Tuesday, November 22, 2016

The $27,000 Fistfuck.

Blood is a Lubricant:

It has been a fortnight plus a fright night plus a depressive, alcohol-fueled two months or so since we last spoke; wherein we visited the Baby Bird wine incident  among other vainglorious saturnalia, amidst a shitstorm of pain and recovery, a veritable flaming train wreck of failed ideology and lack of a moral compass. Then again, let us rejoice in the next Fugazi album, because it'll be a whopper....

The joke goes a little something like this: Paul Ryan, Rand Paul and Ayn Rand walk into a bar; they die from unregulated, poisoned beer. The market will always correct itself right? No need for pesky government oversight of any kind...

Butt, let me get the meat of the issue: my fucking broken-ass right knee. I forget the exact post -not many so far this year so it will be easy to find - so go back and figure it the fuck out. It contains the exact moment that, after 40 odd years of abuse, my knee decided to give out whilst riding a chariot      ( a converted and lowered shopping cart)  pulled by a rope behind Disco The Danimal Boxwine Dan. Imagine trying to itch your right ear with the bottom of your right foot: yeah, the pop, it felt amazing. At least I was properly pickled, and continued to jump through fire pits and eventually find some sort of transportation home albeit in a car if memory serves chicken salad. Of course I naively assumed that it would heal itself, a la The Terminator, so I did little to assuage the injury, snapping it again while surfing in South Carolina and yet again again jumping off a 20 foot cliff in Arkansas into a pool that, in the air, I executed the faux pas of pulling my right leg up for a can-opener. This was the last straw: when I hit the water I blacked out for what seemed an eternity; luckily my fat ass bouyed me to the surface with only 50 gallons of water in my lungs.  

Doctor's appointments were scheduled, eventually culminating in a MRI that revealed a full medial meniscus tear, as well as a large piece of cartilage floating around under my knee-cap. I took the first available date for surgery but kept riding up until the night before, not knowing if it would ever be 100% again - at least a 3 month recovery time. 
Long story short, the surgery went well and my knee resembled a pregnant football upon my return home to a bliss of liver abuse that included attempting in vain to overdose on Oxycontin and 9% abv beer. I now have cables and anchors in my tibia along with some gorgeous scars that will surely end my career as a leg model. 
It took nearly 6 weeks until I could spin on a bike - on the street - and another 10 days to get onto a mt. bike, and today I actually hit up the technical #rockybukake that is Swope Park - 2 hrs of shitty fitness and weak-as-fuck climbing. But I say Cot Dayum, it was the most rewarding ride in at least a century...

From a ride last week with El Blanco Miguel and The Silent Killer..new shit at BuRP is mega killer

Paved trail riding therapy..

..KC Tweed Ride, sponsored by BikeWalkKC and VeloWagonKC.

Crane Brewing in Raytown Mo, taproom opening.

Surfed the Kaw sandbar with the kiddo and Postal Jeff last week as well...

Earlier this year I was recruited to do vocals for a friend's heavy Blues band and last week we recorded a 4 song ep. of original jams. Dig. 

First official off-road ride was The Lawrence River Trail with the kiddo.

It's the condensation fucktard...a classic of #hardcorbincummybuns