Quiz for July 18

A) What is this?

B) Who is this?

C) Where is this?

D) Why is this?

Death Ride

First and foremost, Heywood would like to extend his apologies to the few but faithful readers of this magnificent blog for his lack of postings in recent weeks. With the family vacation which Moveitfred described so eloquently, work, and last minute training, he has been blogged down. So here it is.

Last January, Heywood Jablome got some wild hair up his ass and decided add his name to the lottery to the Death Ride. The whole time he was thinking “what are the fucking chances I will get picked anyway.” So Heywood entered his name and his credit card # (4774 5873 9969 8989) on the appropriate line and the registration was complete.

March rolls around and Mrs. Jablome notices an unusual $90 purchase on the monthly statement from the Credit Card Company. “Woody, what did you buy for me that was $90 and where is it?” Knowing full well he bought nothing for the wife, Heywood glanced at the bill and realized that he was screwed. Non-refundable. So his training started that day.

Fast forward a few months and the Death Ride is upon us. On Friday night, Heywood was invited to sleep in a friends RV parked in the dirt lot next to the staging area. Before arriving in Markleeville, CA, rumor was that no one goes to this event anymore because it was too crowded. They were right. One could hardly find a place to park a 40’ house on wheels. After getting settled in, a bunch of riders sat around the RV giving excuses why they may not complete all five passes. Folks, the ride hasn’t even started yet and y’all are spinning the wheel already. Come on. So after Heywood finish his six-pack of beer, he explained to everyone that he drank too much and that he was going to take it easy on Saturday. He then retired to bed.

#$&%%*^*^^%&. At 4:00am (0400 hrs for you military geeks) there was an awfully loud noise coming from the staging area. For some unexplained reason, the organizers of this event like to wake everybody up at 4:00am with extremely loud music.

At 5:30 am Heywood was on the road with bike under him. Monitor Pass was the first two passes to be conquered. The roads on this pass are perfect for a fast descent, allowing for speeds in the 50+ range for almost the entire back side. Next, ride to Ebbetts Pass for the tough third pass. There are a few sections reaching 18 percent causing instant chest pain in all but the most fit riders. The back side of Ebbetts was shorter and seemed to be the easiest of all the passes for Wood. Then, the hilly long ride over to Carson Pass.

Now Mrs. Jablome and Heywood arranged for the Mrs. to have a hearty sandwich waiting for Wood at the staging area. Wood would pick this up while riding past Turtle Rock Road while on the way to the last pass. So Heywood rode past the lunch stop and was salivating thinking of his lunch to come with the Mrs. While approaching Turtle Rock Road, the Mrs. flagged him down and handed him his sandwich. Big, thick tuna sandwich with mayo, cheese, and many more fixings. Only one problem. The Mrs. made this sandwich earlier in the day and decided to let it sit out in the 94 degree heat and rot. On his first bite, Heywood about puked. Nice try, but thanks. On to the final pass with no lunch. This meant that Wood bonked. It took a while but he finally finished Carson Pass. That’s right, ALL FIVE PASSES FOLKS! So there you have it.

Heywood’s friend Michael Rasmussen called him Saturday night to congratulate him on his fine accomplishment. Rasmussen asked for some advice for the next big stage so Wood gave him some tips. Eat early, eat often, and go for the win. Heywood Jablome hopes it works out for him on Sunday.

Etc.

Moveitfred taking a moment to both honor the greatest sporting event on the planet and fuel a recent theme on this pathetic blog.

WNBR

You still have time to get to Seattle.

urin-AL

Al Discusses Life, Liberty, the Pursuit of Happiness, and Fred's Fucking Small Bladder / Wicked Stage Fright




Another Monday has come, and I am glad for it. Monday = off day. Ahhh. I am one battered Al. I've raced and trained a lot over the last week or two. I've got those, just can't wait for the taper blues (those of you who play guitar may want to start your three chord progressions now).

But, enough about me. I'm really writing to talk about Fred. More specifically, Fred and his urophobia.

{What is Urophobia?

Defined as "a persistent, abnormal, and unwarranted fear of urine or urinating", each year this surprisingly common phobia causes countless people needless distress.

To add insult to an already distressing condition, most urophobia therapies take months or years and sometimes even require the patient to be exposed repeatedly to their fear. We believe that not only is this totally unnecessary, it will often make the condition worse. And it is particularly cruel as urophobia can be eliminated with the right methods and just 24 hours of commitment by the phobic individual.

Known by a number of names - Urophobia, Fear of Urine, and Fear of Urinating being the most common - the problem often significantly impacts the quality of life. It can cause panic attacks and keep people apart from loved ones and business associates. Symptoms typically include shortness of breath, rapid breathing, irregular heartbeat, sweating, nausea, and overall feelings of dread, although everyone experiences urophobia in their own way and may have different symptoms. Our treatment involves no drugs. }

I've suggested a
Treatment for Urophobia for Fred. He's so relieved, he's doing better already.



With this victory under my belt, I've moved on to a few other common issues that plague us. i've started a sort of advice column. Here's an excerpt:

Q: My husband wants a threesome with my best friend and me.

A: Obviously your husband cannot get enough of you! Knowing that there is only one of you he can only settle for the next best thing, your best friend. Far from being an issue, this can only bring you closer together. Why not get some of your old college roommates involved too? If you are still apprehensive.
Maybe you should let him be with your friends without you. If you're still not sure, just perform oral sex on him and cook him a nice meal while you think about it.
~~
Q: My husband continually asks me to perform oral sex on him.

A: Do it! Semen can help you lose weight and gives a great glow to your skin. Interestingly, men know this. His offer to allow you to perform oral sex on him is totally selfless. This shows he loves you. The best thing to do is to thank him by performing it twice a day; then cook him a nice meal.
~~
Q: My husband has too many nights out with the boys.

A: This is perfectly natural behaviour and it should be encouraged. The man is a hunter and he needs to prove his prowness with other men. A night out chasing young single girls is great stress relief and can foster a more peaceful
and relaxing home. Remember, nothing can rekindle your relationship better than the man being away for a day or two (it's a great time to clean the house too!). Just look at how emotional and happy he is when he returns to his stable home. The best thing to do when he returns home is for you and your best friend to perform oral sex on him; then cook him a nice meal.
~~
Q: My husband doesn't know where my clitoris is.

A: Your clitoris is of no concern to your husband. If you must mess with it, do it in your own time or ask your best friend to help. You may wish to videotape yourself while doing this, and present it to your husband as a birthday gift. To ease your selfish guilt, perform oral sex on him and cook him a nice meal.
~~
Q: My husband is uninterested in foreplay.

A: You are a bad person for bringing it up and should seek sensitivity training. Foreplay to a man is very stressful and time consuming. Sex should be available to your husband on demand with no pesky requests for foreplay. What this means is that you do not love your man as much as you should; he
should never have to work to get you in the mood. Stop being so selfish! Perhaps you can make it up to him by performing oral sex on him and cooking him a nice meal.
~~
Q: My husband always has an orgasm then rolls over and goes to sleep without giving me one.

A: I'm not sure I understand the problem. Perhaps you've forgotten to cook him a nice meal.

Lightning and Piss

Moveitfred was heading out to ye ol' Friday night circuit race late this afternoon when Thor himself drew forth black clouds from hell and began heaving loving bolts of thunder across the land.

Moveitfred was still miles from the start and so gave it the ol' Fahk It, turned around, and headed back to the relative safety of La Casa de Fred.

Perhaps the race happened, but likely not. Instead of another pack fill result Moveitfred dropped in Disc 1 of the Tour de Cali and knocked out a killer interval workout on the basement trainer while War of the Worlds blasted and boomed above his head in the form of a wicked summer storm.

But on to more important matters. Moveitfred always has to piss like a mutha at races. We all know our hero Al has that "other problem" (ie, restless bowel syndrome), but for Moveitfred it's an inability to curtail the golden streams.

Perhaps it's a combination of nerves and a bladder the size of a peanut, but the #1 concern for Moveitfred heading to, at, and after any race--and the thought that dominates upwards of 90% of his pre-race strategy--is the need for both frequent and immediate access to urine depository space. Moveitfred prefers private space, but semi-private or primarily public will do in a pinch.

In fact, Moveitfred believes that a rule change is in order at USA Cycling. Moveitfred believes that after all those hoo-haa announcements by race officials about pits and free laps and primes that there be a regular call of "OK, racers piss" thereby giving everyone a fair and equal opportunity to straddle, squat, or sling a bladder's worth of urine onto the earth before the business of the race begins.

Rather than poorly-timed dashes to the port-a-growlers or asking girlfriends to hold up blankets, wouldn't we all appreciate this opportunity to purge before rolling off the start and sitting in like frightened deer for the rest of the race?

Moveitfred feels that after a "break-in period" both racers and spectators alike will come to accept this group extrusion and treat it as simply ordinary or as a chance to partake in a kind of community water sport.

Moveitfred Explains

As Al has so graciously pointed out, both Heywood and Moveitfred have been conspicuously absent from the world of blog for quite some time. Herein Moveitfred shall partially explain the absence.

Coupla weeks ago Moveitfred and Heywood met up in the Midwest for a little down-home fun. Sort of East meets West in the Heartland. The bicoastals gathered together with others of their kind at a good ol' fashioned reunion, replete with BBQ, jello salads, matching t-shirts, pails of beer, and, of course, picnic games.

First up, horseshoes.

With a low seed (fucking hometown crowd screwed the "outsiders") the two bicoastals found themselves pitted against the two defending champs in the first round. Things got ugly quickly in this game to 21 as the two boys went down 13-2 in a matter of minutes.

But the bicoastal boys were not about to lay down and take it in the ass (so to speak).

Led by Heywood Jablome, the bicoastals came roaring back to tie the score at 13. Heywood was, as they say, In The Zone. In fact, he was Bicoastal Possessed. As his eyes glazed over he began yelling things like, "Here comes Daddy!," and "I'm gonna ring that stiff rod, Freddy!" All Moveitfred had to do was sit back and watch as Heywood began tossing ringers like he was Michael Jordan of the clay pits.

But, as they say in sports, they don't call 'em The Champs for nothin'. Those Midwestern boys on the opposing side eventually took down the bicoastals in an emotional, gut wrenching match, 21-18. After drowning their sorrows in a pail of Bud, the bicoastals looked for another challenge. Next up for the bicoastals: Egg Toss.

Seemed as if everyone in the Midwest was competing in this fabled event. Just how many people live in the Midwest, anyway? Well, whatever, the boys were once again matched up against some stiff competition. Up and down the line of competitors were opponents of high caliber: there were the drunken farm boys, mayonnaise-thighed housewives, the stogie-smokin' leather necks, and the half-breed children. Cue banjos.

But the bicoastals went in with game faces blazing. As round after round played out, hundreds of egg-coated competitors were relegated to the sidelines as Heywood and Freddy played on. Soon it was down to final round, and the boys were left standing against a pair of highly qualified tossers with a distinct advantage: they were both kitchen help. These two boys spent their days boiling, scrambling, flipping, and fricasseeing eggs.

Yep, these two wiry boys had stripped off the aprons, brushed aside all the egg-tossing posers, and were now staring down the business end of a couple of pissed off bicoastals. It was down to the final toss.

By now the tossers had quite a distance to negotiate. This was, after all, the championship round. All of the "this isn't so hard" dross had been sent back to the pavilion to eat runny, warm potato salad long ago. Heywood--a strapping specimen--looked like a tiny speck on the horizon far across an expanse of grass from Moveitfred. For the final round, appropriately enough, Moveitfred was the "giver" and Heywood the "receiver."

The bicoastals had been working a pre-approved game plan to perfection up until this point. The "giver" would send the egg in a gentle arc to the "receiver's" right side, wheretothough the "receiver" would gently initiate contact with said egg high and to the right before sweeping the fragile package downward and backward before coming to rest just beyond the hips. The bicoastals were working this system to perfection and putting their egg to sleep each round like a distant, infant, half-breed cousin.

With Heywood at the ready Moveitfred thought for a moment he would need to call an audible and employ a Peyton Manning Hail Mary toss to span the great distance needed in this round, but instead freddy took an extra large step and delivered a beautiful, underhand, soft, dying quail to Woodrow's right side. However, Heywood (aka Stone Hands) somehow managed to fuck up fred's delivery and blasted virgin egg yolk all over the deep green Midwestern landscape. Kitchen Help handled the exchange to perfection, and once again the bicoastals were relegated to leaving an event without the glittering hardware of victory.

Now, fans, if you're still with Moveitfred this is where the story gets interesting. See, as the bicoastals were heading back to the civilization of Chicago from the backwoods of Indiana they got lost down a deserted country road. Soon the gravel turned to sand, and next thing you know the boys were spinnin' tires and stuck dead in their tracks.

As the boys were inspecting the mess and deciding how to extract the rental mobile, two scraggly specimens ambled out from a shack in the woods and asked the boys if, while we waited for Denny's Tow and Bail Bonds to arrive, we wanted to play a little "cornhole" out back.

Well, just so happens that the bicoastals found out all about this great game just two days prior while visiting some kin. For the uneducated, please visit the site below before reading on:

All About Cornhole

So, being the polite boys we are and feeling the need to represent our respective coasts, Heywood said, "Why yes sir, my bro and I here would love to cornhole with you boys!" So the four of us ambled on back yonder behind the shack for a little cornholeing. (For the unaware, it is indeed polite to "amble" along with others when on foreign ground).

What happened next is still not altogether clear in Moveitfred's mind. The scraggly boys did indeed have a fine cornhole set with official bags and distances out back beyond the port-o-growlers. But at that point there was a sharp CRACK and the lights went out in Moveitfred's melon, and when he came to he was covered in Indiana mud and pricklevines and heard very clearly through the brush two voices rising to an agitated fever pitch:

"What's your name, boy?"

"Heywood Jablome, sir!"

"No, I said WHAT'S YOUR NAME, BOY?"

"HEYWOOD JABLOME, SIR!"

Moveitfred blacked out again, and when he came to this time he was sitting in the driver's seat of the rental car parked on the shoulder of the highway under a "To Chicago" sign with Heywood sitting shotgun. Inexplicably, Heywood's fireman underpants were knotted and wrapped disturbingly around his ankles.

So, friends, although Moveitfred will not speak for Heywood, this is why Moveitfred has not posted anything on the blog. Moveitfred is still trying to make sense of this event. It may take him awhile.

In fact, it may take him forever.

irrefutab-AL

In which AL discusses how the other two jackasses who should be carrying their weight have decided to go on Summer Break



Well folks, I have no words to explain the complete "fuck you" Fred and Woodrow have given you and me both. I suggest scathing commentary, but you do what you will.

For my part, I'm going to rest on my laurels for a while. (Well, I'll probably sit near my laurels. Those things tend to be rather prickly.)

coast-AL

WHEREIN AL DISCUSSES WORKOUTS AND HANGIN' WITH THE HOOKERS ON THE JERSEY SHORE THIS SUNDAY



Today was a great workout. Al K and I swam an open water mile in the Great South Bay to start our work. The bay was like glass with little or no boat traffic. We focused solely on good stroke work and on tri technique in the open water: holding a good line with limited visuals, staying in good body position, being as efficient as possible. The swim was great with mission accomplished on technique work. The only issue we had was that we discovered some damage to Al K's wetsuit. Al K pulled an "8th mile" move last time he used the suit. (8th mile move: Al K seems to go soft in the skull after 8 miles. He'll run just fine but he seems to lose mental capacity rather than physical. He'll get lost, speak incoherently, run into things when he crosses the 8 mile mark.) Seems Al K stuffed his wetsuit in his tri bag with his bike shoes after the last tri. Bad move. The neoprene now has 5 or 6 nicks in it from the cleats. None have gone through yet, but Al has a bunch of patch work to do. FUCK!

After the water, we headed out for a 6 mile run on the flat and fast Bayport/Bluepoint streets. Al K's mile markers were a bit off, but we had a good run. Nice and easy at 8:30s. The humidity was annoying but, in all, it was good day.

Sunday, I'm going to do a sprint tri in the ocean and along the Jersey shore--1 K SWIM, 19 MILE BIKE, 5 MILE RUN--with the Sandy Hookers Tri Club. The course is not very challenging EXCEPT FOR THE SWIM. Ocean swims are very unpredictable. Wave action, weather, visibility, and tide can make a short swim seem epic. Lake, bay, pool swims are, quite frankly, nothing compared to an ocean swim. I won't call this a race as it is really a buinch of clubbers getting together to pound out some tough brick work. everyone keeps his/her own splits etc. COOL! Great workout and practive for my upcoming Olympic at the end of July.

The only other news to report is that the Cervelo is back in tip top shape. After my first couple of hundred miles on it, I've noticed an increasing creak in the bottom bracket. Thanks to the advice of Solo, I didn't ignore it. After an adjustment and some lube, she's good as new. Got my new tri shoes too. Sunday will be fun!!!

condition-AL

AL Discusses His Poor Monday Morning Condition and the Week That Got Him There





Hello, sports fans. I am road kill today. I've got that "run down," lactic acid, monday morning blah feeling again. It seems counter-intuitive but I'm always beat up and looking for the license plate of the vehicle that got me on Monday mornings (counter-intuitive because Mondays are either an OFF day or a very light day in my schedule). But I know it makes sense. Mondays always follow 6 hard days of work. Mondays are the day that all the ache and acid can settle in. A light walk or a little spin usually sets me right. But right now--8 AM--I'm just working through a few cups of coffee and holding the head aloft with my other hand.




Last week was a good week for training. I swam about 4 miles, logged about 40 run miles, biked about 60, and got in 3 good weight circuits. I felt pretty good through all. Highlights were a brutal hill set on wednesday. This run was a two mile warm then a few miles worth of hill repeats. The hill I use is a 1/4 mile climb. I repeated this about 8 times: sprint uphill, jog down in between. It's a steep climb and is a serious beating. I had one nice open water swim on Tuesday, I think. I swam about a mile in the Great South Bay. It was late afternoon, no one on the beach really. I had the bay to myself 'cept for some distant boats. Yesterday, I did a 20m bike/ 6 m run brick. It was a good day. The bike leg was an out and back along the paved trail down to Jones Beach from Wantagh (with a few loops at the park to make up the extra distance). It was very windy on the way down to the beach. I could only hold about 13-15 mph though I was working hard. The way back was a real cruise though. I had the wind at the back and was cranking at 25 mph the whole way without much effort it seemed. Once back, I worked a tri transition. (As an aside: I recently purchased some tri-specific shoes. I've been beating the shit out of my SIDI's in my tri transitions. These bad boys cost me $250 and they are not right for tri anyway. So I got some cheap--$70--tri shoes with one velcro strap.) I had the shoes clipped into the bike, and I did 3 or 4 transitions getting on/off the bike to get used to this. The run was just 6 loops on the 1 mile course at Cedar Creek, Wantagh. This course is relatively flat with one rise. In all, a good brick.

Well, maybe I'll take that little walk now. The kids are scampering about my feet and the dog looks like he could use a break too. Maybe we'll all take a stroll. Sayonara.

perceptu-AL

Wherein AL Makes It Right By Correcting the "Insensitive" Perception

After receiving correspondances from Fred and Heywood about my last two posts, I realize that, perhaps, they may feel disenfrachised, marginalized, ostracized, maybe even de-humanized. I want to make this right!

Boys, worry not. I accept you as you are. I love you, each and every gay fiber of you. If my posts seemed insensitive, it was just for humor's sake. I'm sorry. Here's something for you both:

disgrunt-AL

A Slight Return:

Wherein AL Realizes That Stallone Made Lots of Man on Man Movies

Ok, now I'm getting a bit worried. I mean, growing up, Stallone was the shit. I started pumping iron to look like him in (I think) 1979 or 80. I started running early mornings when I was 12, just hoping a crowd of kids and well wishers would follow me through the streets. I have this picture of me and a friend with our hair blown back "Stallone style" in '82 or so. All this was so I could pick up chicks. Stallone = chick magnet in the early 80s. No? Now, I'm doing a bit of revisit/research and I'm thinking he mighta been half-a-fag. What the fuck. I feel so used, so dirty.

tri-ALS and tribulations

WHEREIN OUR HERO, AL, PICKS UP THE SLACK FOR THE OTHER TWO DOUCHEBAGS AND ACTUALLY UPLOADS CONTENT


Here I am, one week after my first tri of the season. I spent the last week in active recovery mode. I ran and swam and biked, but everything was at a lowered intensity level. Right now, I feel good and ready to go again. (Earlier in the week, I REALLY felt my almost 40 years. Everything hurt...even things I didn't know I used in the tri--my jaw muscles hurt, and I'm conscious of not tensing my face up.)

I'm doing another Olympic tri on 7/29: Patanella's Lumpy Pancake

So this week, real training begins. I'm training 6 days a week, really. One day--typically Monday--is mostly an off day with just a weight lifting session in the eve. The 6 "on" days feature a variety of doubles: AM and PM workouts. The week is a mix of different types runs, swims, bikes and lifts.

On the weight lifting...I do a full body circuit 3 times a week. I don't use a weight room, just old school moves that build/maintain strength and balance. This circuit involves, push ups, chins, planks, crunches, leg lifts, squats, reverse lunges, and some other dumbbell work. This weight component has really boosted my performance. I never realized (before tri) how much triathlon is a strength sport. I always knew that it was an endurance sport, but strength is a key component too. (This explains why triathletes don't "look" like marathoners though their competitions are often similar in length and, in part, make up.)

On another, somewhat related, note. Raise your hand if you ever watch "sports movies" to get you pumped up, in the mood, in the mindset. We all do, right? Without Limits, American Flyers, Hoosiers, Bull Durham etc etc We've all seen these, maybe gotten a charge out of them as we watch others put themselves through the paces (as we all do). Anyway, there I was last night. It was late-ish (10 PM) and I was having a post workout snack. I was surfing through the tube offerings when I came across Rocky III. "Wow...here's a great sports movie," I thought. I knew it was no cinematic masterpiece ("Rocky" was, though). But I was looking for a hokey, inspirational sport film (you know, little guy does impossible against impossible odds). Now, let me start this by saying that I have not seen Rocky III since the 80s (of that I'm certain). It came out in 1982. I saw it in the theater, and I don't think I've seen it since.

My thoughts on R III: if you're looking for a "pump" this movie can do it.

BUT you'll need to be gay.

Now listen, I've got nothing against a guy taking it in the back door. Look, I'm friends with Fred and Heywood. And I've heard all sort of talk about you bicycle boys and I still ride with some of you. HOWEVER, I think I completely missed all the thinly veiled homoerotica and the completely unveiled man on man action in this film the first time around. (I was 13 or 14 when I saw it, so cut me some slack.)

I may be stating the obvious, something you all knew already, but: THIS FILM IS A FAG FESTIVAL.

So anyway

the mail just came and nothing.



Moveitfred turns 63 years old today and not one of you cocksuckers got him anything from his wish list?



Hang your heads in shame.



Ok, fine, screw you.



Moveitfred is simply going to leave and go party with the babes waiting in the limo outside. All of you just have yourselves a fine fucking day.

avow-AL

Al Gives An Oath To His Friends and Compatriots

Fellow competitors, athletes, countrymen, blog-fags, I make to you this solemn vow:

1 When you are sad -- I will help you get drunk and plot revenge against the sorry bastard who made you that way.

2. When you are blue -- I will try to dislodge whatever the fuck is choking you.

3. When you smile -- I will know you finally got laid.

4. When you are scared -- I will rag on you about it every chance I get.

5. When you are worried -- I will tell you horrible stories about how much worse it could be until you quit whining.

6. When you are confused -- I will use little words.

7. When you are sick -- Stay the hell away from me until you are well again. I don't want to catch whatever you have.

8. When you fall -- I will point and laugh at your clumsy ass.

9. This is my oath..... I pledge it to the end. "Why?" you may ask?, "Because you are my friend".

And remember my friends...when life deals you lemons, get a bottle of tequila and call me. I'll bring the salt.

Yours,
AL

Regrettab-AL

Our Hero, ABH, Gets Negged in the NYC Marathon Lottery and Must Now Find Another Late Fall Marathon


So Long NYC:

Inform-AL

Results are in

Al's official time= 2:52.52
Al's Overall place: 83rd out of about 300 individual entries and 50-60 relays
Al's age group place: 15th (Kind of psyched about this one)

Of note: 1) Swim splits were all slow. Fastest swim was about 24 minutes...the course change made the swim longer. 2) I will not forget the Body Glide next time.

Away they go

While those boys on east coast were on the road to recovery from a laborious “work trip”, Heywood was hitching a ride with Big Cat in his new Toyota 4runner up to Downieville. This sierra town sits along the banks of the Yuba River with an elevation of just below 3000 feet. For mountain bikers like Heywood Jablome and Big Cat, who do not enjoy climbing 5000 feet on the bike just to start an adventurous 17 mile downhill trip, a shuttle service comes in handy. For a small fee of $15, one can hitch a ride to the trailhead at over 7000 feet, just a few short miles from the Sierra Buttes. The last shuttle of the day was getting ready to head out just as they were pulling into town. Heywood was able to talk the driver into waiting around for five minutes while they got there shit together.

When the two arrived at the summit, they cracked open a silver bullet and slammed it like a couple of freshman college students from Chico. Big Cat says this helps calm his nerves. He tends to get scared easily. Time for a quick picture, don the safety equipment and it was off to the races. The conditions were better than Heywood could dream of for his first time up there. Due to the previous days dusting of snow, the ground was tacky and free of dust. There was no worry of the tires breaking loose on a high speed turn so the boys pushed the envelope. Heywood was lucky that Mrs. Jablome allowed him to bring his balls along for the day so he planned on using them.

Some stretches of the trail are tight and technical; others are wide open and very fast. One rock garden is thrown into the mix for good measure. Loud screams of ecstasy could be heard for miles as these two men raced down the mountain like kids with no fear. Flat tires were a problem on this day. Big Cat had one and Heywood got two. The difficult part is not changing the tire. It is fighting back the swarms of mosquitoes that appear that minute you stop. After the ride, Big Cat started to teach Heywood about the secret fishing holes he discovered in Downieville on previous trips.

Apparently, this area is some gathering site for the gay population. At one point, Heywood turned the corner to find a man lying down singing some old J.R. Cash tunes aloud. One can only assume this man visits the Hershey highway by looking at this picture.

This truck was kind enough to put down a trail of shit along the highway so Wood could find his way back when he comes alone.