me to dig deep into my weary winter fitness.

As I start to climb “chalk hill road” I think back and remember watching champ, the darkness, tita & the old man slowly create distance while the heavy breathing of aom disappears, replaced by my own.

Not this year I tell myself. Not this year.

I passed countless vineyards, more than two dozen I am sure. Like corn in Illinois, the grapes suffocate the rolling hills in Sonoma County. Like farmers in Sconni’, immigrants scatter themselves across rows of vines, postcards made by each one of them.

Sit up and relax you fool. No reason to kill yourself on your first ride. Take it easy, you have the rest of the day to be impatient and focused.

It's a small world after all.

Met the "realtor" at a location today. Nothing new, just scouting possible spots for the 1st round of taking over the world. Ding. It's on, and faster than I can complain about the parking, I turn to see SyCip RIGHT behind this particlur locale. Is it fate? Is it coincidence, or is it gas from my beef teriyaki?

Definately fate, as I walk in and am offered a "self guided" tour that turns into a discussion on what bikes they are going to bring to the hand made bicycle show in portland next week.

T'is an omen I am telling you friends. I shant look a gift horse in the mouth.

Peace and hair grease.