I guess I'm a lot like you in that I consider myself a good parent and role model to my kids. Every once in a while I do wonder, however. Back in college, on rare occassion, you could find me now and again in the library. I'd study for a while, but eventually I'd grow bored of the exercise. Invariably, I'd fold up a piece of paper into a triangle and slide it across the table toward Griff. Everyone knows that the only acceptable action at this point is to slide it back. You repeat the routine until someone hangs the triangle off the edge of the table for a touchdown, or your opponent inadvertently slides the triangle off the table three times. If this happens, you get to try and flick the triangle through your friend's fingers that are fashioned to look like a goal post. This is called "Paper Football" and I used to routinely crush Griff.

So I'm sitting there the other day at the restaurant with the family and Jackson and I start playing. The wifeage, out of the corner of her eye, sees the boy flick the triangle up and over the goal posts in my direction. "What the heck are you two boys doing," she asked. Jackson, not even looking in her direction blurts, "we're playing football Mom. I'm winning 18-14."

"You're playing what," she asks. "It looks ridiculous and I don't think it's appropriate." With that, the waitress showed up and said, "Okay boys, you need to put the football away."

"See," I say. "Even the waitress knows what this is." Of course she does. How many games have been brought to an abrupt end with the delivery of the meal. Countless, no doubt. Anyway, after the meal, Jackson and I started right back up. We were having a great time until I kicked a field goal right over Jackson's head and into the salad of the lady at the next table. Jackson giggled, the wifeage scowled, and I apologized. But I feel confident that the boy is on his way to greater things now that he is well versed in the art of "Paper Football." Hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

For those of you that don't know, Wells Fargo suffered a monumental blow recently when Mike Vomund put his career before his bike riding and took a promotion that moved he and his family to South Africa. Not sure why that is termed a "promotion", but I've been assured by those that are fast enough to keep up with Mike, that it is a really good deal for him. I will miss the way he flung himself out there all silly like and put the hurt on everyone including himself. Snot flying this way and that and attacking in a style that suggested that he was pretty low on the IQ-O-METER. But sometimes he would create the break and feast on its rewards. But the thing I think I will miss the most is his volunteerism to the team. He was the secretary to which no body ever thanked him. Well maybe those on the board, but that's a mutual ass kissing deal anyway, because no body gets love that volunteers to run a team so they have to love themselves.

So currently the position is open and there hasn't been one hand raised to take it over. Sure, Mike blazed a wide path which would be difficult to follow, but it's been eerily silent as everyone avoids eye contact with Paul Carter-El Presidente. (Side note: do you think the nickname for the team president on the East Coast is El Presidente as it is for every team here on the West Coast?) Not that anybody has asked and not that I want to step up and fail in my responsibilities to the team, but if I ran, this would be my platform:

1. I pledge to end Global Warming. Anyone Wells Fargonaut caught warming the planet under my tenure will be immediately relegated to the back of the group ride on Sunday mornings. A second offense will result in permanent personal mechanic status for me. They will need to clean my bikes on a weekly basis and do routine maintenance including but not limited to: Handlebar retaping, tire inflation and tube patching, bottom bracket switching outage and replacement, pedal swapping on cross and mountain bikes (too cheap to buy extra sets of Crank Brothers egg beater type pedals having recently converted over to Time Pedals like six years ago), and switching cogs between race wheels, training wheels and cross wheels (see reason similar to pedal situation).

2. I pledge not to abuse my power, once in office, on things like high priced call girls. There is a fine line between use and abuse. I think I'm qualified to know the difference.

3. I pledge to have us out of Iraq in seventeen minutes. I may ended up retreating through Iran. No timetable for being completely out of there until the next hot spot flares up. How far of a march is it to North Korea?

4. I pledge to do something about illegal immigrants. I firmly believe that something needs to be done. Either we need to stop them from coming, send them back, or give them amnesty and start a guest worker program. Anything less would be a diservice to doing nothing.

5. I pledge to drastically spend more than we take in in dues and sponshorship money. I plan on racing for a few more years so I figure the people who come behind me in this club can pay for my awful decisions.


I'm sure my platform is bigger than this, but these will be my focal points. If you have something that you would like me to specifically address, please let me know.

Johnny GoFast

I got nothing against the Country Griffiths'. They're good hardy people living on their farm up there in Granite Bay with their animals and such. I even respect that they're putting in a cement pond. Bodes well for me and mine when we visit from time to time. But I got to put my size 13 down on this nonsense that keeps flowing my way. The other day I found a book on the kitchen counter (sent courtesy of old lady Griffiths-Tulip to those of you who have howdy'd but hadn't shook yet) with a title to the effect: How to Build a Better Chicken Coup. Really? Is that something I really need to know? Well apparently after talking to the wifeage, we are past the idea phase of this whole thing thanks to Tulip. She has chickens and apparently we are on our way. Of course I'm the one that's been tasked with building the coup so maybe this chicken will never get off the ground. But I wouldn't bet on it. My wife is a lot like yours in that she has ways to get what she wants. Heck, the way things are going here at the rockpile, maybe I'll go full time into chicken farming. Why oh why did I marry somebody that feels that we need to cohabitate with livestock? One will never no, I suppose. Hope yer doin' down right fine.

Johnny FarmFast

So my wife is probably alot like your's in that she controls everything. And when I mean everything, I mean even the last nickel in my pocket. I'm extremely cool with this set up as I like to be in control of nothing. I've got enough on my plate that the last thing I need is something to control. I got lucky when I married the wifeage as by some stroke of luck we ended up being fiscally compatible. And if I had to choose something at this point in my life, fiscal compatibility would certainly rank somewhere on the list between "sex me up frequently" and "my baby can find the remote in less than 30 seconds". Anyway, fiscal compatibility and an uber controlling wife does have its getting used to. At the beginning of each month I get an allowance. This is the walking around money that the rest of you have ready made access to down at the ATM. No such luck here as an ATM card doesn't live in my wallet (actually it does but without knowledge of the pin...does it really?). I can use this money for whatever pleases me. Bike parts (all the Wells Fargonads wondering why I won't spend the $8 on some new bar tape), entry fees, beers with the boys down at the bar, "Kristen", etc. There's no accounting necessary, the wife just marks down in her little ledger somewhere that I've been paid and then she's onto worrying about the next fiscal priority. It's pretty sweet.

So we're sitting there at dinner tonight and she asks me, "what's Rudy's Project?" A little know secret is that she does let me roam the halls with a credit card for those random moments when my cash won't play. "Rudy's Project," I scrammble. It hits me that some charge has shown up on the credit card bill and I've failed yet again to give her fair warning. "It's like Habitat for Humanity," I lie. "Except it's run by Rudy Guiliani. Turns out Rudy is heavily involved in building high end condos for those rich people that aren't quite rich enough to get themselves into the highest of high end real estate. It's tax deductible...I looked it up."

"It's bike stuff isn't it," she says. I nod knowing there's no controlling a controller. And I'm cool with that. Hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

So there was a pretty cool thread going around today amongst us WellsFargians. Tony Homes, as if the beard alone isn't enough to remind us not to screw with him, let it slip that he'll be racing this weekend with a broken hand. He's still got to "check" with his doctor, but he's certain he'll be racing a bunch over the next few weekends. His bravado, no doubt, brought out crazy stories about others racing with broken bones in all manner of places. Even this cowboy has raced with a separated shoulder, although it was mild and frankly not that bad on a smooth stretch of road. Is it really worth it? At what point does it make sense to drink a beer and watch the game like everyone else our age? For Tony, I suppose that day is not even an abstract idea. Hope you are well and give a wave if you see me out there rolling. Cause that's where I'm at..rolling.

Johnny GoFast