Fuck Gas

Crocodile tears, motherfuckers

I’m listening to Erchint. This band was probably the pinnacle of my angst as a teenager. I didn’t even like the band that much when they were playing regular shows in Louisville, but I lost my shit when they did so.


Coming home tonight, it seemed like a great fit. Oddly enough, much like things I was pissed about when I was 16 or so, what set me off tonight really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme.

I play in a pool league. That’s organized match play in billiards, for adults. Grown women and men keeping score, watching, judging, discussing a game that they are paying to play against one another in a bar. Most of them take this stupid game way too fucking seriously. More than not, I don’t feel like being there. Admittedly there are few people (more skilled than I in the game) I really enjoy winning against as they seem to take it especially hard when losing to me. Thanks to the league handicapping system I can just hide their balls until they fuck up enough to allow me as many chances to win. It’s a simple strategy and I get a little something out of the goading in the process. Is it petty? Yes, but sometimes it’s the little things in life that make your day better.

At any rate, I’m pissed. As tend to be most instances, this probably had more to do with outside factors than the actual occurrence that set me off, but that doesn’t discount the fact that it happened. Bottom line, not everyone has the same agenda as you and at times it’s better to ask if someone wants your help than to insist upon providing it. I have learned this over years of failed relationships and I can only imagine the annoyance and anger I’m feeling after this stupid game is possibly a fraction of the “fuck off’s” any one of my ex-partners felt whilst I insisted on offering solutions to their problems.

Luckily, iTunes isn’t on random and as alphabetical order dictates in all my musical libraries, Evergreen (second incarnation) is now playing which is a very soothing sound. Odd how an amazing birthday show in my borrowed parents basement turned into a seemingly regular rotation of parties (I never admitted that), but I’m thankful for every time they setup down there. With this band comes lighter feelings and the satisfaction that this shit really doesn’t matter. As is life, it’ll be alright. The older I get, the better I feel, the more healthy choices I make and the best thing I can think of at the moment is to stop over thinking every thing. The bikes are always there, the records aren’t scratched and as far as I can tell, the kids still like me.

Fuck it.

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Uppers and downers, I like the drugs

Hi there. Remember me? I’ve been meaning to type some things out on here for quite a while now, I suppose I was just waiting for equally congruent shit piles of fuck everything to occur in order to get me worked up enough to sit down with this outdated, slow as New England maple syrup, pre Y2K hot box on my lap long enough to do so. All in all, I have actually enjoyed the typing of things as of late, and if you follow the happenings of the things going on around the On Your Lefts then you my friend, have been picking up what I have been putting down. So there.

Where were we? Ah, this fucking computer. I’m a paragraph in and my fucking legs are on fire, not to mention my unmentionables, who knows what is happening there. At any rate, nothing I have mentioned up to this point was really the point of any of this, I guess we’ll get going.

First: HOLY FUCKING, OH MY FUCKING, HOW THE FUCK… Single Speed Cyclocross World Motherfucking Championships are coming to Louisville for 2014.


The #KyFnCx guys, same great minds behind the Raleigh Single Speed Cyclocross Derby presented by Raleigh, made the trek to Philly recently for the 2013 edition and had more support than they ever expected up there. There are about a million and one details to be nailed down and Brian, Joe and the crew have more than their share of work cut out for them. You can follow the SSCXWC14KY shit show on the Twitters, Facespace and even follow the dudes on ye old Instagrizzle. I can’t wait.

Second: Fuck you. Yes, you. I’m saying this as your friend and you really need to understand, fuck you. Here’s the deal, I work in two bike shops (OYLC & MSB) and as anyone else who works in any sort of retail or service environment, I see a lot of shit happen that unfortunately shows me that the bulk of humanity are seriously oblivious to their actions and are so truly self indulged they don’t have any real belief in community. By community I mean your LBS. Local Bike Shop.


It’s just like Cheers. You want to go where everyone knows your name. It’s no secret that the internet has gang raped our club house. Everything changes with time and I accept this, but I refuse, and I hate to use a fucking cliche remark with an eye in it, but I refuse to turn a blind eye when so-called friends of the shop, any shop, are buying their parts online because, “it’s just too good of a deal.” Fuck you. I know everyone has a budget they are working within, everyone has their own shit to deal with, but if you want your stool at the end of the bar to exist, you have to support the motherfuckers that keep it open for you when you walk in the door.

Yes, this is the same discussion we always have, but unfortunately we have to continue to have it. For some masochistic reason, I love the bike industry. It is easily the most self depreciating thing I have ever been apart of aside from my foray into marriage, but unlike my traditional marriage, this bike industry I will never leave. It’s sad, but bicycles are my love and when you walk in my house and piss on my rugg, I get upset. Luckily for you, much like the Dude, I try to lean toward pacifism. That, and I don’t own the two shops you shit heads keep walking into and soiling the carpet in so it’s not really my place to tell you to get fucked.

Where are we going with this… I’m frustrated, but what’s new.

Just do me a favor. We both know you can find it cheaper on the internet, but I also think we both know you don’t absolutely need it right now, so maybe wait til next week and add a few more dollars to that coffer and buy it from a shop that you like. If you do absolutely need it right now, talk to your shop, explain the situation, maybe they’ll help you out, maybe they’ll give you a deal just because you’re insisting on not buying from the internet and supporting the shop you love. When you don’t even give your local shop the chance to sell to you they may as well go ahead and board the fucker up. Good luck getting your bike serviced on the internet.

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Ted MuthaFuckin’ King

I don’t give a shit that I’m nearly 40 years old; I would totally hang a poster of Ted King up in my living room if I had one.



If you don’t know who Ted is by now, you’re a dick. Ted is by all means, everything that is right with American cycling as well as riding as a Domestique for the Cannondale team. That is, he works his dick off for the benefits of the dirty-stached Peter Sagan. Ted proved himself an ass kicking lead out man for Sagan on more than one occasion and I can’t even explain the stoke I had when I saw he would be riding le Tour this year.

Stage 1 seemed to be going as planned for so many when all hell broke loose. A bus stuck under the finish banner, a finish line change, bus removed, original finish line reinstated all as I watched my television, pulling my hair, groaning a long drawn out “fuuuuuuuuuuuck”. I had to watch Ted slam to the French (Corsicean?) pavement on the first day, of his first tour. Nothing else mattered, Ted’s tour, my tour, was over.

Surprisingly, I enjoyed a “fuck yeah!” moment each of  the following 2 days when he started the subsequent stages, and then an unfortunate “oh shit” when he was lined up at the fourth stage, the team time trial, not on a TT bike, but his road bike with bolt on aero bars. If he can’t ride in that horrid, cramped, lung squashing aero position with the rest of the team, how is he going to keep up? He couldn’t. The pain being too great, Ted had to get to the line as fast as he could, on his own. The team dropped him within the first km if I recall correctly and from there it was a maylay of emotion. My own ranged from disgust with for race officials having disqualified Ted to complete apathy for the remainder of the race.

At first my anger was focused on simply Ted being taken from my viewing and rooting pleasures over the rest of the race. I still don’t believe the purported 7 (or is it 8?) seconds would have mattered to the officials had the time belonged to Sagan, Cavendish or any other big name in the peleton. We could also dive into the fact his bike didn’t even have a transponder attached for official timing, but really though, it doesn’t matter. It’s over and if I’ve learned anything about Ted, it’s that he will push on. The support that the fans and fellow racers showed for him spoke levels.

Over the years Ted King has absolutely, with out a doubt, become my favorite American cyclist, even beating out Liz Hatch. Ted displays a level of humility that American cyclists should learn from, possibly all cyclists, but I only know the assholes from this country, so I’m trying not to generalize too much.

So yeah, Ted MuthaFuckin’ King. The dude. Heal up buddy, and I know I’m not only speaking for myself when I say we’re looking forward to seeing you back out there. Kick some ass.

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