Glocie Convention

Let's get this one out of the way first:

Moveitfred is an idiot.

There. Not that most of you didn't know this already, but just in case you're new to this game. And fahk, couldn't at least one of you cheapskates have thrown down a couple of bucks for some of that Gloucester venue chowder so Moveitfred could drown his sorrow?

OK, so post-Gloucester Moveitfred needs to cover a couple of things. First, Moveitfred feels like he knows what a Trekie convention is like now. Moveitfred couldn't turn two steps in the crowd without intruding on some other blogger's personal space. Some were balanced on 4-inch clogs to give them a more, ahem, imposing vertical presence [Litka]. Some were amped up so high on "the bean" that Moveitfred felt his hair stand on end when he got too close [Meg]. Some were clearly so deep into "the program" that they were able to score a podium finish in those huge fields of like, what, 500 racers [CTodd]. Still others were leading great packs of baby blue crossers like this little place on earth was the Promised Land [Zank]. And finally, some were decked out in such horrendous attire that Moveitfred can only say they looked like giant orange Yetis that wrought fear in Moveitfred's unstable constitution [G].

Moveitfred knows that other bloggers of renown were mixed in among the masses. Are there any crossers who do not blog? Sheesh.

Live long and prosper, Bloggers.

Moveitfred has one other issue to discuss. Where Moveitfred is from (i.e. Civilization) when a sign on the road indicates that there is a McDogalds or SubwaySubwaySubway off at the next exit, one need only pull easily off the highway for a short distance, inhale processed food of choice, and easily re-enter the highway in order to speed on one's way.

Moveitfred had the same experience on two different occasions up in the back woods of northern Mass. He spied a tempting list of confections on a highway sign only to pull off onto a vast, winding, vapid wasteland through dark, foreboding forests and then be dumped out at the end of it all into some grey, clapboard neighborhood with no indication whatsoever which way to go to get the fat fix. Moveitfred was looking for Faith with the Pink Ribbons to ask for directions.

On one off-ramp Moveitfred was able to find a McDogalds after driving about 5 miles west, only to then discover upon backtracking that there was no ramp back onto the 95 South. Talk about a fahking one-way ticket to hell--flame-lit rocky alter or not.

Now, if you've been able to hang on so far with this horrific blending of Star Trek and Hawthorne let Moveitfred simply end with a few images from an epic day. Looking forward to an early arrival and two full days next year.

Spectacular day on the water

A #1: I heard Heywood might be here.

A #2: Is that him coming around the corner?

G--Fahking track star in the sand


CTodd making everyone hurt up the hill

Kreb in the house

Robin over the boards

Zank feeling the pain of being half-way through

Bessette stretching out her lead through the sand

Alie Kenzer picking a line down the hill

Meg getting it going tight and fast


Tim Johnson chasing after rolling a tire


Powers leading the front group through the sand

renewab-AL

Wherein AL discusses his return to racing


Today was a good day for running. The morning was crisp and cool and sunny...the perfect fall day. All month I've been thinking "when can I race again?" I've been rehabbing this calf injury and hoping to see some real progress. Last week was the first week that I felt whole, and I pushed it a bit: I logged 35 miles and did some quick days. I felt I was ready for something more. I contemplated running the Staten Island 1/2 marathon, but that seemed too much considering how long my injury down time was. Instead, I chose the LIRRC 10 miler.

The course was, basically, three loops around the mostly flat Eisenhower Park. We started at 9 am with a nice light breeze and 55 degrees. I felt good from the start; it was one of those races where I had to hold myself back, not gallop ahead. I told myself I'd just run nice easy 8s. But it was just too great to be in a race again, and I felt too good. I didn't want re-injury, but 8s were too slow. So I said to myself, ok run 7:40s . That plan worked, mostly, but I kept holding myself back as I was a bit worried. But all was good...
1) 7:30
2) 7:30
3) 7:40
4) 7:46
5) 7:42
6) 7:45
7) 7:40
8) 7:40
9) 7:35
10) 7:07

Total: 1:16.02

A nice little addition to coming back and feeling strong: I placed 2nd in my age and 6th overall. (Obviously, the field did not include any elite runners and no records were set. Still nice to get the little ribbon.)

Nice to be back and I feel good.

Fred-o is up at the G-spot or G-ster (whatever the fuck it is). KICK ASS FRED!!! Say hi to Solo and all for me.

imbroi-AL-ed

Wherein Al comments on Marion Jones.

It's one thing to be a cheating cock like Big Head Barry.

It's a whole other thing to absolutely fuck your team mates like Marion Jones.

I know many of you will argue that they're all dirty, so screw 'em. But let's just sit with this a moment. Imagine for a second that you are a world class runner and you get assigned to this relay as part of the olympic team. Imagine--hard as it may be--that you are a clean, honest competitior. And imagine the 4th leg of your relay turns out to be super studette Marion Jones.

Fast forward a bunch of years and your medals are being stripped from you because that absolute animal that anchored your relay cheated. (Again, someone you were simply assigned to run with.) Maybe I'm simple, but I'm seeing this as plausible. And it sucks.

Li'l somethin' for Marion:

More Cool Shit

With special appearances by Heywood, Moveitfred, and Mrs. Moveitfred:

Whitmore's Day 1/Women's Field

It's all about the call-ups

Whitmore's Day 1

Random Whitmore's Pics

Have you heard this one?: These 3 Belgians walk into a bar wearing red jackets...

"Moveitfred's head tube is about this big, atmo."

Sandy, off-camber, wicked corner of death.


Here's the thing: Meg don't give a shit if the course is taped or not. She's going to kill the off-camber turns regardless.

Some riders get all the fans, atmo.

These guys run up hills.

So do these guys, but they add into the mix huge horsepower on the flats.

option-AL

Al offers a choice...

The other 2 boys have given you quite a bit of content on the Whitmore this weekend in the Hamptons. I thought I’d offer an alternative to all the cyclocross content.

First…big ups to our boy GVB who completed his first marathon!

Next…

This weekend was also the Chicago Marathon. (Al ran the Chicago in 98 in 3:20 and small change.) This great race was hit by a heat wave. And I’m sure you all know that a competitor died. (There’s been a lot said about this tragedy. Al will refrain from talking about proper training and fitness prior to such an event.)

Instead, let’s focus on the amazing first place finishes on the Men’s and Women’s side

A) Here’s what not to do……..

Adriana Pirtea (22 years old and having NEVER run a competitive marathon before) finds herself passing #2, Berhane Adere, and in first place. Adere is having problems from the heat and seems down and out. Pirtea continues to run well in the lead. Then, 1/2 mile from the end, Pirtea decides to Cadillac a bit. She's near the finish and figure that she'sblown by Adere (a seasoned competitor)...she feels she’s got the win. She takes the final turn and starts high fiving, doing the old “look at me, I’m good.” The dumb bitch never looks back. Meanwhile, Adere has gotten her shit together and is pushing her her emaciated ass through one unbelievable final push. Consequently, she dusts Pirtea just yards from the finish. Ni-ice.



B) In the Men’s side, Jaouad Gharib from Moracco and Patrick Ivuti from Kenya had the greatest finish in Chicago marathon history. This was an absolute duel over the last mile and a total photo finish. Ivuti took it by a nose.




Big shout out to the other two boys. Nice work!!!

Whitmore's Cyclocross Day 2/Elite Men

Moveitfred's daughter working the camera over the elite men's field on the log run-up.

Whitmore's Cyclocross Day 2/Elite Women

Compton and Bessette making the sandy corner that ate up Moveitfred look easy.

The WORLD CHAMP!

On October 4th, Heywood Jablome landed on the local landing strip near Fred’s house for a week of family time, sightseeing, and most importantly, racing/watching the Whitmore’s Landscaping Super Cross Cup held in South Hampton on Saturday and Sunday. Such an amazing experience for all who were able to attend this fabulous weekend at the races. Of all the highlights running through Wood’s head, one STICKS out further than the rest.

On Saturday, the three-time world champion Erwin Verveken took 1st place after a tremendous battle with Barry Wicks and Ryan Trebon. Marvelous race! After the awards ceremony, except for a handful of racers, the venue cleared out very quickly as if the Mets just lost their 5th straight home game. Fred and Wood were two of the few remaining because of a dinner date with none other than the talented Meg and her husband JD. But before dinner, the two had to hit the showers (not together).

When entering the locker room, it appeared they were alone except for one person in the shower. Standing next to the showers, Wood and Fred started to disrobe when the curtain was pulled back and out comes the WORLD CHAMPION ERWIN VERVECKEN dripping wet and smelling wonderfully clean, as Fred would later describe him to Wood. And for the record, Wood was not to impressed with what he saw. So with the champ drying off, Heywood jumped into an open shower stall. Apparently, Fred thought this was a wonderful opportunity to congratulate the champ on a spectacular race and thank him for flying to the USA for this race. Erwin, being very humble and polite began to ask Fred about his race. “How did you do,” and “are you pleased with the results,” Erwin said. Yes, the WORLD CHAMPION ERWIN VERVECKEN asking FRED about his race. WOW!

After Heywood was entirely clean, he stepped out of the shower to witness something offensive to the point nausea. As Erwin and Fred were wrapping up the conversion still stripped down to the BONE, Erwin stuck out his hand for a shake. “Friends don’t shake, they hug!” said Fred as he spread his arms apart. With Erwin being from Europe, this didn’t bother him one bit. They approached one another for the hug, body parts freely dangling about. While holding this long embrace, their meat swords where battling it out below the belt. This is the most disgusting gesture Wood has ever seen. Fuck those Europeans are just as strange as the New Yorkers. YUCK!

Heywood retreated to the toilet area to puck his guts out.

Wood waited until all parties were dressed before he said a peep.

Heywood sez:

ATMO!

Whitmore's Day 1/Katie Compton

Freakin' Katie Compton Show in the Elite Women's race. HUGE engine.

Whitmore's Day 1/Elite Men

Ripping it up the logs:

Systems Mostly A Go

The plucky Heywood Jablome enjoyed an arousing flight here into LGA surrounded by the entire DePaul Women's Soccer Team. Moveitfred had trouble spotting Wood at baggage claim until he stared deep into the clutter of matching Blue Demoness sweats and saw Heywood parked in the middle, dialoging it up with several of the fleet-footed lasses.

After pulling Woody away from the giggling throng Moveitfred was able to fight the traffic back out here to the hitherlands and get settled in for the night.

This morning Heywood assembled the rad, single-speed, Steve Wrecks ghetto cross, and then Moveitfred took his guest out to Cathedral Pines for some cross-specific schooling out in the fields and deep, dark woods.

Wood managed to fahk up the rear hoop a bit on some of the challenging Long Island singletrack, but luckily Moveitfred was able to work a deal at the local shop and get Heywood back in business for the race in the a.m.

PS--Woody's gonna be cinching down the rear hub on the single-speed with a sketchy Ultegra quickie-release. Please send up a prayer tonight to your favorite Deity of Great Power for Wood.

Two days, two new bikes for the Heywood Jablome Household.


Heywood’s new Cross bike. Actually, old steel frame that he took to Steve Rex in Sacramento to weld apparatus for cantilever brakes. All other parts new were found lying around the bike shop. Will ride for first time this weekend at Fred’s place in Long Island.

Wife’s new Cannondale Synapse Carbon 3. 18 lbs with pedals. Sweet rig for the lady.

Race

Last weekend Heywood and his race partner Chitwood participated in an adventure race at Lake Tahoe called Big Blue Adventure. For this 6 – 12 hour race, 57 teams entered. Teams could consist of 2-4 persons or solo if one desired. The weather forecast the night before called for shitty weather with continued shitty weather throughout the day.

While making the drive to Lake Tahoe from Casa de Wood in God’s Country, Chitwood looked out the window and said “not sure how it is going to rain if there is not a cloud in the sky. I can see all the stars Heywood.” Yeah. This was at 5:00 am. The two arrived in Tahoe City and staged there bikes next to the kayak in the transition area and then returned to the start/finish line. Morning temps were pushing the very low 40’s at best when the duo was getting dressed. At 7:00 am, 30 minutes prior to the race start, the organizers handed out to each team the map with all the instructions and coordinates for all the checkpoints that must be reached by each team. Team dumbass (that’s wood’s team) mapped the route they decided to take and was civilly waiting the final five minutes before start time when the weather came ragging down in the form of hail. CRAP! With a shot from a bad 44, the race was on.

First was the run to the kayak in the hail. Then Kayak was supposed to be 8-10 miles to two CP and back to the transition area. This did not work out the way everyone expected. Team Dumbass was almost all the way to CP 1 when the lighting starting striking all around. At this point, the US Coastguard stepped in and turned everyone around. Maybe the idea was to out paddle the storm. This was turning out to be a magnificent Noreaster.

Next, the two jumped on the bike and peddled to the orienteering course. After finding all the orienteering markers even though some where misplaced, they continued trying to locate the remaining 4 checkpoints scattered across the mountains of Lake Tahoe. All this was done while snow, rain, or hail continued to fall from the cloudless sky. Heywood felt like he was training for a cyclocross race on the east coast.

After finding the last CP, the only obstacle that remained was a 1200 foot decent while atop their bikes. As they were screaming down the trail, a large black bear ran directly in front of Chitwood. Chitwood then looked back at Heywood and yelled “BEAR!” While looking back at Heywood for comfort and protection, Chitwood steered his mountain bike right of the side of the trail. This caused a catastrophic crashed that Wood thought would somehow end with Chitwood dying and being eaten by the bear. Amazingly, Chitwood was OK and the two raced to the finish line with no further complications.

Results:
13 of 57 overall
3 of 17 for 2 man teams.
Over 9 hours of frozen misery and fun.

LAAAAAA Ang-ALs

Li'l Something for Heywood

Meg

Clear in her opinions in CX mag.

You get your hands on some of that dough and Woody will figure out how to spend it. He ain't gonna be bringing much new cash to the table horkin' around the 3/4 race on a singlespeed.

Heywood "Singlespeed" Jablome!

Fahking Heywood gonna be

Rockin'

the brand spankin' new Steve Wrecks singlespeed at the arena this weekend!

Photos Wood?

Which way to the podium Wood?

Bring your fast tires and your sprinter's legs Wood.

representation-AL

Wherein AL lists a number of things that suck





1) Fred
2) The Mets
3) The cold I've now got (after a weekend away at a stupid fucking wedding that cost me $1000).
4) The fact that that cold has added "insult" to injury and taken away any thought I had to competing this upcoming weekend.
5) Blogs

The Pink Fairies...

are in!



The other team is....uh....um....

Lesson 1: Style Points

Woody:
Notice how the Treefarm DOES NOT bang his nuts on the top tube on the remount. Notice how he smoothly negotiates the turns before plunging downhill. THIS IS NOT A MOUNTAIN BIKE RACE, HOLMES!

Genesis

When did you first learn to ride a bike?

When did you first learn to shift gears on a 10-speed?

When did you first lose a bike you loved?

When did you first ride around the block just to go by that hottie's house?

When did you enter your first race?

When did you first fail to finish a race?

When did you first realize you love the freedom of two wheels?

When did you first realize you want to make man love to Phil Collins?

Never Forget

Of course we all recall that Carl Douglas rocked the world in 1974 with "Kung Fu Fighting," but what concerns Moveitfred is that we have forgotten that Carl didn't stop giving there. Least we forget, he followed up that chart-topper with even more Kung Fu in 1975:

Dance the Kung Fu!

Pay careful attention to the lyric "Don't fight, Dance the Kung Fu."

Carl was concerned by the outbreak of violent Kung Fu behavior in 1974, especially among the United States and UK youth. Kicks, jabs, chops swept the schoolyards from Pacoima to Putney. The young Moveitfred even fell victim to the hypnotic promise of being "fast as lightning."

But his followup in 1975, Moveitfred believes, was Carl at his best--healing nations. Carl helped us understand that we were not to use Kung Fu to hurt but, instead, to dance.

It was this very week in 1974 when Carl electrified the world with his original hit. Today, Carl is living in Germany where he runs a production company that creates documentary films.

Clearly, Carl is still making a difference.

Moveitfred asks that you remember Carl this week.

communicab-AL

Wherein Al Shares A Message From A Friend

Peptalk For Fred

Intelligab-AL

In Which Al Says, Hmmph, Errr





It is hard, being a hero of the people. There is so much pressure to perform, to succeed, to battle for truth and justice, to stomp Commies. And so it is that I've come to my latest impasse. I just don't know what to do. My thoughts are all jumbled, and I can't make sense of my thinking. Thus I ask you, gentle reader, do I dare to eat a peach?

There's one last sprint tri at the very tail end of the season: The Cedar Beach Sprint Triathlon on 10/7.
There are MANY good reasons not to even think of doing another event this season:

• My calf has only just come back enough from the injury to allow me to run. Can it sustain an intense event like this so soon? Will I re-injur myself?
  
• This week is my first week back to running since my injury. I've been exercising over this last month, but the intensity has been, necessarily, low. Can I get myself even passably ready in a week and a half?
• I've done no road work on the bike over the last month.
• I've done no open water swims in this time frame.
• I've only just gotten back out on the pavement running.
• I own only a sleeveless suit...will I need a ballectomy to get my nuts out of my throat once I exit the icy L.I. Sound?

On the flipside, it's tough to come up with any good reasoning for DOING IT!!! I mean, there is no real point to pushing one more in so late in the season. It won't do anything for me over the long winter .

Well, maybe there is one reason...


It's there!!!!!!!

WTF Moment

So today during Moveitfred Jr's 2nd Grade co-ed soccer game, some kid on the other team scored a goal and ran back to midfield pointing up to heaven.

What the Fahk? One of his homies gunned down recently?

Gave Jr a little advice: next time some kid does that you clothesline the little prick.

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.