Friday, November 16, 2007
Hard Men
Moveitfred has gathered inspiration from his compatriots these last couple of days.
Tales of epic runs and intestinal implosions.
Breaking and entering into Browntown.
All-night rambles through rugged countryside with men.
Browbeating back The Man.
These are hard men
Doing hard work.
Moveitfred, drawing energy from these stories of great resolve and honor, broke open a sweaty track workout amid biting wind and rain over at the university track last night and just returned from a harsh cross ride out in the raw elements today.
A toast to the hard men.
Moveitfred is busy packing up for the USGP because, as we all know, there is no tastier way to spend a lovely fall weekend than a couple of days in Trenton, New Jersey.
Things just keeping getting worse!
For those of you who have never ridden with Wood, he is not typically the fastest climber in the bunch. Nor is he the slowest, usually. Tonight was the exception. When the trail ascended upwards to the heavens, Heywood was no where to be found. Left breathing the trail dust of others, he just could not get his legs to work. The more miles the group climbed, the worse things got for our pal as the lactic acid kept building. “Both brakes must be locked up or somebody hooked a tow rope to me and I am hauling a car up this hill,” Heywood thought. He stopped, dismounted, and inspected the bicycle for some flaw causing this disaster. NOPE! Perfect working condition. No tow rope either. How demoralizing this ride is turning out to be for Wood. The group was kind enough to wait for him at the top before they proceeded downward.
Trying to get his confidence back, Heywood was going to lead the group down to the bottom. This is one part of riding he loves and always feels very at ease with. While riding at night, signs can be hard to see because of the lack of light. Apparently Wood took a wrong turn and the group followed. Soon they found themselves on a fire road face to face with a pair of headlights shinning at them while on State Park property. Out of the vehicle stepped a State Park Ranger who began to yell. He then lectured them about the hours of operation for this park, illegal trails for mountain bikers, blah, blah, blah. Next he wanted to know everybody’s name. Wood answered politely “Heywood Jablome.”
“WHAT DID YOU SAY,” the park ranger asked in a stern voice.
“I said HEYWOOD JABLOME,” Wood replied.
The ranger ordered the entire group to continue riding except for Wood. As the group rode on, the ranger introduced himself as Dick Gozinya and asked for Wood’s phone number. “Maybe we can go get a drink someone,” the ranger said in a very sweet voice.
Fearing some scene from Deliverance was going to be reenacted here shortly, Heywood leaped onto his steed and rode away with new found speed. Where on earth did the ranger brew this crazy idea that Wood was interested?
When Heywood arrived home, he told his beautiful wife about his lack of climbing abilities on the trail tonight. She said, “at least you were not the last one up the hill, or were you?”
A few more nights like this and Wood will be making the drive to BALCO laboratories for some help.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
fec-AL
It's been a tough couple of weeks for me, folks. My daughter has had walking pneumonia. I was sick for a bit. And I'm in the process of moving. A wee bit of stress, over here.
Last night, I was rushing home at about 6. I had not eaten lunch and was starving. I had a 7 miler on tap. (As an aside, I fucking hate running in the dark. I have a 1 mile loop around my house on a well lit set of blocks that I do at night. I feel like a frickin' gerbil on a Habitrail.) I knew that banging out a 7 with no food in the system was impossible. What to do...
As I sat in traffic, the flashing neon of a local Kosher deli called to me. I'm a big fan of grilled frankfurters, but I rarely eat them. (They're artery clogging rolls of assholes, armpits, and nitrites.) The call was too strong, though. I slammed my rig in park and went in for two dogs with kraut and mustard. Moments later, I was motoring home, changing into my running duds as I drove.
I ran in the house and dropped my bags, kissed the wife and kiddies and headed out the door into the darkness.
3 miles out the rolling and tumbling started in my belly. 4 miles out I was cramping and clinching. By mile 5 I was duck walking and praying for a dark alley or any ill lit spot. At 5.25 it was shit or be beshat. (Now most of you know that I've got "issues." You'd think I'd know better than to down 2 coneys before poundin' out the miles.)
In the near distance was the glow of a Getty sign. Hope sprang eternal. Squeezing for all I was worth and sweating like an H addict out of skag, I waddled into the station. CLOSED! GARRRRRRRR! There was no choice though. I was in CODE BROWN. I struggled around the side and tried the Men's. LOCKED! DOHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! Fuck it. I put my shoulder to the door. It popped open. And the foul receptec-AL called to me.
Al fouled the small stall in grand fashion. Think Dirty Bomb.
It's amazing, isn't it, how alive one feels after that? Singers and film makers have celebrated how nearly dying can make one so alive. How come no one sings about almost shitting him/herself? Might go something like this:
"Browntown"
by Al Bangorhard
I'm wide awake and so alive
Spewed my scat like chow
Take me deep out past the lights
Nothing dims these stars
Nothing
Let me feel the passing of solid waste
Just tip me 'til I capsize
I've been waiting for my whole life
To be broken, open, filth erased
Let me feel the passing of solid waste
Just tip me 'til I capsize
I've been waiting for my whole life
To be open wide
I'm wide awake and so alive
Ringing like a bell
Tell me this is paradise
And not someplace I fell
Let me feel the passing of solid waste
Just tip me 'til I capsize
I've been waiting for my whole life
To be broken, open, filth erased
Let me feel the passing of solid waste
'Cause I'm dying on the inside
Just take me to Browntown
'Til I'm open wide
So wide
So go
I'm wide awake and so alive, alive, alive
Let me feel the passing of solid waste
Just tip me 'til I capsize
I've been waiting for my whole life
To be broken, open, filth erased
Let me feel the passing of solid waste
'Cause I'm dying on the inside
Just take me to Browntown
'Til I'm open wide
pleasurab-AL
Barry Bonds indicted on perjury, obstruction charges |
Barry Bonds, baseball's home run king, was indicted for perjury and obstruction of justice Thursday and could face prison instead of the Hall of Fame for telling a federal grand jury he did not knowingly use performance-enhancing drugs.
The indictment, culminating a four-year investigation into steroid use by elite athletes, charged Bonds with four counts of perjury and one of obstruction of justice. If convicted, he could be sentenced to a maximum of 30 years in prison.
Shortly after the indictment was handed up, Bonds' personal trainer, Greg Anderson, was ordered released after spending most of the past year in prison for refusing to testify against his longtime friend.
"During the criminal investigation, evidence was obtained including positive tests for the presence of anabolic steroids and other performance enhancing substances for Bonds and other athletes," the indictment said.
In August, when the 43-year-old Bonds passed Hank Aaron to become baseball's career home run leader, he flatly rejected any suggestion that this milestone was stained by steroids.
Bonds finished the year with 762 homers, seven more than Aaron, and is currently a free agent. In 2001, he set the season record with 73 home runs.
Late in the season, the San Francisco Giants told the seven-time National League MVP they didn't want him back next year.
Bonds could not immediately be reached for comment. One of his attorneys, John Burris, didn't know of the indictment before being alerted by The Associated Press and said he would call Bonds to notify him.
"I'm surprised," Burris said, "but there's been an effort to get Barry for a long time. I'm curious what evidence they have now they didn't have before."
Bonds' defense attorney, Mike Rains, declined comment because he hadn't seen a copy of the indictment.
"However, it goes without saying that we look forward to rebutting these unsupported charges in court," Rains said. "We will no doubt have more specific comments in the very near future once we have had the opportunity to actually see this indictment that took so long to generate."
Bonds is scheduled to appear in U.S. District Court in San Francisco on Dec. 7.
Bonds has never been identified by Major League Baseball as testing positive for steroids.
|
Union head Donald Fehr said he was "saddened" to learn of Bonds' indictment.
"However, we must remember, as the U.S. Attorney stated in his press release today, that an indictment contains only allegations, and in this country every defendant, including Barry Bonds, is entitled to the presumption of innocence unless and until such time as he is proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt."
The White House weighed in, too.
"The president is very disappointed to hear this," Bush spokesman Tony Fratto said. "As this case is now in the criminal justice system, we will refrain from any further specific comments about it. But clearly this is a sad day for baseball."
Bush, who once owned the Texas Rangers, called Bonds to congratulate him in August when the Giants' outfielder broke the home run mark. "You've always been a great hitter and you broke a great record," Bush said at the time.
Former Senate Majority Leader George Mitchell, who is investigating drug use in baseball, declined comment. So did Hall of Fame vice president Jeff Idelson.
Bonds was charged in the indictment with lying when he said he didn't knowingly take steroids given to him by Anderson. Bonds is also charged with lying that Anderson never injected him with steroids.
"Greg wouldn't do that," Bonds testified in December 2003 when asked if Anderson ever gave him any drugs that needed to be injected. "He knows I'm against that stuff."
Anderson's attorney, Mark Geragos, said the trainer didn't cooperate with the grand jury that indicted Bonds.
"This indictment came out of left field," Geragos said. "Frankly I'm aghast. It looks like the government misled me and Greg as well, saying this case couldn't go forward without him."
Prosecutors promised Bonds they wouldn't charge him with any drug-related counts if he testified truthfully. But according to the indictment, Bonds repeatedly denied taking any steroids or performance-enhancing drugs despite evidence to the contrary.
|
"He could know other BBs," Bonds replied when shown the calendar during his testimony.
Asked directly if Anderson supplied him with steroids, Bonds answered: "Not that I know of." Bonds even denied taking steroids when he was shown documents revealing a positive steroids test for a player named Barry B.
Bonds said at the end of the 2003 season, Anderson rubbed some cream on his arm that the trainer said would help him recover. Anderson also gave him something he called "flax seed oil," Bonds said.
Bonds then testified that prior to the 2003 season, he never took anything supplied by Anderson -- which the indictment alleges was a lie because the doping calendars seized from Anderson's house were dated 2001.
Bonds became the highest-profile figure caught up in the government investigation, launched in 2002, with the raid of the Bay Area Laboratory Co-Operative (BALCO) -- the Burlingame-based supplements lab that was the center of a steroids distribution ring.
Bonds has long been shadowed by allegations that he used performance-enhancing drugs. The son of former big league star Bobby Bonds, Barry broke into the majors with the Pittsburgh Pirates in 1986 as a lithe, base-stealing outfielder.
By the late 1990s, he'd bulked up to more than 240 pounds -- his head, in particular, becoming noticeably bigger. His physical growth was accompanied by a remarkable power surge.
Speculation of his impending indictment had mounted for more than a year.
Associated Press Writer Chris Weber in Los Angeles contributed to this report.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Bean Team
Who turned off the lights?
The light just arrived at Auburn bike works (the BEST bike shop around) last week. Apparently, backorders from Niterider are common this time of year and Heywood’s experience was similar. Heywood was itching to hit the trails and witness first hand what the big hoopla was about riding after the sun has set.
Victory Velo (the second best bike shop around) holds group night rides every Thursday evening at 6:00pm. The Chef, Big Cat, and the Wood all decided to strut there substance with all the other hooligans. In all, there were 12 riders with balls big enough to tackle the most technical singletrack in these parts.
Getting used to riding in the dark with a large spot light mounted on the helmet takes a little time. The dust kicked up by other riders acts like fog, diminishing the effectiveness of the light. The lack of depth perception allows rocks to quietly sneak up on unsuspecting riders turning the most basic trail into a challenging adventure. Also, the lack of light hides the snipers in the trees who shot Heywood’s front tire out causing him to go over the bars leading with his large head. The whole experience is so freaking fun it is hard to put into words. The group put in about 12 miles on the trail and 5 on the road. Mostly singletrack following the raging river below. You can bet your bottom dollar Heywood will be back again next Thursday with lights shining. There were a few casualties on the ride. One guy had to cut out early; his mom was calling him home. Another had a broken rear derailleur. Fucker snapped clean off. Only problem is the group was dead smack in the middle. 6 mile walk either direction. Wood never has seen so many full-grown men terrified of the night. The guy was quaking in his boots when the thought of walking back alone crossed his mind. Finally, he convinced the Soldier to accompany him and fend off any wild cats they may encounter. Huh, pussies, just cats guys.
And by the way, the Chef rocked this ride. Despite being out of his element when away from the kitchen, he tore it up. All it took in his words was a little synthetic courage (shin/knee pads, elbow pads, chest pad, maxi-pad with wings). Strong work!
So the light worked marvelously. Very bright. Charges in about 4 hours and can last over 7 hours. Wood tried the light on his helmet but wants to try mounting to the handlebars. How many days until Thursday?
P.S. CrankBrothers replaced Heywood’s Candy SL broken pedals, no questions asked. They were back at Casa de Wood in less than a week from the day he shipped them. That is good customer service if you ask him!
Compton Gonna Jack Yo Shit
Yo, yo, yo...check it, Boyzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!
Ain't nobody, nobody bus the shit out dirty like
Compton!