Butt Burps and Broken Boners.

I'm not really sure where all the time has gone lately: all I know is that I have been mega-inefficient with its usage, wasting countless hours drowning my liver with only the finest malted beverages, searing the images of dry single-track into the depths of my perception, all the while attempting in vain to get Chasm to like anything I do...

This is the same Brian that is in charge of Single Speed Kansas City, even though he currently is sans bike, a sordid litany of hasty sales and prostitution on the highest order - really high, really tall.

Butt, as per Vegas pre-dick-shuns, I have begun somewheres in the middle, not unlike my surging belly blocking the view of my stack of dimes.

Until yesterday's deluge, the dirt has been beyond heroic here in KC, and the trails just keep getting better -with the help of the inimitable David HasselSHOFF - his current masterpiece of flow and features being the newly extended Rozarks in South KCK, which I rode on my neglected Krampussy ( one more day til the Pivot is ready ) and took a trip through 100+ years of refuse and disuse that the trail works its way through south to Mission Cliffs. 

The trail weaves its way though turn of the century rock house foundations and over long-abandonded streets that were cut off by the construction of I-35, the snake that lies in wait along the Turkey Creek corridor as Kansas becomes Missouri: all this within a stones-throw of 39th st. and the KU Med Center; and of course Volker Bicycles, the shop wherein KCMO comes to slaughter the almighty dollar. And, whilst we are on the subject of Kansas-based bike-cycles, let us rejoice in the glory-hole that is Oddity Cycles, currently based in Ft. Collins, and quickly becoming the go-to choice for all sexual preferences of mt. biking, the latest transition being Jl_b8 and his bootyful 29+, which rides like my prom date on meth.

...also, the NAHBS masterbatorial masterwork Monster Cross - Manimal's ....

Anygay, enough about forward-leaning cycling, beer. Beer. BEEER.

...Hays MotherFUCKING Kansas representing BrownBackistan with a fervor.

...And, though I mourn the loss of Double Wide, this IPA might be even better.

Cog Block.

    Dear Deevil in the depths of my charred soul: I hate breaking shit, please help me to be less flabolicious; guide me away from the Semen of Satan -beer - and warm my sagging cockles with the breath of Beezlebub's boobs... At least the sexiest bike company in the known universe - Endless - provided me with the gearing - 44 inches - to salvage what was left of the post-fracture ride back to the Landahl Park parking lot only 1.5 hrs into a hero dirt session...

So, as one does when a pony goes beneath the gun, I dragged the nearly 3 year old Krampussy out of the *456 shades of black dungeon, and slayed the SMP beast, this, after a 18 mile ride on yet another Surly product, my ancient Long Haul Trucker- set up 1x9 for fark's sake. Speaking of ye ole touring rig, it has become my go-to bar bike, even with bald 'cross tires, due to the lame-sack fact that it has a rear rack with a lopsided pannier system, not unlike my knard(s)...

...Which brings us to the next 'Top Story" - sic TBTL: 8Lumens is dead; long live 7Lumens.

Are we simply shit-talkers and piss-drinkers, or are we truly the baddest-assed mt. bikers this side of Raytown? The answer is blowin' in the wind my friends, it is exiting out the ass of Brownbuttistan; it is regurgitating fecal matter long thought laid to waste in the detritus of trickle-down economics; it is but an erotic encounter between El Blanco and the OrChasm for coitus' sake.

This is the Pivot Les Fat, probably the perfection of the Fatbike/29+, and should arrive in my shop by mid-April....building it up 29+SS with carbon 55mm rims and a full-carbon cockpit/crankset, shooting for a total weight of 19lbs: Fuck you, DIE IN A FIRE. I know, a 132mm BB is freetarded, and a 150 front  x197 rear is off-the-charts short bus, but hey, mid-life crisis' are rough going you fucking asshats.

Warning: shameless promotion lies ahead; Noir Arts and Oddities on 39th st. KCMO is most likely the best shop in the Midwest, do yourself a fuckety favor and pay Pam and Adam a visit...

Yes, it's real...1890's Russian.

...pickled baby deformed pig, what everyone needs on their mantle, next to the Precious Moments Manger.

I've got the Baking Soda.

   After a multitude of threats and insinuated violent thought-enemas, Winter has finally tucked its tail between its fetid legs and made like a giner and spread its wings; but not before laying utter waste to the eastern half of the USA, including the Ohio river wherein the Louisville city council did our crew a handy by converting an old RR bridge into a Pink Floyd video with which one can perambulate/velo-cilate to the Indiana side of said river....which from above looked as angry and swollen as my twins after a botched jump at the Mega-Cavern. Butt, as per usual, I get a blowjob of myself and lose any new readers in a web of half-truths and happy endings, so let us be kind and rewind to the beginning of what would turn out to be a 5 day festival of catastrophe, snafu, debacle and many other synonyms for drinking oneself into a stupor of bucket-list proportions; penis valve stems pinned on one's hat notwithstanding.

As was foretold, I was traveling to NAHBS this year with the Kansas City Bicycle Collective, led by the master of all things Velo and Coffee, Vincent, owner of Maps Coffee and Velo+, but I hitched a ride with the tardturds from Oddity Cycles and tag-teamed with the REEB fuckunts whilst flinging bags of liquid poo at the Moonmen contingent. Or, unless you were lucky enough to be on the icy I-64 freeway Thursday afternoon, a barrage of ass-spackle from the Pirate himself...

With all things being highly unequal, and this being my first appearance at a NAHBS event -after following the photo/editorial coverage for the last 15 years- I was primed to make it more than probable that I would be forever banned from Louisville, Kentucky; for when one is their chosen element, a substandard impression is at the top of the totem. At least I paused in between bouts of vertical/horizontal challenges to snap a few Polaroids of the mega-crappy, piece of excrement bikes on display this year...

And now, let us rejoice in the name of the Lard, for Louisville has world-class breweries and donut shops/bike shops and gangsta pizza joints, as well as the largest underground bike park this side of Uranus.

The Radavist after-party was Rick James/Juggalo approved...