1200 miles later and a redneck hater...

As the week that was came to a close last night and I consumed my new favorite Imperial Stout - TenFidy from Oskar Blues - I realized, in a caffeine haze, that I had not spent an entire week away from my duties as a self-aggrandizing, narcissistic buttard since launching this mess of a blog in May. Though I found myself beating the weasel -at 7500 ft. - to thoughts of typing asinine letters and copying pseudo-porn from the interwebbing, it was a nice break away from any news of the outside world, which consisted mostly of morons setting up Facefuck pages defending a complete tool who wears camo undies; just in case of the event that a woman would actually be in search of his stack of dimes in the brush.

So, while I'm feeling frisky, let us discuss the bible-whacking retardery that took place in my absence...I will at a later date go into minute detail about how ridiculously enjoyable my week in Colorado was, but bashing people born with an IQ of 110 who only use 50% of said intelligence is far more pertinent on this snowy Saturday morning...

...the highest elevation I could get on Long's Peak before I was blown over by 60 mph wind gusts.

I will freely admit that I have never ever ever ever - and will never ever ever ever - waste a single second of my waking hours watching reality television: this is not an elitist platform on which I stand and deliver some form of exalted coruscation; but it is, however, a point of reference to get a foothold on, one that includes reading rather than viewing faux-authenticity. I suppose that I reside in some semblance of denial where the proclaimed piety of our beloved nation is concerned, but the outpouring of emotional support for Mr. Duck Dynasty -and his "right to be a dogmatist" - is simply beyond belief: the base fact that his defense is connected to religion in any way shape or formality is the lowest form of cognition available to those who might as well volunteer for a lobotomy and get a job at the Creation Museum - http://creationmuseum.org. This 'man', who in a dark room could easily be confused with a Neanderthal, has every constitutional right to imbibe every false science contained in the Bible, as well as the ability to espouse this 'information' in the public sphere; and to be shamed for said voluntarily imbecillic reaction his fans ladle upon his A&E pimps. There is, in the most crass language I can muster this early in the morning, ( and with no beer in my system ) no excuse for this magical-thinking-spaghetti-monster-bullshit to ever see the light of day in our modern age: religion is 2000-year-old science and should be treated as such; if you want to believe that the earth is flat and that dinosaurs were put here by the Devil to confuse paleontologists then be my guest. Just remember that when you give your 10% tithe every week you are part and parcel to the curable disease of cognitive blindness; as well as the crime of bigotry and hatred, which 'Jesus' ( fabricated by the Romans ) would have totally not gotten off to...

Take off, eh...

Yes, this will be the last post for a week or so, as I head west towards the mountains of Colorado, where muchos beerios will be consumed and many a Fatbike ridden at 7000 ft. on the snow-covered 'trails'...let us rejoice in the simple fact that I am getting back to the true peaks, after a lapse of 4 and 5 years, respectively, between solo trips to Big Bend and Northern Mexico, and Mt. Hood in Orygun. We make multiple trips throughout the year to mt. bike and hike in Arkansas, which is a 3-6 hr. drive from KC, and believe you me, it is a beautiful place to escape the rigors of the metro and its ostensibly flat terrain. But, it has been far too long since I placed a foot in the Rockies, and now that the Pirate has set up a hostel, it is high time I make the 12 hour drive across the barren wasteland that is everything in Kansas west of Lake Wilson; but with that said, I do plan on bagging the summit of Mt. Sunflower, which I will attempt without supplemental oxygen while wearing only a sequined thong...

Ice Flood

Took a diminutive excursion out to the Kaw Sandbar this morning and found that it was no longer there...the river had risen at least six feet over the last week, leaving no sand for my Pugsley to put her sweet fat Nates into; though I found mucho frozeno single-track in the forest to quench my thirst.

The temps finally rose above freezing for the first time in six days, and with no precipitation in the extended forecast, the trails should be at hero-dirt level; and in case you were worried that there would be no new boobies to gaze at, I give you the below image, supplied by The Manimal, who is probably at home at this very moment doing something very similar...

To celebrate Global Fat Bike Day, I sat in a recliner and caressed my moobs...

Truth be untold, it looked far more like this:

If I had to do a detailed, highly clinical self-diagnosis, I would probably choose the Perkies, which actually are currently giving me extra blood flow below the equator...Which brings us to the conversation du jour: the proliferation of FatBikes and their newly-appointed lovers, the 29+. I bought my first full-suspension bike in 1999 and thought that I would never again go rigid - unless fondled by Kate Upton - and, after racing for a season ( 3 years ago) on an Ellsworth 5" travel full susser 29er, was convinced that that was the only way to go, for all mt. bike eternity. But, on a whim of sorts, and after a brutal winter that year, I bought a Surly Necromancer Pugsley with the intent of riding trails through the worst of the snow season. As luck would have it, that winter produced only 3 inches of snow here in KC, and I decided that my Santa Cruz Heckler could take a break while I gave the Pugs a whirl on dry, technical single-track. I'm not sure how to explain what happened that day, but I never again rode my 6.3" bouncer again; I still rode my SS Kona Unit on occasion, and I even bought a Focus racing 29er that ended up collecting dust as well. Every time I showed up for a group ride on my Necro, I was mostly ridiculed, but then, as the ride progressed, everyone was amazed at how well the bike handled on the rocks and roots that are so prevalent on our trails. I then decided to build up a SS Pugs - almost two years ago now - and quickly realized that for our relatively flat elevation around these parts, a single speed was the only way to go. At this point in our story I sold the Santa Cruz, because there were rumors that Surly was going to release a 29er 'Fatbike', and I wanted to save up some dough for what the world would come to know as the Krampus. I got on the waiting list in the late Spring of 2012 and after the summer passed with no sign of the frame/fork/rims/tires combo, I thought that we here in 'flyover country' might have been left wanting....But, thanks to Britton at Volker Bicycles harassing QPB incessantly at my bequest, I finally got my poopy little fingers on said package right before Christ-ass last year. Let us now refocus our attention on Gawd for a moment:

Much better: now I can again think clearly with a holy heart and mind....The Krampus was also built up as a single-speed, with helpful motivation from the Pirate, of course - http://singlespeedpirate.blogspot.com - and my first off-road test was a cXc night race. This was the point where my history as a mt. biker ( since I was 13 years old ) changed course and set as it's goal a whole new game, one that was replete with pain, anger and more fun than Rush Limbaugh falling into an active volcano. The 29+ platform was by far the biggest change to my style of riding since going to full-suspension: yes, the 26" Fatbike was amazing, but the extra rotational diameter of the Krampus - 30.5 " to be exact - made all old trails new and all new trails lay down before me like a Pope in a Roman bathhouse. Granted, the bike is still fully 'rigid', and one must alter their riding style in order to keep afloat, but in the end, getting beat up by the Knards floating on the Rabbit Holes is far more rewarding an experience; can't say why exactly, but then again, even a LadyBoy gives great handy's in the dark. Veritably, I cannot lie: I thoroughly enjoy hearing that a shop here in KC -Velo+ - is selling about 6 or so Fatbikes a month now, and if we actually get some measurable snow, that number is sure to rise exponentially...I'm sure that Specialized ( SpecialEd Dooshtards) and Trek will be selling a few here in town this winter as well, and that is fine I suppose, but if you really want to jump into the pond of scum, go to the Surly source first. I'm not sure why they have never hired me as a rep, because I have sold more fucking bikes for them than Donald Trumpussy ever did; maybe the NSA let them now about my criminal past: 50 years hard time for raping baby unicorns.

Hot Dotte

Had the chance to meet up with a sizable crew out in the hinterlands of the North KCK hills on Tuesday night, a group that was packed with not only Fatbikes, but pros riding them faster than a speeding bullfrog on powdered sugar. I have yet to ride the full, massively long loop around the lake in the daylight - I have raced out there multiple times - so a night ride by myself would easily result in me waking up in Memphis in a meth haze surrounded by male hookers. So, thanks to all you quickie quest tarturds, I am slowly learning the trails at Wyco, albeit at my own sluggish, slow-bus pace...

Gabriel's new Fatty...

Thanks also to the trail geeks that have made Wyco yet another world-class trail system minutes from downtown KCMO, with flow and jive that is not unlike a roller coaster and Worlds of Gun. Unfortunately, we are now in an Arctic blow job cycle akin to Yukon Cornelius licking his pick-ax; which may be one of my favorite movie scenes of all time - that and I have the hots for Rudolph's smokin' girlfriend...

There's a fog on my log...

As I wait for the sun to burst through Gawd's whorious clouds this morning, and let the post-holiday traffic wane, I am reminded that...fuck this, I need more coffee.

In all anal frivolity, this post is really all about the nookie: i.e. cool cats doing things with their lives' that I would never do; I blame my ancestors who decided that stopping in central Kansas to farm was a far better idea than forging on to Oregon where they could ride bike lanes with the glee of *56 Oprah impersonators on oxy. But enough of my personal fantasies, let's get up to the task at handjob:

http://odditycycles.blogspot.com

Here, folks, we have the Pirate's newest endeavor...custom steel frames made by amputee sex-slaves in Myanmar, under the close supervision of Tara Reid. Now that the cat is out of the baggie, I, myself and me are/am planning a religious rite of passage to said factory - actually located in Estes Park CO. - to observe the mastery of The Sparrow in the fleshy folds here in 2 weeks or so. I have put my name into the lottery in hopes that I will receive the very first tandem recumbent Fatbike with 4x39 gearing for the times that Rosanne and I need to get to the crack house in a flash. In all likelihood, I will chicken the cluck out and resort to mastabatory acts against humanity in the corner of my shop because I really hate the cold weather y'all...there, I said it: Eat excrement and perish, winter. 

Blah blah blah, yeah I know: be a better woman and get some balls and ride in the 5 degree, 2 foot snow paradise/utopia that is the coming storm. No thanks, I'm trying to quit...a 10 step program that starts with going to southern Arkansas and riding in 60 degree green-porn. Only crime will tell if those threats come to fruition, but let it be heard from the Angels on High: I will personally drop trough and take a steaming shit on I-70 if it is closed at the Hays exit; and spend the rest of the week at the Lion's Den -truckstop Adult extravaganza outside of Junction City - watching peepshows and working part-time as a giz-mopper,  in which I have an advanced degree...

Repetitive Redundancy...

Drink drink and more drink...I see no pattern forming here, so let us move along into this great Black vs. Red Friday from the very depths of heaven....go fuck myself.

For a third time this weeeeeek, I patronized The Bier Station...KC's finest barley-pop establishment, and the discourse degraded into the realms of Three Floyd's Brewery and the animated series 'Archer'...a conquest not unlike the scene from 'Dazed and Confused' where High School chicks are discussed in illogical detail...I might be drunk enough to fellate Matthew McConagay at this point in thyme....you're wel-cum.

Happy "Kill a Native American for Jesus" day...

I will not spend these precious moments - which should be spent with my family - on my usual geopolitical soapbox, but let us remember that we are a country based on exploitation and still are: instead, we, the bottom 90% are ecstatic that TV's and Xbox's are going on sale tonight at 6 o'clock, and that we have become whores to Capitalism on a voluntary basis; Gawd bless Walmart and the Virgin Mary Macy's...

On a more upbeat note - one that has a hippity, hoppity flavor flav - we had a pretty pretty pretty good night ride last night at Swope Park, and only El Blanco's wittle toesies were sacrificed to the Devil of Dirt.  And, per Boner Ghost standards - which are higher than you might think - we made the customary stop at The Bier Station on the way back towards the County of Johnson's... We were joined by a gaggle of gorgeous male prostitutes as well as Team 8 Lumens' favorite Victoria's Secret models, and instead of the pre-ordained drunkenness that is typical for The Cuntwat, Urethra Franklin took the reigns and rode the tranny goats all the way to Beavertown...

The night was also super 'Especiale' for the simple reason that El Blanco has now jumped the shark onto a true 29+...a sexy, seductive Purple Nurple Krampussy: