forty-four is one of my favorite numbers. I am not totally sure why, but I always seem to gravitate towards that number. That's not really important, but then again not much of what I write here often is...
The Open is next week. As it is the off season, and I have been enjoying my leisure time, laying around the house, sleeping in, generally slacking on the bike front, it has been a good off season.
The Open is one of my favorite events all year. The short intense efforts will hurt me, but provide a platform that I can race my bike and not totally destroy myself during the off season. The team aspect of the race is pretty outstanding too.
Winning the Open is one of the goals I would love to accomplish before I die. Two years ago we finished 6th (Bob,Peaches, Buddy and I ), last year despite being the 5th fastest team we finished 17th (E-town, Peaches, Buddy and I ). The weighted lap scoring means it's pretty much wide open to any team to win.
This year I will admit it will be weird doing the open without Buddy and Peaches. But I am very excited with my teammates for this year. Four words: BAD FAT MONKEY KAT.
BAD
FAT 
MONKEY
MONKEY
KAT
try and say it without smiling. I dare you. Yes, I know it sounds like some kind of bad Elton John song. Whatever, say it:
BAD
FAT
MONKEY
KAT.
see you at the open. you should register today.
Does this mean I am getting 0ld, I mean hanging out with other married couples and all... just asking?
Dennis Smith was pretty banged up in a mountain bike crash Tuesday night. He suffered a couple of broken vertebrae, and some cracked ribs. Full recovery is expected, but he'll be down for a bit. You should send him some good healing thoughts....
respect
fm
4 comments:
44 is one of my kid's favorite numbers too, along with ninetyleven, and twenteen.
I'm partial to eleventy six, personally, since it's how much I weigh, how many shots of bourbon I'd like to drink, and how long I'm going to be out riding tomorrow, to the neglect of my chores. It's a variable normally meaning "too much" but nobody knows that except me, and my five year-old kid. I think it's the best number.
Reluctantly crouched at the starting line
Engines pumping and thumping in time.
The green light flashes, the flags go up.
Churning and burning they yearn for the cup.
They deftly manuver and muscle for rank,
Fuel burning fast on an empty tank.
Reckless and wild they pour through the turns.
Their prowess is potent and secretly stern.
As they speed through the finish the flags go down.
The fans get up and they get out of town.
The arena is empty except for one man,
Still driving and striving as fast as he can.
The sun has gone down and the moon has come up,
And long ago somebody left with the cup.
But he's driving and striving and hugging the turns,
And thinking of someone for whom he still burns.
(chorus)
He's going the distance,
He's going for speed.
homo
Best. Song. Ever.
Was that you Mayhew?
Fort James
Post a Comment