Let's get this sharted.

Not that I am somehow pining for anything less than heat, but surely we here in the KC area will get our due in the form of numbing moisture - over 3 weeks without anything measurable now; riding snow-covered trails is a ball of balls on a Fatbike, but give me dry, dusty rocks and roots any day. With that said, I was able to get a pre-thaw ride in out on the Blue River, amongst the blasting heat of the day that quickly turned the trails to muck...El Blanco and I tried last week to hit Swope but found the ground bleeding stored precipitation by the bucket-load. But alas, tomorrow is going to be 70 degrees,  which is anomalous at worst due to the statistical fact that the end of January should be the coldest time of the entire year...oh well, this weekend looks to be shaping up to be a frozen shit-fest, so all this kvetching is forgone to be naught. The main issue at hand is the need to look more like an Olsen twin in time for SSAZ, wherein my thighs will turn to desert jelly upon the first sign of an incline.

Broke out the HugPug for the BuRP ride...#fuckfat.

...and I almost forgot a trip out the now infamous Kaw River Sandbar, which 7 days ago was covered in a foot of ridable ice.

Since the last 8Lumens Bored Meeting was an utter failure - only one member present - I/me/she/it now declare myself the de facto CE E I E I O of said disorganization under the bylaws set forth by our founding whorefathers, and deem the only proper response to be one drowned in the supple juices of barley and hops. Go fuck myself.

Twin Six Ti...want.

Sans Sheriff.

It is without any explicit irony that I can state, that whenever I write I'm wrong, or some exemplification/specimen to be held to a greater magnification than one would fancy: broken English notwithstanding, communication is a linear breakdown on a good day. But, who requires the gospel when perjury is the raison d'être of our modern age; give me a Santorum in all three holes and I'll sell you a beachfront property in Topeka....it's getting hot in here, let's put on all our clothes. 

Let us rejoice and sing praises to the Lard on High, for now that this half-fortnight is at its wane, I can now begin the process of placing myself ever so daintily into the gutter of cranial effluence, where recent commemorations are being emptied in a vat of barley pop and salsa emissions.

At least the 8Lumens Bored Meeting went off with a queef of epic proportions at the Bier Station, and plans became far more solidified for Single Speed Kansas City - 

https://www.facebook.com/SingleSpeedKansasCity

New Belgium Brewery is now an official sponsor, as well as a litany of far less respectable donors, mainly my home away from home, The Strand Theatre.

60 degrees in January...hero fucking dirt on the Blue River.

kyped this from the Stagram...ha ha roadie badoosh.

One year ago, Arizona with La Pirata...epic shite.

Lettuce thaw / All hail the BreastPhallus

     There certainly has to be a stronger expletive than Fuck with which to describe the past 6 days here in KC, where the wind has been akin to a belt sander upon one's face, and the temperature has hovered near zero every night; still I rode every morning and afternoon to work and back - on my good ol' SS Jones - but by the time I rubbed the baloney in a 195 degree shower, I was ready to become one with a recliner: no trail riding at all. Disgraceful to the 8Lumens mantra yes, however par for the course considering I made up for my shame by imbibing at least $150 worth of craft beer. And, therein lies the over-arching dilemma of the winter doldrums: sign up for a 19 hour drive to Single Speed Arizona in February, in hopes this event will spike an interest in non-couch training; or be satisfied with an Arkansas mt. bikey trip the same week, hitting the Upper Buffalo IMBA Epic among other raddities...?

At this juncture it would appear that a resolution has come to the fore, enabling, at least for the next few weeks, a semblance of pork removal; only duration will tell. So, in lieu of more failure, let us rejoice in all things Penistitty, for our Dear Loser, the one and heavenly El Blanco Miguel, has officially left the realm of cuckold-ness-ery and made a wonderfully beautiful woman fear for her life. And, in near syncopation, the latest series of 8Lumens stickers arrived at the OrChasm's place of residence, replete with the indignity we who display them proudly so dutifully deserve: all hail the BreastPhallus! 

One last observation before we/I/me become too intoxicated to fornicate: what the fuck happened today in Austin? Not that I give a flying anal rape about the devildamn roadies and their nubby tires of 'cross, but too muddy? It's FUCKING 'CROSS you diptards! Grass grows back, roots of old trees can be re-covered etc etc - no contingency plan USA Cycling? Eat a bowl of festered vaginal bloodfarts. 

...two of the sours I dumped into my flab-o-lanch this week.

There's a Steer in my Beer.

What the fuckety fuck just happened? Simultaneously the best and worst week in the history of Kansas City cycling: Street Cred round #1 was a freetarded festival of pain and suffering, not unlike a 6-hour Oprah porn shoot; and the memorial ride for Big Grin was truly a sight to be seen, even though I was forced to work during the procession. Let us begin anew, and pray the Gay away with a donation to Señor Huckabee, our next president: Jeb Bush will give him as many handies under the podium in his position as Inherent Vice Chef of Commander, and Rumsfeld will return triumphantly and bomb Hawaii with a drone invasion.

Sean Burns is really looking good these days...

So let it begin...first and foremost, the Memorial Ride for Sexy Pants, the saddest day in recent memory.

8Lumens Green Jacket Brigade in full effect.

Well over 200 riders took part...biggrin.org

Onward to the pictures of oppression that was the hill-climb race at Street Cred: 12 degrees of stupidity, ad nauseum.