You Deserve a Break Today

Moveitfred broke in the cx season at the Hole Shot event (sounds like something Al would like in some other context) this morning in Joisey.



Moveitfred had the Suck Knob turned up to eleven, yet was unexpectedly pleased with his performance. Very well-run event, very fast course, some nasty off-camber bits (especially dodgey during the rain), great venue (and Moveitfred bases this last observation on the fact that the growlers were awesome--many, many toilet options and you could freakin' eat off the floor).

But Moveitfred isn't particularly interested in rehashing some standard race report to bore the masses. There's plenty of other blogs you can visit for that. Or, as Solo recommends, simply go to cyclingnews.com, read a few random articles, and pawn yourself off as an expert on your own blog.

Instead Moveitfred is going to talk about McDonald's.

Not just any McDonald's, but perhaps the most awe-inspiring McDonald's he has ever seen. This McDonald's, my friends, is located off Route 15 in Sussex Co. New Joisey, and it will blow your freakin' minds.

Moveitfred stopped at the Golden Arches on the way home from the race to get a cup of the new and improved McD's joe in order to medicate before the hellish drive back through the NY metro area. He was immediately taken aback by the deep wood grains in the dining area and the--ready for this--immense stone fireplace that graced the wall. Atmosphere alone was a 10.

But there's more.

No, it was standard McD's menu, but what the hell's wrong with that? The Big Mac--a classic. Quarter Pounder w/cheese--meaty, satisfying. Fries--peerless. Sodas--always fresh and bubbly.

What was extraordinary was the men's bathroom. They had installed the FALCON WATERFREE URINAL! Moveitfred has, like you, heard about this technology for years but had never seen it in person. The device was amazing. Allow Moveitfred to explain:

Moveitfred saddled up to the urinal as he has done in the past but right away noticed the suspicious lack of a flushing handle. Moveitfred's curiosity was pinched, and he began looking up, down, around for a way to responsibly get rid of his yellow offal. Nothing. Then he saw the sign posted on the wall for the "Waterless" feature of this device. But Moveitfred couldn't believe this was true. So he pissed mightily, determined to put this technology to the test.

When finished Moveitfred looked down. There sat his piss. In the bottom of the bowl. Just sitting there.

And just like that, it was gone.

Poof!

Gone to who the hell knows where.

Moveitfred is telling you: right here, right now, this is the time to be alive.

Oh, and let Moveitfred now leave you with this short cinematic gem:

rebuildab-AL

In which Al says, EAT THESE NUTS!

There are those who would paint Al as homosexu-AL because he chose to share the tao of Al. There are those who scoff at Al's rehab and recovery. There are those who dismiss Al saying, "he's done." To these people Al says, eat my nuts ya fucks. Al will be back, and he'll be better, stronger, faster.

invincib-AL

Wherein Al Says, "Fuck fred. Ain't nuthin' holdin' this ass down. Even an exploding shark."

inadvisab-AL?

Wherein Al Discusses His Latest "Recovery" Run

While Fred was battling Julio and his vatos...







I was battling my own demons...



Well, I can't speak to the wisdom of my actions, but today I busted out my first road run. Let me set the stage a bit...

If you've been following my torrid tale of injury and recovery, you know that this was the first week in about a month that my calf muscle injury seemed well enough to allow for any sort of running. Tuesday and Wednesday of this week I mixed a one mile treadmill run into my bike and elliptical trainer work. I felt strong on each run and didn't experience pain or soreness after.

Today was a top ten day: brilliant blue skies, no humidity, 80 degrees, light breeze. I had to be outside. I decided to walk a mile on the running path beside Massapequa reservoir and see how I felt. After the mile, I started to run. I'd gauge that I was running 8:45s, but I had no watch (it was a nice, easy trot). I felt great and I justed wanted to keep going. So I banged out 4 miles at this pace, and then I forced myself to quit it. (In truth, I wanted to just keep going.) After the 4 mile run, I walked a mile, stretched, and used my massager on my legs. It was just too good to be true. Hopefully, I didn't overdo it. But I feel good right now.

A note on the watchless running...AL THEORY: When I return to running after an injury or a lay off, I like to really feel what is going on and "learn" what running is for me anew. I don't wear a watch when I'm in re-acquaint mode. And I don't wear any music either. I just want to get out there and hear my footfalls, my breathing, feel my heart and lungs working, see the trail moving beneath me etc. Worrying about time would be ludicrous right now and diversions like music would take me out of the zone (I feel) I should be in at this time.



And that, Grasshopper, is all...

Impenetrab-AL

Wherein Al says, "I Ain't One Of Your Fireman Pals, Heywood. Keep It In Mind When You Venture East!"

unbelievab-AL

Wherein Al Says, "Holy Shit! Heywood and Fred Posted in the Same Month!!!"

Nearly Sweet Revenge

So Moveitfred is on the bicycle commute home from the factory (setting).

He is pulling off his best track stand on the Zank in the left turn lane waiting for traffic to clear (more setting).

Suddenly, from ahead, Vinnie and the Douchebags came squealing at Moveitfred with their POS riceburner on full gas, windows down, barking and drooling obscenities at our hero (inciting incident).


BwaaaaaDaaaaaaaFuckinBrwaaaaaaaaaaaaaAssholeMuthaaaaaaaaaabwaaaaaaaaaaaaa! (colorful detail) .

Amid the commotion Moveitfred unclipped and dabbed a foot down, all the while wishing he hadn't left his Glock on the kitchen table at home (rising action).

But what Vinnie and his douchey friends didn't notice was the red light and stopped traffic rapidly approaching their front grill (more rising action).

The sound of rubber burning pavement began, and Moveitfred turned around to see a full foot-to-the-floor panic fishtail stop. Vinnie ceased forward motion on his POS not more than two inches from the blue sedan in front (climax).

Of course it's inevitable that if contact had occurred there would have been kids in the back seat of the sedan, but hopefully the carload of Scrotal Douchbaggery got a little rattle in the brain from the whole experience (tag/moral).

In other news:

Moveitfred is all reg'd up for some cross in The Garden State this weekend followed by The Two Days of Verveken on Long Guyland followed by some Po-Dunk race up in Mass. Then, who the fahk knows. Woodrow is flying his ass out all the way from Cali to share space with Erwin on LI. Woody is bringing his A+ game so as not to disrespect the course before the big show.

Piece Out

Man Overboard

This past week was a blast for Heywood and friends. He attended the fire department annual abalone trip to Van Damme state park, two miles south of Mendocino, for a week of camping, abalone diving, golfing, mountain bike riding, and massive amounts of alcohol consumption. This trip has been going on for 35 years. A few more years if one were to count the other campgrounds that this group has been asked to leave and never return. Attendance varies from year to year but is usually between 50-60 guys. Many are retired fireman who still are capable of venturing out into the seas and showing the younger guys how it’s done. And as typical, Heywood likes to really get down to nature and rough it.

So while at work on Monday, the day before departure, Heywood along with three other fireman loaded there gear into fireman number 5’s 40 foot diesel pusher/toy hauler. Now Wood is well known for inviting himself into others living space, (thanks Fred, be at your place in two weeks) but this was freaking amazing. He was staying in a mobile mansion. Even had its own garage that was sealed off from the rest of the living quarters. While on the five hour drive up, the visiting four guys played an exciting game of Texas hold’em poker, prepared lunch from the full refrigerator, and ingested numerous cold beers. Wood was even able to lay down during the drive, reenergizing his aging body on a king size bed before arriving at the campground. Now this was the life.

Upon arrival to the campground, Heywood and friends jumped onto there favorite two-wheeled steeds and hit the trails for an invigorating 10 miles. The trail follows the creek for about 2.5 miles with frequent water crossings. Then it is 1.2 miles up a smooth, vertical fire road with large redwood trees providing shade. Once up top, 2.3 miles down on some of the best single track Woody has ever laid eyes on. The trail is flanked by luscious green ferns and gigantic old growth trees as it winds down to the creek. Then, 2.5 miles back along the same creek where spawning salmon can be spotted.

The highlight of the trip was day two for Heywood. 0700 hours, Wood was up and on his way to the harbor with a few other guys. Three boats headed out into the treacherous seas together and went south about 10 miles. This is where favorite fishing spot is located. The only problem was the 8-10 foot swells that continued to rock the boat making fishing impossible while standing. Fish didn’t know the difference and were eager to eat the hooks. Each fisherman landed his limit of 10 rock fish with a few ling cod thrown in the boat. The group decided to go closer to shore and go ab diving. The men from two of the boats decided that diving in these conditions was too dangerous and not worth the risk. Unfortunally Heywood was not on those two boats. He was on the boat with the guy saying “I think we can still do this.” Heywood has no good judgment at all and agreed with the captain of his boat. The two idiots donned there wetsuits and fins, tested their masks, and jumped into the water. Ocean seemed to get worse when the two swam for the rocks. Looked very similar to a washing machine with too much detergent. Visibility was around four feet. Each dive was into the dark abyss. Once the bottom was reached, one would have to grab onto the kelp just to keep from being pushed around by the surge. Hands down, the worst conditions Heywood has ever seen. Miraculously, the two were able to reach there limit of 3 abalone per diver and swam back to the boat which was patiently waiting just off the rocks about 100 yards. Getting into a boat with these large swells was a problem by itself. After returning to the camp, the news was that no else was able to “catch” abalone that day except for the two idiots mentioned above.

Heywood was able to get in a round of golf at the Little River Inn Golf Corse. He teamed up with the right partner and was able to get some cash out of his opponents’ pocket. All said and done, another great trip. Look forward to next year.

first mi-AL

Wherein Al Recounts the Road To His First Mile Back






The last few weeks have been tough ones for Al.
I've been trying to rehab a stubborn calf muscle injury, and it's made me a bit depressed. Each time I tried to extend my rehab beyond simple low resistance spins or light stretching or very light load bearing or mild water therapy, I felt the pull tighten and I suffered several days of setback. Until last Sunday.

Sunday: after 3 and 1/2 weeks of that shit, I needed to try to move ahead. I took a walk. And I managed to go 3 miles at a medium pace. I followed that with a nice long swim and a good stretch / massage session. Sunday evening, I felt great.

Monday: Mondays are the off day for me. I typically do some light lifting / stretching on Monday. Yesterday was no exception. All felt good.

Today: I was ready to go. I went through a warm up spin and then got some stretching and massage in for the calves and legs. After this, I pushed myself a bit more and did an hour long spin with some smallish hills and light interval work (nothing really much beyond my medium pace).

Then it was time. I eyeballed the treadmill. (Still too pussy to take it to the street.) I saw it eyeballing me back, those little red lights flashing back and forth like some malevolent Kit Camaro or a fucking Cylon on crystal meth. "Fuck you," I said. "I'm ready to kick ass and take names.
And that was it. I jumped on and pumped out a single mile. It wasn't anything spectacular (I held myself to one single 9 minute mile). But it is a start.

Word to all y'all: Al is back! (Almost.) He's ready. (Sort of.)

And he's armed.