Greetings Brooks brothers and Simichrome sisters.
Recently learned a new rule of the universe while crawling up Mt Davis PA with a slightly deranged pal. He told me that the rule is: "any conversion of a previously uncorrupted rider to the wonders and joys of riding a fixed gear bike allows the missionary to purchase a new bike." Totally immune to the fixed gear disease myself, but I immediately expanded the rule to include conversion of heathens to the wonders and joys of vintage lightweight bikes. Pass it on, and buy yourself another bike. Sold that man a vintage frame before we reached the summit. He'll build into a fixed gear, so maybe that's a double? DOH !! Points off because it's French threaded, so maybe only 1-1/2 new bikes for me.
Meanwhile, the future came, and made a liar out of me (again). Time flies, and too busy keeping the riders on the road to have anything interesting in a presentable state to show at the Cirque. But this year headed down the road with some additional accumulated cosmic purchasing power in my karma account. I drove fast.
However, haven't really made my getaway until after depositing a considerable amount of disposable income at the dry-ice store in Hagerstown MD. The last major obstacle to overcome before any significant trip can proceed further. But the bikes know, after that stop, and a turn south onto I-81, we're going somewhere special, and from then on we were both wagging our imaginary tails behind us. (Regardless of your personal beliefs about how we got here as a species, be it evolution or creation, the absence of a nice long fluffy tail is a terrible loss, or inexcusable oversight.) A pleasant and uncharacteristically uneventful drive this time, although a bit disappointing to see that the Frostburg llama ranch was for sale. Any break in the endless parade of trucks I was trapped in allowed a quick glance over to a northbound parade of vintage "zoom" cars on their way to a show somewhere. That was good for at least a hundred miles of entertainment. Didn't see the 59 or 69 El Camino I always wanted, but did see a couple nice 66 GTOs.
Arrived Thursday evening, and as soon as I could say hellos and wade through the crowd already gathered in the parking lot I made my annual ritual Cirque offering by lofting a couple milkbone biscuits and a Simplex Prestige up to the gargoyles (Pancho & Lefty) before passing through the sacred portals of the Battleground, followed by a quietly uttered little prayer I borrowed and corrupted from some song I heard along the way one time. (Bless these tangled, tortured "parts"). Beseeching the bike gods for good riding weather, a good swap, good company, AND forgiveness for additional sins about to be committed. They must have been dissatisfied with the cheapy simplex der (aren't we all) so I didn't come away with much from the swap, but two out of four here is certainly good enough.
Had also left a little offering on the spousal unit's pillow before I left. A nice new lightweight kayak paddle, so we might both enjoy our respective vices this weekend. Obviously hadn't thought that thru completely because it eventually occurred to me that she could also use it later to club me like a baby seal. This ain't Vegas. What happens in Greensboro doesn't stay in Greensboro. It follows you home in the back of the Subaru, or is delivered to your doorstep by a large loud truck a couple weeks later. I'm probably safe for now. Joel/Ralph/?? grabbed the two frames that might have followed me home, but I have leads on a couple others that will be even more incriminating. However, discovered that perhaps in anticipation, she had lured my killer rabbit slippers into the squirrel traps I had set before departure. Not sure what that means. Not sure I want to find out, but I probably will. The poor killer bunnies. They look so sad in those little cages.
Small price to pay for another outstanding and thoroughly enjoyable long weekend thanks to our generous hosts; Dale, and the disciples of Dale. Always more fun than I can stand. Most you'll hear about from normal people. Some of the odder unexpected Cirque moments:
That other scary picture during Peter Weigle's presentation. The young Peter. He said he wanted to be a frame builder, but it looks like he wanted to be a serial killer. And if Kendall follows through with the tell-all book/article she threatened me with, some of us may never be able to go home again.
John Barron's white glove thing. Did you see the recent film about Howard Hughes and his OCD? Connect the dots.
Sharing waaaaaaay off-topic stories about our respective neighborhood gangsters with other former Chicago area residents Ted Ernst and Karen Rawls.
A quiet respite from the regularly scheduled mayhem with Tom Hayes, wandering down completely different aisles in the used book/music store, and then sitting out "on the porch" in front of starbucks. Watching the world go by together for a little while, discussing the sorry state of affairs in our respective corners of the world, and realizing the only reasonable thing to do was wander back to the relative sanity of the Cirque and Cycles d Oro.
The reappearance of a surprising number of Roy Drinkwater name tags from last year, including mine. Apparently we can't throw away ANYthing. Sorry you couldn't be there Roy.
Looking at the Cirque photo from 2005 and realizing how many other familiar faces weren't wandering around here this year.
More to follow when I'm able to remember.
Meanwhile, back to juggling the leaden balls of reality. The home gargoyles were glad to see me. So were Stumpy the tailless chipmunk, and Stumpy II, the hummingbird with no feet (we feed / adopt all the mutants around here). Mr. Cranky, my little chickadee with the attitude always makes sure I know he's not happy when I'm late with his breakfast. Excuse ME for sleeping in after a long drive home. (Hey! A Hawk!! Heh heh heh. Made you look. Buzz me again and I'll just pour all the sunflower seeds down Stumpy's holes.). And all the neighborhood deer jumped out in the road to say hi when I went for a little recovery / reality avoidance ride Tuesday. Even one of the neighborhood bears was out in the road waiting for me. That's a first. The downside of seeing one is that I know there are two, and I hadn't spotted his dumpster diving buddy yet. That can't be good. (What?! My bird feeder wasn't crunchy enough? You guys had a party last night down at the dumpster and didn't invite ME? My garbage wasn't good enough? That's the best frozen soybean glop money can buy. Hey, I don't have to take road rage / abuse from a bear. I've got people standing in line at work waiting to abuse me. That's why I'm out here riding. Get outta my way, or I'll make a rug outta ya.). Take a little tip from your Ol' Uncle Lar. Pepper spray and bad attitude are not enough. However, all the dogs along my training loop suddenly look much smaller.
Thanks again to Dale & Co. Larry "Can't believe it's over already" Osborn