It comes as no personal surprise that you find yourself in love with me; my magnetism is pretty hard to resist.
But you seem to be under the impression that your feelings are being reciprocated. All the attention (negative though it is) I've indirectly paid you lately is I'm sure the most you've received in a long while. Even from that girlfriend of yours. If she does indeed exist.
Again, another reason I'm sure you're are confused is centered on what happened last night. Just to clarify: I made out with you for my own amusement as well as the amusement of everyone else on this trip. What better way to cap off the Brendan Debauchery Project than to toy with your emotions? (Pictures to come)
You see, Brendan, there is one major barrier that prevents our union: I have standards. There's really nothing more to say.
Is this letter a bit harsh? Mmm, I think not. Especially since you called me easy. I won't repeat the rest of what Jessie and Bobby reported to me last night on this blog. My family is reading, you sicko. (Note: And for future reference, any rude statements you make about me to other members of the trip are going to come back to me, probably within minutes. And that's probably the case for every other trip considering the fact that people tend to have greater loyalties to those they biked across the country with, not some rand-o admin who shows up on a bus.)
Furthermore, I still have beef with you over all the hardships I had to endure due to your administrative shortcomings. Lunch the first day. Insufficient tents. Van issues which could have been prevented thanks to a check-up before the trip. And let's not forget the fact that you crashed the last week of this trip for no other reason (at least that I can tell, because you never really made it known why you were here) than to relive your Bike and Build glory days. And it seems your definition of "relive" constitutes being a wet blanket, mooching off our food, and drinking.
And lastly, there's money on the table here. Dan, before your arrival: "$20 to the first person who makes Brendan cry." I'm out of cash, son. And despite all the action I gave you last night, none of my drinks wound up on your tab. You cheapskate.
Thanks for the laughs, though. Even if they were at your expense.
Forever not yours,
Kathy
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
My secret? Indian Blanket.
It seems I’ll be the first to break this story; get hyped.
So we’re staying in Rockport, WA at a campsite just outside the North Cascades National Park. Last night we stayed in a National Forest campsite just outside the opening of the park. And it rained. All night.
So this morning I woke up to the rain, but I was in okay spirits because I worked out in my mind that today was pretty much the last day I seriously had to commit to riding. It was the mountain pass double-whammy. Two passes: Washington and Rainy, 5500 and 4700 respectively. But after the passes were done, we would make it out of the mountains. And I was emotionally over the mountains (no pun intended) five days ago.
So we had breakfast and did our thing in order to get out by 8. During this whole process, I was wearing Indian Blanket (the affectionate term for my giant sweatshirt I got off the Rez in N. Dakota). When it came time to bike, I was just too lazy to take off the Blanket. I didn’t feel like getting cold and didn’t want to climb into the trailer to load it in my bag.
Jessie however got her first flat of the trip in trying to pump her tire and still didn’t know how to change one, so I stayed behind to wait. We were pretty much the last to leave. So we started the climb up Washington. I took off Indian Blanket about 4 miles in, annoyed that I had to tote around the giant sweatshirt in my already cramped camelbak (I’m sorry for this sacrilege, O Honored One). So I’m jonesin’ up this pass and make it to the top, where I decide to take out IB and put it on underneath my windbreaker. So I went down and up this little camel hump to the next pass, 5 miles down the road.
So I’m cold, but I wasn’t as cold as I was on Logan. My extremities felt the same (i.e. no feeling whatsoever), but the difference was my core; my core temperature was not in trouble. So I make it to Rainy Pass where I find 5 bikes on the side of the road and a giant trailer next to it. This woman comes out and says, “Your friends are in here.”
Upon entering the RV, I see Ian, Shawn, Anson, Isaiah, and Bobby huddled and shivering. None of them are wearing more than Under Armour and a rain slicker. Isaiah literally looked like death warmed over, and it’s no wonder: all he was wearing over his jersey was his paper-thin Darthmouth rain slicker. And we joke about Isaiah being a fatty, but he probably has the least amount of insulation on him.
So I stopped for about three minutes and began to continue down the pass to lunch. At this point, I was pretty much in the lead. I had passed most on the climb and others who had stopped due to the cold.
When I reached lunch about 9 miles down Rainy pass, I was met by people I had seen on the top. Apparently some people got rides down to the van so they could warm up before re-ascending the pass to come down. Dan was just about to pull the van out to go back up the pass; I decided to stay with the trailer. So there I stayed with Sharon and Shawn. We climbed in the back of the trailer (on top of everyone’s bags), brought some PB&J, and hunkered down by pulling people’s sleeping bags out. It was raining (it was pretty much a constant drizzle all morning. Shawn seemed fine, Sharon was not in good shape though. I stayed for about 20 min. when Erik pulled up after riding down the pass. The rain had mostly cleared and I had all I needed to keep warm: Indian Blanket.
So down the pass I continued. Everything warmed and the sun even made an appearance. I took my time, hoping people would catch up. The park was beautiful and I took some gorgeous photos of the clouds through the mountains and the famous Diabolo Lake, which is bright aquamarine.
When I got to mile 74 (of an 84-mile day), I stopped for a meal at a diner. No one cam by. Then I stopped for cappucino several miles later. Nadda.
You see, part of my hesitance to go to the campsite was because one person was unaccounted for during my ride: Brendan Newman. I was not about to show up to the campsite with no van or fellow company to share the Brendan Burden.
But, knowing that Anson’s family would be waiting, I decided to buck down and make it in. I also wanted the satisfaction of being one of the first ones there.
Show up I did and what a RECEPTION! Anson’s grandmother Mary Ellen, uncle Billy, cousin Billy and family friend Susan were all there waiting with a fire and snacks. And Brendan was nowhere to be found. Shazaam.
So along with Dae and Reed (who had arrived before me), we chatted and related what had gone on during the day. It wasn’t until about an hour later that the next people began to arrive. Not everyone was in until 8 this evening.
What happened? Well, in between the two passes was a bathroom, where many people fled to get warm. Dan eventually came with the van in which people piled and warmed up before continuing down the pass. This took about 1.5 hours. Then there was a fiasco with the sweeps, Kristen and Maki, who couldn’t be found (they had hitched a ride to the bottom of the pass).
Meanwhile, Sharon went into mild shock from the cold at lunch as soon as she came out of the trailer to pee. Thankfully, we had the people and resources to help her out and she’s fine now. Everyone wound up riding their bikes through the majority of the day (few hitched rides down the pass, absolutely the right thing to do).
Quite an adventure-filled day. But fortunately we were greeted with open arms and much good food from Anson’s family. Big shout-out to Mary Ellen, Anson’s grandmother. I’m so glad you enjoy the blog; it was so nice meeting you and getting to talk to you. (Sidenote: She knew me even before I introduced myself and knew in intimate detail the content from my posts)
And for another chapter in the Brendan debauchery scheme: I taken a carton of Newman’s Own lemonade and scratched out the “Own” and written “AN ASS” and “LAME.” Now it reads: “Newman’s an ass.” And “Newman’s Lame.” Then I did some detail work on Paul Newman’s face (which bears a striking resemblance to Brendan) by adding an eyebrow ring. Who knows if he’ll see it, but I’ll be sure to offer him some lemonade at breakfast tomorrow.
Yay for the last night of camping!
So we’re staying in Rockport, WA at a campsite just outside the North Cascades National Park. Last night we stayed in a National Forest campsite just outside the opening of the park. And it rained. All night.
So this morning I woke up to the rain, but I was in okay spirits because I worked out in my mind that today was pretty much the last day I seriously had to commit to riding. It was the mountain pass double-whammy. Two passes: Washington and Rainy, 5500 and 4700 respectively. But after the passes were done, we would make it out of the mountains. And I was emotionally over the mountains (no pun intended) five days ago.
So we had breakfast and did our thing in order to get out by 8. During this whole process, I was wearing Indian Blanket (the affectionate term for my giant sweatshirt I got off the Rez in N. Dakota). When it came time to bike, I was just too lazy to take off the Blanket. I didn’t feel like getting cold and didn’t want to climb into the trailer to load it in my bag.
Jessie however got her first flat of the trip in trying to pump her tire and still didn’t know how to change one, so I stayed behind to wait. We were pretty much the last to leave. So we started the climb up Washington. I took off Indian Blanket about 4 miles in, annoyed that I had to tote around the giant sweatshirt in my already cramped camelbak (I’m sorry for this sacrilege, O Honored One). So I’m jonesin’ up this pass and make it to the top, where I decide to take out IB and put it on underneath my windbreaker. So I went down and up this little camel hump to the next pass, 5 miles down the road.
So I’m cold, but I wasn’t as cold as I was on Logan. My extremities felt the same (i.e. no feeling whatsoever), but the difference was my core; my core temperature was not in trouble. So I make it to Rainy Pass where I find 5 bikes on the side of the road and a giant trailer next to it. This woman comes out and says, “Your friends are in here.”
Upon entering the RV, I see Ian, Shawn, Anson, Isaiah, and Bobby huddled and shivering. None of them are wearing more than Under Armour and a rain slicker. Isaiah literally looked like death warmed over, and it’s no wonder: all he was wearing over his jersey was his paper-thin Darthmouth rain slicker. And we joke about Isaiah being a fatty, but he probably has the least amount of insulation on him.
So I stopped for about three minutes and began to continue down the pass to lunch. At this point, I was pretty much in the lead. I had passed most on the climb and others who had stopped due to the cold.
When I reached lunch about 9 miles down Rainy pass, I was met by people I had seen on the top. Apparently some people got rides down to the van so they could warm up before re-ascending the pass to come down. Dan was just about to pull the van out to go back up the pass; I decided to stay with the trailer. So there I stayed with Sharon and Shawn. We climbed in the back of the trailer (on top of everyone’s bags), brought some PB&J, and hunkered down by pulling people’s sleeping bags out. It was raining (it was pretty much a constant drizzle all morning. Shawn seemed fine, Sharon was not in good shape though. I stayed for about 20 min. when Erik pulled up after riding down the pass. The rain had mostly cleared and I had all I needed to keep warm: Indian Blanket.
So down the pass I continued. Everything warmed and the sun even made an appearance. I took my time, hoping people would catch up. The park was beautiful and I took some gorgeous photos of the clouds through the mountains and the famous Diabolo Lake, which is bright aquamarine.
When I got to mile 74 (of an 84-mile day), I stopped for a meal at a diner. No one cam by. Then I stopped for cappucino several miles later. Nadda.
You see, part of my hesitance to go to the campsite was because one person was unaccounted for during my ride: Brendan Newman. I was not about to show up to the campsite with no van or fellow company to share the Brendan Burden.
But, knowing that Anson’s family would be waiting, I decided to buck down and make it in. I also wanted the satisfaction of being one of the first ones there.
Show up I did and what a RECEPTION! Anson’s grandmother Mary Ellen, uncle Billy, cousin Billy and family friend Susan were all there waiting with a fire and snacks. And Brendan was nowhere to be found. Shazaam.
So along with Dae and Reed (who had arrived before me), we chatted and related what had gone on during the day. It wasn’t until about an hour later that the next people began to arrive. Not everyone was in until 8 this evening.
What happened? Well, in between the two passes was a bathroom, where many people fled to get warm. Dan eventually came with the van in which people piled and warmed up before continuing down the pass. This took about 1.5 hours. Then there was a fiasco with the sweeps, Kristen and Maki, who couldn’t be found (they had hitched a ride to the bottom of the pass).
Meanwhile, Sharon went into mild shock from the cold at lunch as soon as she came out of the trailer to pee. Thankfully, we had the people and resources to help her out and she’s fine now. Everyone wound up riding their bikes through the majority of the day (few hitched rides down the pass, absolutely the right thing to do).
Quite an adventure-filled day. But fortunately we were greeted with open arms and much good food from Anson’s family. Big shout-out to Mary Ellen, Anson’s grandmother. I’m so glad you enjoy the blog; it was so nice meeting you and getting to talk to you. (Sidenote: She knew me even before I introduced myself and knew in intimate detail the content from my posts)
And for another chapter in the Brendan debauchery scheme: I taken a carton of Newman’s Own lemonade and scratched out the “Own” and written “AN ASS” and “LAME.” Now it reads: “Newman’s an ass.” And “Newman’s Lame.” Then I did some detail work on Paul Newman’s face (which bears a striking resemblance to Brendan) by adding an eyebrow ring. Who knows if he’ll see it, but I’ll be sure to offer him some lemonade at breakfast tomorrow.
Yay for the last night of camping!
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Sleeping with the Enemy
So take one guess as to who's been around me all day. (laughs:) Brendan Newman. Isn't karma something?
I didn't have to look at his face all morning and then I show up to lunch to have to listen to him disagree with everything everyone else was saying. Guess what, Brendan? I do not care what you have to say. Maybe if we had biked 3700 miles together I would be polite and listen, but since you rode in on a bus just yesterday, it's really difficult to for me not to start screaming manically "You aren't entitled an opinion!"
I left lunch with Christopher, Jess, and Dan and went on a crazy tirade, finishing just in time to have him pull up behind us. The group started to paceline, but I started to yo-yo and told Dan to go ahead while I dropped off. Did Brendan continue this trend? No. He stayed back to talk to me.
Alright, I'll break down here for a split second and admit that he's OK. But that's only because he complimented my orange visor.
From there we rolled into Winthrop, WA (the campsite is 15 mi. away) and he's been hanging with the group ever since. I've made my escape to the library, but who knows what's in store for this afternoon.
I'll be out for probably the next 2 days since we're camping; I'll keep everyone posted if possible.
I didn't have to look at his face all morning and then I show up to lunch to have to listen to him disagree with everything everyone else was saying. Guess what, Brendan? I do not care what you have to say. Maybe if we had biked 3700 miles together I would be polite and listen, but since you rode in on a bus just yesterday, it's really difficult to for me not to start screaming manically "You aren't entitled an opinion!"
I left lunch with Christopher, Jess, and Dan and went on a crazy tirade, finishing just in time to have him pull up behind us. The group started to paceline, but I started to yo-yo and told Dan to go ahead while I dropped off. Did Brendan continue this trend? No. He stayed back to talk to me.
Alright, I'll break down here for a split second and admit that he's OK. But that's only because he complimented my orange visor.
From there we rolled into Winthrop, WA (the campsite is 15 mi. away) and he's been hanging with the group ever since. I've made my escape to the library, but who knows what's in store for this afternoon.
I'll be out for probably the next 2 days since we're camping; I'll keep everyone posted if possible.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Aww...freak out!
It turned out to be a rather stressful day. And I say that not in reference to the 4300-ft climb we scaled or the 20 miles we rode through a straight tunnel of abominal headwind or even the arrival of Brandan Newman, the most stressful part was the first 20 seconds of a phone message from my father:
(In a tone that implies I am in serious shit) Um, Kathy? (He never calls me Kathy) We need to talk (dramatic pause). Your blog has been taken off the Bike and Build site; you need to call me and let me know what has happened.
To reiterate, I am not in any trouble; I am the one who removed the link from the B&B site.
I am most reminded in this situation of a short piece from David Sedaris. In his story, he recounts how his sister starts telling him an embarrassing event. Sedaris, always seeking material to write about, whips out his notebook. "You're not going to put this in your BOOK, are you?" she asks critically.
This short exchange illustrates the key moral quandary of all nonfiction writers: at what point does your quest for things to write about ruin your integrity? How can you ally yourself both with your audience and your subjects?
Well, if you write about the stuff I do, you can't. And since my loyalties lie with those who fawn their love and adoration on me (my readership), my solution is simple: don't let your subjects know you write about them. Hence my 'disassociation' from the site.
Alright, that's enough deep thinking for now. Moving on.
Last night made me think of a situation way back in Niagra that I have yet to discuss. It involves a young man named Ryan.
The morning we woke up to leave Niagra Falls, we found a note on the van. We had had little to no interaction with the folks living on the street, but apparently one young man took interest. The note read:
Dearest Bikefolk,
What's up? NM (not much) here. Just writin. How's the biking? Got affordable housing yet? If not, try sleeping in that massive van of yours. or my house, LADIES! Am I right?
But seriously, you are the mangs man (man's man) among meng (men), ever. My talent is (word edited) drawing. Take this offering and hold it dear to your hearts.
Love, Ryan (cell phone #) Text me!
(rude drawing here) Don't be offended.
We never met a kid named Ryan in Niagra, but man am I glad he wrote us that note. I was reminded of him last night at the drag race; he would have eaten it up.
No other big news except prankster plans for Brendan. The madness has already begun: when his bike case showed up at the church (this was before he had arrived), we took out his nice Trek bike, hid it, and then replaced it with a rusty Huffy we found in the church basement. Shazaam!
Updates on our continued debauchery to come.
Thanks to everyone who's expressed concern about the blog. This morning, Shawn's dad left a message, the entirety of which was to let Shawn know my blog had been removed. Let your people know, I'm still here! And this time, I'm blogging without reservations (although, let's be real, that's not really changing much).
Love and peace,
Kathy
(In a tone that implies I am in serious shit) Um, Kathy? (He never calls me Kathy) We need to talk (dramatic pause). Your blog has been taken off the Bike and Build site; you need to call me and let me know what has happened.
To reiterate, I am not in any trouble; I am the one who removed the link from the B&B site.
I am most reminded in this situation of a short piece from David Sedaris. In his story, he recounts how his sister starts telling him an embarrassing event. Sedaris, always seeking material to write about, whips out his notebook. "You're not going to put this in your BOOK, are you?" she asks critically.
This short exchange illustrates the key moral quandary of all nonfiction writers: at what point does your quest for things to write about ruin your integrity? How can you ally yourself both with your audience and your subjects?
Well, if you write about the stuff I do, you can't. And since my loyalties lie with those who fawn their love and adoration on me (my readership), my solution is simple: don't let your subjects know you write about them. Hence my 'disassociation' from the site.
Alright, that's enough deep thinking for now. Moving on.
Last night made me think of a situation way back in Niagra that I have yet to discuss. It involves a young man named Ryan.
The morning we woke up to leave Niagra Falls, we found a note on the van. We had had little to no interaction with the folks living on the street, but apparently one young man took interest. The note read:
Dearest Bikefolk,
What's up? NM (not much) here. Just writin. How's the biking? Got affordable housing yet? If not, try sleeping in that massive van of yours. or my house, LADIES! Am I right?
But seriously, you are the mangs man (man's man) among meng (men), ever. My talent is (word edited) drawing. Take this offering and hold it dear to your hearts.
Love, Ryan (cell phone #) Text me!
(rude drawing here) Don't be offended.
We never met a kid named Ryan in Niagra, but man am I glad he wrote us that note. I was reminded of him last night at the drag race; he would have eaten it up.
No other big news except prankster plans for Brendan. The madness has already begun: when his bike case showed up at the church (this was before he had arrived), we took out his nice Trek bike, hid it, and then replaced it with a rusty Huffy we found in the church basement. Shazaam!
Updates on our continued debauchery to come.
Thanks to everyone who's expressed concern about the blog. This morning, Shawn's dad left a message, the entirety of which was to let Shawn know my blog had been removed. Let your people know, I'm still here! And this time, I'm blogging without reservations (although, let's be real, that's not really changing much).
Love and peace,
Kathy
Monday, August 18, 2008
Drag Race
Quick update: So I'm on a bit of an adrenaline high right now after an epic drag race with a townie. And by drag race, I mean bikes because this kid wasn't old enough to drive. Not even a tractor.
We're staying in Republic right now (I posted from the library earlier this afternoon; there's wireless in our overnight stay) in the local youth development center, affectionately known by the local fare as the "YD." So we're having a great stay and all that in this town. Dinner's over, I've just eaten an entire pint of ice cream (a reward for climbing 23 miles today, no joke), and am patching a flat when Laura comes in. "Where is Kathy? She needs to come out here, stat."
So I emerge onto the deck of the YD where I am met with a glorious scene: 7 punk townies surround us. To be more specific, they were surrounding Anson, who was working on Pen's bike while the rest of the group looked on in horror and bewilderment as these turds with 'tudes made wisecracks. I was captivated.
At one point Christopher emerged and with true dramatic fashion, glued on a demeanor surpassing Mr. Rogers: "Well, hello, local youth!" "Don't be a fool, stay in school." "Be smart, don't do drugs." Hilarious, but the townies weren't fazed; condescension didn't enter into their insult vocabulary.
After numerous rude comments to Anson ("Dude, you fixin' your bike or somethin'?" "I'll give you $15 for your bike." "I got a key to this place, be sure to hide your bikes away inside."), who's demeanor was curt and underlined with the tone "F-off," I decided to show these punks a lesson. I went up to Anson and said, "You wanna race 'em?" "Of course," he replied.
So I walked up to the riff-raff and asked them if they wanted to race. They replied yes, but when I asked them to go get their bikes, a tumult of lame excuses emerged, the best of them being, "I don't really feel like walking the 2 blocks to my house to get it." The ringleader however was fortunately riding a bike and, despite it being a fixy DMX bike about a foot too short for him, was too proud to refuse the challenge.
We rode to the start line, about 400 meters up the main drag and chose the finish to end at the YD. All of Bike and Build was called out to the street and the locals poked their heads out of the bars to come see what the commotion was about. It was like that epic scene in Grease.
With that, the race began. It was a poor showing at first because Anson and I were in such high gears. The townie also had the only advantage he would get in the race: the downhill. He had no shifting capabilities and was riding in such a low gear, that he basically got the full advantage of the momentum gotten off the downhill. I was thinking while he was ahead, "Oh, this is going to be embarassing." But then Anson and I hit our stride, townie lost the downhill, and we came sailing in, Anson riding without his hands on his handlebars. It was a most triumphant moment, despite the fact that we all knew the townie was poorly under-equipped.
As the group walked away in shame immediately following the race, I yelled, "Hey, you guys wanna join us for our ride tomorrow? We're going 65 miles." Yes, I rubbed the loss into the faces of underprivileged 15-year-olds. But they had it coming with their loud mouths and punk attitudes. And I consider it a favor to all the people they probably pick on in this town. I had a younger local girl come up to me after the race, wonder and awe were expressed in her eyes, "Great race." I'll put money on the fact that she gets terrorized by those buttheads; I won that drag race for her.
In other news, we have an addition to the NUS crew tomorrow: Brendan Newman. Brendan is not a rider, he's an administrator. Typically, the trip admins show up the last two days to drive the van and tie up all the lose ends at the completion of the trip. Since Brendan had some extra time however, he decided to show up a week early. Never mind that he hasn't been here the past 9 weeks or that he's partially responsible for our van issues and inadequate supplies (i.e. tents), I'm sure he'll fit in just fine. He's also the reason why we missed out on lunch the first day. Personally, I look forward to his superior insight and administrative wet blanketed-ness. Oh, and his eyebrow ring is way hot.
That's all I'll put in for now. Another thing: if any readers of the blog are interested in joining a Bike and Build trip (Ally?), don't hesitate to contact me or any of the other riders; we love talking about the trip. You can reach any of us on facebook and my email is kehill@email.unc.edu. Thanks all.
We're staying in Republic right now (I posted from the library earlier this afternoon; there's wireless in our overnight stay) in the local youth development center, affectionately known by the local fare as the "YD." So we're having a great stay and all that in this town. Dinner's over, I've just eaten an entire pint of ice cream (a reward for climbing 23 miles today, no joke), and am patching a flat when Laura comes in. "Where is Kathy? She needs to come out here, stat."
So I emerge onto the deck of the YD where I am met with a glorious scene: 7 punk townies surround us. To be more specific, they were surrounding Anson, who was working on Pen's bike while the rest of the group looked on in horror and bewilderment as these turds with 'tudes made wisecracks. I was captivated.
At one point Christopher emerged and with true dramatic fashion, glued on a demeanor surpassing Mr. Rogers: "Well, hello, local youth!" "Don't be a fool, stay in school." "Be smart, don't do drugs." Hilarious, but the townies weren't fazed; condescension didn't enter into their insult vocabulary.
After numerous rude comments to Anson ("Dude, you fixin' your bike or somethin'?" "I'll give you $15 for your bike." "I got a key to this place, be sure to hide your bikes away inside."), who's demeanor was curt and underlined with the tone "F-off," I decided to show these punks a lesson. I went up to Anson and said, "You wanna race 'em?" "Of course," he replied.
So I walked up to the riff-raff and asked them if they wanted to race. They replied yes, but when I asked them to go get their bikes, a tumult of lame excuses emerged, the best of them being, "I don't really feel like walking the 2 blocks to my house to get it." The ringleader however was fortunately riding a bike and, despite it being a fixy DMX bike about a foot too short for him, was too proud to refuse the challenge.
We rode to the start line, about 400 meters up the main drag and chose the finish to end at the YD. All of Bike and Build was called out to the street and the locals poked their heads out of the bars to come see what the commotion was about. It was like that epic scene in Grease.
With that, the race began. It was a poor showing at first because Anson and I were in such high gears. The townie also had the only advantage he would get in the race: the downhill. He had no shifting capabilities and was riding in such a low gear, that he basically got the full advantage of the momentum gotten off the downhill. I was thinking while he was ahead, "Oh, this is going to be embarassing." But then Anson and I hit our stride, townie lost the downhill, and we came sailing in, Anson riding without his hands on his handlebars. It was a most triumphant moment, despite the fact that we all knew the townie was poorly under-equipped.
As the group walked away in shame immediately following the race, I yelled, "Hey, you guys wanna join us for our ride tomorrow? We're going 65 miles." Yes, I rubbed the loss into the faces of underprivileged 15-year-olds. But they had it coming with their loud mouths and punk attitudes. And I consider it a favor to all the people they probably pick on in this town. I had a younger local girl come up to me after the race, wonder and awe were expressed in her eyes, "Great race." I'll put money on the fact that she gets terrorized by those buttheads; I won that drag race for her.
In other news, we have an addition to the NUS crew tomorrow: Brendan Newman. Brendan is not a rider, he's an administrator. Typically, the trip admins show up the last two days to drive the van and tie up all the lose ends at the completion of the trip. Since Brendan had some extra time however, he decided to show up a week early. Never mind that he hasn't been here the past 9 weeks or that he's partially responsible for our van issues and inadequate supplies (i.e. tents), I'm sure he'll fit in just fine. He's also the reason why we missed out on lunch the first day. Personally, I look forward to his superior insight and administrative wet blanketed-ness. Oh, and his eyebrow ring is way hot.
That's all I'll put in for now. Another thing: if any readers of the blog are interested in joining a Bike and Build trip (Ally?), don't hesitate to contact me or any of the other riders; we love talking about the trip. You can reach any of us on facebook and my email is kehill@email.unc.edu. Thanks all.
AWOL
Alright, kids. I gotta fly low for the rest of the trip.
More specifically, I'm personally removing my link on the B&B site to the blog; you'll have to get to it independently or through Craig. The reason is we were all asked to keep our comments about host locations and towns positive at town meeting last night. But that's where the best stories come from, so I'm keeping the blog up, just not making it easy for 'outsiders' to get to.
Next order of business, I have like no more time on this public computer. Rodeo was moved back, but there's one in Lyden; we're getting a big group to go. Also, stories about Gordy Pie (and old man at the last church who was making overt passes at Jessie and Maki) and Well Water. Updates to come.
Thanks again for all the feedback. Props to my Nana who went and worked on a build the other day! Shazaam!
More specifically, I'm personally removing my link on the B&B site to the blog; you'll have to get to it independently or through Craig. The reason is we were all asked to keep our comments about host locations and towns positive at town meeting last night. But that's where the best stories come from, so I'm keeping the blog up, just not making it easy for 'outsiders' to get to.
Next order of business, I have like no more time on this public computer. Rodeo was moved back, but there's one in Lyden; we're getting a big group to go. Also, stories about Gordy Pie (and old man at the last church who was making overt passes at Jessie and Maki) and Well Water. Updates to come.
Thanks again for all the feedback. Props to my Nana who went and worked on a build the other day! Shazaam!
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Jess
Quick note: I'm still trying to upload Jessie's video but have been encountering some issues. I also mentioned in the previous post that Jessie is the queen of crazy Christian dogma; what I meant to say was that Jessie is the queen of UNEARTHING crazy Christian dogma. Props, Jess.
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