I had a chance to get some miles in on the trails today. The temps were the coldest they’ve been since early spring– hovering in the low to mid-thirties– the breeze was stiff and the clouds coming down from the north looked like they could piss down some snow showers at any time.
I hate myself. Not for all my normal reasons but because the very first thing I thought of when I saw this photo of Francesco Moser wasn’t about him, his bike, the race he was doing or the Cheshire Cat shit eating grin the dude in the car is sporting… it was that the font used for the sponsor’s name on the team car is Bodoni Poster Italic. Not a huge fan… Unless I’m doing some 70s looking project, then it’s pretty darn cool. I on the other hand am just an idiot.
Gravel circa 1994 – 26″ wheeled mountain bike and hip pack (not being used for Enduro™) included.
Apparently motor-paced racing was all the rage back in the early 20th century. I’ve seen a few photos from races here and there, but this one has to be one of my favorites. I’m not sure which subject I find more interesting and/or odd; the 10-year-old kid in his underwear, racing a bike with 14 inch wheels or the steely eyed, leather clad, Oliver Hardy looking motorcyclist who appears to be on his way to a Judas Priest concert as he straddles the fuselage like it’s a giant, metal phallus.
It’s been said that racers could get up to 60 miles per hour, I’m not sure how fast this little dude was going, but I am certain he would have kicked my ass.
Now cue up the song below and imagine Oliver singing it.
Pseudo hashtag-a-go-go: eddy, cannibal juice, pipes, chops, burns, legend, mineral water chug contest, sponsor gawker, eddy don’t use no hashtags, no photo of post-chug cannibal belch
Photo originally found at fabbricadellabici.com
Monkeyed with by me to get vintage newspaper feel I wanted.
Beverage provided by Perrier
This week’s weather has been less than desirable, and for whatever reason I have had a bitch of a time dodging the rain since Monday’s mountain bike ride. Today however I somehow got my ass out the door, on the road and back before the cold, steady rains returned.
Bonuses: Got my ride in, beating the rain by 10 minutes. Found one leftover burrito in the fridge, served cold.
It’s only mid-October, but with the leaves falling, you can’t help but think that the snows will be here soon enough. Time to yet again formulate a winter time survival plan for fitness and sanity… and to look at photos of cyclists who are way tougher than I was or will ever be.
J.D. Wilkes & The Dirt Daubers (formerly The Dirt Daubers) are quickly becoming the number band on the imaginary soundtrack in my head during dirt road rides. At one time it was the sounds of Hank III that country-fried my brain and filled it with images of the critters, farms, landscapes and undercover back road meth labs of rural Michigan, but Hank is on the back burner now, replaced by J.D. and his Daubers.
