Upgrade in the mail today. I get home from work last night, a day like any other, barely able to keep from drooling on myself after taking repeated shots to the gut and mug from customers, employees, and my own damn fists, when I'm stopped by my wife. "Didn't you get one of these envelopes less than 12 months ago upgrading you to the floundering 4's," she says handing me a thin envelope. Perplexed, I can't even answer. I've had a modicum of success this year, but no where worthy of so quick and upgrade. I hold the envelope up to the light and I can indeed see a sticker inside. "There must be some sort of a mistake," says I. Pleased with the prospects of joining my compadre, Herr Griffiths in the big boy category, I begin to open the envelope. I pull out the letter and indeed notice the sticker. It read:

Dear Jackson:
It is my pleasure to inform you that you have been upgraded to the no training wheels category. Based on your recent progress, you are ready to ride a two wheeler unencumbered. Congratulations.

My wife, reading over my shoulder, put her arms around me and offered me comfort. I turned to her and said, "this could be my finest moment." I was so happy I flew halfway around the world to do a backflip off of Stonehenge. Can't wait to get home tonight and get the little dude out there on the trail.

Johnny GoFastproudpapa

Last month, we saw Johnny step into the new millenium by launching a blog. Comments since then:

"I didn't know you owned a computer." Bob Hathaway Chicago, Illinois

"Do you have a cell phone now?" Steve Griffiths Granite Bay, California

"Have you figured out how to change your VCR clock?" Pedro Delgado Roma, Italy

"What time's dinner?" Jeffrey Dahmer Sheboygan, Wisconsin

Anyway, to answer all of you, let's take this one step at a time. I've been eyeing digital cameras now for about a month. Coincidentally, I've been blogging for about a month now and I'm getting tired of stealing pictures and material from raceday photogs. Whatever camera I go with, will go with me to capture material for upcoming posts. So this post is about future posts. Progressive.

Speaking of racing, did the SJ Crits this Monday. Avoided a crash in the E4's and had to be thrown onto the course for the 35+ 4/5's race. Turns out I have a rare form of Crititis called Crashaphobia. My therapist says that it's not genetic and believed to be currable. We'll see. They said that about my gay friend Steve, and he struggles mightily. Thank God for the catholic church. Sprinted home for third in my best finish as a crit racer. God I hate crits. Tell me it gets easier and less scary as time marches on.

Thanks for reading.

So that's the man. He turns 71 today. He was born in 1935, for those of you short on math, in an industrial part of Germany in a town called Wanne-Eickel. Bad time to be German, to be sure. His father, who my father never got to know, was a coal miner and died shortly after my father was born. His mother was a seemstress and did a pretty good job at it from what I've heard through the years. She was able to keep herself and my father going through the war by sewing and making a living off the black market. She was especially adept at cutting cigarettes and reselling them. When the Americans really started their assualt on Germany during the war, obviously the industrial areas were the first areas to come under attack. So my grandmother threw my father onto the top of a coal train and they lit out of there not knowing where they would end up. They landed in a tiny farming village called Konigsheim. The war basically missed this little spot and my dad and grandmother rode the war out. The downside is that there wasn't a lot of seemstress work or black market to operate in such a tiny area. She continued to sew for the local farmers wives and often worked for eggs and milk. Poor is not the word, but the small community took them in and they made it through. My father tells stories of scouring the countryside looking for anything to eat. He became pretty adept at living off the land, but he'll tell you that he was fairly hungry for the better part of his youth. It's hard to fathom. Through it all, my grandmother stressed the importance of education, and my father went along. After the war was over, they moved back to Wanne-Eickel, where my dad continued his education. For motivation, he worked in the very coal mines that took his father's life. As he toiled, other miners would tell him stories of his father and how he died trying to rescue other miners in an unstable part of the mine. To fail in school in Germany is a one way ticket back into the coal mines, and my father hated the idea of working underground. Somewhere around 1951 or '52, my dad earned a scholarship to come and study in high school in the United States. Eager for the opportunity, he jumped on a ship to New York, and then got on a train to Green Bay, Wisconsin. He was taken in by a very generous family that made him feel welcome almost immediately. After his year was up, he returned to Germany to complete his high school education and started his college education at the University of Marburg. Upon the invitation from the same family in Green Bay, my father returned to the United States about 1954 and went to school at the University of Lawrence in Appleton, Wisconsin. He met my mother, who was from Chicago. He spent two years at Lawrence where he graduated with a Bachelor of Arts degree. Back to Germany to finish his college degree over there and eventually to marry my mother who returned with him. About this time, his mother passed away after a short battle with cancer. At the age of twenty three, he was all alone. Luckily, he had my mother and they remain close to this day. They returned to the US for good in 1961 where they produced the first of four boys that they would have from 1961 through 1972. We lived in places like Chicago, where my dad worked at the Bank of Chicago and earned his MBA at night school. Toledo, Ohio where my dad worked at the Toledo Scale and played an intrumental role in the development of the scales that are used at most deli counters today. Grand Rapids, Michigan where he began his insurance career and finally, Danville, California, where he started his own business in the insurance industry. Today he enjoys sailing, fishing and hanging out at his recently built home at Sea Ranch. He rides his bike next to daily and still works very hard. To think that he had every excuse in the book to become something less than what he is, my father never chose to cop out. He came to this country with a $5 bill and a pair of underware in his back pocket, and he has carved out an amazing life. I asked him once why he ever left Germany. He simply said that he felt his best opportunity for success was somewhere other than war torn Germany. Given everything that he has achieved, I'd say he probably could have succeeded anywhere under any circumstance.

Makes you think about how fortunate we all are to have the power to create anything we want for ourselves.

Johnny GoFast

That's my girl. Isn't she pretty. She likes the color pink and thinks that she is a princess. She likes going to bike races and cheers for me harder than anyone I've ever met. She thinks I'm so pro. Who am I to tell her that I'm a flounder in the cat 4's. Anyway, I went racing yesterday in Stockton. It's a great place to race in a strategic stretch of town. Strategic in that, it doesn't take a lot of dough to find love, if you know what I mean. Lucky I won a prime. Twenty bucks is like walking in and saying, "I own this crack house!!!" A little bit of jing gets all the other scumbags nervous that the economy is now in full blown runaway inflation mode. In the 4's race, got to sit in and watch as a team mate launched himself into the winning break. He got 2nd so congrats to Pat. I've written about him in the past. He's a mutant that doesn't know how good he could be if he got a heart rate monitor, watt meter and a coach. In the 4/5 race, we had four guys in the top ten when a crash broke out in the second to last corner. I passed a guy who was in the air and upside down and another that looked like he was sliding into second. Had to stop for the third guy who was trying to take me out. Pat came whipping buy me, jumped a curb, hit a cyclone fence, bounced off and into some tan bark and back onto the course. He would have kept going except he wobbled coming out of the bark and went down on the sidewalk. Do all cat 4/5 races end with some dipthong crashing? Still hate crits, but I have to win one of these things sooner or later.

So I'm at home after the race, reading a book when my wife comes in with my daughters magic wand. She waived it about and finally with a smile on her face she says, "Poooffff, you are a beautiful handsome prince." I stare her down and say, "and what was I before?" She left quietly unsure how to answer. I'm still bothered but then you probably already knew that.

Readership now up to over two views a day. Thanks for your support.

Johnny GoFast

Coors Light, I love every ounce of you,
You've made me smile since 1982,
Though some may say you're not a legitimate beer,
You are my racers choice, just to be clear.

I can drink you until the sun goes down each day,
Get up and race and still feel pretty much okay,
And though I probably shouldn't drink you at all,
You've been a friend to me and it's been been a ball.

Zach's pizza, I love every slice of you,

You get better with every mouthful I can chew,

Though your loaded up with carbs and calories,

Your crust and zest bring me down to my knees.

My seasons nearing a close, and that's too bad,

But beer and pizza soon will make me glad,

Not too much, however, cross is on the plan,

Come fall I'll be a very disciplined man.

Here's to you.

Johnny GoFast

Look closely. On the right hand side of my right leg you can make out the faint definition of a quad. Doesn't seem that unusual, does it? Heck, most bike racers have them. What many of my reader doesn't know, is that I was born with a very rare condition that is seen in 1 baby for every 4.2 trillion babies born. The condition is called absentquadriceptisitis. When I was old enough, my parents came to me and informed me about my condition. Up to that point, I didn't think much of it. When other kids called me "broomstickleg" I thought they were refering to my excellent sweep shot in soccer. I became self conscious to the point that I would only go out in public with my legs completely covered. I researched plastic surgery and looked into having fat removed from my ass and pumped into my leg. In the end I decided I'd go against all the naysayers and odds, and search out ways to bolster my girth. Through the miracle of riding, I am making progress. But I am only half way there. With your help, I can someday have legs as big as my cat 3 friend, Steve Griffiths. He often refers to his quads as Thunder and Glory. Below you will find three sponsorship levels. Remember, give and give often. Your heart will swell as you know somewhere in Alamo, California, a bike racer is receiving much needed aid in his struggle for quad development.

Gold Level: $2500+. You will receive the complete Johnny GoFast experience. You will get to come home after a long day at work and make dinner, bathe the kids, give them story time and get cracking on the honeydo list that grows at an alarming rate. A tour of Johnny's garage will highlight this experience as you get to patch old tubes, lube chains, and if you are lucky (and good with a wrench), change out a bottem bracket or two.

Silver Level: $1000-2499. You will receive an autographed picture of Roy Firestone. In addition to the photo, I will include authentic Johnny GoFast junkmail received that day.

Bronze Level: Sub $1,000. Pathetic. You get nothing.

I have time to open some mail I've received on previous posts:

A reader writes in: Johnny, I couldn't help but notice that your math is a little off on your mythical fourth place finish at the Norba National in Fontana. To get a true result, wouldn't you need to figure out the percentage difference between the riders used in your formula to get a better idea of how you would have fared? Steve Griffiths Granite Bay, California

Great question Steve. Thanks for writing in. I'm not going to answer, however. You obviously are a roadie and clearly we don't have time for your exactness. If you could have interpolated even a little bit, you would realize that I was using Spliffy's Formula which is more of an accurate predictor for mountain bike racing. You roadies. I mean, my goodness. Invest in some hippee cabbage and relax.

Thanks for reading

Tugboat the Dog

Good news! I just checked the results of the expert race in Fontana (or thereabouts) and I would have finished fourth. This would have been my best finish to date at a Norba National. The beauty of this is that while I would have been finishing fourth, I was actually sitting on a beach in Maui with my kids enjoying the first in a long series of Coors Light 12 packs. I'll blog the details of that later. Through the miracle of a highly evolved process, I was able to come to the conclusion that I would have ended up squeaking onto the podium. Simply, I found a rider who raced both the Norba race and the Napa Valley Dirt Classic. We will call this rider Seth Ellis simply because that is his name. His time for the Norba race was ~9 minutes slower than his Napa Valley Dirt Classic loop. Viola! JohnnyGofast posts a 1:56 time at the Norba race. Slow, but good enough for fourth place. Oh, I can hear the naysayers now. "Johnny, that's hardly scientific." Well just to cut you off at the pass, I've got another bullet to fire. We will call him Brent Carkeet. His delta (impressive math term) is almost identical to Seth Ellis above which in turn is almost identical to my mythical delta as well. And boom goes the dynamite. I'm having a great year. Tomorrow, Johnny hits his nadir as he finds himself in a fog holding a Coors Light in one hand and a hotdog in the other.