Yeah, that's right, I am riding like my girlfriend broke-up with me. I've a perfectly good explanation for that. It's ten degrees cooler than August, the monsoon has packed-down the sandy spots, the bogs are not as deep as they were in July, the diggers rebuilt the manky u-turn bridge at "High Point", Pauley drooled that shit-hot NASA polymer fork juice all over the 36 and DXH 5.0, the new Profile Racing hubs are spinning faster than the Large Hadron Collider, my shoulder has finally almost healed-up from the heinous slam I took when the rear wheel sucked-up the derailleur and bucked me off into a rock pile going about 20 mph, and my girlfriend broke-up with me. So what? What? Sod-off!
P.S. To Cushtie: Get the f**k out of Asia. Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life.
P.S. To LLF: If you are finished with that Commencal Absolute Max-Max, you can send it back now. I'll even pay the shipping.
P.S. To Colin Newbury: You used to be funny. Where are you? What happened to you? Have you lost your Sh*t? Speak-up, boy!
P.S. To anyone who was "holding" any of my bicycles, guitars, saxophones, surfboards, motorcycles, rock/ice climbing gear or any other of my shyte at their house so my girlfriend would not get the idea that I was spending the kind of money on bicycles, guitars, et cetera I was spending on bicycles, guitars, et cetera can bring my shyte back to my house now, please. The coast is clear. Oysters Friday night at 7 pm. Be there, or be quare.
Labels: bicycles, girlfriend, guitars, oysters, saxophones, shyte
