Those are lyrics to an old punk song about driving around the country in a shitty van and playing gigs and just generally being a bum. Sounds good to me.
Cyclocross is here, and it looks like at least one race every weekend until Mid December.
This past weekend was the Ed Sanders memorial cross race. This was my second time doing it, and the formality at the beginning was the similar to last year. The "elite" men took our helmets off and had a moment of silence for a man who was apparently killed while riding 6ish years ago. The race benefits his son who is now a barley a teenager, and is put on by his old club. Heavy.
So they call us up and the announcer says similar things to what he said last year. Until that moment, I forgot how emotional I got last year. I fidgeted with my brakes and glasses and skewers, in an effort to not get too choked up. I couldnt imagine if I were on the line and I had known him. It was one of those sad/happy moments where you take the good from the bad and think of cliches about how his memory lives on, but it really does.
Monday meant cleaning all of the mudgrasscrap off of my bike. I downloaded an old album (that I have on purple vinyl 1st pressing) to listen to while cleaning. The song I wanted to hear ends: "there's no "Shangri-La" and it don't get any better than right where you are"
Speaking of living life. Matt is doing a 508 mile race solo this weekend. Chew claims that when you do things like that, you experience MORE life due to no work/sleep/downtime. Each day you do an event like that and you are doing it for 24 hours, so its really like 1.5 or 1.75 days of real life.
Its like time travel man.