Cranksgiving, hummers, and boat races.

Orlando is a town full of hospitable, wonderful people. Of course, I could just be saying this because I don't know anyone that well, but bliss is ignorance... isn't that how the saying goes?

Anyway, we got lost off the Ivanhoe exit for about 20 minutes. I didn't realize we were going the opposite way of downtown (also known as, two way Orange Ave), and anyone who was speaking to anyone who was already there, regretfully did not inform the driver (read: me) of such. Regardless, we got there 30 minutes after registration and had little time to socialize before saddling up.

Once we received our manifests and had a hearty laugh at the number and length between check points (7, and spread the fuck out all over a town we were extremely unfamiliar with), we decided to call it a "Fuck It All - Skirts Ride" and have at it. The race was for a great cause, having us stop at Publix and Albertsons for canned goods for several checkpoints/dropping off food at others, and there was no entry fee (modest donations were welcome for spoke cards/manifests). It was supposed to be a casual pace, which we took a bit too literally, realizing this when we were told to "just head on back" by the second to last checkpoint gal. I guess stopping to down a couple High Life’s behind the Publix at that 5th checkpoint cost us some time. But if riding in an alley cat teaches you nothing else... it should teach you that beer conquers all. Does that ring a 17-hour-lap-bell for anyone?

On the way back, my pretty green metal toe clipped finally snapped. So, semi-clipped in we made our way to Ethos to sell yummy cupcakes, muffins and fraternize. I ate an overpriced vegan kielbasa sammie, and got yelled at by some waiter for taking Lucy into the bathroom (Pam's 3 lb Chihuahua that was zipped up in my hoodie for warmth). We were then invited to "Dexter's" by Mike, only to find there was no table room for us by the time we showed up. Being fashionably late gets you fucked, and not in that good way. Pam, Scotty and John (brothers, not a couple), Carolyn and I proceeded to scarf "cha-cha" chips, drink $10 shots of Patron, and make sexually charged innuendos at each other, the wait staff, and most patrons from across the restaurant. Carol and Mike came over from their fancy table to share some nice "thong view" from a customer in booth #1. If by nice, I mean they vomed in their mouths a little bit. I, having been raised with class, refused to look... and merely made off color comments about the type of woman who would be caught in that situation.

Carolyn was on the horn trying to firm up after party plans, while we waited for our friend Helen to meet us. After much discussion, Helen's arrival and a novella's worth of directions, we were all on our way to a house party, minus the boys. If by house party, I mean a bunch of fixed gear kids acting like it was rush week at UF. Which, isn't as much of an insult as it sounds. It may have been offensive if it were rich, Abercrombie and Fitch'ed out white kids... but there was something about seeing people of all colors shapes and sizes banding together to race boats. Oh, if you don't know what racing boats at a party entails... it has something to do with chugging a blender full of beer. I can't really go into further detail about that one.

Somewhere along the line it was decided that Backbooth would be where the evening would end. Despite the fact that 99% of us were already wasted. Despite the fact that last call was in an hour. Despite the fact that half of the group were under 21. I, being the sheep that I am, piled into the car to follow, fully convinced I'd just sleep in whatever parking spot Pam managed to find while the rest of the heathens did hedonistic things.

Soon enough, we came upon an intersection. Saw several people on bikes and lots of traffic. Stopped traffic. Bike kids, and stopped traffic in the middle of the night is never a good idea. Apparently, Julius decided to take "going green" to another level, by showing a Hummer just how much he hated its MPG. We rolled up just in time to see a dazed Juls, a busted Fuji Track Pro, an SUVs with some exterior damage and a lot of drunk kids. The cops were on their way fast and Julius wasn't planning on sticking around. After some confusion and debate, Helen and Carrie decided it was best to walk to the club so we could accommodate our injured guest to his desired destination. After more confusion and debate, Julius called his lovely girlfriend who was already waiting for him at the emergency room. I swear the conversations between them were the sweetest things ever. Lots of "I'm ok mama bear" and "I love yous" making me puke unicorns and rainbows all over Pam's Focus. (I'm sorry boo, I'll clean it up I swear.) We dropped him, and his taco'd (albeit gorgeous) frame off at "The Hospital" and left him in the hands of the good doctors, and his wonderful ladyfriend.

Shaken up at the evening's progression, and cursing our dying cell phones, Pam and I attempted to make our way to Backbooth. If you've never traveled towards downtown Orlando via Orange Ave on a Saturday night at 1am... DON'T. Perhaps if I was in the mood for a car show, and had a blunt on me it would have been amusing, as it seemed to be for those who were there with blunts in hand for said car show. I believe it's what the kids call "cruising the strip" and I've never seen so many god damn Lamborghini doors and 26" rims on 1998 Chevy Malibu’s in my fucking life.

Pam and I texted Helen with a no go, rolled up to Helen's apartment complex and shared snacks and a bowl until we heard a knock on the window informing us that there was a much more comfortable place to sleep upstairs. Helen lovingly referred to each of us as her "little St. Pete Orphans", tucked us into her expensive comfy bed, and stayed with her gentleman friend for the evening. You don't get a better hostess than that.

In the morning, we ate all her potato chips, drank all her Sierra Mist ("HEALING BUBBLES!"), smoked a bowl on her patio, and headed on out. Made it back to St. Pete in record time.

Currently. I'm still recuperating from the weekend’s activities. Then again, I didn't get into a fight with a Hummer and win so why the fuck am I whining?

What's so funny about peace, love, and understanding?

I’m through with bike scene politics. The he said she said, mob mentality. We don’t have to like everyone, but who is to say we can’t be decent to everyone? It’s nice to have a close knit group of friends, but that doesn’t mean you have to be a douchebag to everyone outside of your exclusive clique. Seriously, when did class and manners go out the window? A smile or hello to someone who isn’t exactly your friend doesn’t equal being fake, it means you’re a human being who doesn’t feel like treating others like crap all of the time. Perhaps if more of us strove to achieve this simple sign of compassion, there wouldn’t be so much division in the community.

That being said, I love you all, and will do whatever is in my power to help out a fellow biker (cyclist?). Whether that means setting up rides, giving out hugs, donating parts/time, or just lending an ear. I've come to certain realizations and I'm getting too old to be so angsty for little to no reason. I'm no innocent party, here. This is not a holier than thou post. I just don't have the energy to waste on it anymore. I don't have the time to let other's actions affect my life. You can either respect that, or go on hating. Either way, won't change my outlook one bit. You'll still get my smile and hello as we pass, regardless of what it is met with. Hopefully others will adopt the same mindset. If not, best of luck. <3

High School was years ago, Brah.

I am really getting sick of the battle lines being drawn needlessly. The elitism and petty behavior. It's why I didn't involve myself with these "bike" people to begin with. Sure, my judgement was clouded for a bit, but I'm out of all that now. I'm out of the negative haze, and back to a place where all I want is to be happy, for others to be happy, and for everyone to enjoy each other's company. Sounds lame, and it is, but it's really all I can do at the moment to keep it all together.

I could be mean, and rude. Petty and childish. I have been all of those things. I've said some things I regret, made comments in the heat of the moment that I wish I could take back. Who hasn't? Though these scene politics are above and beyond anything I've ever dealt with. I just want a close knit group of friends who enjoy the same things I do, and don't feel the need to cut others down just to make themselves feel better. And I'm well on my way to achieving that.

So why do I feel like giving up? Why do I feel like selling my bike and never looking back? Why do I feel like the "community" is hopeless and self defeating? Why do I feel like every stride of advancement is met with apprehension and negativity?

Could it be, because they are?

eBay Fever.

If you took a look at my eBay watch/bid list... you'd get the impression I'm a 15 year old boy.

I'm currently bidding on a 52cm 1986 Bianchi road bike. Top tube is 56 cm long, which will accomodate my abnormally long torso (and short-short legs). May not even convert it. However, if I'm outbid I ain't going for it. Conversion frames/road bikes *have* to drop in price soon. Right? RIGHT? I'll just bide my time until the right one falls into my lap.

I still haven't dismissed the idea of getting an actual track bike, but those are a biiiit more pricey. Especially for something that I'll probably be replacing components on.

I was outbid at the last second for my #1 love... the Danelectro Rumor bass. I had one in my possession once, but that is a long and boring story. Someone used eSnipe or some other vile internet program to beat me out by $2.50 at the last minute. So, I'm currently looking for a Univox bass. Mosrite rip off. Those things are light, and sweet. I see a few on there, mostly in the $100-$300 range. Maybe I can convince the boyfriend to get one for a Christmas present? I hear he kind of likes me.

Either way, one thing my house doesn't need anymore of is bikes or guitars. I have a crappy Ibanez that buzzes (intonation is waaaay off) and looks like someone in Slipknot should be playing it. I am borrowing a vintage Epiphone Thunderbird which, while awesome, is not mine. I also have a Fender acoustic, and an Epiphone Les Paul Jr. This does not include the two guitars that my boyfriend has at home, either.

All of this aside, I still don't know what to ask my parents for, for Christmas. Same thing happened for my birthday (in March) and they were just like "Eh, figure something out, we'll get it for you" which never happened. This weekend I'm going with mom to a LBS north of Tampa to pick out some cycling gear... maybe they'll have a few components that I can talk her into putting under the Chanukkah Bush this year.