When I moved back to the Midwest in 1998 after a 4 year stint in the Pacific Northwest, one of the first cyclists/mechanics I met was this tall-ass jerkoff asshole who basically told me that everything I knew about mountain bikes was wrong and that I should reconsider my primal relationship with the two-wheeled steel horse; evaluate the person you are and can be on the velocipede and shut the fuck up about anything else. And thus started the on and off relationship/marriage I had with the Big Grin, also known as BikeKarmaSutraSexyPants, Joel Dyke. So many other people have said it better over the last 48hrs since he left this mortal coil, but there is literally an endless supply of anecdotal evidence that supports the hypothesis that Mr. Grin was the central pillar on which the KC cycling community built itself upon over the last 20 years. I could sit here and drown my sorrows with New Belgium Rampant IPA, listening to the Black Keys 'The Flame' - which I am actually doing - but instead of departing on the melancholy express, I will reminisce on the week that was; a veritable agglomeration of adoration of all things bikey, for that's what Sexypants would have wanted: me shooting my wad in the eye of the establishment, even though they are wearing sunglasses at night...
Let us have an hour of silence and a circle jerk into the Kaw River.
Too drunk to remember where I stole this image frometh...poor bunny.
G-Whiz, the reluctant baker...
#hardcorbincummybuns Oh Oh Oh Oprah face.
yes please.
Burnsey, Santa, Cuntwat and El Blanco...many moons ago.
Oddity Cycles: Because you aren't worth it.
How did this pic not get me banned from Facefuck, finally?
Making lasting mammaries, spooge included...
Thanks to The Beej for this gem...
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