GoFast or GoHome

2012-01-19T08:39:00.000-08:00

So I'm a chicken farmer. Not by choice, but more by the mere coincidence that my children like farm animals. We're up to 12 or 14 at this point. Truth be told, I don't know how many we have back there. Sometimes chickens get added, sometimes they get donated to the local roaming predators. I like the eggs and watching the chickens peck about the backyard can be entertaining. Which I guess in the end, makes me a chicken farmer.

This past Sunday, down at the final CCCX race, I was amused to learn that some of the other cross racers were talking about the guy that had a chicken with him out on course. At first I chuckled as they talked about some section of the course near the guy that had the "cock". At first I blew it off but they kept going on about it so finally I asked them what the hell they were talking about. They couldn't believe I hadn't seen the chicken. I'm sure you all know how hard cyclocross racing can be and that sometimes the outer edges of reality fade away into the abyss to be lost forever. So it didn't surprise me at all that I hadn't noticed even something this weird.

But then I'm scrolling through the myriad of photos on Monday, like I obsessively do shortly after checking every result from every race run over the weekend, and I stumble onto this photo. And I recall the conversation with Brock and Brij and I chuckle because how is it that I can't remember the chicken when I practically kissed it?

Anyway, I've missed you all and hope to connect more often. It's not for a lack of content that the blog has gone dark, or even SOPA or PIPA. Just a general lack of enthusiasm for my creative side to do it's thing. I'm working on kicking that to the curb so maybe you'll have something to read. Or maybe not. But know that I miss you all the same.

Johnny GoFast

2011-04-21T14:52:00.000-07:00

So in the background there, you can see the top of Grouse Rock. It's out of bounds at Alpine Meadows. It takes about 30 minutes of traversing and hiking to get to that point. Just so's you know, Alpine has an open policy regarding the boundary line. Basically, you are free to roam, but you are on your own or you will have to incur the cost of an evacuation should you screw up. And it being a back country environment, screw ups are a real threat. But if you're willing to make the hike, and the conditions are stable, the terrain and snow can be a huge reward. On this day, the snow was skiing about boot top. I hiked out there with (from the left) Ken, Derrick and Nellie. I get to ski with those guys every winter. It's the only time I see them as they share the same passion. Shortly after this photo was taken, I received a call from my brother and nephew who had fallen behind during the hike. They assured me that they were on their way so I told my crew to head on down. They almost didn't leave because being out there alone is never a good thing. It was my nephews birthday, and the run down the mountain was one of the best of the year. Worth the hike and worth the wait to ski it with my brother and nephew. Anyway, hope you are well.

Kindly,

Johnny GoFast

2011-04-14T15:56:00.000-07:00

So back in November I had the pleasure of having great legs on the day of District Championships which garnered me the win and the jersey. I've never won anything so naturally I was giddy. So much so, that the dry heaves I was feeling during and right after the race seemed worth it. As it is the biggest win of my rather shallow career, I thought I'd go in style and order me up one of those cool looking districts jerseys. A transcript of my phone call is below. Enjoy.

Voler: Thank you for calling Vo-Lay, this is Colin. How can I help you?

Me: Ummm...sorry Colin, I must have dialed the wrong number. I was trying to get to Vo-ler, the cycling clothes company.

Me now in the process of hanging up...

Voler: No, no, you're in the right spot. It used to be pronounced Vo-ler but the marketing department changed the pronunciation to Vo-Lay in an effort to compete with some of the foreign brands on the scene now.

Me: Oh.

Voler: Anyway, what can I do for you?

Me: I wanted to buy one of those district champions jerseys.

Voler: I'll need your USCF number to verify your request.

Me: 131006.

Voler: I'll have to put you on hold while I check with the data base.

Now on hold listening to a muzak version of Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time" song.

Voler: Mr. Mundelius?

Me: Yes?

Voler: We can't find any record of you winning any races last year.

Me: Look under cyclocross, the tab that reads "Bad ass Cycling Discipline."

Voler: Oh. My apologies. We don't keep the data on Cyclocross but I'll trust you on this one. What size jersey do you need?

Me: Large.

Voler: Okay...I've got you down for a large. Do you want bib shorts to go with that?

Me: (In my head I'm thinking...no I just want the jersey...but then I start thinking that a jersey/bib combination would look pretty bad ass) Ummm...sure.

Voler: Great. How about a wind jacket as well?

Me: Hadn't even thought of a wind jacket...but I did see the Myrah rocking one the weekend after the race...and if it is bad ass enough for the Myrah...well then maybe I'll look bad ass too) Umm...sure.

Voler: You know what looks awesome? Arm warmers, gloves and a cycling cap all that match.

Me: No shit! Throw 'em in the cart.

Voler: (Now audibly giddy with the unloading of last years dated District Champion's gear--no doubt surrounded by other sales reps all Boiler Room like as he reels in a whale) You said you raced cyclocross...no doubt you want a long sleeve jersey.

Me: Does Pinocchio have wooden butt cheeks? Hell yes!

Voler: Some of the better crosser's prefer to race in skinsuits, what kind of racer are you?

Me: The kind that now needs a skin suit. And before you ask, I'll take a short and long sleeve option.

Voler: Great. Tell you what, I'm going to give you a discount normally reserved for our pro's, and due to the size of your order, I'm going to throw in some socks. Shipping is free if you choose ground UPS. (Me now smiling due to all the free crap coming my way and also at the idea that UPS man Kevin Merrigan won't make a dime off of me on my order) Your total is 1,183.95.

Me: (Picking myself up off of the floor...all I can meekly mutter is) Ummm...maybe you can just send the jersey.

Voler: You don't want all the other stuff?

Me: I do. But the team reimbursement is a little thin when it comes to the cyclocross team.

Voler: (Colin now audibly crushed) No problem. I understand. The jersey will go out in the mail tonight. Thank you for calling Vo-lay.

Me: Thank you. Goodbye.

Anyway, that's how it went down, and for a minute there, I was going to look pretty damn pimpin'. Hope you are well and see you out there rolling real soon.

Johnny GoFast

2011-04-12T15:38:00.000-07:00

So the ski season is winding down which is a bummer. We had the last weekend of team this weekend and the kids said goodbye to their mountain friends. The boy got to be really good friends with a little feller named Gabe. I had the pleasure of skiing with Gabe from time to time, and I can see why Jackson liked hanging out with him so much. A more positive about life little boy would be hard to come by. I was skiing with the girl and her team on Sunday when Jackson and Gabe came ripping down this pretty difficult slope. They were flying and I could barely get a hello out of the boy as he continued on down the hill. I was a bit mortified at the speed he was carrying, but I have to admit that he actually looked in control. I was impressed, no doubt. Anyway, later that day I asked him why he didn't stop and he imparted that he was racing Gabe. I asked him how often they raced, and he advised that they did it all the time. I guess competition breeds success.

And so now we are onto baseball. Last year I made a deal with the boy that I'd buy him a milkshake if he hit the ball out to the outfield. He popped one out there last year but it was caught, so, no shake. But dread not, because he also gets a shake if he makes a particularly great defensive play. If you ever saw me flash a glove while playing baseball, well, then you weren't looking very closely because fielding wasn't my cup of tea. The boy takes it more seriously than I ever did and he is improving by leaps and bounds. Yesterday was our first game and in the boy's third at bat, he crushed one that went opposite field. He easily made it to second base and probably could have kept going to third, but stopped because there was a boy that stopped on third. It was then that the boy looked directly at me and flashed his watermelon smile. And I smiled back knowing that he was going to hit me up for a shake after the game. When he came around to score on the next hit, he asked me if we still were doing the milkshake deal. I confirmed that we were, and then he asked what would happen if he hit another one. I advised that he could always bank one or give it to his sister or even me. He informed me that he was going to hit another one when his turn came up, and he did. While he trotted down to first base he gave me a very proud, "I told you I'd do it." He was pretty proud of himself, but I know somebody else who was prouder. Anyway, hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2011-03-03T14:18:00.000-08:00

If I ever meet the guy that coined the phrase, "it's just like riding a bike," I might take him out behind the woodshed and kick his ass. That is, if I didn't think I'd throw a pathetic jab into the wind and then buckle over in exhaustion. Riding a bike is nothing like "it's just like riding a bike." Seriously. I went for my first ride today at lunchtime. And by first ride, I mean the first ride since I rode back to my little hovel of a motel room in Bend, Oregon after Cyclocross Nationals in December. I knew it wouldn't be like my last race or training rides, but c'mon, I didn't think I'd actually struggle. My ride was an hour long and very flat. I started in Concord and rode down the Iron Horse Trail to Alamo. Immediately, while pedalling softly, my heart rate settled in at a robust 145 beats per minute. The perceived effort was easy at best, so I stopped to make sure the monitor strap was installed correctly. It was, so I started riding again and boom, up went the heart rate. And then, looming in the distance like Mt. Ventoux, rising out of the asphalt in all it's glory stood the Ygnacio Valley Road bike path over crossing. I clicked it down into the little ring and spun my way up. My heart rate spiked to 170. I stared at my monitor in horror. As I rode down the backside of this hors categorie monument, I paled at the thought that I would have to meet it upon my return. Luckily I had some of those PowerGels to keep me fueled. I continued on without incident, other than the elevated heart rate inexplicably begging me to slow down to 14 mph or letting fly with a moving coronary. I rode by the house so I could wave at the wifeage and prove that I can still ride a bike, but she wasn't home. My out and back ride should be as flat going back as it was coming, but it suddenly became very hilly, what with the overpass to conquer as well as the otherwise uncategorized Treat Blvd. bike path over crossing that somehow can be un-categorized in one direction but a category 1 climb on the return. Once I made it over the Treat Blvd. pass, it was smooth sailing back to the rockpile, but just barely. Some chick on a mountain bike, wearing jeans and lugging a backpack gave me some wheel along the river, but I was able to put in a rather smallish dig and drop her, again with the heart rate blasting up to 160. Anyway, I'm sure your training rides are going much better, but it's a start for me. It's the same every year, so I'm not concerned. Heck, I didn't start my training until April last year when I was 12 pounds heavier than what the dial read this morning. So that's good...I think. Anyway, hope you are well and if you can, a gentle push on some of the peaks around here would be great if you see me in a spot of difficulty.

Kindly,

Johnny (HeartRate)GoFast

2011-03-01T19:31:00.000-08:00

As my reader knows, I tiptoe into the waters when it comes to technology. I'm timid at best as it is all so overwhelming for this man of limited computer ability. Anyway, a while back I dove headlong into the waters and ordered me up one of those mobile hotspot gizmo's so I could check the internets from distant areas (mainly when away from the rockpile). So I came home and I diligently R.T.F.M'ed and then tried to fire up the device and get on the internet as instructed in the f'in manual. And as predictable as Hugh Hefner's baby maker pre viagra, I got no action. So I called tech support and we fumbled through the process together. Though entrenched somewhere within the confines of our border, the techie was clearly exasperated. I read him the various serial numbers and codes from the device and he looked it up on his perfectly functioning computer. He assured me that my unit had been inspected and when it shipped, it had been fully functional. He then asked me to read him the numbers that read in the display screen. I looked at the screen and it was completely black. He then asked me if the unit was on. I assured him that I had pushed the button many times, but never did I see anything display on the screen. It had taken about 10 minutes to get to this point, and he suddenly got very quiet. I could almost sense him on the other end of the line leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes in complete frustration. He then said very quietly, "did you hold the button down for four seconds." I sheepishly said no. He patiently asked me to do so, and when I did, well, I'm sure you know how the story ends. I mean I get why it is that I don't know how to turn the thing on, but shouldn't the techie on the other end assume that I don't? Anyway, like I said, I'm not the brightest byte in the computer to be sure.

On a better note, and in step with today's technology, Project Johnny now part of the 4G network, got off to a roaring start today. A whole month ahead of last years reconstruction project. Truth be told, I've already logged a little pool time and have one excellent session of weights under my belt. Today saw more swimming and then I went and picked up my training bike that was getting some much needed love. I saw my sunglasses the other day, and they are still caked with the mud from the last time I rode my bike...in Bend. It's been a while, to be sure. I did find myself staring at my cross bikes not too long ago and it got my blood flowing. (Insert the deity of your choice here) willing, I may even take the facelifted bike out for a ride tomorrow. You're all on notice. Hope you are well and if you're ever at a loss, try the "on" button.

Johnny GoFast

2011-02-25T10:17:00.000-08:00

So I took the girl to the ballet yesterday. On the way home, I told her that it is a real treat for me to take her to the ballet because I used to go with my mom when I was a boy. In a very dramatic voice she asked me, "you liked the ballet when you were a boy!?!" I answered, "yes, but don't tell anyone because I don't want it to wreck my street cred." Without missing a beat, she said, "you're a dad, you don't have any street cred." Ouch. Definitely worth the hit to my otherwise rugged image. More snow means more skiing. Note: skiing not avalanche attracting. Anyway, hope you are well and see you out there rolling when the snow stops flying.

Johnny GoFast

2011-02-19T23:26:00.000-08:00

Seriously big skiing up here the past three days! So yesterday we skied Alpine Meadows and it was incredible. Possibly the best in bounds skiing I've ever had. So I was JSA (just skiing along) and the section of snow I was on ripped. The slab wasn't all that big but it definitely would be classified as an avalanche. I was able to get my ski's down underneath the slab and angle my way to my right and
towards a clump of trees. As my progress slowed, I got pinned next to a large tree. It actually gave me comfort because I knew my brother could use the tree as a reference point. He was standing just above the section of snow that tore loose. As I hunkered down next to the tree, I could feel the weight of the slide coming down on me. I was faced down the fall line and I had no idea how much was coming at me. I remember being very calm and thinking this is the real deal. And the snow kept coming. It filled up around me and kept pounding me in the back as it kept rising. I was fortunate in that my hands were free and I could clear a little space in front of my face. The snow at this point started to cascade over my head. And then as furiously as it was coming, it suddenly stopped. Only my head was out of the snow. I was able to turn my head about and I assured my brother that I was okay and started to work my way out of the massive amount of snow that had piled up about me. I was also able to see the section of snow that I had torn loose. It was probably 50 feet long and may be as wide. Small by any standard, but a perfect rip that was maybe 36" deep. As I started to get loose, my brother tried to work his way right, and then the slab that he was standing on, no longer anchored by the section I had torn loose, let go. He immediately went under and his slide started coming towards me. I figured I was safe, but had to look up the hill to try and
identify where he was. His section hit me and started moving me down the hill. It was a short lived event and when it stopped, my brother poked his head up out of the snow letting me know he was okay. We then dug ourselves out and made it down the hill with no other issues. It was the last run before lunch, and when I hit the lodge, I was shaking. So I went to the bar and ordered a beer. The bartender brought me a beer, and in the time it took him to process my credit card, the beer was finished and I immediately ordered another. It calmed me down a bit, but the slide still has me a bit spooked. Not enough to keep me from going out tonight and snowshoeing up to a peak near out cabin and skiing down under a clear sky and close to a full moon kicking off a brilliant light. I suppose I'll credit the near miss to lady luck. Still feeling a bit fortunate that the whole slide thing didn't do me in. Anyway, hope you are well and avoid avalanches. Seems like a no brainer, but thought I'd impart my new found wisdom on you.

Johnny GoFast

2011-02-15T09:40:00.000-08:00

So back before the bike, I was a fair regular down at the gym. I liked to lift weights, work a little cardio, play a little basketball, and flash a little leg to the perverts with the hidden cameras in the bathroom/shower. Hell, I reconnected with a buddy of mine who is slowly becoming my biggest reader these days, while working out at the gym in downtown Minneapolis. I never thought there'd be a day where lifting weights wasn't part of my daily routine. But years later, it's fallen down the list of things that occupy my time. But when I'm healthy, I like to incorporate it into my base training and yesterday saw me in the gym for my first weight workout in a couple of years. Had I been blogging last year, you would know that lifting has been out due to the fact that I fell skiing (in the lift line no less) and dislocated my shoulder. Which only now is starting to feel 100%.

Anyway, I was throwing around some serious weight yesterday. So much so, that my brother came over and asked me if I needed a spot. He was kidding because at the time, I was putting up 95 pounds. My pride said I didn't need any help, but inside I actually mulled the question over for a second and concluded that it would probably be a good idea. But he was gone confirming that he was really just busting my chops. Happy to report that there was no incident other than some chuckles from some burly looking men and even some of the women. If you're going to kick sand in my face, best do it now, because in a couple of months, I'll be throwing up at least 105 pounds on the bench press and that ain't just smack talk. Anyway, hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2011-02-14T09:33:00.000-08:00

So I have that bumper sticker plastered on my garage wall and it always gives me a chuckle. I grew up a skier and my kids are now growing up skiers. The wifeage is a skier, my brothers are skiers, my sister in laws are skiers, my nieces and nephews are skiers, some of my greatest friends are skiers. And up until yesterday, I used to dismiss snowboarders as those that could not ski.

For some reason, well probably the fact that he is nine years old and has a thing for the Flying Tomato, the boy wanted a crack at snowboarding. I've heard some parents say that they will let their kid take up snowboarding when the kid can pay for thier own ticket and rent their own equipment. I have a much softer stance (not to mention left foot forward) believing that it is far more important to be out there doing it, than to not be active at all. So I obliged and took the boy to the little neighborhood hill and rented him the tools. Upon reaching the Snowbird lift, the one that had long since been discarded by the kids as being "too easy", we found Mr. Oz strapped to a board. With my planks affixed squarely to my feet, I suddenly felt like a nun at a nudist colony. So I went back to the rental shop and ordered up some knuckle-dragging finery for myself and joined the fracas. I was a little behind but had no problem spotting our crew (Steve Oz, Sam Oz, my boy, Steve Griff our resident pro and instructor, and his boy Spencer also imparting wisdom) because Oz, Oz and the boy were attached to the hill like giant starfishes. Which made me chuckle until I saw that it was my turn to get off the lift. Luckily, the two directly in front of me crashed (it being the beginner lift and all), so I had somewhere soft to land. Anyway, about two hours later and three solid runs under our belts, the boy and I retreated to the deck where we sat silently sipping our Cokes. I finally uttered, "Jackson, we just got our asses handed to us." He chuckled and then we put on our ski's and vowed never to snowboard again. Oh, and to never give a knuckledragger crap either. It remains a mystery and will for some time. Anyway, hope you are well.

Johnny SnowboardSlow

2011-02-11T21:14:00.000-08:00

Hey all. Hope you've been well. My New Year's resolution is off to a roaring start with my first post of the year coming on February 10th. Anyway, a while back, I was invited to a first communion with my son who had a buddy doing the rite. My boy was full of questions of which, in a very limited way, I was able to impart some wisdom into the practice. My basic explanation was that the first communion is when a person takes the body of Christ into their body to give them the ability to walk with the Lord for eternity upon death. Which, of course, lead to a whole host of other questions that I'm sure my answers to, were way off the mark (making it up as I went having never formally been trained in the art of religion). He asked me if I had ever taken communion and I said no. He was quiet for a while, no doubt worrying about my soul. Anyway, the kids all bring a loaf of bread which gets donated to the local food shelf and is a symbol of the body of Christ. While sitting in the pew, the boy leaned forward and spied one of the loaves that one of the children held in their lap. It was then that he said, "don't worry dad. I know where we can get some of that." I rather pathetically tried to stymie my belly laugh that only ebbed after the third rather sharp elbowing from the wifeage who sat perfectly still yet horrified.

So last night, while driving the girl home from "dance" with one of her friends, it was revealed to us that the little friend would be taking her first communion this weekend. So my girl let fly with a flurry of questions and when I was done speaking she said, "does that make them cannibals?" Classic. Anyway, I applaud all those that find peace alongside the lord. If it helps them walk the path of the righteous man, then this world can only be better. Hope you are well and look forward to talking to you again real soon.

Kindly,

Johnny GoFast

2010-09-20T10:47:00.000-07:00

So you can always tell when it's cross season around my house, because you will often find me at the kitchen table folding laundry. The wifeage does most of the year round folding and can seemingly do it while watching a movie. I, as you probably could guess, can't do both activities at once. So I fold at the table where I can sort accordingly. You may recall that one race equals two loads of laundry folding. It's a fair swap and truth be told, it's really light duty compared to all the other heavy lifting the wifeage has to do on a daily basis.

After pre-folding three loads on Saturday evening while the wifeage and girl were at the Jonas Brothers concert, I loaded up with the boy and we headed down to CCCX#1 on Sunday morning. It's the first time it was just the two of us together. Last year we traveled to races with the Ouzounian's, but they were committed to actually making a difference in this world by doing a fund raising event for the NorCal Mtb High School league and couldn't attend the race. The boy did a fabulous job entertaining himself by riding around, catching crickets and frogs and such. He was at the ready to hand me a bottle too, though I didn't need it. After the race I asked him how it looked and he said, "fast and scary." He was positioned at the bottom of a technical little drop and I asked him if he saw anybody crash. "Six in your race and one other guy before your race started. One of the guys was really hurt because he used a lot of cuss words," he added. "Which ones?" I asked. "The 'F' word, the 'S' word and the 'G-D' word all in a row," he said not knowing if I'd get mad for him even knowing those were bad words. "That's some serious potty mouth," I replied and we both giggled. I could go into some holier than thou sermon now about not cussing at a family type event, but I'm certain I've been that guy in the past, so I figure this is the world evening it out a bit.

After the race we headed up to the Boardwalk for some good old American fun. The boy has been talking pretty big about riding the Fireball ride for a while now. I went along because I figured he'd get a look at it and chicken out. But the boy has stones and didn't back out, so I had to ride it with him. If you've been on it, then you know that the ride is apoplexy in motion. Once was enough for me. So much so, that I had to immediately grab a tall boy beer just to get my heart rate to come back down. The boy rode it two more times.

Anyway, pretty damn good weekend all the way around and it's great to be back out there racing. Looking forward to a lot more laundry folding in the coming months. Hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2010-09-10T15:23:00.000-07:00

Anyone who has seen the above video knows that giving the wifeage a household appliance is seriously looking for their balls to be cracked. Like the time I got the wifeage steak knives which almost ended up embedded in my chest (in my defense, they were very significant top of the line knives--which we needed). But every once in a while, sometimes I like to zig when others would zag. So I went off the menu yesterday and got the wifeage a vacuum cleaner for her birthday. The ladies at work were all curious as to what I got, and fearing their scrutiny, I pleaded the fifth. And when said wifeage unwrapped said gift, the planets aligned, the skies parted and the angels smiled down on me. Homefuckingrun! Now if you're a guy, I don't recommend replicating this feat, as your results may vary and you may indeed end up getting neutered. However, if your wifeage is like mine and can see the brilliance in a robotic vacuum cleaner that moves about the house cleaning the floors as if by magic while the wifeage is out shopping or chai latte-ing or nail polishing or kid chauffeuring, then I say get up, run out and pick yourself up a Roomba Robotic Vacuum cleaner.

On to the weekend where I look to be Cyclebrating. For those of you keeping score, these will be the first races of the year for me.

Johnny GoFast

2010-06-28T16:35:00.000-07:00

Some of my more insensitive friends who long ago kicked their feminine side to the curb, told me that if I didn't move the sunset post down the line, they'd pull my "man" card. Like the wifeage would even let me carry one of those anymore. Anyhow, popped up to Truckee on Saturday evening with the girl to get the vacation started. The wifeage had to stay behind because the boy was participating in a lacrosse clinic and was due on Sunday evening. So Sunday I put in some serious pool time with the girl. Which was great right up until the point that I got up from my lounge chair to go get another beer from the bar when the girl yelled as loud as she could, "Daddy, your butt is hanging out the back window!" Now I have to admit that I've shed some serious pounds since the launching of Project Johnny 3.0, so I hiked up my swim trunks thinking I was flashing a little butt crack. That's when Maile yelled, "no Daddy! There's a big rip and your entire right butt cheek is hanging out!" Of course at this point, the entire pool area was now staring at me and openly chuckling. My face changed a few shades to the redder, and I quietly asked Maile to bring me a towel. Which she did, and I scraped up what was left of my dignity and continued on. Bravely. Kind of a rough start to the vacation, but what's a vacation without a little nudity right. Hope you are well.

Johnny BareFast

2010-06-21T15:47:00.000-07:00

So my mom loved a good sunset. She'd pour herself a scotch and stare out at the splendor. She'd go real quiet and just take it all in, pondering, I suppose, all the greatness in her world. She would marvel at the spectacular way the day would end and she would almost come away from the experience with some sort of sense that the world was better than it was earlier in the day. I've seen entire meals come to a grinding halt in their preparation as my mother would disappear onto the deck to meditate. And no one seemed to mind and we were often implored to join her.

On Saturday evening, I found myself at the Ritz in Half Moon Bay. I was there for some work crap and I had the wifeage come down on Saturday with the kiddiewinks. We spent the afternoon swimming and hot tubbing. After which, we found our way out to a terrace where they had set up some fireplaces surrounded by Adirondack chairs all overlooking to the ocean and facing west. I bought the kiddiewinks a "smores making kit" from the bar. I, of course, ordered up some Stella Artois for moi and settled in near the fire with our goods. The kids got to work roasting the marshmallow's while I hung out and prepped the gram crackers and chocolate. About this time, it became apparent that the sun would set spectacularly, and the people inside the hotel spilled out onto the terrace some taking part in the smoring. As if to really set the mood, a kilted bagpiper showed up to usher out the sun. It was one of those moments, where as a dad, you couldn't be more relaxed. I had a great day with the kids, they were loving the fire and roasting and snacking, I had a cocktail and the sun was cooperating in all its glory. And it hit me, at that moment, that if my mom was with me she'd be totally in her element. How she'd kill for a moment like this just one more time. I sat there reflecting on how great my world is and how lucky I am to have everything that I have. I guess I finally understood what my mother found so therapeutic about watching the day end. It was at that moment that my boy, looking off at the descending sun said, "this reminds me of Grandma." I hugged him though I couldn't say much as my throat was completely choked at the moment and he couldn't quite understand why.

Though Father's Day didn't officially start for another few hours, it couldn't have been any more perfect.

Hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2010-06-01T11:45:00.000-07:00

In has an infinite amount of terms. Boxin' the Clown, Playin' the Skin Fiddle, Rubbin' One Out, Choking the Chicken, etc., but really it all just boils down to masturbation.

So it was a quiet Sunday night and the house was empty except for the wifeage. The boy was at a sleepover and the girl got a late call for the same. So I looked at the wifeage and said, "let's go out on a date." Which we haven't done since we got married like nine years ago, so she readily agreed. I hammered a couple of beers while she got ready and then we jumped in the car and headed for that culinary mecca of Danville. And then the world went a little sideways:

Me: Holy shit! There's a guy back there at the high school totally naked and "takin' care of business!"

Wifeage: Bullshit!

Me: I'm not kidding. He was sitting on the ramp to the science building that I think is now the administrative building totally flogging himself and looking out at traffic.

Wifeage now turning the van around to confirm said story with me adamantly professing my claim.

Wifeage: What do you mean totally naked?

Me: I mean naked as a jay-bird and yankin' his crank like there is no tomorrow.

Now heading back north on the boulevard the wifeage slows down, and right there where I said he would be, an older man (maybe 60 or so) with white hair, a pair of seeing glasses (because as we all know...if you do that kind of thing too much you go blind) and only clad in a pair of Teva's lounged the perp/perv doing his thing.

Wifeage: That is fucking disgusting and we are calling the cops. He could be some sort of sexual deviant.

Me: Good idea. I think the sexual deviant part is probably a given, given the circumstances.

After that, the evening was pretty mild though the cops couldn't get out of the donut shop quick enough to nab the creep. The zooma-zooma as anticipated never really materialized due to the trauma suffered by the wifeage. So I was left to my own devices, if you know what I mean. Anyway, hope you are well and we'll be seeing you around...hopefully with clothes on and showing the proper restraint.

Johnny GoFast

2010-04-25T19:53:00.000-07:00

Forever and a day it's been understood in my family that my brother Michael makes the mashed potatoes. Every family function is greeted with the knowledge that Michael will show up with his heavenly creation. They have been called "killer potatoes" because, well, they are. Loaded with everything that is on every dietitians banned list, these things make the world stop turning, if only for the length of the meal. As (insert the deity of your choice here) as my witness, I have actually seen the heavens part and the angels start singing upon taking a simple bite. So with good reason, most in my family don't even bother to offer up mashers as a side because, anyone who has eaten the best will only complain that the meal has been ruined by such an inferior creation.

And until today, I never thought the wifeage could compete or even attempt to. She does many things well, and under any other circumstances, I'm sure her potatoes would be applauded for their excellence. But Michael's potatoes are, well, on a level few have ever experienced and certainly most shouldn't for they suffer the indignity of searching the rest of their life for anything remotely close. But the wifeage, channeling some inner part of her being, did the unthinkable. She replicated a masterpiece. And when I asked her how she did it or what she did differently, she stared back blankly. It was happen chance at best and though I thoroughly enjoyed the rest of my portion, I knew that this would never happen again. And a tear rolled down my cheek. I'm probably better off but at this moment, but I really can't believe that.

Johnny GoMash

2010-04-14T11:06:00.000-07:00

Where the hell have I been!?! Volunteering, lost in a PBR can, skiing, seedy pizza halls, hot tubs, but mostly volunteering. The surprising thing about volunteering in my kids classes is that they let me in there in the first place and that they keep having me back. I haven't been sent to the principals office...yet. The last time in my daughter's class, the teacher actually had to shush me. In my defense, I would just like to point out that I was trying to help a kid figure out the last problem. I couldn't help it that I turned the solution into a game and that we were both full giggle when he arrived at the right answer. It was then that the teacher turned her angry eye toward us and lowered the boom. It was the same when I was a kid. Mostly good but forever in trouble because of poor timing. Happy to report that today's session went outstanding and that the teacher even commended me. The last time in the boy's class, the teacher at one point hammered me for being visually impaired and unable to follow simple directions. If you are chuckling at me, then know that I want to see you do an origami exercise with subsequent cutting to create a six sided snowflake (all snowflakes have six sides...did you even know that? I didn't think so). Oddly, I haven't been invited back to the boy's class since the lame snowflake cutting/folding incident. Any way, I've missed all of you and now that the sun is out and my winter depression is ebbing, I promise to be in touch more often than not.

Love,

Johnny GoFast

2009-11-24T09:23:00.000-08:00

With the kiddiewinks having the week off because of Thanksgiving, we enjoyed a duel barrel sleepover last night. Maile and Jackson have friends that happen to be brother and sister, so we had them both over for the evening last night. As per usual at the GoFast household, we all sat down for dinner to enjoy each others company. I could tell right away that this would not be the typical repast. As it makes the wifeage uncomfortable, I asked one of the little guests to lead us in prayer before the meal. Something we don't do, but I like to whip it out there whenever we have somebody new to the table. The little boy guest said that they normally didn't do that ritual. So I said I'd do what we normally did and they could join in if they liked. At that point I stood up, waved my arms about my head and yelled, "meatballs on the ceiling!!" They giggled and immediately joined in. My kids, ever leery of the various ways I can embarrass them, were somewhat relieved when their guests didn't vomit in horror. They also jumped up and did the what will now become a nightly pagan ritual. The wifeage, in a rare show of solidarity joined right in.

Then we sat back down and started talking about the day. I asked the girl guest who her teacher was at school and she replied, "Mrs. Schmidt." I said, "oh, she's the one that can actually unlock her jaw and eat the head of any little kid who misbehaves...right?" She thought for a moment and then said, "no, I think you mean Mrs. Simmons. She ate a little boys head last week." And without missing a beat, the little boy guest added, "that's not entirely true. She only ate half and is saving the other half in her freezer for later." Which lead me to believe that the dinner conversation that happens at their table on a nightly basis maybe weirder than the one that my family engages in. No doubt, these two are welcome anytime as the belly laughs were coming fast and frequent.

And then, completely out of the blue (well not really as the stereo was on), the two little guests started belting out JBJ's Living on a Prayer in perfect rhythm with the song on the stereo. Shockingly not missing a word of the most prolific song of our time. My little ones looked at me and the wifeage as if to say, "how come we don't sing JBJ at the dinner table." It's only a matter of time now. My kids will be prepared for life like the little guests I had to the table last night. Anyway, hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2009-11-13T08:54:00.001-08:00

Clearly I have become some sort of go between in what is becoming a rather heated feud between two up to now seemingly mellow and friendly competitors. Recall that I received a piece of registered mail from Eric Bustos intended for Tim Watson. I was gracious enough to forward said letter on to is rightful and intended party. Now I have received a return response and again, I need to forward this doc to the intended party. Tim and Eric: I am neither of you and neither of you resides at my place of business or home. Please carefully address any future communications appropriately. Anyway, I couldn't help but post the rebut to yesterday's letter from Eric. Have a look below:

Dear Eric,
Before I get into the guts of my reply, please click here. Now that we've gotten that out of the way, allow me to retort. At no point will I accept any blame for your broken wheel. Recall that when I arrived on the scene, you were doing what looked like some sort of break dancing routine in the dirt. Because of the fast pace being hammered out by The Myrah somewhere up the trail, I was red lined and bleary eyed at the time. No doubt your antics were confusing to me, to say the least. It was at this point that I had to go into full brake mode to keep from joining you on the ground. My success was less than optimal, and as a result, I ended up getting off of my bike and onto your wheel. In a way, you saved me because we Lobsters take great pride in our bike handling skills. So much so that we have a running bet with each other regarding our ability to clean courses with minimal foot releases. More accurately, every time we have to get off the bike and actually touch dirt for something other than barriers or run-ups, we owe a case of beer to be brought to the next race. So though I did have to get off of the bike in a spot where otherwise it could have been ridden, I do not have to buy a case (as the visual evidence shows in your picture) because my foot never touched the dirt but rather your wheel. Though a technicality in nature, you saved me some sheckles, for which I owe you some thanks. As these are the facts, I feel that your request is outrageous in nature and have no intention of reimbursing you for your wheel. I consider this matter closed. I invite you by our tent this weekend to join me in a beer so we can put this thing to bed.

Sincerely,

Tim Watson
Rock Lobster Cyclocross Team

p.s. I like that Tumbleweed nickname for Mundelius. We actually call him The Tumblina because that hideous attempt at a mullet makes him look more like a girl than the Euro trash bike racer image he is shooting for. It's almost comical when he crashes what with those blond locks flying about all silly like.

Anyway, it's kind of fun to see this feud unfold. I don't know how I ended up getting bashed in the process of these two duking it out though. May be time for a haircut and a skills session based on the chatter. Hope you are well and see you on Saturday night in Brisbane. And stay off of Eric's wheel. Unless you're a Lobster, that is.

Johnny GoFast

2009-11-12T15:54:00.000-08:00

So I'm sitting there at my office and one of those letters comes in that you have to sign for. I'm forever getting those things from the wifeage and the envelope usually contains the weekends "honeydo" list. The receipt verification is brilliant on her part as I can't claim ignorance though I still try. But this time the letter was something entirely different and though not intended for me, I couldn't help but read it. Clearly aimed for Tim Watson on Rock Lobster, I forwarded it accordingly. Have a look:

Dear Tim-
As you may recall, you lost control of your bicycle on Sunday November 8th at the CCCX bike race at Toro Park. As a result of your rather suspect bike handling, damage resulted to my rear Zipp wheel. The attached photo clearly shows you standing on my spokes. As a result of your clumsiness, one of the spokes let go and tore out of the carbon rim. This, in effect, destroyed my wheel. Complicating the matter, this wheel was brand new. I had recently received shipment of the wheel and this was, in fact, my first race on said wheel. I recognize that bike racing is an inherently dangerous sport and that at times, the discipline of cyclocross in particular, racing can be exceptionally harsh on equipment. At no time did I anticipate that a fellow competitor would resort to such lousy skills. This is the master A category after all. We are expected to know how to handle our rides with aplomb or else remain in one of the lower ranks. Sure, there are some outliers like John Mundelius (also known as the Tumbleweed in the Strawberry circles) who will fling himself on the ground for no reason, but the field, by and large knows how to handle themselves. As a result, I cannot help but think that you are 100% at fault for this egregious act to my wheel. I will await and expect full remediation in prompt fashion. I do get a steep discount on Zipp wheels because, as you may well know, I race on the deepest and most talented master’s cyclocross team in the nation. Your team is good too, just not as good as mine. I do not expect you to pay full retail to replace my wheel, just reimburse me for my cost. If you have any questions, we can discuss at any of the next upcoming races.

Kind Regards,

Eric Bustos
Cal Giant Strawberries Racing Team

No doubt a bold move by Bustos and I would love to be a fly on the wall when this thing comes to a boil. Not sure I like being called a Tumbleweed. Anyway, hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2009-11-09T10:37:00.000-08:00

So that's the boy rockin' the kids race at Toro Park yesterday. Unbeknownst to me, they make the tykes do a complete lap of the course, as opposed to one of those sissy type series/races where they set up a miniature lap around the parking lot. CCCX build racers with cajones! And he loved it. He also loved the strawberries they gave as well as the medal to all the finishers. A proud moment, to be sure, when he got to supply the family with the goods. He later asked me if the medal was real gold and I told him absolutely. He then told me that no matter how much it would fetch with one of those gold companies you hear on the radio that will buy gold, this medal was
not for sale. Beauty. He then asked me this morning whether the pictures were posted yet and so we looked. Apparently the DNA is hard coded in my lineage to obsessively look for results and photos of the weekends exploits. No luck at 7am this morning, but for sure we'd have something by the evening, I told him. True to form, Rick Rassmussen is Johnny On The Spot with the photo as pictured above, and one little boy will be a little bit happier as a result. Make that two. Anyway, hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2009-10-07T10:05:00.000-07:00

So how to beat Don Myrah? That's the question. The obvious answer is to work harder. But the season is here and that hard work should have happened six months ago. Had I known he was going to be this fast, and subsequently everyone else would be going harder, I wouldn't have skipped a workout in favor of a burrito. I wouldn't have had that night full of beer with the boys on multiple occasions. I wouldn't have taken a fishing trip to Northern Ontario. Okay, wait...I still would have gone to Ontario. A man does have his limits. But what to do now? The man is flying and I'm not. So I've been thinking and I've come up with a list of things I can do now to level the playing field a bit. Let's have a look:

1) You can tell that there has been some sort of dietary change that has occurred. And talking to my mole with inside information on The Myrah (Brock Dickie but don't tell anyone), tells me he's dropped like 30 pounds from last year. That's like dropping a piano off your back. Anyway, I can infer from the fact that he was lugging 30 extra pounds last year that the man likes to eat. So I've started ordering him pizza and it has been arriving at his house since Sunday night. It's Zach's stuffed pizza with extra pepperoni and sausage. Who can resist that? I've also taken the liberty of having it delivered with an ice cold pitcher of Sierra Nevada beer.

2) Item one above is great on a long term basis, but more immediate corrective action is necessary. So I've enlisted Griff to set up a food stand on course near one of the wheel pit areas. It will face both sides of the course offering Don, and only Don, a feed. The first stand option for Don will be the Apple Fritter donut. It is only the most perfect donut ever and should hit his stomach like a cinder block. Upon returning to the booth, I have instructed Griff to then hand up a deep fried leg of ham for The Myrah to munch on. It will be important for the rest of us to "let" Don have a bit of a lead off the front so he feels like he has time to partake in this noshfest.

3) I don't anticipate that this alone will slow down The Myrah enough so that any of us will now have a chance so that is why we are going to enact Operation Flying Wallenda Brothers. This will obviously be the most difficult to pull off as it will require precision unlike anything seen at a NorCal Cyclocross race ever. My plan is that we have Henry Kramer and Gannon Myall pedalling the bikes as seen in the picture, with Chris D'Alusio perched in the chair. As they come upon The Myrah munching on his leg of ham while the juices roll down his chin, we will have Chris leap from his post and onto the Myrah. Quickly, Chris will need to scurry into one of The Myrah's jersey pockets and hunker down. It is important that Chris perform this function as he is both a) small enough to fit in one of the pockets, and b) the only one I've met out of any of you that can be quiet for the any length of time.

4) At this point, The Myrah should be slowing. No doubt the confusion will be setting in as he notices that he hasn't lapped 3/4 of the field yet and that he can actually hear bikes clanging away behind him. If it looks like he isn't pedalling squares yet, we will need to resort to drastic measures. My plan is to ride off the back (I feel particularly well suited for this task), and as The Myrah approaches, I will veer off course and through the tape. With Oz or Bustos following, I will have them quickly retape the course to follow me. Once The Myrah is on my wheel, they will then switch the tape back to its regular position to mark the correct path. This will give those that were close enough, a bit of a gap before The Myrah knows he's been duped.

5) Once The Myrah is back on course, we're pretty much on our own. I did think about employing DeFiebre at this point to give The Myrah a rub or two. Keith likes to bang about as witnessed at the last Pilarcitos race when apparently he got into it with the Otis Guy guy. If Keith can get Otis Guy guy chirping (something I've been able to do as well but I don't think I have enough speed to catch The Myrah--Keith has it in him), maybe he can do the same with The Myrah. I also thought that we could get the lap card guy in our employ and give The Myrah false information with how many laps are left, but those officials are tough to bribe. Believe me, I've tried.

Anyway, short of actually doing the work, I thought we could try this. Does anyone else have any ideas? If we work together, certainly somebody can out duel this man.

Johnny GoFast

2009-10-06T10:37:00.000-07:00

So I got to attend a speech that my little boy gave on Waste Managers. Waste Managers are what you call garbage men when your little boy is interested in becoming one. He is doing a unit in school where they have to study somebody that is directly working in our community. Of all the options he had to choose from, he went with Waste Manager. Apparently, being a cop or fireman is so our generation. So anyway, on Wednesday, we got up at oh dark thirty to greet the garbage...um...I mean waste manager truck driver. My boy was at the ready with his questions and we found out his name (Jose), his favorite part of the job (servicing the customer) and the special training required (operating the claw-hydraulic lift but the boy didn't get that so Jose called it the claw, how to operate the truck, and the various safety procedures required). Then on Saturday I took him to the landfill with girl and the Wifeage in tow. They happened to be having an open house that day and people actually came. I've heard of staycations but really...the dump? They had a jumpy house and a catered lunch. The kids both ate a hamburger. The Wifeage and I didn't really have the stomach for a meal at the landfill. Then we got to tour the actual land fill, via limobus (I'm not kidding) and watch the heavy equipment that smashed the garbage into the ground. As we all know, landfills kick off methane gas, and our landfill captures that gas and turns it into electricity. They sell the electricity to Los Altos and Alameda as those municipalities have a green energy policy and they like the fact that they are buying garbage gas. Anyway, the boy was able to recap all of that and did an excellent job on his speech. A couple of proud parents in the room to be sure. Hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

Tomorrow we are back to business with my thoughts on how we can stop uber sensation Don Myrah in cyclocross. Hint: it does not involve me training harder as that wouldn't be enough even if I went at it full time.

2009-10-02T08:03:00.000-07:00

Sliding into second base when playing baseball is: strategic, makes good fundamental sense, and when done correctly is an integral part of the game. Sliding into second base while riding your bike...not so much. So yesterday I was coming off the mountain and riding back to the rock pile at lunch when I mach'd through a corner like I've done 200 times before. At the apex of the turn, the front wheel decided to let go and the speed at which the ground came up was alarming. I hit the deck and slid 15 to 20 yards before I was able to stop myself by slamming into my bike that had arrested its forward progress by slamming into a curb. Shaken and stirred, I quickly stood up and assessed the damage. I had fallen on my left hip and that seemed to be the trouble area. The left elbow suffered some rash as well but was mostly superficial at best. My greatest concern was that the impact to the hip was the same as the impact I suffered last year at the night cyclocross race that effectively ended my season. I assured no less than 10 passing motorists (including one motorcycle cop) that I was okay. I remounted and started to pedal and things felt fine. I had a little stiffness last night but today the hip actually feels pretty good. I think I got lucky in that: 1) the impact was slightly lower on the hip than last year and 2) I was moving pretty fast when I hit so that the energy from the impact was spread out over a greater distance (though I'm no expert on such crash analysis). And before any of you ask I'll cut right to the chase, the mullet was not damaged in any way during the fall. Anyway, stay upright and I hope you are well.

Johnny GoFall

2009-10-01T09:35:00.000-07:00

Oh the joys of being back at it. It's tough waiting all year for the cross season to begin. No doubt I have a lot of fun when I'm not racing my bike, but it's definitely hard to sit on the sidelines when most are out there turning themselves inside and out during the road and mountain bike campaigns. But for whatever reason, I've morphed into the fall cyclocross racer, so I guess I'm going with it for now. The first race is always a shock to the system and the speed with which everyone seems to go is frightening. But I'll tell you what, getting a chance to fling it out there after all the lonely base miles is a heck of a change of scenery and one that I am all too pleased to embrace. You know when it's time to start racing when:

-You have every shard of glass memorized on any of your biking routes;
-You pretty much know who you're going to see and when depending on the time of day you are riding and what direction you are headed;
-You are on a first name basis with some of the homeless people that live down by the canal because you pass by them on the way to work, during your lunchtime ride, and on the way home from work;
-You respond with a "I don't know...I haven't looked at the data from my watt computer yet" when somebody asks you how your ride went;
-You can tell the flavor of gel pack just by feel when pulling it out from the back of your jersey;
-Your wife starts demanding that you start racing because she can't take the constant "I wonder if my training plan is on target" moaning.

Anyway, headed for McLaren this weekend to light up the sensations for a second week in a row. Glad the racing season is here. Hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast
Above photo courtesy of Rick Rasmussen Shot at CCCX #2

2009-08-28T11:03:00.000-07:00

So last year I did alright on the cross bike. I banged around in the top 10 for most of the year which was a huge improvement for me over other cross campaigns in years past. But this year I want to go consistently in the top five. A daunting task to be sure.

I've been motivated lately and on my rides I think about all the speed that resides in the Bay Area. To achieve my goals, I have to ride faster and more consistently than some real heavyweights. Maybe I'm crazy if I think I can hang with: James Coates, Henry Krammer, Gannon Myall, Tim Thompson, Chris D'Alusio, Murray Swanson, Don Myrah, Steve Reaney, Mark Howland, Todd Hoefer, Rich Maile, Kevin Merrigan (who called me a wanker multiple times in a race last year--keen observer that he is), John Kammeyer, Ana Flores on a good day, Brock Dickey, Eric Bustos, hell even Griff and Oz are putting in some serious work. Or maybe I'm on a vision quest like Loudin Swain and that I've been having serious talks with the Everywhere Spirit. I've been thinking that everyone in front of me is the guy with the telephone pole and I'm Loudin. The other guy in the clip can be Griff. Anyway, it's what I've been thinking about and I won't know anything until they toot that whistle in about a month. It can't come soon enough. Hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2009-08-19T15:48:00.000-07:00

So I'm either being punked by one or more of you, I received a timely spam e-mail with untold viruses contained within, or Facebook shoots an early warning missile across ones bow before they remove the offending pictures. Take a read below:

Hello,

You uploaded a photo that violates our Terms of Use, and this photo has been removed. Facebook does not allow photos that attack an individual or group, or that contain nudity, drug use, violence, or other violations of the Terms of Use. These policies are designed to ensure Facebook remains a safe, secure and trusted environment for all users, including the many children who use the site.

If you have any questions or concerns, you can visit our FAQ page at http://www.facebook.com/help.php?topic=wphotos.

The Facebook Team

So I went and reviewed the many photos of the boy and me living country in the Northwoods of Canada and they're all still there. Including but not limited to: nudity (naked boating and cliff jumping), drug use (in many photo's I'm clearly drinking beer and in one, the boy is what would appear to be passed out from a rough night with the bottle), and violence (cruelty to animals/fish probably would qualify). I'm sure when I get home tonight there will be a couple of feds on my doorstep with a few questions to ask. Maybe I should open up a MySpace page and complete the whole creep show thing. Anyway, hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2009-08-17T10:15:00.001-07:00

So that's the boy doing some authentic Canadian cliff jumping right there. We just got back from the Canadian wilderness where we fished our brains out. The walleye action was fast and furious and the weather was ideal. We got into the woods on August 6th at which point the air temp was touching 70 degrees and the water was a brisk 65 degrees (Louie, please convert this to Celsius as you see fit). Anyway, about Sunday, a high moved in and we started to see temperatures in the 80's. The water temperature followed suit and the swimming became glorious. Normally when the water temp changes that much, the fish can be tougher to catch, but we managed to still put up big numbers everyday. We didn't keep count, but I'd have to guess that everyone in our group was catching 30 to 40 fish per day average. One day we were all fishing in the same general location and we must have all caught 50 a piece in less than two hours. It was truly amazing. I can't wait to do it again. Anyway, additional photos below. Enjoy.

Johnny GoFish

Cousins with their haul:

The Boy with a 20+" walley:

The fishing was so good, the Boy thought he'd try while atop my shoulders...no luck doing:

Here's one of the whole group at the end of the dock:

A little naked boating...you know...boating while naked (the weather was that glorious and it's a great way to dry off if you don't have a towel):

2009-07-31T08:13:00.000-07:00

I'm not a pet guy. Sounds strange to hear, I can imagine. What with the flock of chickens, dog, endless stream of amphibians, reptiles and aquatic life that come in and out of my life. Why do I have to live like Noah? Life is so much simpler without having to worry about animals. No doubt I enjoy them, but the hassle factor needs to be considered.

So last weekend we came home from Minnesota. While the wifeage waited for the bags to come tumbling out the carousel, I went with the boy to retrieve the car from the long term parking lot. When I returned to baggage claim to load up the goods, there the wifeage stood with a cage and two Gouldian finches. You have got to be kidding me, I thought. I turn my back for 15 minutes and suddenly, more pets. She said that some lady came up to her and told her some Sally sob story about not being able to fly with the birds so she had to give them away. So much for the wifeage not caring one iota for threat level orange and the common knowledge that you don't accept anything at the airport from total strangers. I mean, those birds could be strapped with (insert the deity of your choice here) knows what. She said that applied to those giving you stuff as you go in, not as you go out. As I looked them over, I could only think that I had two more mouths to feed. The kids quickly named them Mango and Red Top.

Last night I came home and the girl started in on me about some story involving the backyard, mom, Red Top, no cage, and a lie. Upon getting in the house, I confront the wifeage and she confesses. Apparently, finches like to live in pairs and Mango (stressed out from the travels) croaked shortly after we got him home. Which left Red Top solo. Having exhausted all avenues of finding a home for Red Top and when the kids weren't looking, the wifeage put the cage in the backyard, opened the door, and away flew Red Top. With that, she told the kids that she found a wonderful home for Red Top at a nice old ladies house in Danville. Little did she know that Red Top actually likes our house and 45 minutes later flew back into our yard. The girl ended up finding her, placed her back in her cage and brought her back into the house all the while casting a very leery eye toward the Mama. Looks like Red Top is here to stay. Lucky me. Hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2009-07-29T12:39:00.000-07:00

I know what you're thinking, 'cause I'm thinking it too. This posting stuff is getting out of hand, but I've got the itch lately. Don't get used to it though, because I'm leaving on Tuesday for an extended fishing trip in the Canadian wilderness where no technology can reach. (Now wiping up the drool that has escaped my mouth at the thought of all those walleyes filling up my belly.)

Anyway, I was out for my noon time ride yesterday which included a couple of 25 minute moderate climbing pieces up the mountain. They went well and the weather was glorious. So, I was riding back to the rock pile and feeling pretty good with the afterglow of the effort still fresh within my legs. As I approached a light, one of those hipped up fixies went zooming by me in spectacular fashion. As I admired his Schwinn Madison model, a big truck roared up along side of me to do one of those cut off rights that we are all so fond of. I slowed to let him do his thing. At the exact same time, he slowed to let me get to the light and then he could get in the right turn lane. I quickly accelerated to get out of his way and he let fly with the horn, reved engine, and flying profanity. What a joy. As he turned, I looked in his direction, but held my breath. Didn't stop him from calling me the typical names we all get. I reached the light as my adrenaline started to settle and noticed the fixie there waiting for the light to change. He had some choice words for the driver as the monster truck sped off and instantly, I had gained and lost a friend. We chatted about how sometimes it's like we are dodging dragons out there and why it is that they can't see us as human beings, fathers or daughters or parents or husbands or wives or friends. Forever the impediment to somebodies progress to someplace more important than my skin and bones. But the fixie guy was cool and we talked a little about track racing and the like. My boiling blood settled and I got back to my warm afterglow. I'll call it even on the ledger.

Johnny GoFast

2009-07-22T19:36:00.000-07:00

Greetings from the Minnesota Northwoods. In my family, we fish. As far back as I can remember, I've been fishing with my Dad and brothers. When any of us come off the water, it's customary to go near anyone that didn't catch a fish and give a big sniff. With that, whoever the unlucky fisherman is will say, "what...you smell a skunk or something?"

Well tonight it happened to me. The boy kept hammering 'em. (Excuse alert!) No doubt, he kept bringing 'em in faster than I could take 'em off. I'd bait his hook, put the fish on the stringer and no sooner said than done, he'd be cranking in another one. Back in '73, my Dad started taking me and my brothers into a place called the Quetico Provincial Park in Ontario just over the Minnesota border. My Dad would be in the back of the canoe working faster than a monkey on crack. Barely ever getting to dip his lure in the water himself. And that's where I am at this point in my life and it warms my heart. I'd love to catch myself, but instilling that which my Dad for me is the way of things. Outstanding!

This morning we went to a horse riding place and the family did a whole trot together. The girl was on Bullit, the boy on Trevor, the wifeage on Shadow and yours truly on Dude. We got to canter for a while and did some stream crossings. I was on the tail end of things with the boy just in front and we went a little off the menu every chance we got. If there was a fork in the trail and the string was going one way, we went the other. The wifeage was less than pleased with our rule breaking, but cowboys got to roam. Hope you are well. Plenty of pictures to post and they'll be up next week when we return to reality.

Johnny TrotFast

2009-04-21T15:33:00.000-07:00

The following story is true. The names have been changed to protect the innocent. While riding down the Boulevard today with two other WellsFargonads, our brilliant pace was interrupted by the blare of a police siren. There has been a crack down as of late on a nefarious gang known to frequent these areas and known in police enforcement circles as simply, the Two Wheeled Brethren. Thought to be trafficking in GU gels or similar and known to carry fluids to enhance refreshment and replace electrolytes, the cops have noticed a trend that involves blatant disregard for traffic signals, stop signs, and general unsightliness related to spandex. In an internal communique seen only by a double agent we have on our team, the memorandum reads: "...any and all cyclists caught within city limits should cease and desist immediately." Cease and desist what is not entirely clear but it seems that we are being targeted. Anyway, this is how it went down:

(Siren blare!!!)

Johnny GoFast: Jiggers, it's the pigs. I say we run for it!

Ethan Kutcher: Are you out of your mind? Look how fat you are. You couldn't outrun a meter maid.

Ryan Nicholson: I'll handle this. I think the police officer goes to my church.

(We have now come to a stop and the officer has exited his vehicle)

Cop: Do you know why I pulled you over?

Johnny GoFast: Because the economy is in the toilet and your endless stream of funds from Sacramento has been turned off and you now have to hand out tickets to every John Q. Taxpayer that blinks the wrong way?

Cop: No, for running that red light back there.

Ryan Nicholson: Well actually officer, we knew the light was red but we were in the bike lane and it is a three way signal with no road to our right entering the intersection. We didn't think we had to stop.

Johnny GoFast: That light was green.

Ethan Kutcher: Johnny, I think you should shut up.

Johnny GoFast: I'm not going to shut up! Hell no! This is oppression, man. Look where shutting up got Reginald Denny.

Ethan Kutcher: I think you mean Rodney King.

Johnny GoFast: Whatever. This fascist isn't gonna take me without a fight.

Cop: Look, I just want to issue you guys a verbal warning. The ticket is $300. and I really don't want to have to write three of them out.

Johnny GoFast: Typical. I've been in this town since 1976. I've seen this police force grow to bloated proportions and there is absolutely no crime to speak of either before or after you guys came into power. I'm not surprised that you don't want to do anything. Lazy donut eater.

Ryan Nicholson: Johnny, please shut up. I think he's going to let us go. What is it with you, are you on crack?

Johnny GoFast: If I am, that cop planted it on me.

Cop: That does it. (Me now physically getting wrestled to the ground. I fought back maintaining my street cred with my two Fargonad gang members.) This smartass is going for a ride.

Johnny GoFast: You got nothin' copper. There ain't no pen that can hold me! (With that I flashed some gang symbols to Ryan and Ethan. I signaled them asking them to take care of my bike and that they should whack the cop over the head with one of their hand held bike pumps to spring me. They both stared back blankly.)

Anyway, instead of my one phone call, they allowed me access to the internet to find a lawyer. Instead, I decided to blog this. Hope you are well. I can take visitors between 2pm and 4pm on Thursdays only.

Johnny GoFast

2009-04-17T12:51:00.000-07:00

The Daughter: I heard you and Mama are going to the movies tonight.

Me: That's right. Kind of a date, I guess.

The Daughter: Are you going to share a popcorn?

Me: Probably.

The Daughter: Are you going to get a soda with two straws?

Me: I suppose.

The Daughter: Are you then going to share a kiss?

Me: Is that what you think happens on dates?

The Daughter: Of course!

Me: Then you're not going on any until I'm dead and buried.

She just giggled and left the room like I was joking around. Little does she know that I plan to live a very long time and that I plan to buy a gun soon and learn how to aim it at adolescent young boys. Anyway, hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2009-04-14T15:09:00.000-07:00

Holy schmoly does time go by quickly. I even got harangued through my Facebook page for not posting on a regular basis. Well, here goes nothing:

1. The boy started his baseball season. He is a great contact hitter but can't field a lick. Go figure.

2. I got busted skiing out of bounds at Alpine Meadows on a powder day. We had gotten lazy and cut across a closed section to get to some open terrain to cut off some traversing. A ski patrolmen was there and let us have it. Later I learned that my season pass was turned off.

3. Some friends from Minnesota who have a timeshare at Northstar came for a week and we got together for some skiing at Northstar having been banished from my home mountain--Alpine Meadows.

4. Traveled to Davis for some VO2 max and blood lactate testing. I'm now part of a study that will chronicle the increase in both over an 18 month period as a master type athlete gets into shape.

5. For the record, I have a VO2 max that is slightly better than your garden variety couch potato. And for those of you that don't know, VO2 isn't something that is largely trainable. So I'm currently auditioning new hobbies like baseball player heckling (see item six below).

6. Traveled to Arizona where I participated in a baseball fantasy draft, took in some baseball spring training games and joined in on a guy heckling Nomar Garciapara by telling him/Nomar that his wife (Mia Hamm) looks like she smells like salami when she sweats.

7. I had just a little too much to drink for the later part of item six above.

8. I have no field information regarding the natural odor of Mia Hamm.

9. Took the kids up to Tahoe for their final ski team weekend. Maile rode up Summit lift twice on the final day. Jackson got the award for being the best buddy to all the guys on his team. That was a pretty proud moment...twice.

10. Met with the head of ski patrol at Alpine to see if I could get my pass turned back on. We had a great conversation and ultimately I talked my way back into skiing. But I learned a lot and a pretty negative situation turned out okay.

11. Project Johnny Two Point Oh goes solid with good sensations and consistent riding.

12. A college friend came from San Diego with family in tow to ski at Alpine. Had a great time getting the families together.

13. Jackson skied some killer terrain with me one day last week at Alpine. We enjoyed a bit of powder and made some great runs through the trees below Chutes That Seldom Slide, Gentian Gully (more specifically the runs below Broccoli Tree) and finally some open turns down Promised Land. These are some of my most favorite spots and to be skiing them with the boy was out of this world.

14. Rode with Griff on a "kind of hilly" route near Granite Bay. One "kind of hill" saw us climbing in first gear, out of the saddle at a whopping 40rpms.

15. The ride also had us going across a "little stream" that crossed over the road at one point. The "little stream" turned out to be a raging torent that came up to my knee on the down stroke. He dabbed. I didn't.

16. You know it's not a "little stream" when there are two kayakers shoving off from the aforementioned road. They offered to ferry me across. Again, not something I would classify as a "little stream".

17. Found out one of our chickens is a rooster. We got the "chicken" on Halloween and one of the kiddiewinks named her/him Trick. How appropriate.

18. The wifeage found a home for him down in Sunnyvale but the guy didn't want her to drop it off at his house. They met at some random spot and now I suspect that Trick is on some sort of cockfighting death circuit. But then again, it's not cock-a-doodle-doing in our backyard so who cares?

19. I just repurchased some Rudy Project team stuff (helmet that cracked last year in a crash and glasses that were schnibbied from somebody at the last race after I had thrown them down near my stuff during the race). So I must be getting serious if I want to look all team like again.

20. Spent Easter with the family and opened a special B-Mar and Clare bottle of wine and toasted the family.

Tomorrow we will reach into the mail bag and then I'll procrastinate for three weeks on what to write. Hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2009-03-17T09:59:00.000-07:00

Hey, happy St. Patrick's Day. With that out of the way, let's jump right into the fracas. Without a doubt, this is going to be one of those evenings where the wifeage will lock herself in the bedroom with the lights off and and a hand towel about her forehead. She'll demand to be alone and that I'm on my own for dinner and that the kids need to be bathed after I'm done feeding them. How can I be so sure? It's parent/teacher conference day at the kiddiewinks school. And you know what they say...the cobblers children go without shoes. My wifeage, being a one time educator, takes all the shit in that shit sandwich the teachers are so good at feeding you so personally. "Jackson does an excellent job knowing his numbers up to blah, blah, blah. What he struggles with is compounding them in multiples of
n and then finding x," the teacher will say. This will be followed closely by a sniffle by my wifeage at which point I'll put my arm around her as she digs through her handbag for a tissue. Later, while listening to Maile's teacher go on about the fact that she can say the alphabet perfectly in English but struggles when she tries to say it backwards in Spanish, the wife will no longer be able to stymie herself and she'll let go with an uncontrolled wailing that will make you think a dear one just died. I remember hating report card day when I was little. Why is it even worse now? Doesn't seem fair. Anyway, hope you are well and please keep your voices down when in the presence of my wifeage. Sure to be not in a good mood, to say the least.

Johnny GoFast

2009-03-10T15:55:00.000-07:00

First it's Fast Freddy calling me fat (or at least me thinking he did) while rolling down the boulevard. Followed closely by my wife who comforted me by saying, "he didn't call you 'fat', he said: 'good for you fat guy!'" And now this:

Dear Rider:

Thank you for your interest in the GT Dirt Coalition. We received hundreds of applications from riders nationwide, which made the selection process very difficult. Unfortunately, we’re unable to offer you a position on the GT Dirt Coalition at this time. However, we’ll keep your information on file and should another opportunity become available with GT, we will be sure to contact you. We appreciate the time you spent completing the application and hope to see you out on the trails.

Thanks again for your interest in the GT Dirt Coalition and good luck this season!

For more information on GT, please visit www.gtbicycles.com.

Best Regards,

Team GT Management

So I threw my resume at GT bikes who was recruiting riders for their dirt coalition something or other. Don't get me wrong, riding for Wells Fargo presented by Allegiant Air With a Large and Personal Donation by Mark VanDenBerghe Properties is a dream come true. But GT was offering up a pretty cool bike that they were going to give to their chosen. And I think we will all agree that beating on something given is far better than beating on something purchased. I think the thing that hurts the most is that I don't even rate for a name in the letter. I'm simply "Rider". Oh the rejection and the anonymity of it. If there is anyone else out there that wants to kick a man when he's down, here's your chance. Griff, don't even think about it as you're about as down as me. Anyway, hope you are well.

Johnny GoFastbutnotonaGTbicycle

2009-03-06T08:56:00.000-08:00

So I really don't know what happened. Well, I do actually. But I guess I don't really think it's all that fair. I'm one of those people that has to work his ass off to lose even a single pound. When I'm motivated, I can train hard, give up drinking and chewing tobacco, stop all other interests in the name of training, forget about eating and dismiss social engagements like nobody. But when the switch is thrown, like it was on January 4th, I can fall out of shape, become demotivated, gain weight like a steroid era baseball player with the best of them. I was about 183 pounds on January 4th and this morning I toppled the scales at 203. Ouch! My normal racing weight is south of 178, so that's a 25 pound weight swing with 20 pounds coming within the last 60 days. WTF! Anyway, I'm back on the plan and this time three months from now, I'll be 198 and that's the part that I don't find very fair.

So I'm out there riding yesterday, keeping it mellow trying to coax my body into moving forward in some sort of semblance of athleticism, when Fast Freddy goes the other way. Not having my glasses on, I did my customary wave (which I do constantly--even to guys on recumbent bikes and triathletes). And to my surprise, Fast Freddy gave me a head nod. I thought to myself, "wow, that's a pro givin' me the nod. Pretty cool." And I found motivation in that for a little while until I started thinking, "he's probably wondering why that fat guy is even trying to ride a bike." And then I was bummed again. I went home and told the wifeage and she said, "he probably didn't think that, he probably thought...'good for you Fat Guy...you keep riding that bike.'" Which is what I plan to do, but good (insert the deity of your choice here), do I have to dig such a deep hole? Hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2009-02-13T16:31:00.000-08:00

Though I've never been in a fight in my life, I think if I played hockey for money, I'd be the enforcer. It's fun to have your teammates back when they've been disrespected. As a parent however, I leave the heavy lifting to the wifeage. Which isn't fair to some degree, but I think she has a greater ability to grasp the magnitude of the situation and stay madder longer. Which is required when hammering on the little ones. Case in point: yesterday I received a call from the wifeage informing me that the boy was sent to the Principal's office. My heart actually skipped a beat as I hearkened back to my day as an elementary school student and for all the things that got me plopped down in front of the principal. Although he never really seemed to be a "pal". The wifeage was less than impressed when I say, "oh, what a seminal moment in our parenting career. I've been waiting for this." Almost a little too emphatically as she could sense my pride in the irreverence of my boy. "Um...he hit a little girl over the head with his lunchbox," she said. I was ripped from my fantasy of my boy wailing on the playground bully and only really heard the word "girl" and "lunchbox". "I'm sorry," I said. "Did you say he hit a girl with his lunchbox?," now totally crushed. Turns out some girl called him a "barf brain" (high marks for quality of name calling) and the boy let fly. The wifeage, upon being mortified with the recap from the teacher, restrained herself from physically pummelling the boy with the aforementioned lunchbox and instead, went the more sedate route of grounding him to his room. He was let out to have dinner with the girl and me while the wifeage retired to the office to get some work done. 30 minutes later she came out to the kitchen to find us fully engaged in a game of charades with me on the ground acting like a dog while the kids giggled and shouted out answers. The wifeage seeing the boy having fun and not somber and remorseful for his misdeed, brought a frighteningly quick end to the game by shouting, "he's being a hot dog." And with that, both were dispatched to their rooms where they were to PJ-ify, brush their teeth and get in bed. And then she lowered the boom on me for producing fun to an otherwise priveledgeless prisoner/kid. At which point I said, "I forgot and besides...you're the heavy." Which got me banished. Her fury hath no quarter. Anyway, hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2009-02-10T14:59:00.000-08:00

So that's a fairly good representation of the GoFast household at any given moment in time. The wifeage is forever cleaning up after the kiddiewinks and me. So last night, as she slaved over a hot stove getting the dinner ready, she gave me very explicit instructions to get into the family room and get cracking on cleaning the room up. With the aide of the kids, of course. It had been a long day at the rock pile and I really wasn't all that interested in doing or even supervising the clean up routine. So I got a pillow off the couch and got down on the floor. The kids know that this is the universal signal for the game "Thrash Daddy" to commence. But they're a reverent little bunch and Mama's word is gospel, so I had to coax them into the event. Thrash Daddy is a basically anything goes game where we wrestle, steamroll, tickle, lift, and throw each other about. The only real rules are that there is no biting, no stomping on Daddy in any way, and the game is over if there are any tears. So the kids are sitting there knowing that they're supposed to be cleaning per Mama's instructions and I impart, "if we make it sound like we're cleaning and not playing Thrash Daddy, she'll be none the wiser." With that it was on. They both jumped on me and I flung them about. They did their best to stymie their giggles as I said random things like, "fold that blanket" and "be sure to put the caps on the pens." At one point I had the boy aloft while he balanced on my hands. The girl got up on my legs and I told her that I was going to fling her up in the air. I wanted her to do one forward roll and then land on Jackson's shoulders. She got quiet and then said she didn't think she could pull it off but that she'd try. So I flung my legs and Jackson braced but at the apex of the swing, Maile hung on to my legs like her life depended on it. And of course they both giggled. So I told Maile that we'd have to try again and again until we got it down because, with the downturn in the economy and everything, we might have to join the circus and this would be a fantastic stunt that people would come from all over to see. Alas, we never pulled it off and of course the giggles became too noticeably loud and the hammer fell and we scrambled like scared chickens and quickly straightened out the room and then went to the table for dinner. All while suppressing a devilish little smile. And I'm going to go home and do it again tonight. Hope you are all well.

Johnny GoFast

2009-02-05T14:55:00.000-08:00

In a post today on Velonews, they reported that the professional bike racing team Barloworld had a bunch of their bikes stolen. What the article did not go on to say is that all their helmets, apparently, were stolen as well. Perhaps these guys are so pro that they never fall. That's how they do.

In a completely unrelated story, my bike has not been stolen. Neglected...yes, stolen...no. But I knew it was time to start riding again when I found the following slipped under my door one morning:

Dear Johnny,
Don't you think this has gone on too long? I was cool about the whole cyclocross thing this fall but never in my wildest dreams did I think you'd go from riding the bike to riding the couch. What happened to you? Have you looked in the mirror lately? Sometimes, late at night when I'm bored out of my mind in that cold dark garage of yours, I sneak into the laundry room just to chat up your cycling clothes. I thought there was a possibility that you were riding something that you kept at the office. Or maybe (gasp) you were doing those club type spin classes. Your kits had the same response: no Johnny. One particularly disturbing night while I quietly conferred with your outfits, a pair of your pants weighed in. Turns out they're not happy, Johnny. In particular, your buttons are on the verge of rebelling. The seat of your pants tried to jump on the complaint wagon, but the button stopped them with a, "oh please! You have no idea how close I am to letting go. I feel like I'm holding an avalanche back. And if I do let go, I'm afraid that as I hurl through the air that I may accidentally pierce the skin of some poor passerby, or worse, hit them in the temple and kill them. That's a lot to think about when he squeezes me through the button hole." Any way, your ski pants, they can be so haughty, informed us that our days are through. Is it true, Johnny? Are we done for, because if so, just e-Bay us now and take the misery of neglect off our collective consciousnesses. I speak for all of the bikes in the garage, and I don't even like any of them. Please Johnny, get riding again.

Sincerely,

Your Road Bike

So you see, you all are in a far better place than I am what with the Blog getting on me and the bikes conferring with the clothing about my lack of discipline lately. And not to be lead around by the inanimate, but Project Johnny 2.0 is underway. I finally threw the leg over on Tuesday and the diet is in full swing too. I've got a ways to go before the button isn't at defcon 1 so stand clear. Anyway, hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2009-02-02T13:52:00.000-08:00

Blog: What the hell?!?

Me: I'm sorry? (Me frantically looking around convinced that I heard something but I don't immediately see anyone.) Is somebody talking to me?

Blog: It's me, your so called Blog. We used to have such a good thing going. What happened?

Me: (Not sure if I need to be having an out loud conversation with my Blog.) Um...I don't know. Just haven't been in the mood, I guess. And what should I call you? Would you prefer Beatsgriff or Beat or something?

Blog: Blog is fine. Seriously, you need to get your shit together.

Me: C'mon man, watch your language...this is kind of a family thing.

Blog: (In a mostly mocking tone) Oh I'm sorry, could you please post something soon? I really enjoy it when you use me as your forum to disseminate your daily happenings.

Me: Seriously, you need to watch your language. My Aunt Judy reads now and again and I don't want her tuning in to see words like "shit" and "disseminate". She's far too proper for that sort of thing.

Blog: (Now totally annoyed) Disseminate, you moron, means to scatter or spread. In this case to scatter or spread your now increasingly inane thoughts.

Me: Oh.

Blog: You've had so much happening lately and yet you haven't showed up at all. Not one post in the month of January with all that skiing and beer drinking and trips to Dallas and time off the bike. I really don't get you.

Me: C'mon just stop it now. You're starting to sound like the wifeage and she complains about too much attention on this thing. I promise to be better but I certainly don't want to be brow beat by the likes of you.

Blog: Well who do you like to get brow beat by and maybe we can get them engaged in this discussion.

Me: I don't think there is any call for that sort of intervention. I'll get cracking soon. Besides, I got a real interesting letter from my bike recently and I want to get that posted along with my response. And I need to report on Project Johnny 2.0 once that gets underway. But for now, just relax and enjoy your time off.

Blog: Talk is cheap and a dead blog is pretty lame. Get cracking monkey boy or I'll...

Me: You'll what?

Blog: I'll take this thing over and start making crap up like you have a Facebook page or something.

Me: I do have a Facebook page.

Blog: I knew it! You haven't touched me in months and don't really look at me the way you used to. What am I supposed to do...sit idly by while you have this wild interlude with your Facebook page? I've tried everything to keep your attention but, (now openly sobbing) I just can't stop time I guess.

Me: Oh stop! I'm committed to this thing and I'd be nowhere with out you. And besides, I don't really get the whole Facebook thing. I signed up initially because I wanted to e-mail a block of photos to some friends. And then it just blossomed from there and now I have like 20 friends or something. I can break it off if you want me to, but it's you that I love. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings.

Blog: I think we should go to counseling. Perhaps a professional can get us to connect again.

Me: If it would make you feel better, I'd be open but seriously, I think we can get through this thing on our own.

Blog: (Still whimpering) I hope so.

Me: (Mostly under my breath) Gee whiz...who needs this crap?

2008-12-15T11:37:00.000-08:00

My mother used to say that there was nothing she wouldn't do for any of us. And that when I had kids of my own, I would understand. This weekend was one of those moments she was talking about. We signed the kiddiewinks up for a ski team at Alpine Meadows. They will work with the same coach every weekend between now and the middle of April. The boy is pretty solid on his ski's and what he lacks in form he makes up for with desire. The girl, though a little more tentative, has the better form of the two. They are in different groups to suit each kids style at this point. It's a lot to get them moving in the right direction, slogging their equipment up to the hill, getting them booted and bundled up. But they both loved it and can't wait for more. That's pretty satisfying.

I got to make a few runs myself. At one point I found myself going up the chair with a member of the Jamaican Ski Team. They have chosen Alpine Meadows as their "home" hill for training this year. So I'm sitting there and about a million things are rattling through my brain on what to ask this guy. (I kept coming back time after time to wanting to know if he knew the Jamaican/Wendy joke. You know...There's this guy who is in a fantastic relationship with this girl named Wendy. Everything is great except for the fact that Wendy is a little insecure. So she convinces her boyfriend to tattoo her name to his penis. And so he does but when he is flaccid, all it says is W-Y. So one day our hero is in the bathroom and this large black man comes in and the boyfriend can't help himself and has a peek at the feller's penis to...well...you know...see if it's true about what they say. To his horror, he sees that the man has a W-Y on his penis as well. Naturally the boyfriend is upset fearing that Wendy has been cheating on him with this guy. So while they're washing their hands at the sink, the boyfriend turns to the fellow and says, "I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but notice that you have a W-Y tattooed to your penis. By any chance does that say Wendy?" The large black man, while suppressing a throaty belly chuckle replied, "no, no, no mon, it don't say Wendy...It say 'Welcome to Jamaica mon, and have a nice day!'" But then I thought about what the wifeage might say if I asked him that and I just asked him about his training and stuff. I know, big yawn. Anyway, hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2008-12-11T15:37:00.000-08:00

So I'm sitting there doing my post lunch thing, knocking out the Sudoku and moving onto the crossword when I hear like what seems to be the umpteenth flush from the stall next door. And then another flush followed in rapid succession by two more flushes. It was at that point that I knew concentrating on the Thursday crossword (which at this point in the week becomes very difficult for this less than crammed full of brain cells crossworder) was futile. So I started keeping a tick sheet on the number of flushes. I was getting alarmed when he was approaching ten very quickly. When I started keeping score, I figured that he only had about ten more flushes in him (for comparison purposes--I only flush once at work because the pressure is really good and knocks down even the most stubborn of craps), but it was immediately apparent that he was going to sail right by the over/under.

I know that we are lucky to live here in California. By the grace of (insert the deity of your choice here) and the rain that we get, we walk a very narrow precipice in this fragile environment. We literally sit with our ass over the cliff and because of a lack of attention to infrastructure regarding our water supply, we are one significant drought away from disaster. I lived here during the 70's and remember the damage that was caused when the skies failed to produce. It's only a matter of time before it happens again.

So when I see someone wasting water, leaving the faucet running, over sprinklering, cannonballing all the water out of the pool, etc. it kind of makes my skin crawl. So almost involuntarily, after the tick sheet reached 20 flushes in a matter of minutes, I finally uttered a, "oh come on. What the hell is going on over there?" And then silence quickly followed by another flush to which I responded, "seriously?"

"Are you talking to me," a gruff voice returned. I was now picturing somebody very big who ate spicy big food for lunch.

"Are you okay over there? Do you need me to get help for you," I responded trying to backtrack from my complete and total breach of bathroom etiquette. I normally avoid confrontations as if it's HIV or something.

And to my horror he shot back, "why don't you mind your own fu@#ing business!" And then he fired off three flushes in random succession but the second one didn't fire on account of the fact that the toilet didn't have time to recharge.

With courage I don't usually summon I said, "you're wasting a lot of water and that affects me." And then I called him an enviro-terrorist (but I think that is usually reserved for someone that does harm or damage to somebody they perceive as being dangerous to the environment). At the time I thought it was pretty clever. I got no response from the terrorist.

But now I had some concerns. My business was finished but I really didn't want to meet this guy out by the sinks so I waited for him to finish and leave. I also noodled through the fact that he might bust down my door and with me sitting there with my pants at my ankles, well, I didn't really like that option all that much. But I stayed put and continued with my tick sheet. I counted more than 40 flushes at 6 gpf's. That's what it says on the toilet so I'm assuming that it means 6 gallons per flush. That's 240 gallons of water down the sewer. That's like three big hot water heaters full of water. Crap all mighty! Anyway, disturbing to say the least. Hope you are well and a little more environmentally conscious than my bathroom mate this afternoon.

Johnny GoFast

2008-12-08T11:32:00.001-08:00

Rrrrrriiiiinnnggggg!?!

Johnny GoFast: Hello?

Wifeage: What are you doing?

JGF: Working. Well, that and writing a blog about yesterday.

Wifeage:(Kind of a sighing and groaning noise) About what now?

JGF: I'm writing about how you brought to my attention that I need to change up the routine and train harder if I want to get faster next year. How I was sitting there reflecting on a pretty good cross season and how you did a Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka on me from the third turnbuckle about how I need to work harder to get faster.

Wifeage:(More groaning and now very audible) You asked. Besides and more importantly, don't you worry about how that will make me look? You always make me look like I'm some sort of hard ass.

JGF: I think people see you as the wind beneath my wings. You make me better. That you must be incredibly patient with an incredible sense of humor to put up with me and my shenanigans. I think the women reading this can relate to you because they go through all the same gyrations with their men folk. The men can relate to you because they think all women are slightly nuts and you must be slightly-nutsier to hang out with me.

Wifeage: I think people see me as too harsh on you. And I don't like being referred to on your blog as The Wifeage. Do you know that people come up to me all the time and introduce themselves to me and then call me The Wifeage? These are people I've never met and they seem to know a great deal about me. I'm already the kids Mom...I don't need another anonymous moniker to go by.

JGF: Then Chieko it will be from now on.

Chieko: Not the point! I'm not certain I want to be in your blog at all. It doesn't have to do with how you refer to me. It has to do with how you make me seem.

JGF: Can I blog any of this, because this is really a great conversation.

Wifeage: Arrrgggghhhh!!!!

JGF: And don't give me anymore writers block. Keeping this blog going is difficult enough. If I can't share the inner workings of my mind and my relationship with you to all of my public, I might not have anything else to say.

Wifeage: Hallelujah to that. Besides, Griff hasn't posted anything in like a year.

JGF: My readers demand more.

Wifeage: You're readers need to get a life. What were you going to blog specifically?

JGF: How we were cruising across the San Mateo and more or less rhetorically I wondered aloud what I needed to do to get more competitive and how you started in on me about training more efficiently and trying a different training bloc to get more pop. Of course I'll add the part where I don't get to suck more time up for training than that that I already use. Simple, clean, I think you'd look very supportive.

Wifeage: I can only imagine. E-mail it to me first so I can review it and make sure you aren't making me out to be a battle axe...again.

JGF: Oh that's a strong idea. Maybe you can add to it. Maybe this whole blog thing can become a collaborative effort. I think we'd leave them rolling in the aisles.

Wifeage: I think they'd just leave. E-mail me the thing and I'll let you know if it's safe to post.

And so I did, and she gave it the stamp, and that's the end of the story and my Monday race report for Coyote Point and the season. Hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast with contributing edits by the Wifeage

2008-12-01T10:56:00.000-08:00

What the hell was that yesterday? Man blew the whistle and a gun fight broke out. Speeds approaching ballistic out of seemingly everybody. And the first right hander into the sandpit of hell was like some battle scene from Nam. Luckily I snaked through the middle as guys were blowing up on the left and the right. And that was just to get me into the top 25 or so. The good news, of which there's plenty: 1) I stayed upright; 2) I had no issues with the bike; 3) The hip performed admirably and didn't complain when the brain refused to pick up the phone when the hip kept calling repeatedly about the abnormal amount of pain it was enduring; 4) The course, the weather, the family and friends that turned out to see me race was all to the good.

Was hoping for a better spot on the finish line, but can't everyone say that that doesn't win the thing? Hopefully my hip will be a little bit better next Sunday and I have a little more snap to compete. I did get to mix it up with some fast guys throughout the race. Considering that Saturday was the first cross ride I've done in the past two weeks and that I did it only to see if I could manage getting on and off the bike and do the little running required, the fact that I could go it at all on Sunday is great. Little known secret (and one of which I'm not proud of at all), I was on about 800 milligrams of Advil and had a heavy dose of caffeine coursing through my veins. At one point the wifeage even commented on my usually pre-race abnormal behaviour being more abnormal than normal. Before she had finished her sentence I blurted out, "very caffeinated!" Normally I don't result to such measures and it kind of bugs. Anyway, hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2008-11-24T14:53:00.000-08:00

So instead of doing the Thanksgiving Day Worlds (what an absolutely horrible name), I was talking with a fellow Fargonad and mentioned that mountain bike ride they do over out of Fairfax. I've done this a few times in the past and as I recall, it had a huge grin factor. Does this thing still go off and are there any people interested in hooking up? Would need to coordinate a time and a place. I've always done it in association with somebody that knew what the hell they were doing. Is it pretty self explanatory? The other guy that is interested has never done it. Let me know. Hope you are well. My hip is no better and I'm starting to get concerned that my racing may be done for. Crap out loud.

Johnny GoFast

2008-11-21T13:22:00.001-08:00

So the trip to the doctor went pretty good. This is how it went:

Doctor: What seems to be the problem?

GoFast: Well, my hip doesn't seem to be right. Me pulling up my boxers to show the affected area.)

Doctor: (Visibly aghast as he moves in and starts poking the swollen area with the blunt end of his writing implement.) How in the world did this happen?

GoFast: I arrested my forward progress by throwing myself on the ground whilst trying to bike race some other people.

Doctor: Emm-hmmmm. (Still poking and alternately kneading the area like my hip is some sort of bread dough.) Does it hurt when I do this?

GoFast: Not any more than if you don't touch it at all.

Doctor: Emm-hmmmm. What kind of bike racing? (He then made me do like a sideways leg lift against his hand and then do one forward as well.)

GoFast: I did it Cyclocross racing. It's kind of a hybrid of road and mountain bike racing.

Doctor: I've been wanting to get into that. I have a neighbor, Gannon Myall, do you know him?

GoFast: (So much for Doctor/neighbor confidentiality.) Know him? Hell, I didn't invent the "man crush", but I'm aware by now of it's power.

Doctor: Your leg is good to go. The strength is still there. It's going to take about eight weeks to fully recover. You don't need any special meds or anything.

GoFast: Eight weeks!?!

Doctor: It will gradually improve. It will be noticeably better by next week. You will be dragging the leg around a little bit, but you shouldn't risk doing any further damage.

GoFast: Well, I guess that will have to do. Thanks for looking at it.

Anyway, suppose it could be worse. I walked in with my head hung low and walked out like Fred Astaire. Now I've got my fingers crossed that it will improve dramatically by Golden Gate. I'm saying it'll hunt.

Johnny GoFast

2008-11-20T08:42:00.000-08:00

I may not have a mother anymore, but thank (insert the deity of your choice here) I do have Morgan Fletcher. I'm not a big fan of going to the doctor. They usually say things like, "you'll have to rest that" or "you have cancer." Just not a big fan of hearing stuff like that so I keep those doctors squarely in my blind spot. But my hip is in about the same shape as it was on Sunday morning, though it's all sorts of different colors now but not as swollen. I tried to ride (failing some sort of IQ test, no doubt) on Tuesday and it hurt just about the whole time. It doubly hurt if I had to go up any kind of incline. I could apply zero pressure with the left leg due to the sharp pain it would send into the left hip. So now, with the urging of Morgan, I'm signed up to go see my orthopod. I did something similar to my hip about 10 years ago and had to go on blood thinners. The doctor told me that it would have been bad to have skipped out on taking them because the internal bleeding could have resulted in blood clots or the calcification of the blood into a hard bone like substance. Ick. I guess I'm just hoping it's not that serious and that he tells me I can keep on riding and that it will be much better tomorrow. Still have some racing to do and the thought of it all being over sends a tear down my cheek. Oh the cruelty of that siren called bike racing. No doubt I'll be back on tomorrow with news of my doctor visit.

Johnny GoFast

2008-11-17T09:18:00.000-08:00

Number of times crashed on Saturday night? Correct answer is four yet only one was pilot error. The first was the result of a teammate banging into somebody in front of him I think. If you saw two Fargonads trying to disassemble their joined bikes, I hope you kept your snickers to yourself.

Number of feet on the ground when they blew the whistle to start the race? Correct answer is two. As we all know, you need to have one foot on the ground at the start of the race (per the rules). Though a poor strategy, I thought it would be cool to be doubly in compliance.

Number of different bikes raced on Saturday night? This one is a trick question. Technically, the answer is two. But really the correct answer is two plus a little. I had to go to the back up bike after I crashed into a downed rider and inadvertently peeled off the tubular from the front wheel. Later, when again I was unable to avoid smacking a crashed rider in the same spot, I peeled off the back tire on the back up bike. (Heck, maybe it was the same rider who failed to get up the first time--I saw Tom's email about the scarcity of litter left about the venue but nothing about downed racers. Please people, if you know of anyone that didn't come home from that crazy race, please get in touch with your local authorities. Time could be of the utmost importance). So I ran to the pit, yet again, and did the old switcheroo/cannibalized routine with what I had (for the love of Pete, where the hell is McGyver when you need him).

Number of beers post race? Toughest question on the board. Correct answer: A lot.

Number of Advil popped since hitting the pavement at the start of the start/finishing straight? 16.

Next scheduled race? Districts on Sunday.

Probability of making it to the next scheduled race? Zero. Having a hard time walking. My right foot is in serious pain today as is the right hip. Contemplated having the wifeage collect my crutches that I keep at the rock pile yesterday. I chose to not move from my house instead hobbling about like a wounded vet.

Anyway, thanks for taking the quiz. I really did have a great time on Saturday night, and despite my follies, felt I was really cooking out there at times. Special thanks to all the people that stuck around to cheer for us and to my teammates who made the effort to get out to one of these things. Hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2008-11-03T11:07:00.000-08:00

Got out of bed yesterday morning, and I have to admit, I did not feel like racing. The legs felt fine and I had lots of energy, I just couldn't summon up the motivation to fling it all out there and endure the pain. I got out there and after a couple of pre-laps on the course and a decent warm-up, I was feeling better about my decision to race. When the gun went off and we started around the slippery morass of Candlestick, my needle definitely hit the happiness quotient, though the pain was running full stick as well. But on those occasions where I needed to dig deep to hold a wheel or bridge up, I could get there and tolerate. And then on the third lap I hit one of those sidewalks and I tore the tire off the front rim. (Note: still not running the tubulars so I was old schooling it on the tubular/clinchers) Anyway, I had to run about a half a lap at which point everyone seemingly went by me as I tried to get to my back up bike. And when I got there I hesitated just briefly thinking, "fuckit...I'm out." But as I looked at that perfectly good back up bike, I thought of the wifeage and what her reaction to a DNF would be and I grabbed it and took off. It took me two laps to find my legs again at which point I was able to make my way past a few guys on the last lap to salvage 25th. And suddenly I feel as if somebody hit the reset button. Project Johnny suffered a bit of a hiccup the past week or so, but now I've got renewed motivation to get back up there and race. There's a little bit of time yet to wring out some more speed. Time to get cracking. Hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2008-10-27T15:17:00.000-07:00

So I come home on Friday night after a long day at the rock pile and the wifeage is in the kitchen pert near tears about our financial situation. Seems the old GoFast family has loosened the collective belt and our spending has gotten a little out of line. We're a lot like you in that we do our part to fund the economy, and we often lose sight of the importance of hoarding our cash. Don't get me wrong, we max the 401k, max the Roth IRA accounts, put away heaps of money so the kiddiewinks can run off to college one day, etc. But we have a set budget and we have a set amount of cabbage that we like to bank on a monthly basis and the two haven't been seeing eye to eye lately, and that gives the wife pause. And then I'm standing there with a crappy look on my face. This is how it went down:

Wifeage: Why are you standing there with a crappy look on your face. I just told you we have no money.

Me: You mean after all the money we squirrel away in all the various accounts, and after we pay all the bills and then send a sizable chunk to the now failing financial institution down the street?

Wifeage: Why the face?

Me: Me? I'm not making a face. What's that smell? Is that dinner? It smells great.

Wifeage: It's the chicks. I haven't cleaned out their box and there is chickenshit all over it. Seriously, why are you making such a weird face?

Me: I got a really good deal on some wheels for the cross bike and I bought them.

(Me now visibly wincing and probably still making the face.)

Wifeage: Well you're just going to have to unbuy them. You'll have to give them back and say you're sorry but we just don't need a 15th pair of wheels.

Me: But these are tubulars. I don't have any tubulars and it will solve all the issues I've been having with my current tires rolling off the rim. I can run them at lower pressure which will make me go faster.

(At this point I could tell that something had registered with her regarding my impassioned speech. There was a bit of a pause and for a brief moment a flicker as she mulled this information over.)

Wifeage: Faster, you say? How much faster?

Me: I don't know. But it should be a better solution to what I'm running.

Wifeage: I understand they pay money at these races you're going to if you finish well. Isn't that so?

Me: I think so.

Wifeage: Then you better start getting in the money.

At this point we hugged. She shook her head and then told me to lay off any more major expenses. I tried out the Lauren plan of selling our kids to the gypsies. She balked.

So if you saw the wifeage at the race yesterday beating on me like a rented mule to catch up to the leaders while I looked like I was going to barf out loud, now you know. Wifeage wants the money and what the wifeage wants, the wifeage gets.

Hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2008-10-24T14:14:00.000-07:00

I've lost my mind. Or that's at least what the wifeage said to me when I said I needed tubular wheels for my cross bike. I've been having issues with those Tufo tubular clinchers rolling off the rim lately, but I've been getting away with it. I had some rub working for the last two laps at Laguna Seca and some serious rub working the last couple of laps at McLaren. Gives me pause no doubt. So I went home and told the wife that I need some new wheels, tubulars specifically, and she took a big deep breath. Times are tight around the GoFast household and there just isn't the type of liquidity we've seen in days gone by. But she paused, and I said, "do not let the next thing that comes out of your mouth be the thing that gets me to dnf'n at these races." She's been cool this year and I'm running a mostly new rig this year (because she knew I was due for an upgrade in the Millennium Falcon department), but the tire/wheel thing ain't cutting it and she knows it. So she asked how much I could get it done for and I lied my ass off something serious and she okay'd the expenditure. So I think I'll be gingerly riding the course this weekend on the tubular/clincher set up, but next week I should be joining those that figured this tubular thing out long ago. Funny how the nicest set of wheels I will own will be on the bike that gets hammered the most. I wouldn't have it any other way. Anyway, looking forward to seeing all you all at the Spooktacular this Sunday. Oh, and if you can spare a dime, I'd be right appreciative. New wheels and tubulars, not so cheap you know.

Johnny Go(broke)Fast

2008-10-22T15:16:00.000-07:00

That's laugh out loud shit right there and probably typifies why it is that I love cross racing the most. The guy doing the spitting is absolutely hilarious. I've raced near/with him in the past and he almost does the color commentary during the race. I listen and when I can, chuckle. Last year at the Coyote Point race, I was just in front of him going up the hill when my chain snapped. Like any great comedian, he was quick with a quip. As he passed he said, "looks like somebody is drinking the beer a little earlier than they planned." And he was right. I like being a Fargonad, mos def, but if I didn't, I think my resume would already be in to dfl. Those boys know how to approach this whole racing thing. See you out there rollin' but keep your beer in your mouth. I don't go for those kind of hand-ups.

Johnny GoFast

2008-10-20T15:21:00.000-07:00

Ouch. But a fun ouch. An ouch with a happy ending. An ouch that let's you know you're alive. An ouch that you know every one else is feeling and hating just as much. And the reward? A brief respite before a bone jarring descent across washboard and loose dirt. With a climb there ready to smack you in the face before more technical descending and washboard and loose dirt. All so you can get back to the run up and say "ouch" again. Good times, no doubt.

Reaching into the mailbag might be a little over due so here goes:

Hey Johnny,
Are you coming to Santa Rosa on November 1st? It should be GOOD. How's about posting your Cross Schedule on your bloggy blog, so all your fans can show and scream really loud. Laurel Green Santa Rosa, Ca

Hey Laurel-
Thanks for writing in. Doesn't look like I'll be hitting any of the Santa Rosa races this year. I'm booked pretty solid through the middle of December, at least, doing the NorCal Cup races, Pilarcitos and CCCX series and maybe Districts. I've been having a great time racing but the wifeage may have something else to say about it.

Hey Johnny,
We are thinking about getting chickens. What do you recommend? Signed, A chicken lover in Alamo.

Dear Chicken Lover,
I recommend avoiding the foul process of raising fowl. They crap all over your yard, coop building is expensive even if you can get someone to do it for free, and the smell is awful. We are up to seven chickens (three layers and four chicks) now. Their names are: Midnight, Mo-Mo, AJ, Black Out, Dream, Tiny and Princess.

Hey Johnny,
Thanks for losing the weight this year. Sincerely, Your Cross Bike

Cross bike,
Thank you. You know I've been working at it since June 1st (down 20+ pounds and more than 10 pounds off of last years race weight) and with Project Johnny being deemed a complete success at this point, I appreciate you hanging in there with me. I want you to know, though you have recently been reduced to being a back up bike, you never forget that first love.

Anyway, that's all I've got for your today. Kind of flat and really out of it due to the racing yesterday. Hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2008-10-13T11:21:00.000-07:00

For obvious reasons, this picture is called "The Gun". Anyway, I clearly remember the guy that starts these cyclocross races saying that we would be doing six laps. So after four, after I had told myself at the top of the steep mo-fo climb, that I only had to do it two more times, I saw the lap card saying that we had three more laps. Through the lactic acid hell, with blurry vision and screams of horror that only I could hear (although I later came to learn that others were hearing similar variants of the same thing), I wondered why it was only two more times up when the card said three. And my heart sank as I realized I had miss counted my laps. So I plowed on and at the top of the hill I said to myself as loudly as I could so I could hear myself through the internal screams coursing through my body that now I only had two more times to go up that hill. And I smiled. Or at least I think I did--well internally I did and it confused the screams so they screamed louder. And when I came across the finish line for the last time, I was happy that it was over. Jon Suzuki was dry heaving and I saw a guy tumble over because he couldn't get out of his pedal. Most were in no hurry to move anywhere. This morning I see we did seven laps. Oh the hell. The very devil himself couldn't have come up with this shit if he tried. Cyclocross--only you can make it stop. Hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2008-09-30T16:28:00.000-07:00

So when is a crack really a crack? Upon further review, the Rudy's Project helmet that was atop my noggin on Sunday apparently did suffer from the crash festival that broke out during my last lap. As I rode a moderate pace up the newly paved SouthGate Road on Diablo today at lunchtime, I noticed (as my helmet was draped over my bars--I know what you're thinking and I know that it should be on my head at all times--but I was going uphill very slowly) what looked like a small crack on the back of the lid. So I stopped and inspected further and low and behold, it's certainly cracked. But not all the way through and I couldn't find any others. Now my boy up in Oregon--goes by the name of Brian Marcy--would probably tell you that partly cracked is not totally cracked and therefore good to go. My boy in Folsom who can beat me would probably tell you that if you've got a cracked head, put a cracked helmet on it. Further, some of the letters on the side of it jumped ship on Sunday as well. So now it just says, R..y Pr.ject. No doubt there's a U, D, & O out on the trail side somewhere happy to be done with me and that helmet. Anyway, don't know what to do. Could be residual damage left over from the crash that is leaving me indecisive. Hope you know.

Johnny GoFast

2008-09-29T09:11:00.000-07:00

Ouchola. I'm not going to lie to you, that's not what I said upon hitting the deck yesterday at the Central Coast race. It was the last lap and I had just put a little dig in to get a gap on Eric Bustos and Brock Dickie. I needed a gap because I was having a hard time going as fast as everyone else on some of the descents. I was basically getting the crap beaten out of me every time down this one section in particular. Every lap I told myself to ride smooth and that it would be over shortly. On the last lap, I clearly remember thinking with some sense of joy that this would be the last time down this section and then I was on the ground wondering what the hell just happened. I picked myself up and grabbed my bike so Eric and Brock wouldn't slam into it. It seemed ride-able and at first glance I seem to be in one piece so I remounted. But you know how that goes. A little crash does wonders for the confidence and I managed to bobble my way to the finish line almost face planting going over one of the remaining barriers (above picture shown specifically to prove to Mr. C. that I can clear the barriers with some style). I lost another spot just before the line.

So I sit here today with the usual accoutrements of aches, pains and scrapes and I'm wondering how this will affect my training. And how I can improve my skills. And how I can shed some pounds. And how I can goose more speed out of this body. Yep, I'd say Project Johnny is in full swing. Anyway, hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2008-09-23T08:23:00.000-07:00

So a while ago I started pulling treats out of my kids' ears. You know the old routine where you palm a coin or a candy of some sort while you fiddle with their ear and then, as if by magic, you show them the treat that was in your hand all along? My boy has caught onto the routine, and if he hasn’t, he’s skeptical at best. The girl is a full blown buyer at this point. I keep a stack of chocolates, the kind hotels give you on your pillow at turn down service time, here at the rock pile for those times when the kiddiewinks come to visit me. It’s become sort of our little deal with the girl often asking me to pull a treat or a quarter out of her ear.

We were up in Vancouver not too long ago and we stopped to watch one of those street entertainers work his magic for us. He was okay at best but then he started pulling stuff out of Maile’s hair and she was all a giggle. At one point during the show, Jackson disappeared something of the magicians at which point the magician demanded it back. The girl, clever as she is, knew that the magician, no doubt, would pull the item from the boy’s hair. So she took her hands and rubbed them ferociously through the boy’s hair knowing that she’d find the missing object. That one action drew the loudest chuckle of the performance.

So Sunday night I took the kids to the local pizza joint where I escalated the whole pulling something from the kids’ ears a little too far. You see, I was drinking beer and the wifeage wasn’t there, which is usually the reason for any of my many spectacular downfalls. Anyway, at one point I palmed the pepper shaker fiddled with Maile’s backside and then asked her why she had a pepper shaker in her butt. Both kids fell on the floor laughing. Which made me laugh. The three of us made quite a scene, no doubt. I can only imagine how this thing will escalate and what might befall me when any of this gets back to the wifeage. Anyway, thought you’d like to know.

Johnny GoFast

2008-09-22T09:34:00.000-07:00

So apparently the chickens need a chicken coop. Up until now, they've lived in a bunny hutch (which has me terrified now that there will be a coop with chickens in it and a vacant bunny hutch in need of bunnies) in a little fenced in area of our yard. The idea is that if we (and I use that term very loosely) can build them a proper structure, they will lay their eggs in the proper location as opposed to "somewhere" in the yard. The bunny hutch doors are usually left open and being a little on the stupid side, the chickens have decided they can fly. So out they come and they've been free range-ing all over the back yard. Searching for eggs on Easter, kind of fun. Foraging for eggs for your breakfast...not so much.

So my wifeage, knowing my limited skill set, somehow ordered herself up a friend that is good and actually enjoys projects like this. In the photo above, you can actually see Jesse in full work mode carrying one of the framed walls. At one point, I pulled up a bench so the kiddiewinks and I could watch him work. He stated he'd never worked in front of a live audience before. I feel like in my own little way, I've helped out some in this little endeavor. Anyway, soon we will have a state of the art coop in which the chickens will escape. Hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2008-09-15T15:25:00.000-07:00

So I took "Project Johnny" up to Folsom to do some efforts on the mountain bike. Here it is the middle of September and it's the first time I've raced on my mountain bike in 2008. Pretty pathetic. And here's a little something I forgot in that time off of the bike, MOUNTAIN BIKE RACING REALLY HURTS! I mean like leave you muttering to yourself in a crumpled heap on the finish line. Like a battered shell of a human being gone wiggy from the sensory overload of the oncoming terrain at a pace entirely too fast for comfort. Like a full body crush job inflicted by no one other than yourself. Ouchola.

Anyway, it was a two event stage race, though that seems a few short of really being anything more than what it was (short time trial on Friday evening followed by a cross country race on Saturday). I took second in both and, hold your breath, second overall. By the end they were calling me up to the podium as "Mr. Bridesmaid". Not a lot of folks racing, but the event itself was fun. I did it for the intensity and it was nice to be out racing again. Next weekend I take myself down to the CCCX race to get a refresher on how painful cross can be if done correctly. Beats the alternative. Hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2008-09-12T08:24:00.000-07:00

So I've always said that I'm so far behind the technological curve that when I finally get on the bus, there is some new innovation that comes and takes its place. In my own little way, I think I somehow have a direct connection to any technological advancement that occurs. Hell, the Internet probably was my fault. For example, a while ago I finally bucked up and got one of those five disc CD changers for my stereo. Up to that point, I was still playing cassettes and (if you can believe it) spinning vinyl. I finally broke down and went out to buy one because I was tired of getting up to flip the record. The beauty in this is that by the time I get around to buying whatever it is that everyone else has, the price is at rock bottom. I guess I'm fiscally responsible in some ways. Anyway, shortly after I bought my CD changer, somebody invented something called an IPOD. Doh!

So I finally broke down and got myself one of those watt meter thingies. Vaughn Van Note who puts the "(S)Well" in Wells Fargo offered me up his at a low down price and even offered up e-z financing so the wifeage wouldn't find out. He installed it for me because I have even less of a mechanical mind than my techno blind spot that I walk around with. So yesterday I took the thing out for a spin and all I could figure out how to work was the heart rate and the time function. Which put me right back to where I was with my heart rate monitor yet short a few more shekels. So I did what I should have done in the first place (R-T-M as in "read the manual") or more accurately (RTFM). Anyway, I think I've got it down, but there maybe something wrong. The little "Trans Icon" that the manual says is supposed to appear in the upper left hand corner isn't there so I don't think the hub is sending the signal. But seriously, I'm only spitballing here. I've tried to make toast before and gone toastless until the wifeage pointed out that the toaster needed to be plugged in. Hopefully somebody on the team ride (or Vaughn if your reading perhaps you can lend some insight) can straighten me out. We know it won't be Patty Mac of the Thanksgiving Day Worlds fame and new owner of Cat Too-huge legs because he just throws the leg over and pounds out mile after relentless mile.

Anyway, no need for techno babble where I'm going. Off to the Folsom Cyclebration (which I can't help saying without a whimsical flair and slight lisp as I skip gaily through the air) for a little off road TT and cross country race. Watt meters and the like (shaved legs, matching kits, clean shoes and bikes) are only scoffed at on the line. Anyway, hope you are well and sorry for launching the next techno wave as I've glommed on to the latest. I'm sure you will all have some sort of new blood analysis machine mounted to your bars by the time I get back so you can monitor your lactate input/output mid interval. Or something of the nauseating sort.

Johnny GoFast

2008-09-08T10:56:00.000-07:00

Went to the Griffociraptors on Saturday night for Griffapalooza II. What a blast. The party got roaring around
5pm with the food going on shortly thereafter. The Griff's spring for a two man band type set up and they play all sorts of great music. There are kids everywhere and I can never figure out if they or their half in the bag parents are having more fun. There was lots of swimming in the new cement pond they got for themselves. I spent more than my fair share of the time in the pool chucking the little ones about. Tulip Griff was pouring liberal amounts of tequila which seemed like a really good idea at the time. Most of us spent the night having set up tents and the like in the back yard. As with all things, this story ends up sadly as most wore that look of nausea the next day. In handicapping the event, I'd say that Tulip came out the worst with me a close second (although that may be solely because I personally experienced my own hangover--others may make a case that they suffered more). But I will say this, I'm still hurting today as well. And I'd do it all again and can't wait for more next year.

Johnny GoFast

2008-09-04T14:59:00.000-07:00

The boy just absolutely loves this song. I have to admit, I have had this playing in my head lately when I've been out riding. Project Johnny is coming along nicely. I've been having some great workouts, the weight is coming off, and I seem to be getting stronger. May have to rename my bike Black Betty or perhaps after those guys that seem to mock themselves...Ram Jam (originators of the fabulous hit from the 70's). You decide.

Woah Black Betty
Bama Lamb

Go Black Betty
Bama Lamb

Black Betty Had A Child
Bama Lamb

Damn Thing Gone Wild
Bama Lamb

Shes Always Ready
Bama Lamb

Shes All Rock Steady
Bama Lamb

Woah Black Betty
Bama Lamb

Go Black Betty
Bama Lamb

All Right!

Whoa Black Betty
Bama Lamb

Go Black Betty
Bama Lamb

She Really Gets Me High
Bama Lamb

Yeah That's No Lie
Bama Lamb

She's Always Ready
Bama Lamb

She's All Rocksteady
Bama Lamb

Whoa Black Betty
Bama Lamb

Go Black Betty
Bama Lamb

Yeah!

Oh Yeah
Alright

Whoa Black Betty
Bama Lamb

She's From Birmingham
Bama Lamb

Way Down In Alabam'
Bama Lamb

Black Betty Had A Child
Bama Lamb

Damn Thing Gone Blind
Bama Lamb

Whoa Black Betty
Bama Lamb

Go Black Betty
Bama Lamb

Oh Yeah
All Right
Oh Yeah
Oh Yeah

BAMA LAAAAMMMMMMMBBBBB!!

Rockin' baby!

Johnny GoFast

2008-08-01T09:58:00.000-07:00

Something happened to me a couple of years ago and I'm just barely getting over it. My therapist, who lives in my head (which probably means I've got some serious couch time coming with a real psychobabble-ist), suggested that maybe writing a blog would help me put this to rest.

Anyway, I like to take my kids on secret outings now and again. I call them "mystery rides" and they can be simple picnics up on Mt. Diablo, a train ride out of Sunol, or even a trip to the Boardwalk. The idea is that we load up and the kids don't know where we'll end up until we are there. They love it and can't stop guessing while en route to the activity.

So a couple of years ago, a lady that works in my building suggested that I head over to the Oktoberfest in Clayton. It was great by her estimation and they had carnival rides and crafts and a street faire, etc. Sounded pretty good, so on the Sunday afternoon of that weekend, I loaded up the kids and off we went. The wifeage stayed at home to get caught up on her alone time. I got to the event and everything seemed mostly okay. I'll say mostly because it was later in the afternoon of the two day festival and I could tell that some had gotten into the beer maybe a little too much. Whatever, we were headed for the rides, but I needed to hit the can first. Luckily, there was a handicapped unit available. Remember, Jackson would have been four at the time and the Mo only three and there was only the one of me. So the sight of the handicapped unit was a relief as I could bring them both in there with me without losing sight of them. And then I flung open the door and scooted them in before me. To my shock and horror, it was disgusting. And I mean really disgusting. Stop, think again of the most disgusting thing you have ever seen or witnessed, pump that image full of steriods and maybe were getting close to the disgustingness of the outhouse I had just lead my family into. Clearly the unit hadn't been serviced that day. I'll spare you the details regarding the vomit and fecal matter strung about the place as I don't want a repeat of the gagging sensations that involuntarily convulsed both me and my kiddiewinks. I did my business in record time and then shooed the kids out of the door where we promptly collapsed on some lawn about 100 yards away. Only after about five minutes were we able to collect ourselves and make our way to the rides.

And now the thrust of my consternation boils down to this: whenever I see the lady across the hall from me that recommended that I go to the Clayton Oktoberfest, I can't help but associate her with that bathroom experience. It's not fair, I know, and she is semi attractive, but it's almost as if on sight, I can smell and see that moment and I almost begin to gag all over again. Strange I know. I hope I can move past this and with your help, darn it, I think I can. Thanks for being there for me.

Johnny GoFast

2008-07-31T15:51:00.000-07:00

So Wednesday nights have become swim meet night. We signed the kiddiewinks up for swim team and it's been pretty good. They've both embraced it and they are both better than average for their first attempt at this thing. Jackson is on the full blown team and Maile-Mo is on the "development squad". The devo squad is more or less to get them acquainted with swimming and "racing" but they keep it fun and non-competitive. Mo could easily be on the regular team, but she doesn't want to yet, so we let her thrive in the devo group. That's Mo in the picture above (dark haired girl looking down at the water concentrating on the task at hand--the little blond girl next to her is Caroline and she joined us in our Uno game later on that night) doing her graduation swim across the pool before the meet last night. She won her heat and was basically the fastest girl. Not that I put all that much emphasis on her being great or anything.

For us parents, it's been an eyeopener. The whole scene is pretty crazy. There's a Stepfordness to the whole deal which is fine as long as I don't have to be sucked into it. Most of the time I can sit with the kids and play Uno or ConnectFour or I-Spy and I'm happy as can be. I remain mostly oblivious to all around but every now and again I can't help but notice the other parents "cliquing" up and going at it. They all drink from red plastic Solo glasses with concoctions brewed up out of sight. Most appear to be really enjoying themselves and that's great. Two weeks ago, I was at one of these deals and I had a woman come up to me and pull me out of my chair, ignoring the fact that the Mo was sitting on my lap. I was polite and joined in the "circle" and talked about vacations, and work and zip codes. I was somewhat shunned when I admitted that I didn't own a flat screen and that we didn't have cable even (a collective gasp--no doubt). I plowed on and admitted that we really couldn't afford Alamo and that the bank kept calling. I asked what everyone else did about this, and they all laughed nervously. When I left, or more or less was dismissed, I still got the feeling that they didn't know I was joking. This week they pretty much left me alone and I got to hang with the kids uninterrupted. And that was pretty damn great. It's a new routine for me, the scene and all, but Wednesday nights are definitely fun. Hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2008-07-30T08:15:00.000-07:00

The wifeage is a lot like you in that she listens to NPR, believes Carter was the greatest president we've ever had, and is all in on the global warming thing. Okay, maybe not exactly like you, but blogland here in California (especially the biker world in which I seem to link to) seems to drift a little lefter than most. Anyway, this morning I reached for the dish washing soap and I discovered this plastic Cascade container. Normally we go for the box o' suds option, but apparently we are doing something different now. So I opened the plastic container and I found individually wrapped packets of suds. Apparently you put one packet in the spot where the powder goes and viola, you're in business. Except, it seems like an incredible waste to have the cardboard box replaced by a hard plastic case and then the free flowing soap flakes replaced by individually wrapped plastic loads. Seems like a lot of packaging which requires a lot of energy and materials that doesn't seem all that necessary. I'm forever shocked at how much packaging there is these days and no one seems to mind. Sure, we are concerned with pollution and resources, but don't take away my individually wrapped string cheese. We are concerned that we are burning up all the fossil fuels in the world, but no consideration is given to the energy and actual oil that is used to manufacture all the packaging. We focus on the behemoths we all are addicted to driving, but nobody pays any attention to needless plastic manufacturing for packaging. I suppose it's along the lines of the fact that two thirds of the nation now support drilling here in the U.S. now that gas prices have soared. The environment is a great cause and everything, but not at the expense of my convenience and pocketbook. Seemingly. Anyway, I found it odd that I couldn't pour the suds into the little compartment today. Hope you are well and that your footprint isn't as big as mine.

Johnny GoFast

2008-07-29T08:51:00.000-07:00

Took a little time off from Project Johnny last week. Ended up taking the family to Northern Minnesota for a little rest and relaxation lakeside. We have some friends that have a cabin up that way and we rent a little place across the lake from them. The wifeage was sketch on the idea two years ago, but went along because she had visions of a rustic lodge, white table cloths and images of Dirty Dancing (the movie/not with me). She was a bit let down last time as it's none of that. It's rustic at best with most of the activities involving fishing and hanging out in the lake. The kids dig it. The first picture is of me and the Mo-Mo kicking it on the dock. This is probably my most favorite activity. It is super relaxing as you get to have casual conversations with whoever is with you, take in the passing boaters (however you are so far north that there are only a few boats on the lake at any one time), and watch the occasional bald eagle soar over head.

My buddy has three kids and his oldest daughter is an avid fisherperson. This bodes well for my little boy as he loves to fish as well. We'd go out most mornings and fish for over two hours. They never wanted to come in. This picture is of Abby who caught this bass while trolling.

One evening, after the lake had died down a bit, Jackson and I went out. He caught five good sized bass within an hour. We filleted them up and had them for dinner. He was very proud of himself and his ability to catch dinner for the family.

The wifeage did manage to get us off campus for an outing. We went horseback riding. Here's a photo of the gang all "Bonanza" like. The operation was very up north casual in that it didn't matter if you had ever been on a horse before. They had the kids galloping through the woods over downed trees and through rivers. They were all cowboy when they returned.

It was a great break from reality and I must have done something right this time. The wifeage has already signed off on a repeat visit next year. I think it has more to do with the fact that the kids would kill her if she nixed the trip. Anyway, hope you are well and I'll see you out there rolling.

Johnny GoFast

2008-07-15T08:41:00.000-07:00

So what is up with this stuff? Supposed to be the "perfect water". As if water could be perfect. It's water, for crying out loud.

Seems that this stuff is the new snake oil. I have been accosted twice by two different "reps" for this stuff. The first was at the ice cream store as I was taking the kiddiewinks for a treat. Some guy with eyes set way too close together came up to me and said he recognized me from the House of Pain rides on Saturday morning. I do the ride, no doubt, but the fact that he recognized me left me a bit skeptical. I have a hard time recognizing myself with my helmet and sunglasses on. Anyway, he produced a bottle of this magic juice and told me in a hushed down tone, that the secret is that the water is oxygenated. He then proceeded to put me through some routine tests before a sip of the water and then after I had a sip, he put me through the tests again. I was polite and admitted that I felt a huge difference, though I hadn't noticed anything. He asked for my number and I gave him my fake phone number that I give to anyone I don't know so he could follow up with me at a later point to see if I wanted to buy a greater supply. I gave the rest of the sample to my boy on the way home from the ice cream store as he was thirsty and then I forgot about the stuff until yesterday.

So I'm kitted up and just putting on my shoes last night here at the rock pile, when out of nowhere a guy with barely a chin approaches with some line about me riding for Wells Fargo. Not a big leap to figure that out as I'm standing there in all my Fargonadedness, but I politely say that I ride for the team. With that, he produces another bottle of the Perfect Water and goes on and on. I cut him short, grab the sample and say that I've heard the pitch about the oxygenated water. He gave me his card and asked me to call him to follow up. I rode up Diablo last night doing muscle tension intervals while alternating between my regular water and the Perfect Water. I'm happy to report that I had a great workout and my legs felt great through the six intervals. My legs feel good again today...so maybe I'm hooked. But I've been addicted to placebo's in the past, so this is nothing new. I'm now out of the Perfect Water so no doubt, the withdrawals will set in. And if today's workout turns out to be a dud, I'll be sold. Be weary folks, there seems to be a growing tide of people lurking in the shadows trying to get us junkied up on water. Be very weary.

Johnny GoFast

2008-07-02T18:58:00.000-07:00

I'm not going to lie to you, I'm a really bad boater. There's so much to remember and everything happens so fast. Just when you gain a little confidence, the boating deities come and pummel you over the head.

So today, I'm out there with the wifeage to drop the boat into Donner Lake. We do really well, and counter to what you might think, we make a great boat launching team. I usually back the boat mostly into the water and then I get out and into the boat while the wifeage backs the boat up the last five feet. Before I leave the car, we have a little chat to remind each other that we love each other and that no matter what happens (she drives the boat trailer off the ramp, I back the boat over the swim area, the guy with the great tan and humongous pecs tells us we're "doing it wrong"--all of which has happened more than once), we still love each other and this is fun! Anyway, today goes off without a hitch. The lake was calm, there were no other boats waiting for us to get our crap together, and there was nobody in the swim area. The wife parked the truck and trailer while I docked. She joined me and we made a quick lake cruise as we waited for the kiddiewinks to finish up their day camping. With a new found 30 minutes to burn, I decided to take the wifeage into a secluded cove. We chatted about how easy boating had become as I desperately searched for a spot to throw the hook (nautical term for anchor).

I thought this was the perfect opportunity for a little zooma-zooma. It was then that she screamed, "we're sinking." To my shock and horror, I looked aftward (also a nautical term) to see a massive puddle of water. I also looked into the ski locker and saw about six inches of water. Mos def, we were going down. It was then that I realized that I hadn't checked the plug. For those of you fortunate enough not to own a boat, the "plug" is the thing that invariably gets left out when you need it most. No less that 13 times today, prior to launching the boat, did I tell myself to check the "plug". No less than 13 times did I forget. So naturally I panicked and immediately headed back to the boat ramp at break neck pace. But I knew that my skill set to get the boat on the trailer and my wife's ability to get the trailer in the water would take us more than the amount of time it would take for the boat to fill and sink. So I beached it. I knew that if it was beached, it couldn't sink. I had to swim under the swim deck to confirm our worst suspicions that the plug was indeed out. Once confirmed, I had to dunk myself in that snow fed water to seal up the boat. The rest of the day was pretty uneventful, which is a miracle. I sit here, as the rest of the bilge empties, knowing that I don't have to answer either of my brothers when they ask, "which one of your f-ckin' friends sank the boat?"

Any way, hope you are well and if you have the chance to buy a boat...run like hell.

Johnny GoFast

2008-06-19T10:18:00.000-07:00

I'd like to think that Chirper isn't dead but somewhere right now enjoying a better chicken life. You see, as we all could have predicted, I had to kill one of the chickens that had fallen sick. We have/had four and they all seemed to be going along pretty well. I want basically nothing to do with these things, but when Chirper broke it's foot and ultimately needed to be separated from the other chickens that were slowly trying to peck it to death, I was tapped by the wifeage to do the ceremonial neck wringing. I might seem like a bad ass, but killing animals is pretty low on my list of enjoyments. So I drank me some wine and then, trying my best not to think about it, I picked up Chirper by the head, walked her outside as she flapped and writhed, and then I gave her a couple of quick twirls one way and then a couple of twirls the other way, and she was done. Except for the few spasms and twitches that totally freaked me out. I chucked her into the garbage can and tried like hell to think about something else. The next morning, my daughter was first on the scene to discover Chirper was gone. I told her that I put her out on the front lawn to get some "air" and she flew away. My wife then backed me up by saying that Chirper died. The tears came but the kids got over it pretty quickly and went out back to check on the other three. I'm not going to lie to you, being a chicken farmer is no fairytale. Anyway, hope you are well and I hope I don't have to wring any necks soon.

Johnny GoFast

2008-06-16T09:47:00.000-07:00

What a sweet trade. So I'm sitting there with some buddies of mine at the bar on Friday night when in walks this dude with a sweet Pabst Blue Ribbon beer distributor shirt on. I'm not a big shopper. I've never walked into a store and saw the perfect anything and proclaimed, "I just have to have that." But when this guy walked in wearing that shirt, all my alarm bells went off. I couldn't focus on anything other than the shirt. Luckily, I was wearing a pretty decent soccer jersey that I had scored some years before, and some people liked it. I was very lukewarm on the shirt, but knew that it had trade value. So I got up and moved over to the guy and introduced myself. His name was Rob and I could tell that he'd been drinking. I wanted to come up with a slow work plan to get the shirt, start off making some idle chit/chat and then ease into it, but I'm not all that subtle.

Me: Hey man, I just love that shirt.

Rob: Well I like yours.

At this point I could hardly contain myself and I circled in for the kill.

Me: Would you want to trade?

With that, he started unbuttoning and I could barely contain myself. I pulled off my soccer jersey and offered it to him as he offered me his shirt. He then asked me if I was sure and I said, "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

It was kind of weird watching him move about the bar with my shirt on and my buddies were a little out of sorts when I came back wearing somebody else's shirt, but I was all smiles. As I left, I asked him one more time whether he was still okay with the trade. He asked me if I was still okay with it and I said I was. He said we still had a deal. It was then that the wifeage came into my head. She was still reeling from my last trip downtown where I'd gotten a ride home from a divorced 47 year old mother of three. How would she respond when I came through the door wearing someone else's shirt? Luckily, she laughed when I told her the story and now my shirt hangs proudly in my living room for all to marvel. At least I think it does. She may have moved it into the garage with all my other hard fought for "treasures." Hope you are well. Tomorrow we reach in to the mail bag and weigh in on how "Project Johnny" is going. Stay tuned and well.

Johnny GoFast

2008-06-11T16:06:00.000-07:00

So I used to be a big fan of Shane Litzenberger. I met him a few years ago on one of those Thursday night throw downs up Mt. Diablo. Anything sub 25 minutes to the Junction is considered decent and Shane would routinely cough up something in the 21's. Hell, he can go sub 50 up to the summit while cracking jokes. Anyway, before I knew any of this, I was hammering along up the mountain in a little pack that was chasing him. He had broken off the front and none of us could respond. He kept giving us the look back and it really started to bug. I vowed that day that I would beat him the following week. I'd show up fresh, well tapered and give him some of my rear tire to chew on. He crushed me again. It was then that I started my investigation and discovered his climbing prowess and it was then that I discovered he's got legs the size of people. Later we became teammates and I got to know him a little bit. A fly fisherman that also rides is a good thing to come by. He's talented on the bike and the more you get to know him, the more you rout for him.

Anyway, that was then. He moved off to Boise and based on the photo above, I no longer have a man crush on him. I mean, look at that dorkfest. I didn't think anyone could give triathletes a run for their money when it came to total geekdom, but guys having a "trainer festival" comes pretty damn close. I'm sure he was winning or putting up the most impressive watt numbers, but who outside of that room could he possibly tell or would possibly care? Oh how the mighty have fallen. The king is dead. I'm now accepting applications for new hero worship. Griff, yours goes right to the bottom of the pile.

Johnny GoFast

2008-06-06T16:00:00.000-07:00

Swimming is so damn boring. I guess that's why they call it swimming and not skiing or mountain biking or porno. It does afford you a lot of time to think. That is when you're not thinking about how damn boring swimming is. Anyway, Project Johnny is now in full swing. I've had a great week getting the body moving again. Slow rides, even slower swims, with the diet squarely in check (did I mention that I haven't had a Diet Pepsi in five weeks?) I've got cool thoughts running through my head again. There may be even a glimmer of a smile in there now and again.

So back before I was fully entrenched in Project Johnny, I was first and foremost on a downward spiral to hell. I was drinking and eating and chewing my way to happiness, but that road, as we all know, is like pitching coal on a dead end line. But you do get to see how the other half live.

On Saturday night, I found myself downtown with my brother and a crew our buddies and we threw some back at Eliot's. At the witching hour, they made their way to the local Denny's like a bunch of acne'd up teenagers while I made my way over to Menar's with my divorced friend. Menar's is a bar in the center of the Golden Ghetto (also known as Danville) and it's the haps for those working on finding love in all the wrong places. They had a funk band playing and they were good (please note: author is extremely white and wouldn't know a good funk band from a bad one but he was eighteen sheets to the wind). I got myself my nineteenth beer and made my way over to the corner to watch them play while my cohort plied his wares with the ladies. So I'm movin' and groovin' and singing with the band "we've got the funk" while I squarely point at myself with my outstretched hand while simultaneously pointing at the band as if to suggest that they're with me, when this girl sidles up next to me and asks me point plank if I'm married. Subtle, no doubt, I counter with "yes...happily" and then I hit her with the trifecta and show her my wedding ring. She mumbled something, but I had already turned back to the band and continued gyrating my white ass along with the music. To my shock and horror, she was undeterred and started dancing near me (wifeage: please note that at no time did she dance with me). So the lights come on and my buddy comes walking up with some chick who turns out to be the wingwoman of the girl that was dancing near me. At that point I was knee deep in danger as the full court press was on. Every one knows that you need to attack the full court press so I asked them for a ride home. My buddy laughed and I burped or maybe hiccuped. Luckily, they were sober enough to drive us (I think) and they got us most of the way home before they threw us out. Turns out there was a cop/sobriety check point right before my street on the boulevard so they bailed down a side street and let us out.

The next morning the wifeage was not happy to learn that I had gotten a ride home from a 47 year old divorced mother of three. "But I did come home," I replied. It was at this point that something blunt hit me atop the head and I crawled back to my room to sleep off the bad decisions that I made throughout the month of May. Anyway, thought you'd like to know.

Johnny GoFast

2008-06-03T08:43:00.000-07:00

So I jumped in the pool yesterday for the first time in five years. Back before the bike, I was a swimmer. I started when I moved back from Minnesota in '95. It's great as an exercise, but it can get pretty monotonous. When I started getting a little more serious about riding/racing, I gave up on the swimming. It was nice to go back yesterday and see some of the old guard I used to go back and forth with. When I started, I was pretty slow and I worked my way through a lot of the lanes as I improved. Along the way, I met a lot of pretty cool people and a lot of them are still at it.

So the upshot is that I'm way out of shape. But the process has begun and I look forward to a few months of base in an effort to get back to speed on the bike. I'll be doing some cross training (swimming/running/weight lifting) in addition to some long lonely miles on the bike. I'm ready. Back in college, I would return to campus after a summer of debauchery and it would be the same thing. Back then, I could go pretty hard for a couple of weeks and I'd be back to where I left off. Griff used to call it the Two Week Miracle. Doesn't happen like that anymore. But three months from now, things will certainly be different. Catch you rollin'.

Johnny GoFast

2008-05-29T15:13:00.000-07:00

I've got a long list of real good reasons for not riding the bike lately. The one that tops the list, however, is the fact that there is a germ-a-phobe who lives in the other building at my office complex. It was back in '98 or so, when I discovered there was a shower in the other building. My building, no such luck. Anyway, I've been showering over there since the discovery and it's made for a much more enjoyable experience for those I work with. When I ride in the morning, I usually get in and out and generally (when the water runs hot) it's been wonderful. The issue is when I sneak out at lunch for a spin. At first I didn't really notice my surroundings, but as time went by, I always notice some paper towels on the ground behind the door. I always thought that was odd and I'd pick them up and throw them in the trash can near the sink. Then, when I got back from my ride, there would be another towel or two (depending on how long my sneaky ride was) in the same spot. Then one day, as I was coming through the door, I happened upon a guy with a towel in his hand just as he was reaching for the handle. He looked at his towel and looked at the ground as if he was going to throw it on the floor, thought better of it, and continued past me on the way back to his office. I didn't think anything at the time, but later, it dawned on me that this was the guy who was throwing the towels on the floor after he had opened the door. I've never seen him since, but his towel dumping has continued. It bugs me beyond belief. I've thought about taping up a sign behind the door with something to the effect of, "Hey pal, nobody here is your mother so don't throw your paranoid door handle germ protector on the floor." But I thought maybe that would get the cleaning staff in trouble, so I haven't done it. I've had fantasies of catching this guy in the act and fake sneezing on him or sticking my hand down the front of my bike shorts, grabbing a big handful of my sweaty ball sack and rubbing it on him. But no such luck. So now you know. I haven't been riding because I hate that this guy throws his towels on the floor for somebody else to clean up. He probably eats fried food, smokes, has unprotected sex in bath houses in the City, but have to touch a door handle, egads. Hope you are well and I'll see you out there rolling real soon.

Johnny GoFast

2008-05-27T10:09:00.000-07:00

Hey kids, sorry for the delay in getting anything written. I've been down with a humongous case of the blues lately. It's seen me attempt to eat and drink my way out of sorrow to horrifying results. I've had little to no motivation to throw the old leg over the top bar. Depression is a maddening thing, no doubt. But I see light there at the end of the tunnel and Mama didn't raise no moper. As the wifeage likes to say, "the pity party is coming to a halt sooner rather than later so get your shit together." She's a tough one, but then again you already knew that.

Pitched my Mom off a cliff up at Sea Ranch this weekend. It was a glorious afternoon. We walked a bit on a bluff trail that overlooks the ocean to a place where my Dad and Mom used to hike to. There's a bench that is mostly obscured from view from the trail and they liked to sit there and reflect on life. It is known in the family as the "secret bench" as few even know that it's there. We took turns sprinkling her ashes off the cliff and then the Grandkids, one at a time, took a long stemmed rose and threw it off as well. It was a beautiful moment. As we left, when my Dad thought nobody was looking, he blew a kiss to the area where we spread her ashes and said goodbye. I almost walked into a cypress tree for the blurriness in my eyes.

We had a great time taking the kids to the beach. We flew kites and built forts and played in the waves. We also went tide pooling and found starfish, anemones, hermit crabs, and the like. I also went abalone diving for the second and third time in my life. The first time was like 20 years ago with my Dad, and truth be told, I couldn't really get down to the bottom and find any. My brother Michael (pictured cleaning the booty) had been only a handful of times, but seemed to know what he was talking about. I scored two on Sunday, one of which was legal. We went back out on Monday and Michael and I both limited out while my brother Matthew lent his support (code for coming out of the water smelling more like a skunk than abalone). As you can tell from the photo, I've already got my Cat 3 upgrade on the ab diving as I got Michael to clean it all. That's just savvy tactics if I say so myself.

Hope you are well. One final celebration to get through this weekend and then you might see this plus sized Well Fargonaut back on the path to fitness.

Johnny GoFast

2008-05-12T08:09:00.000-07:00

So I went out drinking with a crew of mine on Saturday night. Naturally I've been in touch with a lot of friends lately, and that's been a comfort. We decided that maybe a few beers were in order (ala Brad Pitt in the wake scene from Snatch), so we made plans for 8pm. The thing I love about growing up in Danville is that when you make plans to meet up for a beer on Saturday night, no mention of where is ever brought up. It's been there since 1907 and it's the only place to go.

So I march into Eliots and grab myself a beer and the jocularity starts. After a while I realize there's no music so I head on over to the juke. I'm a cat 1 jukebox player and have spent many a coin developing my prowess. To my shock and horror, the jukebox was no longer there having been replaced by one of these new-aged-versions-hooked-up-to-the-internet-so-it's-way-better-contraptions. I don't want to wax nostalgic, but this is not an improvement in the jukebox arena. I will now discuss the pro's and con's to the new improved version to my favorite juke, the CD playing kind.

Category
Play list:
The obvious pick here is seemingly the new internet based jukebox. You can play virtually any song you can think of. Or can you? After starting out with some favorites (Hank Williams Sr.'s Jambalaya followed by appropriately enough Hank Williams Jr.'s Family Tradition and then onto Blue Eyes Crying in the rain, Mama Tried and Heard it in a Love Song), I thought it was time for something a little more up tempo. So I went after Dead Eye Dick's Mary Moon, and the system found nothing. I also went looking for Jane Says and I ended up getting an album but couldn't navigate to the actual song.

On the old jukebox, you had to flip through all the albums to know what you were working with. Many times the selection would cater to the type of bar. Eliots had a lot of country in their box, but they also had the staples such as Sinatra, Niel Diamond, Motley Crue, CCR, etc. Most of the fun was figuring out if you wanted to end your string with a tune by Bonnie Raitt, or if you really needed to hear Pinball Wizard once more.

Though the new machine gets high marks for an extended play list, it falls a bit short when you go deep and come up with nothing. It would seem, that there is a lot there on the surface but like those forests in Oregon that have been carved out in the center, it may be all just a facade. Besides, working a box for what it has is all the fun. Advantage CD jukebox

Value:
With the new jukebox, you buy credits. All songs cost two credits unless you want your song(s) to jump to the head of the queue and then they cost three credits. This thing was invented during Bush's reign so I place full blame on him. This is as undemocratic as it gets. You have more money and therefore more right to hear your songs first.

With the old jukebox, you bought songs and they came up in the order selected. At random, you would hear somebody shout out, "these are my songs". When you slipped your cash in, the readout would tell you how many songs or plays you had left. You had to be diligent in how you set up your order to start and finish strong and work the middle to show your ability and command. Often, the box was owned by the bar and sometimes you could get the tender to open up the till and give you some of the bar's money to set up the juke. This only came after you teetered on becoming an alcoholic, had it in tight with the bartender, and had full confidence that you knew what you were doing with such a machine.

Technology is king but not in this case. Advantage CD Jukebox

Excitement Factor:
The new box does nothing for me. Walk into a good bar and spot the jukebox and it can be nearly as good as spotting the girl in tight jeans as she bends over to take her next pool shot. The new box hangs from the wall and has a computer screen that you have to have a computer science degree to know how to navigate. The go back features take you too far back in some cases or get you flat out lost. Remembering a song on an album you have forgotten about is next to impossible. I quickly asked anyone near me to tell me the greatest rock and roll song ever and I got blank stares as they muddled over the question (correct answer: Going to California by Led Zeppelin).

With the old box, you flipped through album covers. This would set off emotional responses deep inside you. Just the cover of Rush's Moving Pictures album sent you racing back in time to long forgotten friends and a period of hopes and dreams that have long since been realized or lost forever. And just the opposite could happen, while flipping through the covers you might stumble onto George Michael and that other guy from Wham and moan out loud. They single handily almost ruined the 80's. And you might just drop a quarter and select Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go just to be an a-hole.

New and improved goes more boring than ever. Another chance to blame Bush. Advantage CD Jukebox

Maybe I'm a throwback (yet not too far as I don't want to get tangled up with those that love the original jukebox players that ran the 45's and created B-Side phenomenons), but give me my CD jukebox any day. Hope you are well. Coming tomorrow: How far has Johnny sunk and did we really see him being Griff's bitch in the feed zone? "Tell us it ain't that bad Johnny." Oh, it's that bad.

Johnny GoFast

2008-05-05T11:40:00.000-07:00

So that's that. My mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in January of 2006. The outlook was pretty grim from the onset as most people don't last a year with that form of cancer and the doctor felt that my mother would probably be gone in three months. But they wanted to try and dose her with the chemo and my mom was gung ho. It was a hard time, to be sure, because I didn't want to see my mom poisoned by that stuff, and with so little hope, I didn't see the point. Good things happened as her body responded to the chemicals. The cancer was beaten back and she ended up getting an additional 15 months of life that (insert the Deity of your choice here) was otherwise trying to jip her out of. What is life like that? When somebody says that you won't see your next birthday, what's it like to see two more? She was happy and spent time with the family and friends with renewed vigor. And she never let on that she was holding her breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. We all lived with that fear. I guess you never stop learning from your parents. Probably the most valuable thing that I've learned in this process is that you keep trying. Because she did, my kids got to know their grandmother a bit more. I appreciate her all the more for putting up the fight that she did.

She passed away quietly on Friday night. The cancer came back around Christmas time and this time the drugs couldn't beat the cancer back. Complications arose for which the doctors had no solution. It was a horrible end to a wonderful life. I'd like to think she was comfortable in the end and that she died peacefully, but I'll never know. I'm glad she's gone and has rid herself of that awful body, but it's still hard to lose your mother.

She was always my biggest supporter. I think she relished in my successes more than I. I never quite understood why she took more joy in the great things I did. Having kids of my own now, I get it. I guess we all just want our kids to feel the joy of something great. It's going to be hard to lose support like that, but it's that support that has made me who I am today. Anyway, kind of a downer. But the sun will come up tomorrow and I suppose that's a wonderful thing.

Johnny GoFast

2008-04-28T08:37:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-18T10:36:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-16T15:30:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-15T13:53:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-14T11:25:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-09T09:52:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-08T16:12:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-01T09:34:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-31T11:51:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-24T16:19:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-19T12:22:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-13T19:15:00.001-07:00

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

2008-03-06T12:35:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-21T14:35:00.000-08:00

So the Griffociraptor sent me a link in which I can view the TOC live here from the rock pile. Have to admit that at first I found it kind of cool. But later it dawned on me as I became more and more annoyed, that Griff is trying to get me to saw my own head off. It's one of those things were at first you can't quite put your finger on it, but then you realize something is definitely pissing you off. It could be the lawn mower whinning somewhere in the distance as you sit there on the couch trying to watch the (insert whatever it is that you watch here) on TV. Or it could be when you realize that the annoying song in your head that won't go away is being piped in there subliminally from the overhead speakers at the grocery store. Whatever the case may be, as I sat there at work today, I realized that what was really getting to me was the guy doing all the talking on the website. Turns out it is none other than Frankie Andreau who for what ever reason won't go away. Seems he got fired from some team recently. My guess is whoever was running that team got totally annoyed with his less that pro experienced type knowledge. I mean the guy spent some time racing at the highest level. Can't he give me something more than the break won't get away until it is comprised of riders that are no threat to the GC guys. Really Frankie? I hope they're paying you a lot to bore the shit out of me. At one point he was dropping a little John Tomac knowledge on some other "I don't have any carreer better than commentating on pro bike racing" dude who had never heard of Johnny T. He did cop to knowing Ned Overend but I have my suspicions. Anyway, somebody asked Frankie what happened to Danielson and why he was sucking so bad at this tour and Frankie stated he didn't want to speculate. Then he went on to speculate about all sorts of things regarding Danielson. I had to admit that I kept listening at this point to find out how bad it could get. When he brought up that pin-dick, argyle clad, look at me in my metrosexual framed glasses and trendy clothes holier than thou Jonathan Vaughters, I could stand no more. And though I didn't saw my own head off, I had to be content with the satisfaction of clicking the little red "x" on the browser. Somewhere Griff sits plotting his next diabolicle shennanigan, but the gloves are off. Never wake a sleeping giant, Griff because he might attack.

Johnny GoFast

2008-02-20T15:18:00.000-08:00

With sincerest (and I really mean that) apologies to the Anon who loves the photo of Markie Post, it's time to move her down a bit. I frankly find the photo of her shockingly creepy. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was posing as an inflatable sex doll. But what ever gets you going Anon, is okay by me. That's how we roll out here on the West Coast.

Anyway, I rolled into the house the other night and the wife was on the phone. It went something like this:

Me: (Rather innocently) Who are you talking to?

Wifeage: (Not in a good mood) I'm not talking to anyone, I'm on hold with Washington Mutual. I've been sitting here for about 40 minutes and nobody will pick up.

Me: (Again..innocently) Didn't you just go through the gauntlet with them a few days ago trying to get a copy of our mortgage bill for Maile's school registration?

Wifeage: (Showing visual cues that I may receive the brunt of her frustrations) Yes, and instead of sending us a copy of our bill, they canceled the mortgage auto pay we have set up from savings. As a result, the mortgage didn't get automatically paid and now we've been assessed a late fee.

Me: Well that doesn't seem righ....(cut off by the wifeage as clearly some poor soul is coming on the line at WaMu).

Wifeage: My name is blah, blah, blah and my account number is blah, blah, blah. I called a couple of weeks ago to have you forward a copy of our mortgage statement. Well I'm glad you see it's there in your computer...does it say anything about the fact that you never sent it? No...well then is there something in there that says something to the effect that I wanted the mortgage autopay function canceled? No...well then why didn't you send the statement and why did you cancel our autopay? You don't know? Well how about this...how about you send me the statement and reset the autopay and waive the late fee you've assessed us for the late pay on the mortgage? No...I certainly will not pay an additional fee to get set up on auto mortgage pay. Seems a bit ridiculous to pay a fee for something that we already had and that was canceled as a result of an error on your part. In fact, not only did I not get the statement I requested, but you turned off a function I never asked to be turned off. Now you want me to pay additional money? I tell you what, this conversation is over. Goodbye.

With that, the wife slammed down the phone and the very next day she marched into the branch of WaMu and pulled all our savings and checking accounts and moved them to Wells Fargo. Which is cool, because they are the new title sponsor of our team. WaMu still holds the mortgage to our house, but she now sends them a check from Wells Fargo. The lady at the bank tried to keep our money and wanted to know if there was anything they could do to keep our business. No was all the wifeage said. With a hint of satisfaction, no doubt.

Johnny GoFast

2008-02-11T10:37:00.000-08:00

I am well aware that it is no boast to (Markie) Post, but when you can't remember your own log in to your own site, it's getting pretty bad. I'll spare you the usual acutrements of excuses including but not limited to: shitty ass work, lack of motivation due to stress, more things interesting in my life than blogging, stiff fingers, etc. Know that they all apply. Anyway, highlights include: skiing, skiing, and more skiing.

As you can see in the photo, the back country ski trip this year with my brother Michael proved to be exceptional. It's been called bottomless, gnar, snorkelfest, the white room, blower, and kindly pow to name a few. It was all these things when we hit Steamboat, Colorado at the beginning of February. I've been lucky enough to ski deep conditions in the past, but this was truly unbelievable. So many times, the snow would ride up my trunk and blow over the top of my head, I lost count. At times, it would get a little unerving as snow in the face tends to blind you (putting you in the white room as they say).
On one occassion, I managed to blast right into a tree Sonny Bono style (minus the massive brain hemoraging and death). We skied for three days in these conditions and I think it's safe to say, the conditions were once in a life time.

In addition to having some selfish skiing time to myself, I've been going out there with the kiddiewinks and that is even more fun. Should have some pictures of that posted in the next few days. "Yeah, right," you say? Trust me, I'm going to post. I really, really mean it.

Johnny GoFast

2008-01-14T15:18:00.000-08:00

I'm not saying I'm ready to quit. Not yet at least. But if I did, I'd be going back to the way I was way before this bike racing nonsense. These guys, hicks may they be, look like they're having a far better time than I have when I'm out lugging my 198 pound body around. I'm just saying, is going fast on a bike more fun than wakeboarding in a ditch?

Johnny GoFast

p.s. Lot's of mail to pour through. I'll post the best later this week. Stay tuned...

2008-01-07T14:49:00.000-08:00

There is any host of reasons why I missed the Wells Fargo nee Pegasaurus team meeting last night. Sure I had just returned from skiing in the mountains. Sure my legs were shot from two glorious days skiing untracked pow that came after skiing almost daily with the kiddiewinks for the week just prior. Sure I was still giddy at the thoughts of how both my kids have progressed in their skiing ability. The boy now skiing with poles and the girl riding chairlifts and shredding her Luv Bug ski's screaming "I'm a little ripper" as she drops blue square runs at the ripe old age of four. Sure I could go on about how last night was election night and it's pretty much a communist type slate and that my vote counts little when there is only one candidate that will run/wants/is obligated to be president. I could go on about how I was more hungry than interested at 7pm last night or that maybe I was just too lazy to get back in my car and drive the two long miles down to Danville.

But the truth of the matter is that I did want to go. I wanted to see everyone and meet the new recruits and hear from some of the new sponsors that are supporting us this year in our total annihilation of everything Sierra Nevada/Bikes Plus related. I wasn't too tired and my legs didn't hurt that badly. The truth of the matter is that right before I was going to step out of the house, my wife laughed out loud at my 10 day old growth of stubble on my face. Suddenly the thought of Pat the Pegasaurus (now openly soliciting a new nickname due to the main sponsor change in
'08), Mike VoMonster, PaulCarterPresident, J-Dub etal mocking me was too much to take. So instead of manning up and walking into the room as if I was bearded like Chuck Norris or even new recruit Reed Maxwell, I grabbed a good book and curled up under the covers where I felt safe from this cruel world. So mock me if you will, but please let if be because I'm a coward and not for facial hair or lack there of. Anyway, hope you are well and be kind to one another.

Johnny GrowFaster

2007-12-14T10:25:00.000-08:00

So I had some other material planned, but I just stumbled onto this. With a little research, I discovered that this thing is good for baseball, football, hockey, etc. It will probably even work for bike riding, but then again, avoidance is the best option there. For those of you out there looking for last minute gift ideas, I think this thing is the bomb. Especially if the loved one you know is a lot like me...prone to say the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wifeage. Also, if your giftee has my management style, it may be the perfect gift. Speaking from experience, more than once I've wished I was wearing one of these things after the dreaded review. Anyway, thought you'd be pleased with yet another fascinating gift idea.

See you Monday. Headed to the hills to get the boy on them slopes. Hopefully the wife can ski with the boy as I get the girl a little further into the process of loving the sport. Right now she's content to sit at the base and munch on the snacks. And as we all know, that isn't exactly skiing. Hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast

2007-12-11T15:09:00.000-08:00

Announcer: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Johnny GoFast Game Show. A fast paced game featuring fast paced questions akin to Johnny's riding style. If you are faster than your opponent and nearly as quick as Johnny, you could ride away with [Crowd yells:GO FAST PRIZES!!]. So let's meet our contestants:

Our first contestant comes to us directly from the runways of the Olympic Gardens in Las Vegas. Having mastered all she could ever learn by the eighth grade, she has become more than just a professional lap sitter. She lists Girls, Girls, Girls by Motley Crue as her favorite song and she loves to sip on Crystal. Buy her a glass and she's yours for the evening. C'mon and give a GoFast reception to the lovely and talented Cinnamon...

Our next contestant can be regularly seen at the corner of Haight and Ashbury. His hobbies include hydroponics and giggling. His biggest claim to fame is inventing the peace sign and wearing a leather head band with a sunflower on it for 768 straight days. Give a groovy welcome to...Ash.

Contestant number three took Benjamin's fathers advice to heart and has invested heavily into plastics. But she's no head turner...no folks, she breaks necks! She hails from Danville but today she is all ours...give it up for Gina...

And our last contestant considers himself a modern day Huggy Bear without the dumbed down "whiteness" of Hollywood. Not only does he press the flesh, but he pushes it as well. He's lonelyness' public enemy number one...a big GoFast hello for Bradley.

People...please direct your eyes to the left side of the stage for it's time to meet our host. A person known locally for his spandex and flair. A man incapable of pulling off the Full Monty yet able to squeeze into little girls bathing suits. A person often referred to as the person in your way...a man who needs no introduction unless I'm introducing him...the man himself...[Crowd yells:Johnny GoFast!!!]. Mass Applause.

GoFast: Thank you everyone, it's great to be here. Contestants, you've been briefed on the rules of the game so lets begin. Remember, your answer has to be phrased in the form of an answer. The coin toss was won by Cinnamon, so you're in control of the board.

Cinnamon: Bikes in Johnny's Garage for 200...

GoFast: Of the bikes in Johnny's garage, which is the one referred to as the Babe Magnet?

Cinnamon: It has to be the Harley.

crowd moans

GoFast: I'm sorry that is incorrect. Would anyone like to steal the question? (Bradley rings in) Okay Bradley, go ahead.

Bradley: It'd be the singlespeed.

GoFast: Correct!!! For an additional 200 points, can you tell us why?

Bradley: Because his muscles bulge out like Eric Bustos' legs. And as we all know, Johnny has legs the size of arms while Bustos has legs the size of people.

GoFast: Correct again!!! (crowd cheers wildly) Bradley, you have control of the board.

Bradley: Coors Light for 300.

GoFast: Of the following statements, which is the most correct:
a) Coors Light is Jason Dunlap's bevy of choice;
b) Johnny once downed 15 Coors Lights in three hours;
c) Coors Light is the racers choice;
d) Coors Light is the preferred choice because it's union made.

Bradley: It'd be "B" Johnny.

crowd moans

GoFast: I'm sorry Bradley, that is incorrect. Gina's...er I mean Gina...I see you've rung in just ahead of Ash. For a chance to steal the question, do you know the correct answer?

Gina: The correct answer is "C".

crowd cheers wildly

GoFast: Johnny did once drink 15 beers in three hours, but they were Strohs Lights, not Coors Lights. Okay, Gina, you're in control of the board. What category do you like.

Gina: I'd like Mechanicals for 500.

GoFast: Okay, for 500, and a chance to take command of the game, what was Johnny's most recent mechanical that took him out of the Pilarcitos cross race last Sunday?

Gina: A dropped chain?

GoFast: ((After a long pause and a brief look to the judges)) I'm going to need a bit more.

Gina: A dropped chain and a flat?

crowd moans

GoFast: I'm afraid I can't give it to you. Does anyone want to try and steal? Ash, go ahead.

Ash: He dropped his bong?

GoFast: Ahh...no. Anyone else? Yes, Cinnamon, go ahead.

Cinnamon: He snapped his chain.

GoFast: Correct!!!

crowd cheers wildly

Cinnamon: I'd like to go with Bikes in Johnny's Garage for 400.

GoFast: For 400 and a chance to advance to the Victory Lap, what is Johnny's favorite bike of all time?

Cinnamon: It would be a 1998, stickerless, silver, Supergo Access frame built out at the time with the very best mountain bike components available. It's long since been retired having suffered a crack, but it was the lightest and fastest bike he has ever owned.

GoFast: Correct!!!!

crowd cheers wildly

GoFast: It's time to say goodbye to our other three contestants. Ash, Gina and Bradley, it's been great having you on the show. We have some fantastic parting gifts for you backstage.

crowd gives them a warm applause

GoFast: Okay Cinnamon, are you ready for your victory lap?

Cinnamon: Oh Johnny, this is just a dream come true.

GoFast: You know how this works. You get this final question right and you will win fabulous [Crowd yells:GO FAST PRIZES!!]. (Cinnamon jumps up and down giddy with excitement) Okay, for the big enchilada, how many bicycles are there in Johnny GoFast's garage and please name them.

Cinnamon: There is the Specialized road bike, Specialized mountain bike, Surly singlespeed, and LeMond TT bike. The Bianchi is not in there as it got ridden to work today.

crowd goes crazy

GoFast: Correct!!!! Griff, tell her what she's won.

Griff: (Somewhat dejectedly as he hates being Johnny's announcer) That's right Johnny. Cinnamon has won some fabulous GoFast prizes. She will start out with a deluxe tour of Johnny's garage where she will get to clean up the work bench, wash some bikes, repair some tubes, and generally just hang out. (Cinnamon jumps up and down giddy with excitement at which point Griff stops.) Wait a minute, Cinnamon, these prizes suck. Why are you so giddy?

Cinnamon: Just hanging out with Johnny is a prize in and of itself.

crowd goes crazy and even starts whooping like on Springer. Griff annoyed, throws down the mic and walks off stage right. GoFast picks up the mic and continues.

GoFast: That's it for today folks, join us tomorrow for more GoFast excitement and....[Crowd yells:GO FAST PRIZES!!

2007-12-07T13:06:00.000-08:00

Hey Gang, kind of a potpourri for you today. When image searching for today's blog, I came across the two photos. I put the words Chilean Sea Bass into the googlator and up came these photos. Couldn't help but chuckle at the startling similarities. I know this isn't suppose to be some political blogidiotic platform (by my own rules only), but it definitely got me chuckling. Do you think AlGore knows that this is happening? Doesn't he practically own Google with all that stock they handed him to be on the board? Seems to me somebody could be getting fired because of this situation. And when the heck is he going to jump into the race? The field is gasping and I think he'd win in a runaway. Again, enough about that.

I was doing a Sea Bass search in the first place, because the girl likes to use that to describe chilly weather. She gets it from me as I like to say, "it's Chilean Sea Bass out there, so cover up." I'm sure I used to be like you and say it was cold which morphed into chilly which morphed into Chilean which became Chilean Sea Bass. Somewhere along the way, the girl picked up on it and now I'm certain she'll raise her hand in school one day in response the the teachers inquiry, "can anyone tell me what the description for the weather is in the winter time? Maile?" Once corrected, I'm sure she'll sit there totally confused and betrayed by her own father who imparted such idiotic phrases into her absorbent head. I just wish I could be there to see the teachers face.

Speaking of Chilean Sea Bass, rode with the Griffociraptor yesterday at the Granite-Bay-Ride-Up-to-Auburn-in-Pouring-Down-Rain-for-Moderate-Climbing-Repeat-Worlds. Three hours including a flat repair and I was waterlogged and shivering. At one point I came up along side Griff and said that this was the definition of miserable. After a long pause he said, "the definition of miserable would be exactly the same but riding alone." True that.

Did a little light shopping this lunchtime over at REI. Scoped out some stuff for my older brother that he may be Jonesing for. He's got designs on doing some more back country skiing type stuff this winter which means he probably will be dragging my ass around out there as well. I looked at shovels and avalanche probes knowing that this type of stuff is required when out of the safety of avalanche controlled resorts. But then I realized that if I get him the probe, who am I really buying that for? If he's using the probe it's because he's not the one buried which means that he'd probably be probing for me. This presents some basic ethical questions regarding the gifts you buy for people at Christmas if the present benefits you more that the recipient.. I passed as I really need to meditate on this a bit more.

Be seeing you out at the Pilarcitos Coyote Point race this weekend. Racing to not embarrass myself. In a complete and total quirk, I will have toed the line for every Pilarcitos race. I qualify for the perfect attendance award, I think, even though my attendance at the finish is one for four as of today. If I can finish on Sunday, make it an even two for the series. Pathetic. Anyway, hope the prize is good because it's getting regifted to the wife. I have no ethical questions regarding regifting Pilarcitos prizes to the wife for Christmas. Shocking, I know. Hope you are well.

Johnny GoFast