Took to the mountain bike trail out at Calverton this morning with Al Bangorhard and C.C. Rider for some off-road, high-speed fun. This was the coming out party for Cracky--Al's new mountain bike (see below for the story of Cracky).
Here we see fred's bike and Cracky leaning against fred's bad-ass, muthafuckin' Camry wagon.
Although Moveitfred did recommend his type of basic, no-nonsense bicycle to Al as something most excellent for thrashing through the woods, fred had pleaded with Al to get a bicycle with some originality, some difference. Well, as we can see, Al went and got the exactofuckamundo same bike as fred--same brand, same model, same color, same components, same wheels, same tires, same...you get the idea.
It makes Moveitfred feel kinda gay to be seen in the woods with Al this way.
But Moveitfred was a good sport. He kept his mouth shut (for the most part) and lead Al and C.C. off into the woods. 'Cept Wrong-Way Fredo bolted off into the woods heading ass-backwards on a one-way trail. About two miles in Al saw fit to inform Moveitfred that all the trail blazes were on the wrong side of the trees. After some deep thinking on the part of Al, C.C., and fred, the boys decided it might not be good to charge through the tight, technical sections of singletrack headed the wrong way on the crowded weekend trail. So back to the beginning and off in the right direction it was.
The trail was in great shape after some recent, heavy rains. All was dry and warm today. After some modest warmup, freddy and Al put the hammer down and started to get into the rhythm of the twisty singletrack. C.C., getting his cycling legs back after a long hiatus, lagged behind but also made good time through the woods. The boys then started hitting the diamonds to get a little burn in the legs and lungs.
By the time the boys got to the last section of trail--some very tight, twisty singletrack through chest-high scrub--both Al and fred were pretty warmed up and rarin' to go. With Al in the lead and fred tight to his wheel, the pace picked up as those twinsy bikes started cookin' through the turns. Al, admittedly, was pushing the pace, and as we all know that when we push the pace sometimes we stretch a bit beyond our limits, get going a little too hot, and experience moments of flunderfuck. Well, our pal Al is no exception.
With Moveitfred tight on his wheel, Al twice came to abrupt stops. Now what was curious about these stops was that Al was not slamming on the brakes, sliding through the sand or washing out in pine needles. Instead Al was fucking grabbing tree.
That's right. Moveitfred looked up on two occasions, after seeing Al tread rapidly approaching his own wheel and doing the full-squeeze panic stop, only to see Al fucking wrapped around trees. fred's talking two-armed bear hugs. Give yo momma a hug because you're going away to camp hugs. Fucking treehugger hugs.
Moveitfred thinks Al was just expressing his green side.
Al also managed to get in a full-on shoulder slam to one bitch-ass tree that was giving him the malocchio.
That's our Al: soft, caring, yet savage and immutable.
In all a great day on the trail. Later in the day Moveitfred put in a few more miles with the kiddies and even got in some run barefoot in the sand beach time with the little guys. Mild January barefoot day? Has Moveitfred died and gone back to Cali?
ps: C.C., how's Elizabeth?
7 comments:
Elizabeth, Schmizabeth. What's in a name? A rose would have as big a prick, no?
Furthermore, as I reported to Heywood, I was pushed. And "it was you, Fredo." At first I thought you were just dipping into my 8 panels for a little how's ya fatha? But then I felt the shove and flew headlong at that towering oak (ok, it was a flimsy second growth seedling, but it hurt...and not just my feelings). I knew then that this will never end.
The evidence is clear:
your lust for all things Bangorhard {"fred had pleaded with Al to get a bicycle with some originality, some difference", I distinctly remember the bright red Trek--made from 100% OPTIMO!!--that you had prior to my purchase of Cracky}; your delusional (single white female style) jealousy so thinly veiled {"when we push the pace sometimes we stretch a bit beyond our limits"}; your murderous rages when I deny you (or whup your ass in a diamond) {"With Moveitfred tight on his wheel, Al twice came to abrupt stops."} All this has lead me to a dark epiphany: you are plotting my demise.
OK, but what about the bikinis?
Delectable, delicious, and definitely nothing either of us will get anywhere near anytime soon. I do notice, though, a bit of cellulite on that lacy black bikini bottomed bum to the right of center. Please try harder next time.
there are posts that make you smile and then there are posts that you tyr to read out loud to your husband but you can't b/c you are laughing so hard you're snorting, crying and grabbing your stomach in pain.
amazing post-funny as a bag of dicks
xoxo
m
Mega: Just what exactly is a bag of dicks? I'm familiar (but not too familiar) with " a bunch of dicks." I can picture (but not vividly) "a pack of dicks." Hell, I'd even swallow (if you know what I mean here) "a coupla dicks." But "a bag of dicks" is a little too Hannibal Lector for me. Help me out here. I'm getting nervous.
you've never heard the expression: "hotter than a bag of dicks in [insert hot locale here]? maybe it's a southern thang--my ex-husband's kin were from kentucky and the saying came from that side of the bloodline. . .
Ahhh, Kentucky. Sort of says it all.
My grandmother used to say, "fuck! It's hotter than a fat man's balls on the fourth of July!" But that was around the kids. Maybe she switched it up and went with a bag of dicks when we were gone and the whiskey came out.
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