Had to, and I mean had to, travel down to Ontario (aka The Inland Empire) on Monday morning. C'mon and say it with me, "givin' it up for my Peeps in the IE!!" I have some customers down there that wanted to meet with me to either write more business or begin writing business with us. So I made my semi annual trip to the land of the traffic and smog. I'm always amazed with what I find down there. Seemingly intelligent people, I am always in awe that they don't have the sense to move somewhere else. I mean, who would put up with that crap. As you tool down the road, it's nothing but an endless procession of billboards displaying everything from car dealerships to strip joints (I mean gentlemens clubs--good luck finding one in one). The landscape has long ago been chewed up by developers leaving no possible place for your eye to wander that isn't a visual abortion. Only once have I been down there where I could see the mountains not five miles away. They're beautiful if not eluding. During my trip, I only saw the picturesque view from my window when we punched through the heavy "marine layer". How wonderful it probably was 50 years ago. Spent the night in Victorville and saw my first football game of the year under the security of the freeway accessible Red Roof Inn. Later I went to the Scandia Fun Center and hit the batting cages. Happy to report that I can still swing the lumber a little bit. I quickly progressed from the medium slow cage to the medium fast cage. The maching ate my tokens. I went to the counter expecting the "get out of here" routine. Maybe the fact that I was still in my dress pants and shirt and the fact that I'm 40 persuaded the attendant to believe me when I said the machine malfunctioned. Sidebar: maybe we can get the government (current admin with the runaway spending) to commission a study to see when it is that you can legally claim a machine ate your token and the attendant believes you. Anyway, the machine turned out broken and the attendant moved me to the fast pitch machine. I started to protest but she informed me it was only slightly faster and to get in there and shut up. At which point she spun on her heel and left me there flailing at the first few pitches. And then low and behold, contact. Foul, but no less contact. A few weak grounders and Johnny was locked in. I've still got it.

Racing was an exercise in frustration. If you saw the start of the Master 35+ A race, you saw me 50 yards up the start line tumbling around like a junkie in the gutter looking for his needle. Some cat two in front of me switched lines which caused the guy in front of me to grab his brakes and swerve which sent me flying. Crap. Up and running I was able to get the chain re-hooked and back in line. Over the barriers I had my shit together only to wash the front wheel out on the first hairpin. After another chain fixing, I was at the back of the herd and pissed. I started to pick my way up and was making decent progress when somewhere on the second lap, my seat let go. Double shit. I did a quick bike change in the pit and I was rolling. Unfortunately, the Griffociraptor back up bike I was on must have had one of those extendo chains as it popped off on me no less than four times. I can't tell you how loud the deamons in my head were telling me to quit. How many excuses did I need? The final blow was on the last lap when I went to pass some dude and the chain popped off for the final time. Seriously, if that was my bike, I would have snapped it over my knee and finished empty handed (is that even legal?). Later, I crumpled into my wifes arms as she comforted me from all my frustrations. Later-later, I patted myself on the back and thanked Griff for the usage. Finishing is finishing no matter how adverse the circumstances. Not the way I wanted to start the series, but as my wife said, "it can only get better." You think?

Johnny GoFast