my niece is a walrus

I took the "walrus" shot out because I like this one different. If you missed the original and would like to see it, email me. You'll have to sign a waiver, but once you do, I'll send you the originally posted pic.


And here's a bonus pic for your trouble...

No title

It occurred to me today that unfinished bidness weighs people down. Well, it weighs me down anyway. More to come, but I got a few things to get done...

Regazze Belle e Delfino

My b-i-l, Lonnie, took this shot of our kids at the aquarium in Corpus Christi last Easter . I know nothing about photography in terms of light, patterns, etc, and blah blah, but this is easily one of my favorite photographs.

This is Reanie and cousin Ella checking out a dolphin.

Bruce was Drunk

Mama and I went on a date last night. With each other, even. Went to a place called ¡Hola! for tapas simply because Becky suggested it. Very good. As we walked back to the car, we came across a wine shop called Brian's Wine. Bruce was working there last night.

Bruce is a heavyset guy who works at the wine shop after his day job like some guys work in a bike shop after work. He just likes the stuff (and probably the discount).

Bruce talks with a lisp. He laughs like Butthead from Beavis and Butthead fame. He's quite a bit nervous, socially. And he was drunk. And he talked and laughed a lot. Bruce said he works there to help Brian most evenings.

So we bought a bunch of wine. But, hey, we got him to throw in a couple of the wooden crates so we could carry it home.

Junior Racing

Our friends Kyle and Allison had a baby last night. You can tell it is their first because this is what Kyle wrote:

3:43am we went in after him. 6lbs 10oz. 19-3/4" long. Everything is great now he's very lucky because he looks a lot like me. In the delivery room the nurses commented that even though he was only minutes old, he laid there with the poise and confidence of a child 4-5 hours older! The pediatrician just stopped by and asked if superpowers and stunning good looks ran in the family, I hope my grin didn't give anything away.

Eli Garner Russell is in the house!

Is that a boomerang in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

During a visit to Apple Granny’s place in Tennessee we lifted a boomerang from the basement. Grandpops left behind all kinds of interesting stuff in that basement, but for some reason, that boomerang struck me as something that meant something to me. Not in the sense that I could use it purposefully, of course, unless I could train it to find the remote or something.

Before I get too fruity here, I have to say that I never even had the opportunity to meet the man, Chloe’s Grandfather. But, as always, Apple Granny said anything down in that basement is ours if we want it. Everything I’ve heard about the man has been interesting, and Mama is always keen to keep something from the special people in her life. But I’m not sure if “want it” really applies here, because I didn’t think we’d be good stewards of such a thing, what with one kid who could hurt me with it, one who would dress it up like a baby then give it a bath, and one who would eat it, but nevertheless, it felt like it was time to help continue its journey.

The boomerang was picked up by Grandpops on a trip to Australia. Whether it was picked up at the airport gift shop, from a vendor cart in downtown Sydney, or traded for an Indian motorcycle and string of dried peppers to an Aborigine, I’ll never know. For some, knowing the story makes the thing, but not knowing seems to suit me and my nature.

So that boomerang made it upstairs and into a bag. Like I was saying, there was something about that boomerang that was picking at my brain, but I couldn’t sort it out, Then again, with three kids, I haven’t had a complete thought in some time. We did make it home with the stick to set on my desk, put behind the bar, under the sofa, in a box in the garage under a bag of give away t-shirts, or go hunting.

At that point, aside from putting this one in our travel bag, I’d never touched a boomerang, much less thrown one. I’d seen it done in cartoons, so I was an expert. My training in boomerolgy allowed me to apprise Noah that he should throw it “pretty far out into the field.”

A few minutes later I heard something that sounded like an asteroid striking our home, or, like the bang of a boomerang hitting the tin roof of the well house.

“What the hell” is the closest thing to good parenting I could come up with as I marched outside. Noah responded that he was quite far out in the field when he threw it. With the evidence proving otherwise, I declared that if anyone in our house pines to throw a boomerang and doesn’t know where it will land, then they may only look at the boomerang and not throw it.

A week or so later I walk out into the pasture behind our home. I walk considerably past the spot from which Noah claimed he threw the boomerang. As I scanned the acreage in front of me, I was convinced that I wouldn’t actually hit anything. Knowing that I have the athletic ability and dexterity of nearly round bowling ball with only a small chip in it, I threw the boomerang with about half strength. I wasn’t interested in losing a hand while catching the returning stick.

It went out in a beautiful arc. It silently made its way through the air, much higher, faster and further than I thought possible. I grinned at my strength and prowess. Me. Hunter. I imagined a wallaby in the outback (I had to imagine it since I don’t know what a wallaby is exactly) being hit by my deadly accurate throw. “Get a fire going on the grill,” I thought. I will even go so far as to tell you that I thought about unplugging the electricity from our house and living off of the land.”

The thing was flying quite a ways, so I had some time to think.

I continued to have time to think as it sailed past me, past the barn, over the fence, “Oh shit, it is going to hit my car and break the window,” then “Oh shit, it is going to hit Mama’s car and break a window,” then “I hope the kids aren’t on the patio,” then “Oh shit, it is going through the kitchen window” which was out of my site, then “Oh shit, I hope they aren’t all in the kitchen!”. There was no sound of breaking glass or any cries from offspring. The search ended an hour later with no trace of the boomerang.

The next day I spent time in front of our house and even across the road looking for the boomerang. Gone.

It ate at me for a couple of weeks that I threw that thing and didn’t know where it would go, and not knowing where it was at all actually kept me up at night. Perhaps it is just a symptom of being a worrier, part of what happens when one does something just knowing what the result will be only to find that Earth isn’t flat afterall.

People give me money because I know what will happen to them if they do what I tell them to do (and I know what will happen if they don’t), but in my own life, I’ve learned that I throw a lot of boomerangs. Occasionally I think I know where it will go only to learn I obviously had no clue. Other times I have a hunch that something will turn out in some way, even though I have no formal learning or experience and about it, and sure enough, it turns out that way.

While it may seem like I'm trying to be profound, all I’m really saying is that sometimes I get it right and sometimes I don’t. Surrounded by interesting people and things, I try to learn along the way. It is amazing that we can expand the grey matter that is trapped in our skull. And as long as I can avoid thinking I know something when I don’t, I’ll keep throwing boomerangs because it sure is fun to watch things fly.

Whew

ProCard is back in town. He'll be staying with us until he receives his mission from the government or something like that. He drove straight through from up near Green Bay, and when he woke up, he was smiling and ready to ride.

I was just rolling in from a ride when he got up, and I didn't want to be riding at all. Not much smiling from me. But to be fair, I'd ridden 242 lovely kilometers with some teamnuts the day before, which is a new record that I don't intend to ever, ever, ever, ever break. Ever.

Whale Call scares me on the bike. He isn't dangerous (not in the sense that other people fall down when riding around him). Just scary. He was attacking and generally hauling tail in the last 20 miles as if it were the first 20 miles. Between him, the Prime Minister, The Love Muscle (who should be a new Daddy any day), The Assassin, Doc, the Austin iDiots and the rest of the Trip Squad, there should be lots of cool bike crap along side the road, because our team is going to blow stuff up. Boy-eee

You should have seen my cool gangsta hand signs when I typed that. It'd get me a special parking place.

Have a great day!

 

Boodie Max from the top rope

Budrick and I were wrestling last night. The good kind of wrestling. The kind where monologues before, during and after the match are encouraged. The kind where slapping the floor to make a loud noise means it was a better punch, kick or tickle.

He'd get a running start and Bulldoze® me to the ground. I'd pick him up and throw him 5 feet to the big bean bag. He'd counter by climbing up on the bed and CarpetBomb® me from the "top rope," aiming specifically for my head. I'd throw him to the bean bag again, but this time force him into a gainer.

In fighting situations, folks will use their fists, feet, or a weapon to do damage to their opponent. But Budifer uses his entire body as his weapon. And I don't mean this in the Ninja sense in that he can kill you in 57 ways with a shoestring. No, he uses his body as if it were the thing he was throwing. Besides, he can't tie his shoes.

We've wrestled like this countless times, but that's because it is what we call "family" or "bonding" time around here. But during one particular CarpetBomb®, it occured to me that what he was doing was throwing himself into what he was doing.

When you launch your body from a height that is taller than you are, and your destination is to land on something, on purpose, then you are committed to what you are doing. If you do so enthusiastically, it is safe to say that you are passionate about what you are doing.

Having things to be passionate about makes this ride worth riding. Breathe until you are breathless.

Dreadhead

It has come up a few times around here, so I'm throwing out to the brazillians and brazillians of readers out there...

Dreadlock on my noggin'? Yay or nay?

If this does indeed happen, it will be the smaller tighter dreads. Not the big pieces of crap looking things. I'll be a sport about getting it done (if it goes that way), but I don't want to look like me and my six roomates live in a one bedroom apartment just off of Guadalupe and we're looking for a steady gig to help us pay for our first CD to be recorded. I'd rather it look like our first CD was recorded with help from our bassists Dad who happens to be a cardiologist in Houston.

Coaching Secrets

Now that the game is over, I can let everyone in on a little secret about the 6th Street Brawl on Dec 10.

Mack Brown contacted me in late November to see if our cycling team had any members willing to take a beating from some of his players. The idea is that a nice ass whuppin' would be good for his team's morale. While for us, it would just be same ol' same ol' of what went down for most of 2005.

We worked out the details, complete with a script. Well, I lost the script, and when I saw all the posturing and obnoious behavior out of those cocky soon-to-be National Champs, we changed up the playbook a bit.

Coach Brown picked us because we are just bike racers. If a Div 1 football team can't handle some pansy bike racers, then there wasn't any hope for them anyway. But that night, after seeing what I saw when they squared off with us, I didn't like that they just assumed that we were about to become road rubbish.

The playbook went out the window, as did the script, and what happned actually happened.

Coach Brown was unplussed. He never got loud with me, but we did have a couple of long talks, and ultimately there was some payola to get us quiet, the police to drop charges, and so forth. Hopefully Whale Call understands now why I had to get him out of there the way I did.

In the end, Coach Brown called me last night at about 11:30 to thank me. It was hard to hear over the noise, but I believe what he was saying that the way things played out actually helped them more. Something about teaching the defensive backfield what "Tough" really means, and that ultimately readied them for Reggie Bush, who, I must add, was pretty much controlled.

So, GSTz gets a small share of UT's National Championship in football!

How many cycling teams can say that they are Div 1 Football National Champs?

Ready...BREAK,
The Coach

Pepper

Now that 2005 is over, I'm glad to say it is gone. I would have said it to its face, but 2005 kicked my ass in so many ways that I just didn't want another beating.

The year did, however, show that when there are thorns, there are usually flowers. Since I didn't ride but a 1000 or so miles this year, I was around the house more. Well, in a few instances, I couldn't have left the house anyway, but whatever.

Getting tore up by the thorns did expose some friendships and strengthen some others. I grew even tighter with my immediate family and those friends we consider as such. And though I'm glad the year has passed, I would go through that tough stuff again if I knew that these relationships would turn out as they have.

At awards shows, the recepients of awards typcially thank a list of people. The risk in that is inadvertently leaving someone out who deserves recognition, which is seemingly worse than not mentioning anyone at all.

So, at the risk of almost certainly leaving someone off the list, I want to take the opportunity to thank some folks...

David, thank you for the talks. Thanks for the nudge when I needed a nudge and letting me roll when I needed to roll.
Burke, thank you for being ready at any time.
Becky, thank you for nutter butters, the "talks," the stories, and for being the littlest "big sister" I could imagine.
I want to thank my Mom for being here to help when we needed the kids to be watched.
Dad, thanks for the support in all forms. Lonnie, that goes for you too.
Lisa and Scott, thank you for allowing our families to intertwine so well. It is worth it for shock value alone when talking about it at parties.
Troy, Byrd, and the GSTz freak show, thank you for bringing me back in at just the right speed, in just the right way. Good to be home.
Glen, thanks for sweating it out.
Rob, thanks so much for being you. I still scored more Texas Cup points than you in 2005.
Andrew and Stephanie, thanks for your help, offer to help, and for reminding us how cool parents can be.
To all of my LSWorkers, thank you for giving me the best gig I could imagine. I felt like I was at "work" only a few days last year. Graeme, thank you for the confidence.
Tony Blair...thank you for being shoved on 6th St. That made me feel good about myself, because you went further from that shove than I did by being hit by a car.
Peter, we're very glad to have you in our family.
Andrew D, 2006 is going to be a blast! Thanks for bringing me along for the ride.

So, about the picture...
We went out to Terlingua just after Christmas. We hadn't been out there in awhile since we were cranking out babies for a bit, and that place ain't exactly baby proof. Now that our kids are big enough to learn from running into a cactus, we were ready to get out there.

Aside from the ranch and area itself, I was looking forward to start training again. It has been an on again off again affair for me, but I was finally at a place where I could start clicking off miles on what is going to be a long, long road back. Whatever "back" is going to mean.

It's about a 12 hr drive from our place, with kids, to La Leonna. Long story short, in the mindnumbing, hypnotic drive out there, I jaked up my knee by putting the car on cruise and not changing my position for the next three hours. It's my blog, and I'm not hiding anything.

Stupid.

So I didn't ride when we got out there. In fact, I just cussed a lot when I saw my bike on the car or on the porch. But at some point, I said screw it, and I went to climb Leon Mountain. Though it isn't a particularly tall mtn (3062ft), it is still a tough climb due to the rocks, boulders and cacti. And I did it with Reanie on my shoulders.

In terms of the Parent of the Year competition, I will lose massive points for taking the risk, but I gained a lot, most of which I can't really put into words. While climbing that mtn, Reanie sang me songs and we talked about stuff that is important to a 3 yr old ballerina. She wiped sweat off of my face and said, "Don't cry Daddy. Don't be sad. It will be ok. You're a tough girl."

We stopped a few times to eat a banana and to get a drink and to let her walk around (this picure shows how much space she had to walk around--it is a very rocky climb). Plus, it just felt good to move up somewhere, to work hard, to sweat, and to be out there in nowhere. Of course I hit a cactus that exploded thousands of 2mm red needles all over me, but that is part of the charm. I guess.

Reanie and I climbed the mountain (most of the way, anyway), and Buddy played in 50something degree water in the creek. Noah rode the trainer. I love my kids.

Amo la mia moglie

Pepper
Butthole Surfers
(Electriclarryland)
Marky got with Sharon
And Sharon got Sharice
She was sharing Sharon's outlook
On the topic of disease
Mikey had a facial scar
And Bobby was a racist
They were all in love with dyin
'They were doing it in Texas
Tommy played piano
Like a kid out in the rain
Then he lost his leg in Dallas
He was dancing with a train
They were all in love with dyin'
They were drinking from a fountain
That was pouring like an avalanche
Coming down the mountain
I don't mind the sun sometimes
The images it shows
I can taste you on my lips
And smell you in my clothes
Cinnamon and sugary
And softly spoken lies
You never know just how you look
Through other people's eyes
Some will die in hot pursuit
In fiery auto crashes
Some will die in hot pursuit
While sifting through my ashes
Some will fall in love with life
And drink it from a fountain
That is pouring like an avalanche
Coming down the mountain

Buon Natale

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to each of you. Thanks for being around.

--Christian, Chloe, Noah, Reanie, C. Ezra

Gig 'em?

From today's Dallas Morning News:


Brown: Off-field issues 'handled internally'
03:50 PM CST on Tuesday, December 20, 2005
By CHIP BROWN / The Dallas Morning News
AUSTIN –
Texas coach Mack Brown said issues surrounding a police investigation into an alleged incident on Dec. 10 involving at least two football players have been “handled internally.”

Brown addressed the investigation for the first time since the Austin Police Department made it public on Friday. The probe appears to be centering around senior cornerback Cedric Griffin and sophomore running back Ramonce Taylor.

Their attorney, Ken Oden, says he’s been told police will not press charges in the matter, which Oden has described as a “testosterone-charged exchange of trash talk” with another group of men on Sixth Street at 3 a.m. on Dec. 10. Police say the investigation is ongoing.

“When we’ve had a very seldom incident come up, we’ve handled it firmly and moved forward,” Brown said. “Obviously we had a few guys who were out later than we would have liked for them to be a couple weeks ago. We’ve dealt with them within our team and we’ve talked to the team about it. The Austin Police Department has got an investigation going on. No one has been charged, and at this point, we’re moving forward.”

Brown said Griffin and Taylor are practicing and are focused as the team prepares to play for the national title against USC on Jan. 4 in the Rose Bowl. Brown described practices Monday and Tuesday as “great.” ...


But wait, there's more...

Attorney: UT's Griffin, Taylor not involved

04:57 AM CST on Monday, December 19, 2005
By CHIP BROWN / The Dallas Morning News

AUSTIN – ...Oden said the alleged incident was nothing more than a "testosterone-charged moment of trash talk." Police are investigating whether Griffin was asking people on the street for $5 for pizza and whether a group of men who came across Griffin took offense to it.

Oden, who met with Taylor and his mother, Ramona Clark, on Sunday to help provide more information to the police, said he believes Taylor was nothing more than a bystander in the exchange.

Griffin, a senior defensive back, and Taylor, a sophomore tailback, start for Texas, which will face USC in the Rose Bowl on Jan. 4.

Texas coach Mack Brown said Friday during a news conference, "I've told the players, 'If you get in trouble, you probably won't play.' And what an awful thing for you to make a mistake, a 15-second mistake, and cost yourself a chance to play or win a national title."

Epilogue

This is from Reanie's recital tonight. 

Girls rule, Boys drool

This is me with my beautiful date for the ballet.



This is where we went.


Moments before the lights went down and the curtain went up.



It was a family tradition of sorts for my Dad to take us all to the Nutcracker. We'd get dressed up best we could, go out to s sit-down restaurant, and then take our places in the box seats for the ballet in Houston.

Mama made it possible for me to carry on this tradition with Reanie, and with no apologies whatsoever, I can say from the bottom of my heart that this was my second best Reanie day ever (the day she was born being the first).

During the drive to the Hall, we talked about the ballet, but I wasn't quite able to convince Reanie that she wasn't in this ballet, but instead, that we were going to watch it. At one point she almost got it when she said that she was going to watch me "ballet."

As we mingled among the patrons of the ballet at the Bass Performance Hall in Fort Worth, we saw a few other Daddy's with their girls. Making eye contact with those Dads, the unspoken word shared between us was that this really is as good as it gets.

Reanie was on the receiving end of so many "Oohhh's" and "Aahhh's" that is was almost uncomfortable, but one of the highlights for me was that she was holding my hand as we walked through the lobby because she took my hand, and not the other way around.

We went to the bar and ordered a Pellegrino and an oatmeal cookie. We shared the water and put the cookie in her purse, as we intended to break the rule of "No food allowed in the Box seats."

She spent most of the first act not in her seat, but instead, standing with her head resting on her arms on the brass rail in front of us. She turned to me at one point, and I thought she was going to say something, so to make sure she whispered I put me ear near her face so she could talk to me. But she kissed me on the cheek instead.

When intermission came, she wasn't ready for the performance to be over, and it was tough to explain that we still had the second act to go. So, instead of leaving to walk around a bit, we stayed put and munched on the cookie.

She was a little fidgety in the second act, but it was confined to climbing in my lap to watch, standing at the rail, and sitting in her seat. She very nearly stole the show for those in the boxes adjoining ours when about 2/3's the way through the second act that she moved her chair and started doing the ballet positions she knows, complete with whispering what they are.

I cried, because that was my girl.

It's Coming Down

This tree knocked pizza out of my hand.

(sound of someone sucking in their gut)

I've been back in the saddle some lately. Done an 80somethin' mile on each of the last few weekends. Done some sort of activity during the week a couplefew times. I'm not "back," but I'm not "over there" anymore either.

But today, I was riding the dirt bike out on a trail near here (Knob Hill for the locals), but I took a phone call (work) out there in the middle somewhere. Now, that's not important, but what is important is that while I was standing out there in the woods on the side of the trail, talking on a cell phone about bike riding, another rider approached (the only rider I saw in 2 hr, for what it is worth).

As this rider approached, I realized that my gut sticks out quite a bit. So I'm talking on the phone about getting someone else fit, while out on the bike myself, when someone comes along making me self-conscious about my belly fat.

So?

So I sucked it in.

But it still stuck out. Even with sucking it in, it still sticks out. As soon as I got home, I did 100 sit ups, and it STILL sticks out!

JR, how did this happen?

Any Semblance to Actual Events is Purely Accidental

snow·ball (sno bôl )
v. snow·balled, snow·ball·ing, snow·balls
--To grow rapidly in significance, importance, or size: problems that snowballed by the hour.


A modern day action movie has something blowing up or someone being shot in the first three minutes. Novels of the same genre tend to be hefty reads, but nonetheless, page turners.

This is neither. This is a tragedy and a comedy, and the disservice is that I am the one writing it. Before we even get started, I must invoke several forms of poetic license in the names of brevity, responsibility, and because sometimes drunk bike racers just don't belong out in public.

To help move the story along, it is important to know the cast of:

Brad Thompson
Doc
The Prime Minister
The Beaner
UPS
The Coach
Pro Card

Featuring:
Whale Call


The story begins on a Friday afternoon as a Texas-based cycling team--nay, club, but heretofore referred to as ‚ "The Team," gathered for one of their annual training camps. And someone brought the Coors, coffee, cards, cash, Crown, Coke, and The Coach got the keys to the Chevy.

Fast forward (poetic license, you see?) to Saturday morning, where The Team left camp at 10:30 for the 10am ride. The Team completed 80-115 Hill Country miles, depending upon the individual rider and how much some of them are willing to lie about their mileage, particularly those who don't have a computer on their bikes. But I digress, because a lack of mileage does not bear any correlation to ass kicking or nakedness after the bars close on 6th street, whether one knows he's in Austin or San Marcos.

Upon completion of that ride, there was barbeque. And beer. And wine.

When all of that was gone, there were cards, Crown, Coke, cash, some more Coors‚ and by the time 11pm rolled around, much of The Team were in bed, which is where they all should have been. But hindsight is what it is when you have received mace in the eye.

As the card game came to a close, The Coach in his infinite lack of wisdom suggested that those remaining awake steal keys to a Suburban and drive into San Marcos (his college stomping grounds) to enjoy ONE beer before the bars closed there. Just for old time's sake.

The members of The Team who were awake and thought it a good idea, made offer to those asleep of much adventure. The Prime Minister was up for it. The Beaner told everyone to "Fuck Off" but he got dressed anyway and climbed into the back of the truck.

Just before the key was placed into the ignition, discussion regarding the closing time of bars in various cities was had. It was determined that it was somehow more efficient to go to Austin, where the bars close at 2am, than to go to San Marcos, where the bars close at midnight.

The Coach just wanted to get a beer in his old college town.

But Brad Thompson offered to buy the drinks for the night if The Team went to Austin.

Just as The Team pulled up to 6th street, Whale Call, who is sitting in the front seat, asks, "Are we in San Marcos or Austin?"

I'm not sure how familiar you are with the Error Chain Model, but The Team was well on its way to being a case study for some Economic/Management graduate class.

The Team bounced from bar to bar. Brad Armstrong fears no Chuck Norris, as Brad Thompson can get women to pose topless for eight bike racing dorks, outside, in 30 degree weather, by simply saying, "I've got marshmallows!"

The Coach never went to school in Austin, so he didn't drink, but instead, watched the shenanigans. He's not Irish either, but that's ok for this story.

To demonstrate just how far decision making skills had declined, it is worth pointing out a side incident, which will (if I may abuse literary convention) foreshadow just how ridiculous of a situation The Team was now fully entrenched...

The Coach was about 20 feet from the rest of The Team, as The Coach does not drink (like a fish, he does, but not that night), but instead was watching a talented woman dance in a modern dance form known to some tribes as "Stripper," while under the guise of watching and listening to a blues band.

Doc notices The Coach and wanders over to see what there is to see. Doc continues to smoke the cigarette that The Coach put out for him, but Doc does notice our favorite blues dancer.

The Beaner, not wanting to be left out, notices The Coach and Doc noticing something. He moseys up to the pair and says, "What are you looking at?" The Coach wonders just how bad The Beaner's vision really is, and gives the head nod to the dance flower and says, "That." The Beaner doesn't notice the talent of the dancing woman, but instead, the talent of a man, who is also dancing, and his world class mullet. "Look at THAT mullet,' says The Beaner with much enthusiasm. Doc and The Coach can only look at each other and wonder what it is about a mullet that has such power over The Beaner.

It is a sad note that at that bar, Brad Thompson's marshmallow trick met its demise when a mark ate one of the props. Bitch. At that point, Brad Thompson and his well attending straight man, UPS, then had to improvise. Which they did for another couplefew bars until closing time.

At the last bar, even with 80's music blaring and multiple talents dancing on the bar, Whale Call and The Coach opted out and went for pizza. As the remaining members of The Team fell later out of that place, pizza became the focus, and Doc was recruited to buy.

The Team, happy with their plight of the night, made way for the truck and made merry talk. Pizza and the boys. Life is good.

About a block from the pizza place, The Team crossed paths with another team from the opposite direction. The streets were crowded with people not particularly walking direct routes, especially at that time of the night, and if I dare say, there was something in the air that smelled like teen spirit. Or maybe I was just tired. Or maybe it was because Whale Call said to Pro Card as we left the pizza place, "Watch. It looks like there will be a fight. You can just see all the people around waiting for it."

Damn foreshadowing.

So, the two teams approach, having nothing at all in common or anything at all from such opposing view points or edicts that would warrant a declaration of war upon those who are without pizza on those who do, but nevertheless, it happens.

One of the opposing team says, "Gimme your pizza‚" as their group walks through and around ours and we through and around theirs.

The Beaner, who is the self-proclaimed protector of pizza and its integrity and pride, turns to confront the (now) opponent about his demands. Much chest puffing, yelling, and circling of the wagons and spectators ensues.

Whale Call, the Prime Minister (appropriately or not?), and others attempt to diffuse the situation, but the ass clown is quite obviously willing to see the situation approach level "Stupid.‚" Level Stupid is picking a fight at 2:15am when the streets are full of drunk people and lots of Police armed with mace. And picking that fight with eight actual teammates who, though they are dork bike racers, are still fit. Oh, and there's the one guy who is sober too, so the advantage is decidedly with The Team, though in fairness to ass clown, there is no way he could have known this. Anyway, ass clown #1 knocks The Beaner's pizza out of his hands.

Despite this, The Team, at this particular moment, looks like it escaped a physical confrontation when The Beaner had enough of ass clown's posturing, chest poking, spitting, pizza abuse, and all that stuff. That's when The Beaner went for the 10 foot head butt, connecting somewhat. Whale Call turns The Beaner to the direction of the truck and shoves. Ass clown takes aim at any target, which happened to be the Prime Minister, who was then bench pressed from approximately 6th and Trinity to 6th and Neches.

Whale Call and Brad Thompson, the closest Teamnuts to the Prime Minister, do not let this deed go unrewarded.

Brad Thompson catches ass clown in the mouth quite accurately. As Whale Call goes in to pay or collect (depending upon which team you are rooting for), Brad Thompson is caught with a strong connection to the ear by ass clown #2. Ass clown #1 is scampering away as Whale Call makes sure he stays away when ass clown #2 then connects with Whale Call's eye, from behind.

Though it was entertaining, and The Coach really, really, really did not want to go to jail, nor did he want to use the rest of Whale Call's poker winnings to get any Teamnut out of jail, there is a time when you, in the immortal words of Ferris Bueller, say, "What the fuck?" and just do it.

But The Coach was sober, and just as he was ready to hit and (more likely) be hit, he saw the police come around the corner. One or two were on foot. Two or three were on bikes (right on!) and three were on horseback. The Coach quickly figured they would probably have the situation more under control than he could, so he started throwing people.

He started throwing his teamnuts towards the truck.

The first few were easy, especially since ass clown #1 was resisting and fighting with the police, and that cleared up some room. It did not clear up ass clown's face, however. He was bleeding from more than just his mouth as he was escorted away by the Police, but to add injury to injury, his face was well-smeared with mace and tears from his crying and whining mess of self-esteem. Ass clown #2 and #3 were in the process of getting Whale Call's shirt up over his head...

We have to pause for a visual. Whale Call is pasty white. He claims it is something to do with being German, but I think he puts on lots of sunscreen and otherwise doesn't go outside much. But whatever.

He's in the middle of 6th St at 2:15am, in a big f'n crowd, with his shirt off, flaunting his honed bike racer upper body and pasty skin, while wearing camo pants and croc sandals. And Whale Call has a shaved head.

...but Whale Call is committed. He took a few shots before The Coach could get there, but he also put one of them (ass clown #3) on the ground. Ass clown #2, I kid you not, ran away. At this point, Whale Call really wanted a piece of ass clown #3, but as The Coach got there, the police on horses were circling and (as luck would have it) going after ass clown #3, first.

The Coach grabbed Whale Call instead, tried to dress him while shoving him towards the truck. Whale Call put up such resistance to The Coach that a circle of spectators began to form around the two Teamnuts. The Coach won out and Whale Call left.

The Coach sees another shirt on the ground and reaches to pick it up (it was near ass clown #3 and the clusterkick he was getting from the Police) only to catch some mace in the eye.

The shirt just wasn't worth it, so he quickly made for the truck with the rest of The Team. It was then that he realized Pro Card was unaccounted for.

The Coach turned around and went back into the melee fearing that Pro Card was either being beaten by more ass clowns, was being arrested, or was just plain lost.

Turns out he was just watching the ass clowns get arrested. Pro Card did have quite a grin on his face, but that may be because he was holding everyone's pizza.

Bees

We got in from NYC on Thursday at 1something AM. Later that same day, Peter, my friend/client from Wisconsin who rides for Monex, came in town to get some "warm weather" ride time. Friday, we dealt with a frozen pump, and then piled into the car (Peter, Noah and I) to head to training camp wih GS Tenzing in Wimberely. We rode lots. We did NOT get arrested on 6th street Saturday night. We stopped for a burrito at Freebirds on the way back on Sunday.

Today has been biz-ee. Mama is trying to get ahead at work because she has jury duty tomorrow. I'm still behind because I couldn't work while in NYC. Noah is behind at school because he was out sick for two days last week and school was closed for another. Peter and Andrew went out riding for 4+ hr today, but they didn't rub it in when they got back.

OK, back to work for me.