First Evar MFXC Non-Race! (Warning: Pic-Heavy)

Greetings Team Seagal Aficionados! One of our most ambitious endeavors yet is now in teh books - books that will have sequels, fo' sho'. We certainly lucked out with the weather, as the previous several weeks of nothing but fail-weather gave us respite and we were left with sun and heat. Lots of heat. After months of planning, it was finally upon us. Our excitement was certainly showing. Through our pants.

This thing had stories to tell before people even got there. For example, Forrest and I found out that there is no PBR to be found in Potosi. In fact, you ask for it, and the look people give you is one of great confusion. Even more amazing is the fact that Country Mart doesn't even have beer at all! So we fell back on Plan B - a suitcase of Stag from the BP. Whew, crisis averted.

I got to see things that I didn't think I'd ever see - everything from Farinella's fancy new "eel-skin watch," (Stop into Mesa to have him show it to you - it's quite beautiful, and probably rare) to a bumpin' shirtless-gay-Latino discotheque with laser-lights at group campsite D (had everything but androgynous suspended-cage dancers.) Yes, a dance party, as seen here - the identities of those involved has been protected: "Wanna do a line of coke off my boner?"

One word: weird. Not to say that there wasn't some partying going on outside of the dance party, but ours was more fitting for rural Missouri or even rural China, as seen by our table the next morning:

After waking to the sunrise, getting our coffee and breakfast, taking our morning constitutionals, we at the Provisional Team Seagal HQ (campsite 17D) got our shit together, and went to starting the day's festivities - Tropical Storm Masson and Lawman headed out to do the finishing touches on course markings and make water drops, while I (Casey F. Ryback, AKA Crotch, AKA Croach) headed to the glorious boat ramp to meet Digiorno and get people started.

This is what non-racers would be non-racing for:

I started marking off people's names and handing out their functional spoke cards:


...while at the same time enjoying all the ridiculous people that were showing up:Rumor has it that Scott paid an undisclosed amount of money to get to watch Drew do this... Also notable about that photo is how Scott is actually kitted-up and ready to roll, despite drinking enough alcohol the night before to sterilize a hospital. What a trooper.

Todd didn't keep that long-sleeve top on for very long...





Considering all the rain this season, Mashor had a very fitting accessory which was promptly filled with PBR. He rode for several hours without spilling it, btw.

"What in the hell are we doing?"
"Shit! I hoped you knew! Pass that 2-liter."

It was about that time, where we had all the suckers... I mean Non-Racers line up sans-bike across the bridge for a little pre-non-race meeting:

They were off! Borb and Gino have a special connection, and before setting off on this long and arduous journey, they had to have their final farewell, which was actually a very touching moment:

"Toodles!"

If you flip back and forth between these two photos really fast, it looks like Taggort is playing air drums. Totally metal, if you ask me:

"Trail Bling" was first with the hole shot, with our very own Jerkward right behind him. This is after Gino's sinister plans involving two "Alabama Black Snake" zip ties and hapless bikes did not come to fruition:

The non-racers were off, as were we - I rushed up to the 32/DD lot to snap photos of everyone coming through and to get a headcount. TSM and Lawman hurried out to get one moar water jug put out. I was surprised with how quickly the first non-racers came past this trailhead, which is about 5.8 miles, 2 hills, and one washed out bridge into the route. Man-training through in 1-2-3 was Rock, Fuhrmann and Jerkward with Matt James just around the corner, at just over 28 minutes! (I didn't get photos of the first handful as a result of their blistering speed.)

Just a few photos taken from the 32/DD lot on the first pass:






Farinella had one of the best lines of the day, as he was lending Jason Pryor his last innertube. Jason and Keith Weinkein had been trying to make something usable out of Jason's rear tire, which was cut up like a East St. Louis hooker. Jason, upon learning this was John's last tube, resisted taking it to which he replied "Don't worry, I won't be getting any flats today." Kind of a mix of Joe Namath and Babe Ruth. Fucking Badass. If only everyone were as lucky as he ended up being - there were at least 3 or 4 people who had flatted within those first 6 miles. Many more to come, too. 39 people came through that first checkpoint, including Gino who was sweeping the course.

My next stop was to head up to the first water stop, which was almost 17 miles in. And despite the hottest weather yet this year, hills that climbed for several hundred feet each, and enough poison ivy to fill a fucking plantation, there were still smiles to be seen, and beer still in Mashor's rain/beer gauge:


I wish I could have stuck around each point on the course to see/photograph everyone go through, but there was only a limited time before I had to be further up the trail and back to the finish! Watching people ride through each spot was a shitload of fun...

Right after the drinking water stop there was another kind of water stop - a tricky creek to cross where everyone got at least their feet wet:




Stephanie got more than just her feet wet. I think this actually might be one of the best photos of the day, actually - the look of sheer terror on her face as I sat there cheering her on to try to ride through the creek. Precisely .34 seconds after this photo was taken, her front wheel stopped moving and she went over the bars and into the drink - followed by furiously awesome "YOU ASS!!!" Apparently it was her first-ever endo:
Let's go in for a closer look:

All was set right in the world though when a pretty butterfly landed on her helmet and stayed on there as she rode away (not the clearest photo...):


A quick stop-over at the water stop where I found Ralph having snapped his new seatpost on the last climb (on a climb?) where he then had to go bmx-style down to the road, where I gave him a ride back to the finish to get the finishers. (I have the lower half of that post, btw) On the way back, we passed a couple of non-racers non-racing their way up *the gravel climb.* Believe it or not, we sent the route up the "easier" of the gravel roads - the harder of the two would have brought people past Monty's Cock Farm, and then up an even steeper hill. We caught and passed the front of the non-race, finding Dan-o not too far behind Matt James:





The last photo taken on course was of Matt James splashing through the final creek as he entered the singletrack for the last time after the 10 miles of grueling fire road:

The heat was unrelenting, which made finishing that much sweeter - especially for Matt who claimed First Place Overall with a time of 3:24:08! Dan came in Second overall and First SS less than a minute behind:


Jeff Yielding looked strong as fuck all day which allowed him to nab 3rd Overall:

Seen at the end:

Geezor comin' in Hot!

Punchor had an extremely rough day which saw his blood sugar drop to dangerously low levels, but with the help of some superior states of mind and with a little help from his friend Mr. John Hatchor, made it back under his own power in time to get his medicine:

Matt celebrated his win by doing the funky chicken:



Serious fucking business:
Ben G - rode back with Gino, after a LOOOONG day, but when I offered him a ride in the car when I saw them on the gravel, his response was "No, I'm gonna finish this thing." Well, actually there were a lot more obscenities and cursing, but you get the idea. Nice fucking work:



Our sponsors are seriously responsible for making this happen. They are the reason why we don't require an entry fee for these events - Sponsors like Pabst, The Hub, ByeKyle, Kona, Velocity, Klunk Bicycles in Columbia (owned by Karl, who was on the ride) give us the support to do these things. We schwagged it up: So please try to patronize them when given the chance - we would use these products even if they didn't sponsor us, because their shit is awesome.

You should also know if you already didn't, that the OTA did a ton of work mowing several miles of the trail, and also removing a large number of trees. Want to know who puts a lot of that time in? Our very own Lawman, an official OTA Sawyer, as seen here snapping the wrist of a fallen tree.

After most people had cleared out and headed home in the air conditioned cars for some recovery time, we still had to grab a few things from the course, notably water jugs and tape. Turns out one of the big gray water coolers had been stolen, though they left the Salsa jersey that was laying next to it. Go figure. Masson and I decided to drive out to check out the tailings pond which feeds the Strother Creek, which parallels the gravel road for a few miles. I snapped this photo, which I felt like a nice shot to end the day:

I must admit that in a flurry of middle fingers and intense heat, I forgot to pass along Mr. Jerkin's CXmas spokecard, as outlined by Jeff Yielding here. For that I am un-endingly sorry. I am also sorry that several people weren't able to make it down, including but not limited to our own Professor and Gabrielle Renner (who was out with a nasty busted hand - hope it heals quickly!)

Another thing to mention, please let us know (with proper size) if you pre-registered and didn't get your shirt, we'll get it to you. And if you weren't registered but rode anyway and would like one of those saweet t-shirts, get us 10 bucks and we'll get it to you as well.

Thanks to those who showed up and hung out afterwards - that's what it's all about! Major respect to everyone who came and completed the ride in that heat! I rode North Trace the next day to find myself basically in survival mode the whole time. Totally worth it.

Jerks,
-Casey F. Ryback, Regular Guy

P.S. All of Punchor's photos available here; I'll have the rest of my photos uploaded to an album soon for viewing as well. **EDIT** More photos uploaded here

P.P.S. Results:

1 3:24:08 Matt James - Men Open
2 3:24:50 Dan Fuhrmann - SS Open
3 3:30:51 Jeff Yiedling - Men Open
4 3:36:35 Mitch teh Morshor - Men Open
5 3:38:46 Larry Koester - SS Open
6 3:49:20 Scott Peipert - Men Open
7 3:50:01 Nico Toscani - SS Open
8 3:52:43 John Donjoian - SS Open
9 3:52:46 Brian Busken - SS Open
10 3:59:37 Paul Krewet - Men Open
11 4:01:26 Drewballs - Men Open
12 4:01:43 Tom Lauria - Men Open
13 4:09:52 Todd Holtman - Men Open
14 4:31:11 Roger Mackay - Men Open
15 4:31:12 Stove - SS Open
16 4:39:24 Rob Ballou - Men Open
17 4:44:28 Jason Pryor - Men Open
18 4:44:29 John Hatchor - SS Open
19 4:44:46 Karen Holtman - Women Open
20 4:44:50 Stephanie McCreary Women Open
21 4:46:44 Punchor - SS Open
22 4:51:53 Karl Kimball - SS Open
23 4:57:38 Rock Wamsley - Men Open
24 5:20:50 Taggort - SS Open
25 5:23:10 Keith Weinkein - Men Open
26 5:37:14 Guy in Veloforce jersey - Mn Open
27 6:19:20 Sasha - Women Open
28 6:19:21 T-Tocs - SS Open
29 6:44:25 Borb Jerkins - Men Open
30 6:44:26 Lukas Lamb - Men Open
31 7:10:04 John Farinella - Men Open
32 7:10:06 Guy in Salsa jersey (Justin?) - Men Open
33 7:25:00 Ben G - Men Open

MFXC 2010 Teasor Recap

I can't wait till MFXC2011! I have wanted to do this race for 3 years, and I can't thank my team and our sponsors for truly making it possible! Pabst, The Hub, Kona, Velocity, Klunk, and Bykle thank you for your continued support of our grassroots racing series. This past Friday I made my way to Council Bluff Lake where I was to be greated by TTM, because early Saturday morning we would be clearing/marking the Middle Fork Trail for Sundays race. I was happy to see Borb also in attendance Friday nights festivities and was stoked to have Borb, Sasha, and Lawman join me on Saturdays race prep. I rode the whole course to sweep and see if any fresh trees had fallen since TTM sweep last weekend.

It was really fun to have company for sections of trail by the three of them. I have been out on the Fork 8 times this year, and this past Sunday it was in primo shape. TTM had done some serious trail work, and even the OTA steppen in to mow about 5mi of overgrown trail. I had a great time on the bike and knew that Sunday we would see a crush fest. We headed back to Team Seagal HG and ran into Gunshow and Scooter coming back from some North Trace ridng. After a quick change we were off to Dos Primos for dinner. After another top notch meal from Potosi's finest we were back at the Bluff only to see Crotch and T-tocs had now made it to HQ. Time to Party! This is only the story of the two days *leading up to* the day of the Non-Race. Stay tuned and there will be photos. Holy fuck, there are photos.

-Massorn

Profiling the Professor!

Read this and understand how awesorme our good buddy Dan is, and how lucky we are to call him a teammate:

http://voxmagazine.com/stories/2010/05/20/local-med-students-gets-back-bike-after-new-diagno/

Don't forget to read the sidebar. He's a super strong rider despite some "minor health setbacks" and does all this without an ironic Euro-mullet. Amazing.

-Casey F. Ryback

p.s. It's going to be a hot weekend, and you know what that means...

It's Never Too Soon...

Greetings loyal Jerks. Unlike last year, we're actually experiencing a real spring right now, which includes mild temperatures and.... rain. The kind of thing that plays havoc on mountain bike courses is exactly what we want come mid to late October for glorious CX. I happened upon this and found it to be quite interesting.



This weekend is going to be nuts, and don't bother riding the MRT because it's flooded.

Jerks,

-Casey F. Ryback

I finished 2010 Syllamo's Revenge and All I Got Was This Lousy Poison Ivy Rash

Greetings friends. I'm not generally someone who likes to gloat, but when faced with such an opportunity such as this, it is hard to resist. If anyone who had been planning on venturing down to Arkansas had even glanced at the weather reports, they would have expected rain on a Biblical scale the night before, and thunderstorms during the race which would have most certainly killed all participants, thus being dubbed "murderstorms." Usually when all the weather reports are unanimous in saying "90% chance of severe thunderstorms" you can pretty much bet on thorough heinous-ocity.

Fortunately, we don't bet.



The rendezvous point on Friday morning was set at my house, Casa Crotch. A certain sense of uncertainty was in the air, as we weren't quite sure what we were getting into after pouring over the weather reports. However, we quickly dismissed the uncertainty in the air as some of my leftover pasta-farts from the night before, and promptly departed. A wave of calm flowed over us upon ready the simple and straight-forward brand name of Gino's peanut snacks, foretelling it's value:
"I'm Good"
I do take issue with their claim of having the best nuts in town though - Farinella's take that crown.

The drive down had our spirits lifted as we encountered only slight misting on the windshield, not to be confused with the crop dusting inside the car - especially Nico and his pit-toilet farts. The road became moar and moar steep and twisty as we neared our final destination, one of Sarah's Cabins:

To get there you look for Geier Rd.
Or was that Gier Rd? Thankfully they were the same road.


Our cabin was as crunk as Dave is STLPAF. Panoramic porch, satellite tv, beds, couches, a toaster, wood paneling, a fridge in which to put beer, and obscure John Wayne DVDs. More of a romantic Ozark getaway than a bike racer's home base if you ask me. We arrived early enough to get in an hour pre-ride, allowing me to see the infamous Blanchard Rd climb and some of the course - which was in nearly perfect shape the day before the race. Holy shit. Root-balls: fixed. Mud: none. Pine needles: lots. Retarded climb: one.

After digging our trenches, eating Gino's pasta, and preparing for the next day, we we able to get our lean on while sitting on the porch, as we watched the expected thunderstorms roll in that night. Started with steady rain, and soon added rapid-fire lightning into the mix. And from our badass porch, this made for one baller-ass vantage point from which to watch the light show. I felt like Francis Scott Key watching the Battle of Fort McHenry as the Brits pounded Fort McHenry during the War of 1812. (Boom! History Bomb!)

The morning found us in various states of... ability. The toilets in that cabin were also of solid construction - something that can only be truly tested by 5 large dudes the morning of a race. Nicorn was not feeling 100% and tentatively decided not to race, wondering if he had potentially contracted food poisoning. He still came to the start line to see the rest of us off, but with all of the brewing excitement he showed his true superior state of mind and called an audible, grabbing Storm's car keys and driving the 15 minutes back to the cabin to get his gear and bike, and then the 15 minutes back to start the race 25 minutes late.

Registration couldn't have been easier - seriously, that was how it should always be done. It took less than two minutes. That is time that can be spent taking the last minute fuji, just to make sure you don't have to pull a Tom Albert on the trail.

The transition from the racer's meeting to start line was a little hectic, and it was a little too late for me to realize that I was already off the back before we even started. Not knowing where any of my cohorts were, all I could do was to use big Brian Busken (B^3) like a linebacker as he bobbed and weaved through traffic to the bottom of the climb. Gino, and perhaps Mr. Taft and Masson might not have had to deal with this, as they scored better start-line positioning, but there was actually a jam-job of significant proportions going into the double track climb. I managed to continue pedaling a 3 rpm cadence while the rest of those jerks ambled their way up the first 100 yards. Seriously, you can't get off a bike in traffic on a hill like that and then expect to get back on. After leaving loads of people behind, I caught sight of Varry Bollmer on his turd-brown Fischer (Nick, he told me he was sorry!) and loosely traded places with him and one other SS dude as we slowly but surely man-trained our way through traffic before reaching the singletrack.

Seen on the first climb: lady stops dead in her tracks without moving off to the side, thus causing lady behind her to get hung up and say "Are you fucking kidding me"

Compared to the yellow loop, Blanchard Road was as easy as winning the duck pond: The muck from the previous night's rain and technical difficulty of this loop was only compounded by the fact that it was still jam-job city.

10 miles in, and I start seeing T-tocs just a few riders ahead of me. I'm getting ready to call out to him when PSSSSHHHHH!!!! I blow a tire. I come to a stop as T-tocs rode away, unawares I had always been *behind* him. Looking up, and I see Mashor's smiling face as he tells me something like "That rock has gotten everyone!" It was a killing field of flatted riders - Mashor and two other riders were fixing their flats from the same rock. While I sat there, probably 4 or 5 more riders flatted right in front of me including Adam from Team Red Wheel (on his first mtb race ever!)

This flat tire taught me something - double check your spare tubes prior to a race to make sure they also aren't full of holes. That thought had never really occured to me, but when the same rolled-up tubes get tossed around or strapped to the bike, the can develop lots of little cuts. I figured this out slowly over the course of about 25 minutes as I sat there going through co2's and both spare tubes, but not before first putting the original tube back in. Somehow managed to make a Park glueless patch stick despite the sewer I was standing in. I'm up and rolling, and within a mile it turns out that the sidewall also had about a 1/2" slice, and my tube was squeezing out of the slice, and about to burst. Came to a stop, cursed Energor for this misfortune, and proceeded to repeat the process all over but this time just to put in a Pro-Bar wrapper as a tire boot. I'm happy to announce that this ghetto boot lasted the rest of the race, and looked like this at the finish line:

It was during the tire booting that Jerkward rolled up, not looking so hot. Of course, he didn't think I looked so hot either - on the side of the trail, mosquitos and flies buzzing around my head, I looked like one of those babies that needs to be saved with your monthly donation that is less than your daily cup of coffee. Or like Pig Pen: Remember that he started 25 minutes late. We rolled together for a while, separating for a little bit, but rejoining at the checkpoint - nearly 3 hours after starting. Norcword had a rough ride, but was still coherent enough to lay enough charm on Noelle (and I forget the other dude's name), who were running in between all the aid stations for TRW, and got them to drive him to the last aid station.

This first checkpoint was a major turning point for Mr. Ryback. I sat there thinking the same thing that this donkey is thinking: "how the hell did this happen?"

Those first 14 miles felt like a full Berryman. Pulling myself up, I felt as confused as that giraffe, but knew one thing - I didn't come all the way down to fucking Arkansas to require the use of a vaginal irrigation set. So I pressed onto the next checkpoint, seeing a so many Stan's Sealant explosions on the trail that I thought I was hot on the trail of some nasty pervert.

The miles clicked by slowly but surely, and over the next several hours I seemed to keep be keeping a steady pace, running into plenty of interesting people, some of whom I recognized from when they had been changing a flat next to me. I wondered if I'd come across T-tocs or Masson or Mr. Jenkems.

Making it to the final checkpoint with less than 20 minutes to spare was a relief, even more of a relief knowing that the final loop was going to be smooth sailing, which it was. That final Red Loop is *EXACTLY* how that race should end - minimal climbing, maximum superiority. All was 100% ride-able. It was about halfway through this section that I came upon Mr. Borb Jorkens who was on cruise control. Good to see a familiar face, especially one that was not attached in any way to snapped wrists.

Bombing down the fire road I passed another TRW member, though he was on foot carrying his bike. Arriving at the finish line I met up with my compatriots where I saw that I wasn't the only one to have suffered mechanical issues:

Everyone was worked, evident from the faces of those who found their way to the finish line:
I learned that Gino technically beat Dwayne by 1 second. I can only imagine the sound of colossal sprinting to determine that time split.

Mennonite spaghetti is the best, and lots of PBR is also delicious, which we *crushed* with the help of many others as we watched people finish. Scotty, Zach, B-Cubed, and Keith all helped us reach the second finish line (as the Discussion Divas bag looks on like a lonely puppy):

3 dinners were had that night - Mennonite Spaghetti, delicious Mountain View mexican food sans margaritas, and later on a Papa Toscani Original - Finisher's Crowns:We ate those crowns while watching "Hard to Kill, and also while listening to a tale that Jerky told us about a mythical beast - a 50 year old, 7 gallon toilet that resides in a house in North County, nicknamed "The General." This may be a challenger to the Jenkem Cycles/Chris King High Precision Anodized Toilet in terms of toilets that may be able to handle one of Coach's Morning Constitutionals with only one flush.

The resemblance is still there:

And so it turned out, the closest we got to the 90% chance of thunderstorms was some distant thunder around 11am or so. Otherwise, even though some things are and will always be out of our control, the race in the Costa Rican Rainforest that resides in northern Arkansas was nearly a complete success. This was the kind of race that will certainly go down as Epic As Fuck (EAF.)

Another thing to mention, I took a rather long unintended detour on the way home. However, I forgot all about that when I realized that I managed to get a photo of one of the most elusive billboards on I-44:

Isn't there supposed to be an apostrophe in there somewhere?

Truly a glorious weekend - you should have been there.

-Casey F. Ryback
Regular Guy

Greetings Soggy Jerks!

Nico vs. The Equinox - How The Major One became Two

Greetings and salutations, welcome back good friend. Your author today is one very lucky Toscani. This is gonna be a short post, so back the fuc*k off, jerk. It is less than one week until Syllamo's Revenge, we at Team Seagal HQ are obviously extremely busy.

Before we continue, please view the following 29 second video clip which you may recall from times past:




The above video sequence was intended to provide all of the explanations you may soon require. What exactly am I talking about? To obtain clarity please view the following photos taken last Sunday April 18, 2010:











To re-cap briefly, you are g*d-damn right I'll be at Syllamo's next Saturday May 1. I will be joined by four other Seagal Soldiers, aka Bad-Ass Dudes. Look for us there, we'll probably give you an ice cold PBR.

I am healing up crazy-fast, some rumors are going around that I might really be spider-man.

PEACE!

-Nico

Mid-Week Middlefork Madness

Greetings you Jerks. Much like Robort's head while driving past a playground, the weather has turned. Orders came down from Team Seagal HQ to Jerkward and I, The Crotch. We were to take full advantage of this glorious weather and launch an all-out attack on the Mark Twain National Forest this past Thursday. After Nico's surgical strike-and-extraction of myself and my bike from my house, we set our crosshairs on the shores of Council Bluff Lake.

Our landing craft dropped us off at the boat launch, where we came ashore and geared up for the assault on the trail ahead. Arnold did an excellent reenactment as seen here:


A journey of a thousand miles starts with just one step. And a journey along the OT starts with a simple clicking in. We headed down the trail, towards the Telleck Connector, and let me tell you, it felt quite good to be able to pass by that damned camground climb. Further down the trail, we found some interesting sights:

This is what happened when that bridge tried to race us. It lost, as you can see.
We found this controlled-burn notice on a tree, but little did we know we hadn't heard the last about that.Mr. Toscani, taking full advantage of my super-secret stash of TP:
This was the first time that I had made it across this stream without getting hung-up mid-stream and having to put a foot down in the water. Turns out, even if you don't submerge your feet, they still get s-s-s-s-soaked.
Alas, our glorious day was about to take a turn. We were both feelin' fine and cherry wine with strong legs, backs and hands that have been conditioned well on this trail in recent weeks. Our bikes were in fine working order - me riding the Big Unit "King Midas Edition" and Jerky riding his Fellet-Brazed "B-29'r". The sun was out, the temperature was in the low 60's, a temperature that is most conducive to being jerky. Fatigue had not even set in when descending one of the more "carvy" and twisty downhills, I attempted to wheelie over a fallen branch. The branch wasn't havin' any of that fuckin' bullshit, and so it went and did this to my wheel:

Even though the wheel is at least 40 grams lighter without those two spokes, it was now getting its swerve on. Fortunately, that Salsa Delgado Cross rim is pretty burly so the wheel didn't even rub the frame, which allowed me to ride/limp the 15 miles back to our landing craft. The whole ride home I was thinking, "As long as I can make it back to the car, I'll fix this wheel and have it straighter than Branson, MO."

I sent Jerkward on his way to finish the last two hills Mario-Van-Peebles style while I backtracked one hill to the nearest gravel road, which I road back to finish the bailout route. On the way, I met Foghorn Leghorn and company:The (whom I suspect is the) owner of the chicken farm was out front of the place, and he gave me a big toothless smile and exclaimed how nice the day was. Indeed! He kinda looked like an old-timey prospector, like he should be holding a jug that says "XXX" on it.

Meeting back up with Nic-ward, we proceeded to man-train back to our extraction point. But not before being forced to recall that notice that was posted to the tree from earlier:




We finished with that many more hours and miles under our belts. Heading home, we pondered a few things. For example, we ponder what the names of those huge hills (probably in the St. Francios Mtns) were called:
We pondered what the fuck this sign means:And we also pondered what makes this building so damned professional:


The best part of the season is upon us. Let's enjoy this weather at least as much as I enjoy this video:


-Casey Fucking Ryback
A.K.A. "The Crotch"

p.s. My gas pills actually seem to work! Anyone want to buy some more for me?