why does this stuff always happen to me?

Three people walk into a bar. One of them is an idiot. The other two aren't me.

I have a little story to tell you guys.

Two cyclists from Macon, one that curiously looks a lot like me, and another that may or may not ride for Pacesetter Steel and carries the nickname chubby hubby are riding Friday around ellijay. In search of a little turkey burn-off they embark on a nice little ride that carries them out of ellijay, around to the backside of Fort mountain, up and over the 6 mile climb and back down into ellijay.

Two thirds of the way in, but at the base of the imposing mountain in their path, they stop at a gas station for some anti-bonk material. Several cokes, reeses cups and cookies later they head on their way. Upon leaving the parking lot, the cyclist that resembles me heres a loud metallic explosion and almost loses the ability to have kids thanks to his top tube. Inspection shows that his SMALL FRONT CHAINRING HAS SHATTERRED IN PIECES!!!

The cyclists inspect this problem in the parking lot. Only 3 of the 5 crank bolts remain, all next to each other, meaning the big chainring is next to go if they can't move one of the bolts to the opposite side to more stably hold the chainring. Only problem is they don't have the necessary tools. After a few minutes of struggling in vain to remove a crank bolt, they find a man in a van who has the necessary tools. This country gentleman seems bewildered by the request, but the "USA" stamped on the cyclists shorts appear to convince the man that the lycra-boy deserves a helping hand. So, he reaches for the allen wrenches and not the 12 guage.

After the quick fix, the two cyclists finish their ride, with the mishap-prone one thoroughly enjoying the long uphill grind in his 53-26.

happenings

This weekend was another pretty solid good time up in the mountains. I really have come to love North Georgia. Friday we saw the new James Bond at what might have been the oddest movie theatre ever. No pictures, but this place seriously looked like it doubled as an auditorium or Church.

Saturday and Sunday it was obnoxiously cold, including rain, sleet and even a little snow. This was probably good because it reduced the temptation to ignore the good advice of my coach and ride more than i was supposed to. I did get in a nice ride all bundled up in the sleet and rain. I felt tuff. We also watched some cyclocross, got in some prime heckling, and associated other things.

Oh, yeah, pictures.

go time

spent the weekend at the casa mcginnis (http://christianparrett.blogspot.com/2008/07/casa-mcginnis.html).

Road bikes a little bit, goofed off, enjoyed the last bit of fall colors.

anyway, I'd like to wish myself happy new year-now that I've started riding again, I already consider it 2009.

inside my mind-part 1

It's easy to get bloggers block when there isn't a ton of racing going on-what am I supposed to write about? Doing schoolwork, trying not to get fat, and enjoying the fall weather? Soon they'll be training camps, epic weekends in the mountains and other good stuff to keep everyone updated on, but for now I figured I'd partly address a question I get asked all the time.

"What goes on in your head during a race?"

Hmm. All sorts of stuff, from "I'm hungry," to "I'm bored," to "ouuuuchhhhhh why are my eyeballs bleeding." But today I'm going to tell you about what goes through my mind in a special situation. Every time a race get's really fast, hard and dangerous the same thing happens. For example, there's three laps to go in a crit and the pace starts to get lifted to warp speed. Or I'm at some race in Belgium and we make a turn into a crosswind, everyone smashes their bodies straight into the gutter and suddenly we're going 60kph single-file while dodging traffic furniture and bodies.

Without fail, I think about the scene in the movie Spaceballs, where Darth Helmet says "Lightspeeds not fast enough. Go to ludicrous speed! What's the matter Colonel Sanders? Chicken?"




Anyway, I'm not sure why this occurs, but I find it pretty entertaining.