The New Deal

The year is 1932.
Black Tuesday long since past, the effects still linger.
FDR accepts the democratic nomination and campaigns on the promise of a ‘new deal’.

Throughout the nation men and women, forgotten in the political philosophy of the Government, look to us here for guidance and for more equitable opportunity to share in the distribution of national wealth… I pledge myself to a new deal for the American people. This is more than a political campaign. It is a call to arms.

Despite a decisive victory in the presidential elections of 1932, the ‘new deal’ would not be as entirely popular. Many of the programs introduced were considered fascist by critics. Early into the ‘new deal’ FDR felt compelled to justify this expansion of government.

(They) will try to give you new and strange names for what we are doing. Sometimes they will call it ‘Fascism,’ sometimes ‘Communism,’ sometimes ‘Regimentation,’ sometimes ‘Socialism.’ But, in so doing, they are trying to make very complex and theoretical something that is really very simple and very practical. . . . Plausible self-seekers and theoretical die-hards will tell you of the loss of individual liberty. Answer this question out of the facts of your own life. Have you lost any of your rights or liberty or constitutional freedom of action and choice?

The tremendous power of organization has combined great aggregations of capital in enormous industrial establishments . . . so great in the mass that each individual concerned in them is quite helpless by himself. . . . The old reliance upon the free action of individual wills appears quite inadequate. . . . The intervention of that organized control we call government seems necessary. . . . Men may differ as to the particular form of governmental activity with respect to industry or business, but nearly all are agreed that private enterprise in times such as these cannot be left without assistance and without reasonable safeguards lest it destroy not only itself but also our process of civilization.

Historians and economists are divided as to the effect this ‘new deal’ had on the great depression…in all likelihood a consensus will never be reached…

How is any of this relevant?

Well, there was a Black Tuesday.
The great depression ended (regardless of any deal) with onset of World War II.
And finally, in the first days of his term, FDR legalized the sale and production of alcohol (during prohibition – that is prior to the repeal and amendment XXI) and this long BEFORE any other economic stimulus or program was introduced in those all important ‘first hundred days‘.


Once I was blind and now I can see…she sells sea shells by the sea shore.

Jolly Olde Saint Nick

More Santa.
Starting today I will be more Santa and less spandex.

Be afraid. Very afraid.

The Sound of One Leg Falling

Your results may vary but last night, the sound I heard was no primordial scream. What I heard was a faint whimper of the least climactic sort; no snap, no crackle, no pop. There was only some cackling of critics as the brutal effects took hold.
It is true, there are those that took pleasure in this collapse.
Such is the price of fame.
I should be flattered.

My deconstruction was completely dull in spite of its apparent grandeur, offering absolutely no audible or visual panache. Absolutely nothing for the fans, no explosions, no yard sale, no excuses, just a slow fade into the scenery.

I would say that the tipping point in itself was near impossible to identify. I won’t say that I felt good on the prerequisite ride up from the Black Bull but the lack of any sort of pain and strain leads me to assume this was a complete collapse.

The worst kind.
The stupidest kind.

Yes, in hind sight I should have seen this coming. A 24, an 8, two Series races, rides, trainer…all in just over a week. That runs over 480 dirt kms, not counting trainer time, in 8 days. That’s a lot of racing-type behavior for a generic (GENERIC not GERIATRIC) hack such as I.

Granted, wee Thomas (and likely others) completed NEARLY the same feats in the same time frame. I said nearly…and by nearly I mean almost, just shy and not flipping quite.

Sir Tom the Recoverer

Apparently Tom…‘forgot’ ‘didn’t know’ ‘wasn’t informed’ ‘whatever’…that he could head out for another lap at this weekends Epic 8.

More likely there was something more sinister, something more ‘my mommy never loved me’ ‘my daddy didn’t put gas in the car’ to it.
I propose, here and now, that sensing BOTH my certain victory AND my immense suffering, Toms ‘error’ ‘lapse’ (or subsequent lack thereof) was all part of his tiny-man-brilliant-type-plan.

Tim's tiny man plan can!

There I said it.
Yes, I sullied last nights victory for you Tom.

But please, go ahead, drink from the mug of victory, if you can swallow through the burning constriction of SHAME in your chest!

As for your cronies, your new supporters, your henchmen. Enjoy it while it lasts, they will turn on you as well, mark my words.

Stay tuned tomorrow when I shall reveal:

Then I will boldly predict:
“You totally can’t possibly relate. You weren’t there. I rode the Cokapoo Trail and didn’t lose, you hear me? I DIDN’T LOSE!!!”

The crowd goes hush…except for Craig who is typing a generic ‘I hate you, what’s your problem, leave my trip alone’ email…

So Low and Single Four Ate

Strange things happen when you recover from the biggest thing you’ve ever done under a particular set of circumstances…life’s like that. Destroy to build.

Sometimes, with the right amount of thought and planning, these things can be most solid and generally super. I would consider my performance Tuesday of last somewhat remarkable. Not in terms of blistering speed but of recovery, post 24 and all. Victory.
Sometimes, with the right amount of ignorance and binderdundatitude, these things can turn out to be terribly painful life lessons. I would consider my performance Saturday past remarkable. Not in terms of blistering performance but of ineptitude, post 24 and all. Utter defeat.

Approaching the DUKE’S SPRING EPIC 8 this past weekend my attitude was blissfully flippant. I was firmly entrenched in mine own personal eliteness. I had, after all, ridden a bike for 18+ of a possible 24hrs less then 7 days prior. The coming 8 would be a walk in the proverbial park, never once thinking it just might be CENTRAL PARK.

Top of my head ma!

Betty Davis Eye







Opps I did it again








Badda Bing

Rigid singlespeed. 33:19. Liquid nutrition. Rabbits. Bloody rabbits.

Finishing lap 7 I had to beg for something, anything to numb my lower back. It came in the form of ALEVE. I can’t vouch appropriately for its effectiveness, the results were inconclusive and the cheque isn’t in the mail. It numbed my elbows and hands sufficiently but it only assisted my back long enough for me to knock over a tree. The subsequent damage to my forearm offered ample distraction from my back.

Starting lap 10 I was tossed a dusty life raft in the form of a complete roll of Rolaids with CALCIUM. Craig, I am still not sure if your witch doctor vodooism works but I can assure you that the tropical chalk you tossed my way was either medicinally effective or just the placebic prescription I needed…13 laps. Victory, albeit snatched from the jaws of total embarrassment…

After the Math – 48

I had a fantabulous story written describing in great detail the exploits of Marc Risdale…despite auto save and the lot…poof…gone…reset. That kind of genius cannot be re-written and survive the over critical eye of an author scorn. I say darn.

Either way, yesterday, I promised details on the following…grudgingly I will re-write them all over from my watery memory.

The antics of one Marc Risdale:
On Saturday May 17 Marc and Kim set out like so many other riders to complete and maybe even compete in the “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous” 24hr shindig. They set out to ride for 24hrs solo, by themselves and usually together. The pair toiled away until sometime in the early evening where Kim retired, Marc then changed to his ‘night-bike’ and spun away. This time he spun away solo, all alone, by himself.

Lap after lap Marc churned away at the pedals, by midnight it was only Marc and the eventual victor abusing themselves in the solo and alone category (give or take a few riders who were NOT me or Tom or THE Lepper). Kim and the remaining half-men slept the night away. Not since Tom told his mom “No, I am NOT bringing another pair of boots” have I witnessed such Machismo.

Just before dawn riders started pouring back on the trails, one at a time – by themselves – THE Lepper, Kim and many others. Ever adaptable, Marc legged over his ‘day-bike’ and rode off, now with Kim, his partner. Once again together but solo. Around 1030a on Sunday Marc simply stopped riding…in a scene akin to Forest Gump. He just stopped. They stopped together. He second, She first. And that’s the way it ended.

Regrettably I missed the awards presentations to the two solo riders of steel…I do not regret, however, missing THAT ride home “You’re awesome my little pet” “No, YOU are awesome my pet” “My little champion wampion” “My little runner upper wupper”…You can’t really blame them, the two were without a doubt Delirious from exertion, fatigue and euphoria…not to mention lacking clothing…see below

Killer Kouple

The meaning of ‘FU Chico racing’ (overhead by camp Hillbilly):
Somewhere in the vast expanses of the Mansfield Outdoor Center was a marshal station, lovingly named Camp Hillbilly or Camp Redneck or some such thing by the organizers…either way the point lays not in the name of the camp. Riders would pass directly in front of this station twice, more if they were lost or kinda stupid.

When the sun went down the ghetto blaster came out…Hendrix, Sabbath and various other high school necessities were churned out with ample volume. The residents of Camp Whatever were a raucous and enthusiastic bunch…in a good way. Approaching the camp for pass #1 is where I heard it first “F-U Chico Racing”. Upon passing the camp I heard it again “F-U Chico Racing…this time I inquired…the rider responded with a great deal of thought.

“The music, the atmosphere…for years people have been asking for this kind of thing and nothing, every single Chico 24hr…crickets. F’ing crickets…” We debated briefly about ‘family friendly events’ ‘Albion’s close proximity’ ‘Camping restrictions’ and the like, hell, I understand why Chico doesn’t offer this…but still the rider was right, this rider without a name who will remain nameless for fear of reprisal from the iron fist of Chico Racing…he was totally right. That was exactly the atmosphere presented back in the day with that OTHER 24hr organizer, the organizer that made me volunteer for an hour while I competed and paid entry for the privilege…Juan Valdez and Austin Powers sightings…disco balls, drunkards on logs…he was right…totally right…sing it sister…this is what brought me into racing 24’s. All the noise and the excitement and a bit of chaos all detracted from the suffering substantially…

Awww shut up!

To-scale six foot mosquitoes:
You had to be there…some people just don’t get it.

Not Quite But Almost

Recovery Update.
Tired and a wee bit stiff yesterday I managed a solid 1.5hrs on the trainer. Nothing special. Nothing extreme. Just a spin. But it was a spin that I wasn’t expecting to be able to complete…I am awesome…look into my eyes, not around my eyes, look into my eyes…you’re under…


After the Math – 24

Last night, in a daze I flipped aimlessly past the Oriface marathon and lo and behold the CBC is flogging the two-four edition of The Adventure of Bob & Doug McKenzie – Strange Brew…so appropriate.

Aftermath is an agricultural term meaning the grass growing after the first cut of hay. It is now more commonly used figuratively to mean that which happens after a major event.

A hangover (veisalgia) describes the sum of unpleasant physiological effects following heavy consumption of drugs, particularly alcoholic beverages. The most commonly reported characteristics of a hangover include headache, nausea, sensitivity to light and noise, lethargy, dysphoria and thirst.

Regret (emotion), an intelligent or emotional dislike for personal past acts and behaviours.

Thankfully none of the above apply. Actually and really like totally no major issues, well maybe one. Maybe perhaps I should have worn WRANGLERS and not a man-suit…

Monkey Butt

In Briefs:

Course – 13.3km
Length – 24hrs (that’s out by 12 and done by the other 12, no hidden hour silliness)
Completed – 16 laps
Sleep – 5.5 glorious hours
Total – 212.8km in 18hrs

The fiasco began with an uneventful and rather pitiful LeMansesque type start…without the running…the event was so laid back no one seemed bothered. This was an excellent choice to test the waters of 24 solo. Mid lap #1 it was obvious that I was going to need help pacing down as the Lepper danced away early leaving only wee Thomas and I…the urge to chase was strong in me…Tom and I agreed to pace until dinner and take it from there.

Hours came and went, relatively uneventfully I might add. There was some climbing, some passing, some hiking soem single track…might I add that the support offered by Tom’s brother and ‘new’ sister-in-law was most excellent…they sat for nearly 30 hours in a car. This made riding for the better part of 24 seem easy. Word is they are still together…quite a test.

After some encouragement Tom agreed to put on lights and attempt to push on to midnight without a rest. This was brilliant planning, it netted us 11 laps and allowed a lowly target of 5 laps in the remaining 12 hours. Before bed and against my wishes Tom checked the standings, we were solidly tied (he and I) for second place. While there were no hopes for first, we stood to be bumped way down if we slept and settled for 16 laps. I went to bed. I could not afford the impending damage and simply breaking 200k on a mtb would suffice my ego.

After a quick shower I hit the vinyl covered mattress’ of the Mansfield Outdoor Center…I tried to tune out THE Lepper’s roar. Tom’s alarm (an indicator of his quest for second) went off a mere two hours later. When the profanity subsided Tom thumped back in his bunk and back to sleep. The twit slept in his soggy gear from the day before… My alarm went of three times, gradually the room cleared of solo riders – including none other then the eventual womans solo winner KIM JONES and the one and the only, THE Lepper. My pathetic alarm didn’t banish my indifference until 530a. We were riding by 6 – BUT – light free.

The first lap out was cold, sore and SLOW. 5 laps in 6 hours seemed unlikely…3rd lap in we decided – rather I decided and left Tom no choice – that each lap was now the last.


Each lap was now filled with tiny victories, hills were being crushed that had been walked so many times before. Rabbits were chased and when the rain started everything was fun with a capital PH. Now I regretted the prolonged sleep as the energy seemed good. Only one bout of abuse was aimed at Tom on the final lap, my words of encouragement included colourful language and personal insults. In the end this proved to be beneficial as he finished quite strongly.

Anyway, yada yada, we finished 16 laps hand in hand hugging and sobbing, just like the movies. An arbitrary decision on the part of the time keepers gave 3rd to Thomas. He deserved it…if not for his help I’d have outraced myself by 8pm. Shhhh, we not so secretly agreed to share the 3rd prize long before they made the announcement, isn’t that special?

More tomorrow when we discuss the antics of one Marc Risdale, the meaning of ‘FU Chico racing’ (overhead by camp Hillbilly) and six foot mosquitoes.

I feel great, I will never do that again. Maybe.

Lights, Camera and Actions!

730a on the day of, prior to and just before the 24hrs ‘Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous’.

Prep Status:
Bike – somewhat complete. Bastardized TransRockies machine. New additions and alterations include; Marta Brakes, 28h WTB Laser Disc Single Duty wheel, rebuilt Phil Wood bb and (black) White Industries ENO crankset. Why aren’t the cups flush on the 73mm bb? Rhetorical question of course…damn.

Lights – charged, good here? That’s weird.

Food – 8 turkey and rye sandwiches, 5 cut oranges, 1 jug of Hammer Gel Espresso, 1 box of Hammer Perpetum, 1 tub of Hammer Sustained energy and one tiny needle to poo through when I’ve eaten it all for 24hrs straight.

Clothing – it’s going to rain, it will be 5deg c at night, it will be up to 18c during the day. I haven’t packed a stitch yet, what’s the point? One of everything is required.

Mental – whatever.

Good bye, maybe forever, I only hope they have cell service in hell…

New Phone

Scenery and Botanise

Today, we breathe…

There’s no hurry, sir, none whatever. I came out for exercise, gentle exercise, and to notice the scenery and to botanise. And no sooner do I get on the accursed machine, than off I go hammer and tongs; I never look to right or left, never notice a flower, never see a view, get hot, juicy, red,–like a grilled chop. Here I am, sir. Come from Guildford in something under the hour. WHY, sir? Mr. Hoopdriver shook his head.

Because I’m a damned fool, sir. Because I’ve reservoirs and reservoirs of muscular energy, and one or other of them is always leaking. It’s a most interesting road, birds and trees, I’ve no doubt, and wayside flowers, and there’s nothing I should enjoy more than watching them. But I can’t. Get me on that machine, and I have to go. Get me on anything, and I have to go. And I don’t want to go a bit. WHY should a man rush about like a rocket, all pace and fizzle? Why? It makes me furious. I can assure you, sir, I go scorching along the road, and cursing aloud at myself for doing it. A quiet, dignified, philosophical man, that’s what I am–at bottom; and here I am dancing with rage and swearing like a drunken tinker at a perfect stranger.

H.G. Wells, The Wheels of Chance

Right Said Fred

What? Fine – but Billy should be wearing a helmet if he’s going to launch piers:

Go Billy Go!

Festival of Boxes!

In Promotional News –
The rusty red cube was finally released from the bowels of customs purgatory…just in time too.

Home Sweet Home

A fury of unpacking, sorting , inspecting and prepping kept me up until ungawdly o’clock (quarter past the witching hour). The order backlog took a mighty hit yesterday (in a good way) but all of my selfless dedication and diligence has a price.

  • I am tired, very tired. I consider it training for the LifeStyles of the Rich and Famous.
  • I fear that my success may have manifested itself in the form of grief for Mr UPS driver. Despite my feelings towards the ugly brown empire of exploitation and excess I quite like this olde chap, this one good apple in the proverbial brown barrel of roach legs and crocodile hands. He is always cordial, quiet and he never complains.  Despite his silence I know (I can see it in his soul) that picking up 6 large boxes of air and 3 tiny boxes of lead cause him great inconvenience as he (undoubtedly) trips on them for the remaining 4 hours of the day…

In Environmental News-
The surplus boxes will be recycled, used as packaging, cut up as padding inside the packaging, some will double as spaceships/cars/forts/dungeons/babysitters only to be recycled or re-packaged later…but no matter how many extra boxes there are or how many uses I find, there is always one too many and certainly, never enough (in the right size)…this is the cursed cardboard conundrum and it has been a plague on the court of Dingle for many years! Good will to the one of ye that proposes a lasting solution.

Billy, they got us surrounded

In Reality News –
Nearly five people were almost surveyed randomly without their knowledge yesterday, the results were inconclusive and require further study.

Up and Coming News –
Silver FU things…silver/polished aluminum – no matter. FUgly Stems, FUbu Posts, FU bars, FU2 bars…coming in not-black for the first time and in limited quantities. Delivery like totally July’ish 2008.

In SPAM News –
If this is YOU,

  1. Bizzaro Peter | | IP:’d comment, but I want it to stay put.May 12, 4:41 PM — [ Edit | Delete | Unapprove | Approve | Spam ] — Oh Cup Summary

Identify yourself…you go to the effort of posting daily…but I can’t make sense of it – even in the ordinarily inane context. Once the first comment is approved, you have free reign to fart spam on these delicate pages…we don’t want to sully this bastion of informative docudrama, do we? But I do admire the effort.


Whoa Nelly

Ontario Cup #2. Done.
Rode up, rode around, ran out of gas, rode home. This is where I should include a detailed race report…because that’s what you do in/on/with a cycling blog…yammer about how it coulda shoulda woulda gone, reflect on my unpreparedness, overtrainingness and generally pile the sand until I proclaim (much to your edge-of-the-seat surprise) that the results were fantastically superifical and incredibly interesting! In fact the results were completely normal, totally average and otherwise uneventful. One rider here, another there…pretty much unchanged from OCUP1 to OCUP2…like Seinfeld, but on dirt.

There was one bright point at the race. Teenie tiny Noah Summers. He and I went for a nice 18km cruise, talking periodically at his olde man, jeering his uncle and looking for his mom…it was more a quest then a race. That is until he decided to move on at the start of lap 3. Just like that he pedaled away, after all that work, he dumped me on the first climb…I only saw glimpses of him after that. It brought a tear to my eye, and reminded me of a song I wrote this one time at band camp:

Well, he came home from college just the other day
So much like a man I just had to say
“Son, I’m proud of you, can you sit for a while?”
He shook his head and said with a smile
“What I’d really like, Dad, is to borrow the car keys
See you later, can I have them please?”

Now I am sure that my help and guidance is something that Noah will take with him as he progress’ on to cycling infamy…he may even send me tickets to the Olympics one day. Will I be the one to remind him that his ma and pa were trying desperately to pedal AWAY from him during these early-life-tests? No. That will be for his therapist…

Goodbye Little Man - Good luck!

Still on the OCUP scene, you know what made me sick about the whole race? The whole scene?
You people.
YOU, all of the blaytantly biased home team ‘looks like David versus Goliath’ type fans…the cheering…the taunting…the fans at Albion Hills yesterday were biased and it hurt my feelings.

“go little guy”
“take him little guy”
“he’s passing his dad…”

His Fans - Buggers

24hrs ‘Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous’ This weekend.
Solo for 24hrs. I hear tale that some people prepare for an event like this. At this stage in the game, I don’t suppose that I will.