Went with the kiddiewinks and the Wifeage to the pizza joint on Saturday night for a little din-din. It was a place I used to go to as a kid but now it's gone slightly upscale with a "wait to be seated" sign at the front. They still have games, but now they spit tickets at you that you can redeem for prizes. My boy got one of those Chinese Finger Trap thingies, fake teeth, and a necklace for Maile. So I'm sitting there drinking my beer and watching the game while the wife was playing video games with the kids and I pick up the finger trap. Stop me if you know where this is going. I start messing around with it, and as sure as Griff can fall off his bike, I get my fingers stuck in the thing. And of course I panic. Before I know it, the finger trap is reduced to a massive pile of ruin, which I quickly stuffed into the wife's purse (lest one of the winks found the now destroyed toy and started asking questions which would have ended up with the wife having to explain--yet again--why their father is such an idiot). So I shot up out of my chair, found some tokens, dumped them into the nearest game (pop-a-shot thank gawd I have mad skilz) and let fly. I scored something like 30 tickets which was just enough to "buy" another Chinese Finger Trap. I had it back on the table before the kids ever knew what happened and I avoided one colossal melt down out of somebody. Yep...I've got it going on. Hope you are well.


Johnny GoFast

Talking with Griff yesterday about the lack of content on Betonte's site. He reminded me that he is off doing some photog stuff in Georgia. This how it went down:

Griff: He's doing some photog stuff in Georgia.

G-Fast: I thought they cancelled that race.

Griff: Not that one, the other one.

G-Fast: What?

Griff: Not the one where the chick is suing because she's paralyzed, but the other one where Rock Racing is suing to get in.

G-Fast: There's hardly any money in this sport. How the hell is a promoter going to handle a team suing to get into the race?

Griff: Don't know.

G-Fast: And that Rock guy. What the hell is he thinking?

Griff: Bad publicity is about as good as good publicity and way better than no publicity.

G-Fast: We're still talking about bike racing aren't we? Any publicity he's getting by suing to get into a race seems pretty weak. Speaking of which, how many pairs of Rock Racing Jeans have you bought?

Griff: Um....none. I wouldn't know where to get some Rock Racing Jeans. They seem like they are for people more on the scary side.

G-Fast: What the hell is the brand anyway? I know they don't sell as Rock Racing Jeans.

Griff: Rock of America or something.

G-Fast: He's wasting his time with the sponsorship of a bike team. We're too geeky of a demographic to buy $200 jeans. $200. Tufo Tubular/Clinchers for a $600 cross bike yes...$200 Jeans...no. He should be sponsoring some big time wrestlers or something, not Tyler Hamilton with his pipe cleaner arms. Seems like a waste.

Griff: Maybe.


Anyway, hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

So Saturday night I attended my first auction (forever to be called Boobs on Display). It was one of these school deals where the proceeds go to the school for things like a librarian, computers, PE teacher, music program, etc. Apparently the taxes I pay aren't enough to cover any of that. All ranting aside, I showed up at this thing failing to pre-cocktail and the night was ruined from the onset. I'm not a big hobnobber. Don't get me wrong, I like to socialize with the best of 'em and I enjoy meeting new people and making them laugh with me or at me--it doesn't matter. It drives my wife crazy (just once she'd like to be the background couple), but she knew what she was getting into when she said "yes". Anyway, the first thing that I encountered were the boobed up mothers in the crowd. And they moved around in packs and checked each other out. "Cute outfit..I love your hair..where'd you get those shoes.." was flowing everywhere. So I went to the bar and guzzled a few trying to out run my social anxiety for these type of things. I had a pretty good lead at one point, but I tripped and that was that. You see, I got seated next to a guy that has a daughter in my sons kindergarten class. He was a doctor and did some undergrad studies at Davis, but he didn't really want to talk about that. More interested in talking about his time at UCLA and the med degree. Still cool with that, we talked about his job as an ER doctor, whether he ever worked on Griff, whether he like the social medicine idea, etc. So another lady at our table bought a playing card from a deck of cards to enter a raffle for a gift pack of wine worth $1,800. She held the 9 of diamonds. When they held the raffle, they announced her card and we all went nuts. It's exciting when somebody sitting that close to you wins one of these things. She stood up and made her way to the podium only to be duped by the emcee when he told her that he was just kidding. She came back to the table dejected. I thought it was pretty amazing that the first card he announced was hers despite it being the big loser and I made this known to the lady when she got back. She was a good sport about it. Again, I said it was amazing that out of 52 cards, hers was announced first. With that, Dr. So-and-So said, "yeah, you already said that." No smile, no nothing. Just drops a bomb on me as if to say shut up. With that, I dropped my knife and fork on my plate, wiped my mouth with my napkin, pushed my chair back and left. When the wife found me, she agreed it was time to leave and so we left. Not sure if I'm up for this type of thing again. I'll see when the time comes and no doubt, I'll be a bit greased before I step foot in there again.

Johnny GoFast

So we had the boys first T-Ball game on Saturday. I looked forward to the game because I like baseball and this is one of those benchmark moments in a father/son relationship. I had my chair and a cooler full of beer and my daughter to keep me company while we watched the game. Okay, I didn't have the beer as that probably wouldn't look right. Unfortunately, I was immediately recruited to "help" out which took away from my time sitting with Maile. This entailed telling the kids where to stand in the field, where to throw the ball, not to sit down, not to chase the bug that just flew by, look alive, etc. The game went pretty well, though we got walloped. The other team was clearly better coached and they had some guys that ultimately I wanted to see a birth certificate on as well as drug test. One kid hit a home run that went so far, that he was back in the dugout before one of our little kiddiewinks caught up to it.

Jackson was all smiles right up to the point where one of the kids on the other team hit a screamer to the outfield that bounced once and clocked Jackson hard on the cheek bone. His hands went immediately up to his face and the wailing came on quickly. They stopped the game and walked him off the field. Some mothers attended to him with ice packs and love and he calmed down pretty quickly. Finally, I figured I probably should get involved so I trotted off the field to check on him. I removed the icepack and saw the red bump where the ball hit him. It didn't look too bad but I'm sure it hurt him and probably scared him a little bit as well. At that point I asked him if he was ready to go back into the game. I knew the answer more than likely was going to be a shake of the head, but I asked anyway. He's all boy, but not the toughest kid on the block. To my surprise, he said he was ready. I told him that it was because of his socks. He looked down and then looked back up at me somewhat perplexed. Because we went to the pro game last week, and because he liked the way a few of the players wore their socks high, he wanted me to do his pants up the same way. I told him that the tough kids wear their pants that way and he smiled in a way that let me know he was more than proud of himself. He trotted back out on the field to praise from all the parents in attendance. He got three good hits and even fielded another ball that came out his way. I'm most proud of him for brushing it off and getting back out there. The little boy is growing up. Hope you are well.


Johnny GoFast

I have no idea whose hand that is, but that clearly is my brain and I want it back. I've been in a bike rut of epic proportions as of late, for a multitude of reasons, and it's left me slower than I'd like for this time of year. I've given up on training and have basically pedalled around when I've been given the opportunity or had the motivation. That being said, at least my brain has been firing on all cylinders. Or so I thought. Whilst talking to the Griffociraptor on Saturday night, he mentioned that Oz was doing some mountain bike race on Sunday. I figured it was a CCCX deal or something and dismissed it without much thought. Sunday morn, while gobbling down my omelet and in blessed anticipation of going to the Giants game with the boy, I got on the web to find out what race Oz was going to. To my shock and horror, I saw that the Napa Valley Dirt Classic was scheduled for April 13th. WTF? I'm almost 100% certain that I looked that up some time ago and the schedule had it for the 27th. Or maybe I just figured it was the 27th because the Wente Road Race is the 26th, and for the last few years, I've done these as a double barrel of pain. Regardless of the fact that I'm as slow as Griff on his way to a John McCain fundraiser event, I still had every intention of riding the NVDC. It's such a cool event and the trails are absolutely fantastic. So it's just another DNS for me this year in what is becoming a very long list. I'd throw in some cuss words here to emphasize my frustration, but my Aunt Judy is an occasional reader so I don't want to offend. The rest of you, not so much. Anyway, hope you are well, and if you raced, you had a smile on your face.

Johnny GoFast

A little something by request for my man Anon out in Minnesota who would rather listen to Hillary shrill on then read my blather about flailing about on a bicycle.


So even more American than dropping bombs about the world in an ever increasing effort to enforce our will upon others (and get oil), is the right to pass on that which we love to our young'ens. Way before I was a bike racer, I was first and foremost a baseball player. I'd do anything to play the game. From whipping a tennis ball against the garage door while my little brother feebly waived his bat at a blistering fastball or wicked knuckle curve to beaning Griff three times before striking him out to trying out for the high school baseball team every year though I knew I'd get cut, I simply loved the game. So we got to the A's game around 11am because any good fan knows, the best thing about the game is catching batting practice and watching the guys take infield. To stand near the bullpen and watch the pitchers get their arms loose is something to behold. Jackson ate it all up. When the game finally started, we filled out the scorecard together. He liked it when Mark Ellis hit a dinger (as he now calls them) and he liked the players with the high socks. That made me proud. My boy is old school. Of course, when he's a pro, they'll be wearing their pants all disco again and that will be called old school. We stayed for the whole game and I couldn't have been happier. Think I'll take him to a real game this weekend even though the Giants really suck. Can't wait to explain why it is that the American League doesn't require the pitcher to hit. No doubt he'll see the insanity in that.



After the race on Sunday, got to spend some quality time with the family at the Boardwalk. The girl is getting more and more adventurous and trying some of the more "scary" rides. She rode the log ride with the wifeage and reported it to be as crazy as last year. I rode the Ferris wheel which terrified me. She got to talking about how all the people looked like dolls. That made me laugh.

Anyway, hope you are well and that this meets your requirements, Schmidt.

Johnny GoFast

So recently I learned that three tell tale signs of death are delirium, shortness of breath and rapid heart rate. "Ah ha," I screamed. "I knew I was close to death in Santa Cruz," I shouted to a very confused crew of people. You see, I experienced all three symptoms in massive proportions on Sunday during the elite 3 race. It was my racing debut this season, and though the training has been dismal and the weight more so, I had those thoughts of grandeur we all get when we find ourselves on the eve of a real test. There is no substitute for hard work, yet I told myself that I'm strong with residual fitness from years of training and though I might not have the hours in my legs, I still have the fight in my heart. WRONG! The gun went off and I drifted somewhere near the back. The first 10 flights up the finishing hill went okay, but I could tell it was only a matter of time before I'd be popped like a well seasoned zit on a 14 year olds face. And when I popped, it was that oozing painful kind. I refused to quit. Not because I thought I could bridge to a quickly disappearing peloton, but because I was pissed at myself for being so pathetic. I held out hope that I could make it through the next 13 laps without getting caught. About lap 12, I started getting cheers from people on the sidelines that thought that by yelling they could will me to keep going. Sure there were some people that tried to hand me a beer and another person wiggled her ass in front of me for some unknown reason. But I kept going even though I was embarrassed to be in this situation in the first place. Ah, the anonymity of the peloton. It was about then that I told myself that I was pioneering a new tactic. Sure, Griff likes to say that when he takes a solo flyer off the back, he does everything he can to make it stick. But when I solo off the back, I like to think that I'm bridging backwards to the now approaching peloton. Sure, it's way cooler to bridge off the front to the lead group, but who ever said I was cool? So with four to go, I heard the moto coming up behind me. He pulled along side and told me I'd have to pull myself if I got lapped. I argued that the officials before the race said they weren't pulling anyone. But he gave me the "listen chump--get off the course" shake of his head. I had about a 10 second lead/1 minute 50 second deficit (depending on your perspective) at this point, so I attacked. I was able to hold them off for one more lap before they roared on by. Short of breath, rapid heart rate, delirious with my pride in tatters, I pulled over to the curb and cussed. Pretty shitty ass debut but totally deserving given my training. At least I cheated death...but just barely. Hope you are well.

Johnny GoSlow

When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.
When riding the single speed, I will ALWAYS carry a chain tool.

There, I feel much better now. I suppose I'll have to decrease the myriad of tools that I don't carry when I'm out riding now that my legs are so cat 3 huge like Griffs. More about that later.

So I'm cruising along through the Walnut Creek Open Space yesterday enjoying a beautiful spring day. It was the perfect temperature and I had good sensations running through my legs and my noggin for a change. I hit up some of my favorite trails and some I hadn't frequented for a while. I came ripping up this single track that you wouldn't know was there if you didn't know it was there, all the while floating on the smooth trail as it bobbed and weaved through oaks and rocks. The trail was in pristine shape and I was seemingly alone to contemplate my role in this world. As I crested a small rise, I contemplated banking off a rock and setting myself up for a quick descent down the back side of the hill. My skill set being a bit rusty, I decided to merely maneuver around the rock at a slower pace. When oh to my wonderful surprise, here, in what God has intended for us all, were two love birds making love. The guy flashed me a sheepish grin as I realized quickly what I had happened upon. The blanket, the bottle of wine, a basket filled with strawberries or the like. And then the fleshy fleshness of the woman as she straddled him for all she was worth. I avoided eye contact with the women and said, "sorry about that." As I rode away, I could hear them chuckling a bit and I chuckled as well. Lucky dog getting some on a beautiful spring day.

Later, with happy thoughts and chuckles still working their way through my brain, my chain snapped like a twig in the forest and I was left to push. Why does the chain snap at the furthest point on the ride? And why am I such a minimalist when it comes to carrying tools? Starting now, at least I will have a chain tool on my person. Hope you are well and spring has sprung for you as well.

Johnny GoFast