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2007/06-Most Recent: Old 's

"All the New's Too Old to Print!"

Please read WARNING below.                                                       Whoops! TOO FUCKING LATE!

WARNING: If strong language offends, please leave this site NOW.

Please read WARNING above.                                                       Whoops! TOO FUCKING LATE!




(and get out your walkers)

Today's Hump report is very short and sweet. The very first person up Ridgebury today (on the front of the AA's) was Myles Billard who showed up with Skylands. Here's his photo:

Then you take the factored polynomial, adjust for the inverse of the prime, and...

Oh yeah, we almost forgot. Myles is 14 years old and when asked how he enjoyed the hill on Ridgebury he looked quizzical and said, "What hill?"

When a number of very fast riders invited him to weekday rides, Myles said, "Ok, Mondays and Tuesdays I'm free, the other days I do precision training."

Myles' dad said, "Yeah, he is focused like that. Handles his schoolwork the same way."

SlingShot is currently trying to decide if he should clean up his language or just shoot himself.

Editor's Note: Humberto Cavalheiro (who was prominently featured in the article below) reported that Myles spent the whole ride beside the group and out in the wind.




"The Hump is harder than races I competed in with people such as George Hincapie, Tyler Hamilton, the 7-Eleven Team, and others."

Humberto Cavalheiro

"The Hump is harder than the races we are doing."

Kevin Haley

What we saw at the end of last week's Hump was absolutely SPECTACULAR! Maybe a once in a lifetime event.

We stood leaning against our bikes at the finish line and waited for the front group to appear in the lightly hazed mid morning heat.

We had a clear vantage all the way to the S turn, just a little over a quarter mile down a shimmering flat open road. Telephone poles scalloped electric lines down the left, open black dirt onion fields spread out to the right.

We were talking nonsense, glad to be done with the Hump, and anxious to see the leaders finish.

Most of the talk was about how Kevin Haley had been reported as saying an organized rout of Joe Straub was planned, because nobody would be racing the next day.

Basically, that meant Skylands Race Team was going to work together to lay waste to DKNY. A nice plan, but not so easily accomplished. We would just have to wait and see.

We expected that the few riders who could survive all the attacks, counter attacks, feints, and withdrawals to attack again (which would define the day's Hump) would make a tidy little group which should appear shortly.

What we got was much more.

Someone shouted, "Here they come!"

Everybody shot a glance down to the S turn just as the front group hit the straight-across.

BOOOOM! An unexpectedly large group of more than two dozen leaders slammed across the broadside of our distant view, and we all let out a puffed stutter almost as a chorus, "FUCK, they are fucking moving!"

The S turn marks the last technical element before the Hump's sprint. It bends sharply left onto a 75 yard straight then a hard right just before the final straight half mile to the finish.

From where we stood we could see the leaders skimming across our line of sight as they jockeyed their last gasp positions before the sprint.

We were far enough away that these small cycling figures could not be identified as to who was who, and of course their tactical moves were far too small to be seen, but we knew that just under the onward rushing power there were lots of dangerous little passion plays in progress.

What we could see was the astonishingly large number of riders who had survived, and the immense power they were grinding into the short frame across our view; and, as they turned onto the straight shot home, we could still sense the power of their approach, even though the speed was not so apparent in the head-on view.

A car was approaching behind them, and someone said, "Too bad. That car is going to screw up the sprint."

But the driver seemed to guess what was coming and pushed heavy onto the accelerator to get out of the way.

Soon, such a flurry of activity occurred in the approaching group as the sprint began that it still was impossible to say who was who, even though they were significantly closer.

Then, in an instant, the air abruptly cleared and two riders crossed the finish line well in front of the others.

Skylands Dave finished several yards in front of Kevin Haley who threw up his arms in full recognition of the victory in his second place spot—plenty of room to spare—well ahead of the other riders who were at that very moment relegated to being merely another pursuit group.

We were left speechless. This finish certainly rivaled that of any organized race. The speed across the S turn was thunderous, the all out excitement of the sprint exhilarating... and this was just for fun: no points, no numbers, no record of it ever having happened, no nothing. Just another typical Hump.

Of course the Hump has often been called, "a race without numbers."

And Humberto often says, "The Hump is harder than races I competed in with people such as George Hincapie, Tyler Hamilton, the 7-Eleven Developement Team, and others."

Kevin Haley brings that statement up to date, "The Hump is harder than the races we are doing."

You might think the description above is a little overstated, so let's put it in perspective. Here's a little photo essay showing Humberto's credentials.

This first photo is near to the times Humberto used to work with George Hincapie as they orchestrated breakaways that stuck in Pro races in Manhattan and New Jersey.

At mid-ground under red pointer with yellow jersey is
Humberto Cavalheiro.
In foreground with SOMEC helmet is a very young
George Hincapie.

Next photo is the starting lineup of a race, followed by a close-up zoomed in of Humberto (looking left out of photo) near George Hincapie who is just on the other side of the rider with head down to the right of Humberto.

Humberto (looking left) near
George Hincapie (sunglasses over head down helmet)

This final photo is of Humberto in the midst of teaching a 7-Eleven Development Team rider how to get around a turn more quickly.

Humberto (nearest)
7-Eleven rider (inside on turn)


The Early Bird Special (which allowed us to view the final sprint described above) is also called the Slump by Nuclear Dan and is compared to the Rump, the Rump with a Boil, and the Jump.

The idea for our old folks Early Bird Special is to do an easy "we are old, tired, and injured" Hump by leaving early in order to see (if not the actual sprint, then) the front group in full swing somewhere out on the course.

Currently we leave at 7:30 and have plans to keep slowing down until we are riding with the AA's.

More photos of the exploits of Humberto coming soon in the
Humberto Cavalheiro Fanzine.



All photos for the Humberto Cavalheiro Fanzine Article (basically about the Hump) have been scanned, and we are reviewing the wealth of material collected.

The images are archived, but some of the information about what is shown in them is still a bit sketchy.

We know everybody is anxious to see the photos with George Hincapie, Tyler Hamilton, and the guy from 7-Eleven, among others, but we want to be thorough, so we are publishing the following photo while putting the finishing touches on our information.

I don't know where it went. It was a really big odd looking turtle... right down there.
Humberto Cavalheiro coming to America?

From what we know about Humberto, the photo above may be his very first footsteps on U.S. soil. That is obviously the Rio Grande behind him and Portugal beyond that.

We are getting in touch with Mr. Cavalheiro in order to confirm.




From Zirra:

Yummy. A fruit!

Editor's Note: Probably makes sense in some alternate reality. No info was attached, so we are clueless. It does ring more true to the Zirra we know than does the image we've been using, so maybe that's it.

Wait a minute. Maybe he's hoping for a rollover banana.




Before we get started: UV95 is revealed to be Bob Gaiman, The Gapper. Thank you for the confirmation Bob.

Recently, SlingShot has been getting grief about the sad state of affairs regarding his bike making so much noise on the hard climbs (and even more noise on the smooth flats) and how he had to have his wife come pick him up in Harriman Tuesday, because he thought his wheel was going to fall off on the fast downhill.

So yesterday SlingShot grabbed the Widder and they went over to The Bicycle Doctor for a checkup.

Of course the Widder cannot sit still, so she brought her camera.

While Rich Cruet (the doctor himself) was deciding what to do about the noise and the wobbling (what SlingShot assumed was the rear wheel) the Widder wandered around taking photos.

She noticed that lots of photos were already all over the walls, and more in the storefront window, and more displayed in the showcases.

In fact, it quickly became apparent that anybody who is anybody was at one time or another associated with The Bicycle Doctor.

Then she noticed a very special photo just behind the counter.

Of course, American Road Cycling could not resist adding a rollover. Here it is:

Whooo, whoo, whreeee!...whew, ok.
Special photo on loan from The Bicycle Doctor

Apparently, not only is it a fact that anybody who is anybody has come through the Team Bicycle Doctor development program, it seems Rich Cruet can actually take monkeys out of the trees and teach them to walk among humankind.

Of course, he does that with varying degrees of success.

SlingShot himself purchased his first adulthood bicycle from Rich Cruet after he expressed his goals to a sales person at a bike kiosk in one of the Galleria shops and was told, "Then you really should get something from an actual bicycle shop. Go to The Bicycle Doctor. Here is how to get there..."

That was the only time SlingShot has ever gotten good advice from one of those Big Box Stores.

The only photo missing from Rich's shop was something of a young Turtle Boy, Humberto Cavalheiro.

Fortunately, American Road Cycling has file photos of a very young Humberto wearing a Team Bicycle Doctor jersey, so a trade was made—painful as it was for Mr. Cruet.

Printouts of our file photos of Humberto Cavalheiro were traded for the opportunity to scan the one above showing Poor Latrine, top left in the tree.

A fair trade wouldn't you say?

In any case, this morning we won't show you the Humberto photos that we traded for the monkey-boy one above, because they will be part of the upcoming Humberto Cavalheiro Fanzine Article (actually a story about the Hump).

Humberto's Team Bicycle Doctor photos will be added to the ones we tracked down of him with George Hincapie, Tyler Hamilton, and someone from the classic 7-Eleven team, among others.

In the meantime, Rich loaned SlingShot his very own wheels to confirm his problem is in fact his used up wheels, and not just his fat ass groaning over wasted legs.





Hmm... got my helmet, shoes, tools, paniers, wrist watch, but I still can't shake the feeling I forgot something.
Ryan Rides

Apparently, Toe Clip has given up beating us on his bicycle and has decided to beat us to the punch line instead.

Check out Toe Clip's Chatter Box posting about seeing Ryan (shown above), which posting was on ARC before we could get back home with the photo.

Amazing who you find hovering around the Bicycle Doctor's.

There... that should make it easier to push SlingShot's fat ass up hills!



We have noticed a new riding category has developed. We are calling them the Pokers In Training (Seriously).

If you have noticed your main focus in riding is seeking out rides which are more about conviviality and "where are we going to eat afterwards" than about "how can we squeeze the most amount of energy out of the least number of calories," then you are definitely the PITS.

Editors Note: Partial homonym or not, if you are spending more time writing than riding then you are also the pits.

But you'd still better get going on the Humberto Cavalheiro article. Actually, it's an article about the Hump and that massive attack through the S turn witnessed last week.



Here's the problem.

When perception becomes more than merely law, but reality itself, we are descending a slippery slope with our brake pads worn.

Last Sunday (toward the end of the ride with Humberto Cavalheiro, Poor Latrine, and The Black Widow) SlingShot came whipping off Route 32 and onto Trout Brook Road to find Cardinal Robb Daly and the group from the Loughran's Ride taking a break on the pull-off before the stop sign.

Big waves and shouts all around, and just as SlingShot finished the corner he heard somebody shout, "SlingShot's Number One!" To which he returned simply, "I know!"

Here's how he knew.

SlingShot had just had his ass kicked by Poor, The Widder, and Humberto on each and every long (or steep) climb all the live long day.

His legs felt like lumber even before the end of the first mile of the 52 miler, and he was so far off the back by the time they finished the climb coming back up Taylor Road and into Mountainville that riders coming the opposite direction off the front of the Loughran's Ride were unlikely to even notice he was riding with anyone but himself.

Fortunately, Poor and The Widder were riding with the wind sucked out of their sales ever since Humberto decided it was time to finish the ride and get home and came to the front and took off.

The new improved pace provided SlingShot the opportunity to slide back up to the wheels of his other two friends. So after the downhill to the quick climb up Pleasant Hill Road back onto 32, he was back in the ride... sort of.

That was just below Angola, on what is laughingly called Bob's Hill, and at the beginning of the final drive up 32 to the finish.

After Humberto's (traditional) basting of the ride, Poor and the Widder dropped the pace to something resembling human, so SlingShot wheedled  a spot close enough to the Widder's wheel for Poor to throw him past her over the final Prime Hill.

That maneuver is called a Bob Toss.

The harrowing Route 32 traffic provided the extra impetus, and barrier, to put SlingShot temporarily off the front coming around the corner and into the view of the resting Loughran's group.

Of course, Humberto had already been standing their talking to them for the last half hour or so.

At that very moment SlingShot heard one of the Loughran's riders yell, "SlingShot's Number 1!" (despite the events just described), so he immediately knew that he had arrived.

He knew without question that the perception of SlingShot had finally outreached the truth of SlingShot, so he will probably be retired by the time you read this.

Of course, we will not release the name of the person who yelled their support, because it would be very much to their detriment for people to find out how easily swayed they are.

On the other hand, there is more to this story about perception.

The Widder has gotten so excited about tweaking the cars and power lines out of the recent ride photos that last night she actually took the next step and placed an entire faux background behind riders.

It is the second group strip down on the page of 06/23/07 Hump photos, and we made a rollover of it which retains the meaning of the previous text hint.

This link will put the rollover at top of the page for you.

This most recent shifting of American Road Cycling reality points out a greater problem.

When Photo-shopping an image can change the original so drastically, then happenstances that conspire to conjure serendipities of true surprise are themselves become totally suspect.

Use the link above to once again go back to the last Hump photos. Pull down to Cranky's photo (third from the bottom), and notice the little image of the Widder reflected in her riding glasses. The Widder reflection is highlighted as rollover, but it actually occurred that way, and it was not a Photoshop trick.

The reflection was only discovered when the original photo was being resized for publication, but who is going to believe that?

In addition, who is going to believe the incredible truths to be revealed by the soon to be published Humberto Cavalheiro Fanzine?

In any case, and otherwise, if you think "SlingShot's No. 1" was something, just wait till you catch whiff of "SlingShot's No. 2."




I don't know. I think he might be dead.




These new group scenes sure don't look anything like the typical Orange County group scenes you would find away from the cycling community. Fat ass motorists hate us.



As predicted (and as usual) the Times Herald Record got it backwards in their 06/24/07 half-ass article about Lynn Twin, whose name when written like that (as in the THR article) reads really strange, because all the cycling cognoscenti know her correctly as Twin Lynn, and that she got the name because she looks so much like her brother, who is not her twin.

But, after all, it is The Record, so all that got really screwed around in the article.

In any case, the worst part is that once again The Record totally missed an opportunity to mention (for the benefit of whatever small part of the public actually reads their yellow journal rag) that bicycles are FULLY LEGAL on the local roads—a fact that wasn't even mentioned once.

You would think such an important SAFETY concern would be a big enough deal to be included in a standard (once in every 10 years) article written specifically about the people who must endure all the ignorant local asshole drivers who believe that they own the road, and that cyclists are stepping outside their legitimate rights by being on that road, and that any driver's tendency toward greater and greater road rage (thus lesser and lesser safety when passing) is fully justified, because their own internal voice states, "If a cyclist gets hit, they deserve it."

However, one might allow these drivers a slight benefit of the doubt, because local publications absolutely refuse to take even the most minor and most obvious opportunity to mention that an actual law exists which legitimizes bicycles on the road.

In fact, according to the law, bicycles are vehicles which enjoy the same rights as cars, unless otherwise stated by signage. 

Actually, bicycles enjoy a slight edge over cars, because two bikes are allowed to ride side by side, not just single file—so long as they aren't being a total nuisance.

The truth is NOT (as most motorists believe) that bicycles are allowed only where specifically "permitted" by one of those useless "bicycle route" signs—such as those shown below (photographed while night closed-in on SlingShot).

You would think newspapers would feel some burden of responsibility deriving from how their constant inaction (with regard to informing the public about such matters) adds to situations like what happened on Oil City Road last Saturday.

The entire group of Slow A's was almost taken out by an overly aggressive motorist.

Fuck the Record... again.

Most cyclists will have gone 4 to 8 miles on this road before coming upon this sign.

This one would lead a cyclist onto a much busier, more narrow and dangerous route.

And this one mismarks the true beginning of the serious ride... out to Harriman.

Cyclists avoid this particular route. Too busy. Too dangerous. In a mile the minimal shoulder disappears altogether. Better LEGAL routes go all around it.
Dum, DeDum, Dum... DUUUMB!

Too bad motorists get misleading cues contradicting the fact that bicycles are legally ridden on MOST roads (not just those marked as shown above), because perception eventually becomes the Law.

Therefore, do what you can to scream the truth, or else the truth will become something else entirely. If you want to keep your right to ride the roads, you'd better make some sort of a stink about it, or that right will be gone.

Probably the best way to insure the right remains is to get out on the roads (all of them), with as many people as you can get together, as often as possible. You can do that, can't you?

If the right disappears all the worthless snail-mail spammers like the Times Herald Record will only bemoan our loss in one of their insipid hackneyed editorials and put a picture of a space creature eating a cyclist above it.

Happily, nobody has to rely on such crap farts as the THR anymore, now that we've got a perfectly useful Internet going.

Editor's Note: Please excuse this article. The only reason we wasted time on it is because SlingShot showed up for a ride at Poor Latrine's on Sunday, and Poor had handed the Lynn Twin article to The Black Widow (as if it had some sort of context or meaning), and The Black Widow stupidly left it open in the trunk beside the tire pump—as if she meant for SlingShot to look at it.

Apparently, Mary just cannot keep a simple concept in her head: SlingShot (like all other thinking individuals) does not want to  ever hear another single word about anything in the Time Herald Record or any other worthless rag like it. Especially stories about how people who like people are the luckiest people in the world.

There are actually important matters in the world, but none of them ever make it to the newspapers in any remotely useful fashion.

Thanks for wasting SlingShot's evening Widder. He predicted this over a month ago. What possible good is him saying, "I told you so" going to do?



Yesterday several IP#'s showed up who haven't been around here for quite some time. Well, they really weren't around here much even when they were around here. In any case, it only served to remind SlingShot that he is losing track of who's who anyway.

There have been so many instances of IP#'s changing that tracking this website on any rational basis is increasingly an exercise in futility.

The only reason SlingShot is concerned about tracking who's who is because one thing he truly hates (even more than being around people) is the way all this Internet bullshit tends toward enforcing the "people as nameless faceless statistics rule."

It also concerns him that without knowing exactly who is here, it is too easy to start thinking this website is more important than it isn't.

Something else that pointed out how dire the who's knocking on our door situation has become is when Patrick at the Hump said to Mary, "Where's your bananas. I've been reading all about them."

We don't have a record of Patrick showing up here since June of last year. We figured he'd gotten a life, but in fact he has merely slipped back into the world of UV's.

On the more general front, it is anybody's guess why some old IP#'s have all of a sudden reappeared. SlingShot's theory is that it is related to posting photos of people—which is something everybody seems to enjoy, even those whose picture it is.

Which reminds SlingShot of a sadly missed opportunity.

After leaving the last Thursday ride, which had been cancelled due to rain, the major long lasting image that stuck in his head was the two dozen or so riders standing out of the rain under the Chester Train Station roof corner and peering up at the gray and grumbling sky like lost kittens.

It sure would be nice to have that picture of Jim Tooker waving back into SlingShot's farewell finger.

What a great picture. Just like would be the one of the front group on yesterday's Hump charging the "S" turn leading up to the sprint. No camera, no photo, but there is a big story in the works, so the sprint won't be totally lost.

In any case, hearing that Patrick asked about Mary's bananas (when nobody even knew he had seen ARC in over a year) prompted SlingShot to go find them.

Guess where they were?



Uh, oh... I don't like the look of that!
Patrick Saunders



Not much to say here.

Apparently the planned rout of TP Joe Straub, orchestrated by Kevin Douchebag Haley, was a success.

Across the finish line first was Dave from Skylands, followed closely by Kevin Douchebag Haley.

The close teamwork of these two was obvious through the final moment, because Dave hit the finish line (clearly) first, but Kevin took over the chore of throwing up his hands in the age old International symbol for "I just kicked all your asses!"

We are sure Dave is very pleased with Kevin's help.

Nothing more to say then, because nobody cares at all about all the losers who were not number one.

Therefore, once again: Hump winner, Dave from Skylands.

We only bother to mention Kevin Douchebag Haley, because he did such a good job of throwing his arms in the air in a big V, and riding with no hands for the camera.

Too bad we didn't have a camera.





If you are reading what you are reading, and it is Saturday, 23, 2007, and it is before the Hump, then you are full forward onto a wretched mistake.

Today's Hump is slated to be one of the toughest and most competitive of the year. Among numerous other vendettas to be cleared off the books this morning, none other than Kevin Douchebag Haley has vowed full and total vengeance upon TP Joe Straub.  

Even Twin George (Poor Latrine's bitch) has been quoted saying the front group is: Straub's Henchmen (guess he forgot about Heather). Therefore, the rhetoric is turned up to 11 and a storm's a brewin'.

Better switch off your computer right now and hit the yoga mat in hopes of wheedling that last little tiny bit of glycogen from your morning coffee's sugar and down into your legs. You are going to need it.

SlingShot has already thrown in the towel and plans to go out with the geezers for the Early Bird Special.

The last time that group rode they arrived at the "S" turn just ahead of the sprint group. Maybe this morning they'll catch another quick glimpse of hell in progress.

Hump at 8:00, Early Bird Special at 7:30. If these birds don't stay the fuck away from the real riders at the end, they'll be broiled in their own stupidity.

You have all been warned.



by: Palletman

It was hot and humid. The hottest night of the year so far for the Skylands race series in Sussex. I had looked at the weather report. Thunderstorms were in the forecast, but not until later in the evening. When I arrived I wasn’t sure if the forecast was going to pan out as the skies looked threatening, even ominous.

I briefly thought about jumping in the Masters race thinking that, should the skies open up, I would have gone anerobilic at least once for the night.

I had entered the Masters race on the inaugural night of the 2007 race series thinking, "How hard could a five lap race over a one mile oval with a bunch of old men be?"

I learned soon enough that it can be very hard, so wasn’t sure I wanted to go through that amount of pain again tonight.

The veterans didn’t seem to think it was going to rain; and besides, it might feel good if it did, what with it being so hot and all.

Forget about the slick roadway and the increased danger of crashing, the cool rain would feel good. Besides, a lot of the top tier riders in my race weren’t here tonight. Maybe I could get a good spot at the finish.

So I opted out of the Masters.

I had stopped on the way over for some Fig Newton’s and peanut butter crackers, so I wouldn’t be riding on an empty stomach. I also picked up some Gatorade and water. The next decision was how many water bottles to carry. I usually only carry one, but tonight was hot. I decide to carry both initially and hydrate during the warm-up. By race time I’d finished the first bottle and was still thirsty. Not a good sign.

With only two weeks left in the series, I was also torn between riding the A race or the B race. I was already out of contention for winning the B race series, and from what I understand the A race is a much smoother race.

I decided that I would dance with whom I had brought and finish the series with the B racers. I rationalized that Joe Straub raced the B series until they kicked him out for winning all the time, so there is no shame in finishing up the year in the B race.

The A racers went off first, a minute later the B race started. I was feeling pretty good. Since I had kicked back my training a little, I felt well rested. The skies still threatened, but no rain has fallen. It was to be a long race that night, at least ninety minutes, probably longer.

Now for the race.

We start off riding smart, each rider taking a pull at the front and then dropping off. It’s too early for the cat and mouse crap to begin. I take my turn at the front and flick my elbow when I’m done. The next rider snickers at me. I’m not sure what faux pas I’ve made to deserve his snicker. I give him a look of “what are you snickering at,” and he just shakes his head. I’m more embarrassed at not knowing what I did, than his snickering. I’ve already decided I’m going to kick his ass. But what did I do to deserve this? Was it the elbow flick? Was it my DKNY kit? Was it my fat ass…?

The B race has turned into a waiting game. It makes no sense to attack early since the A riders will catch the B riders and then pull the B riders up to the break away. A few riders take a hard pull to rattle the field; but, all in all, things are going smoothly, just hot.

About thirty minutes into the race I see the A riders in back of us by about 300 yards. It’s time to get ready to work. Of course the A riders want to make a point when they go by, so they’ve kicked it up a notch or two.

I know from my (so far) short lived career that I want to be either in the front of the B race, or pretty darn close to the front, in order to latch onto the A race as it goes by. Once they pass it will be about three to five minutes of hard work before the group settles down. If I want to have any kind of a top finish in the B race I have to hang on for that first attack.

We are averaging over 24 mph so far. For the first time I realize that I’m sweating. Usually I don’t realize how hard I’m sweating until I stop, but tonight the wind can’t dissipate the sweat fast enough. I take a drink to replenish fluids.

I feel good. Actually I feel really good. I feel as if I’m running again…sweat pouring off me. In my mind there was no greater feeling than being able to wring my shirt out after a run and create a puddle with my sweat. Those days are gone for me, but tonight is close.

Five laps to go and I’m still feeling good. One of the Skylands riders asks me what I am doing at the back; it’s easier riding up front. So I decide to go up and take a pull or two. Problem is I take a pull and no one wants to take over. The cat has begun juggling its mouse.

I make the left turn before the hill and my pedal scrapes the pavement. That was close. I’m now a little tentative going around the corners. I think about the rider MedEvac'd out the previous week.

The snickering rider is now nowhere to be found. Take that asshole.

I am feeling really good. Perhaps the best I’ve felt all season. I decide that I’m having so much fun that I really don’t care where I finish tonight. I’m up front in the hunt, but I want to make sure I race another day. The pedal scrape sits in the back of my mind.

I’m boxed in on the back straightaway and having trouble getting into position for the final sprint. My legs feel good, my back doesn’t hurt, and I haven’t punched my ticket yet.

I decide to wait it out and let the field breakup once it gets over the hill. I'm reviewing my prospects. I’ve had some success earlier in the season picking off riders in the last straight away. I could make a riskier move… the pedal scrape… I wait.

I pick off a few riders but not as many as I had hoped. It’s ok though. I feel great. I’m drenched in sweat afterwards. The rain held off, and I’m in one piece. I’m not one for hanging out, warming down, re-hashing the race with other riders. I decide to jump in the car and get home at a decent hour. I don’t even bother to change.

The fifty-minute ride home in the air conditioning has cooled me down. I get out of the car and wipe my brow. It feels like fine grit sandpaper. I wipe my eyelids. This feels like I’ve got rock salt deposits by my nose bridge. I feel like I did twenty-five years ago. I feel great!

I ride the next day and feel like crap. Just like twenty-five years ago.

Editor's Note: Yes, dear reader, you are correct. You have never seen the term 'anerobilic' previously. Palletman has coined the term to cover the loss of aerobic and anabolic capacity all at the same time. Pretty clever. Don't confuse it with the lesser (though more commonly used) term of 'anaerobic'.

Hope you all appreciate a little break from the same ol' same ol' with Palletman's story here. If SlingShot had written it, the whole thing would have been about how the countdown for the bell lap went all the way through 5, 4, 3, 2, ???, and nobody was sure if 1 was 1 or the next lap after 1 was 1.

There would have been a large paragraph about how Kevin Douchebag Haley (winner of the first finish) was last seen kicking the shit out of a table full of Officials (probably something about who was the winner of the second finish).

But we have to agree with all you guys. Palletman's is better.



Thursday Trail Side Ride: 06/21/07



American Road Cycling is diverting attention from cycling today to make note that yesterday was the son of Palletman's 8th Grade Graduation.

We are only doing this because we spent the whole ride yesterday hearing about what a wonderful fellow Palletman's son is: how he is good at this, how good he is at that, how really special he is, blah, blah, quack, quack... till we were all ready to puke.

We weren't going to puke over the effusive write up, but from the sheer overexertion due to the ass beating Palletman was handing us while saying, "I really have to get back quick. I wouldn't miss this graduation for the world. Really my kid is...blah, blah, quack, quack."



From: SlingShot
To: New Member

Hi S.A. : )

Thank you for taking time to fill out the American Road Cycling contact form. You are one of about a dozen people who have actually filled out the form.

Most of the other names on the list were merely taken from another database and pasted there by me.

However, there are a number of people who read and contribute, so you might like to take a look at the Attendance Records for your own understanding.

This month's records are at:


Since you have an AOL connection, your IP# will change every time you show up at the website. In fact, AOL connects with several different IP#'s at the same time.

Therefore, the only way I will be able to confirm your identity will be by getting e-mail directly from you via the e-mail address you have provided.

Since postings in the Chatter Box get a little chaotic, if you start posting, and somebody becomes a problem to you by pretending to be you (anybody can use any name), please let me know, so I can block their posts.

I personally post using the names: ARC Staff, SlamCrank, CaliperGirl, and SlingShot among others.

Otherwise, it appears you have seen enough of the site's content to realize the high degree of nonsense that is American Road Cycling.

Thanks again for taking the time to submit a form.




While mildly delirious after the Father's Day ride, SlingShot was treating himself to a half-nap, half-channel-clicker afternoon.

Father's Day is a big deal around here, because SlingShot loves to celebrate the fact that he is not a father. Therefore, it was a half interested drowsy couch potato day after a big 65 mile bonk.

In any case, SlingShot happened upon an episode where our friends over at OCC are visiting NASA and the Space Shuttle.

Well, we say our friends, but really Senior, Paul Jr., and Mikey are just people that friends of ours knew, and whom we were aware of to some degree or another, before their lives became something really not like anything at all.

However, we still always feel some connection, because before the big explosion of their show, their former lives were so much like a lot of people in town (the relationship of the woodcarver and his son in particular), so that at least to the degree they struggle and succeed in making things of true excellence, we can't shake the feeling we know them.

Seeing the video of them looking up at the Space Shuttle, one might think it was with a gaze reserved only for people who also build things that go really fast for people who like to ride such stuff, and who are looking at an example of pretty much the same thing being done on a scale beyond all comprehension.

Except SlingShot knows: that particular gaze is just the natural reaction to a Shuttle launch.

Also, each of the OCC protagonists was commenting about how amazing it was, and how you really might think you knew something about a Shuttle launch until you actually saw one, at which point you would surely realize that space flight is really something spectacular, and far different from anything else you've ever experienced.

What they said about it is true.

Most of you weren't around for the original publication of SlingShot's Space Shuttle article (2002), so below is the link to the rerun:


The article starts with the Space Shuttle and ends with George W. Bush showing up. Strange days indeed.

Please excuse the use of the uncensored '%#!$' term. The article was written before SlingShot hated the motherfuckers.




I think therefore I...uh, what was I saying?
Grant (Mini Paul) Salter

1) You get a new sidewalk surfboard (excited).
2) You get really good at using it (maybe).
3) You write everybody about it (eventually).

Did I ever show you the picture of the vagina on my head? This was from 4 weeks ago.

Grant AKA ( Little Man with horse like Penis)

Editor's Note: Man that must be one small, funny looking horse. Guess you got the skateboard because you never get to ride your tiny little odd shaped horse.

Anybody still think punctuation and helmets are not very important?




In the peripheral of my right eye I saw the Widder losing it and passing behind my vision. She had just muttered something very similar to, "Fuck me!" giggled and ground her gears.

Before I thought about it, I pushed down harder with my right foot and pulled up harder with my left.

After all, this was pretty late in the ride. I didn't have to be so conservative. I congratulated myself for riding so smart up to that moment. I had dropped into steady climbing mode on every long hill and conserved strength for the return trip.

Then I realized what had just happened.

Poor Latrine had attacked up the left side of the group, and I followed. It was on the last hard hill before we would descend into New Paltz for our turn-around break at the bakery.

I knew that if Paul attacked on a hill, I would be able to go with him. In fact, I had gotten myself a little ahead of him, and I figured I may as well take the thing for myself.

The Black Widow had popped, and Poor was beatable.

Then it happened: Poor let out a little gasp as he cracked.

Immediately Palletman was passing on my left, and General G Douglas on my right. That's when the horrible truth hit full on square.

"Wait a minute! If I am here with these two, the Widder has popped, and Poor has cracked? I have fucked myself good this time. Poor: I could beat here slightly. The Widow: I could take. These other two: no fucking way."

"I am now way the fuck over my head, overextended, and will be paying for this later. Everything I have been saving for the climb up 208 out of New Paltz is spent, and this ride is pretty much over for me."

And it was. Our long-ass poker-style, B-type, snack and rest till way cooled down, stop at the bakery, just before trying to regain some semblance of a warmed-up state on the 208 climb back out...well, that was just the finishing touch.

At least I got dropped, lost, and enjoyed my first all-out delirious bonk of the year. I'm still not sure how I ended up on Twin Arches and Tuthill Roads at 65+ miles—five miles behind the group (now finished) but 10 miles from the finish myself.

However, that put me near the deli where I sat on the bench eating cup cakes, sipping root beer, and calling the Widow to come pick me up.

Poor had written a check his legs couldn't cash, and I stupidly followed his lead, using my debit card...which account was immediately emptied.

It was Father's Day, and one of those incredible sunny (and on the verge of too hot) Sundays. On the ride were P'man, Dr. Steve, The Beave Humberto, Dangerous Dan, Poor Latrine, Grant Salter (Mini Paul), The Black Widow, General G Douglas Allen, and me, SlingShot.

As everybody pulled past me up that final hill in a tight little group, I began waiting for Poor and thought, "Next time I do stupid shit like that, I am going to make sure there's an ATM nearby, so I can use cash I have, not dreams I wish I had."

Editor's Note: The Black Widow's favorite quote of the day happened after studio closing time, when she was driving SlingShot back to pick up the truck at Poor's.

Said SlingShot, "This hill really hurt today, but..."

Said the Widder, "You weren't even on this hill today. I came and picked you up, you crazy old fuck!"



Mmmph, mmmph. Slurp, gurgle. Smack, smack, squoosh.
Dan Palletman McNeilly

Story coming soon!

In the meantime, the rest of you might like to heed this warning.

When at first you refuse to take a banana from the Black Widow, but she assures you it will be ok—because she is not bringing her camera—keep the following in mind.

The Black Widow does not own the only camera on the planet.

At least when his own time was up The Bicycle Doctor, Rich Cruet knew enough to just do it and not waste everybody's time.


Hmm...EPO, Anabolics, Advil...oh, here it is...WHOOP ASS!


Today we discuss the proper way to get off the front of a paceline. Of course this assumes a strong group of people who have a lot of trust in the cycling skills of every other member of the group.

Road cycling is a dangerous sport under even the best of circumstances. Therefore, much of what passes for "technical skills" are actually safety procedures.

Never paceline with people you do not know and trust.

A true paceline has two lines of riders. One line (the right side line in this case) is moving relatively forward, the other line is drifting relatively backward.

Below is a simple diagram of a well organized pace line.




There are always (always) two people on the front taking the brunt of the wind.  Notice that the one on the right is off-set just behind the one on the right.

The left side front rider should position themselves the minimal safe distance behind the wheel of the right side front rider. When the right side rider pulls off, the left side rider (now second in that line) drifts back with them just far enough for them to take their position behind the new right side front rider.

The rookie error of leaving of a single person on the front of a line, who must also take the full force of the wind all the way to the back of the line, is a major cycling faux pas. It is also the status quo in many club rides.

The front rider on the right side should move over to the left well before they have maxed out their effort, because they will still be required to exert the same amount of energy while staying on the front of the left side (backward sliding line) until the next person pulls off in order to block the wind in front of them.

Riders should drift back very gradually, else they and the people behind them in the backward moving line, will be unable to hook onto the back of the ride, and they will be dropped.

Remember this: small differences of a few inches of the front rider's position can easily telescope to several feet of difference to riders on the back—due to the rubber banding effect caused by response times rippling back through the group.

To gage their speed, left side front riders should focus on the rider to their right and slide back very slowly. They should go back only far enough to assume their position a pacing distance behind the wheel of the next person who will be coming over.

Of course, this assumes the person now leading the right side (forward moving line) has not surged after taking over the lead but is maintaining the overall pace of the group. In fact, the right side rider should never "pass" the left side rider, but allow them to slide backward.

Whether the right side surges forward or the left side rushes backward, it is bad for the group.

Good communication, both verbal and hand signals, is crucial for a well working paceline. When things are correct the line just flows in a counter clockwise circle while purring down the road.

A single rider, or a disorganized group, can never beat an organized paceline.

Here's a quick case-study of a hypothetical fuck up.

Let's say a strong experienced rider has pulled a group of people for a long way to catch a target rider in front of them.

To make it easier to visualize pretend that our strong rider was the Bicycle Doctor. For our purposes let's pretend the rider being caught was SlingShot.

Now, let's assume that SlingShot was more or less waiting for the group to catch him, and when he found himself beside the Bicycle Doctor, SlingShot took the golden opportunity to fuck with him by asking about his health and the weather while blocking him from moving off the front.

Also, let's guess the Bicycle Doctor is no idiot and finally said, "I'm coming off," and did.

So SlingShot moved back with plenty of juice for the remainder of the little hill. However, let's consider that the person who was behind the Bicycle Doctor was not a strong and experienced paceliner, and when they came off the front they more or less put on the brakes.

In that case, the person slowing, and the Bicycle Doctor, and SlingShot would all be tossed to the back of the line like corn stalks spewn through a threshing machine.

Of course the Bicycle Doctor would be strong enough to recover (though he might mention the bad move to the perpetrator), and the Bicycle Doctor is also very helpful, so he would even help that person (who so egregiously slowed in front) to get back on the line.

Only SlingShot (the fat-ass loser that he is) would be shelled out the back.

However, considering the shelling was accomplished only because the stupid move at front reminded SlingShot he never likes to ride in slower groups, maybe it wasn't so much a shelling as it was a tactical common sense life choice.

In any case, all the better riders know this stuff about pacelining and use it to make their rides a lot faster and a lot safer.

Of course, the Bicycle Doctor is one of those people in the know, but he has a certain character flaw which compels him to be helpful to slower riders.

Go figure.




From Humberto:

Hey, Bob !

I did a test, and you are right.

At very high speed Woody fell through the hole in the bicycle seat, but the smart octopus did the whole 50 miles on top of the seat.

Do you think Humberto will ever play with me again?

Editor's Note: Nobody has the slightest clue what the above message and photo mean.

We were going to hold a contest to see if anybody could figure it out but decided that it is cruel and unusual nonsense to get people all excited about winning something when in fact deciphering Humberto's meaning is an impossibility.

We must only assume that Humberto has been spending way too much time with Dangerous Dan, and this is merely the only way he can get a Woody near anything ending with the letters p, u, s, s, and y.


I'm serious. Right after the ride, I'm goin' to Hollywood!



This afternoon, SlingShot heard that somebody shot and killed three dolphins. There is a $2,500 reward for their capture.

We wonder who decides which animals are protected by the degree of horrification afforded to the murder of dolphins, and which animals are merely considered barbecues in waiting.

There seems to be a certain widespread agreement that the main determining factor is intelligence, and people believe dolphins are especially bright.

That is not a perfect system, however, because an octopus is significantly smarter than a dolphin, while they garner only revulsion from most people and are viewed as something akin to calamari by others.

Plus, there is a large segment of the world aghast at the mere thought of sacrificial steaks.

Of course pigs are much smarter, more considerate, and well mannered than dogs, but we hardly ever go out to an all-you can-eat K-9 barbecue... even when staying in South Carolina.

Jim BLASTER Amels brought in his own point of view for his recent American Road Cycling post Hump photo shoot. See the photo below.

And your point was?
BLASTER gone all activist and shit.

Hope you didn't miss the follow-up statement on the back of the T-shirt. It is shown on the rollover.

In any case, SlingShot himself often dreams of tracking down the AA's, killing them, and feasting on their desiccated carcasses. He maintains this dream despite being fully aware that Pokers would be much tastier due to the runaway marbelization of their big beefy hindquarters.

Except, nobody could take offense at the massacre of AA's, because they are clearly on the bottom of the intelligence scale.

Probably only slugs are more stupid, but significantly less hated and amazingly more unappetizing than AA's, unless termed escargot and purchased at a premium.

In any case, here's your test.

Q: What do you call enough grain to feed 32 people?

A: A hamburger.



La donna mobile qual piuma al vento muta d'accento e di pensiero... man I really love singing along with this stuff a lot more since I put the disco lights on my helmet.

Well, I did want to learn better cycling skills. I guess this would be the perfect moment to practice a running getaway mount.


Yesterday, the Widder got all freaked out as she was running toward the door out of her favorite sushi joint.

Somebody was pointing at her and smiling. That's the kind of crap she just will not put up with. The pointing is ok. It's the smiling that pisses her off.

In any case, she was thinking, "Now who is this guy pointing and smiling at me?" Then she noticed he had great hair.

"Why, it's Chester Pete," she exclaimed to herself and continued to run out, all excited to report the sighting to SlingShot.

Except for a few moments of amazed commentary after seeing Parveen roaring through Chester looking strong, fast, and terrific, the next several hours were taken up with the Widder giggling about being caught on a sushi run.

Between giggles she mentioned, "This is by far the best sushi in the area. It is a little expensive, but it's the best."

To which SlingShot responded, "Perfect. That means they should last about a month."

"No way. They've already got Chester Pete eating there!"

"My point exactly."

Therefore, in order to help overcome a triple threat toward failure (excellent food, high prices, Chester Pete as customer), American Road Cycling hereby declares Magoya Japanese Restaurant in Chester, NY our favorite sushi take-out hangout.

We have placed them on the SPONSORS (NOT) page.

It will be fun to see which folds first. The restaurant, their website, or American Road Cycling.

SlingShot is betting on the restaurant, due to their website providing no information.

Somebody should explain to them that it takes about 40 seconds to post a menu. Here is proof.

Sorry for no banana'ing today, but you wouldn't want your banana to get all stinking of fish, would you?




Bananas don't talk.

Humberto continues to have all our best interests at heart. He submitted his newest photo above with this newest Humberto cautionary tale.

Lately, in almost every ride, somebody drops something, maybe a water bottle, a pump or something like that. However, very often it is their banana.

Bananas are very dangerous on the roads. Please secure your banana so this doesn't happen to you. [see photo above]

This warning seems to be related to the BUTTON PUSHERS story below. We especially like the soft focus smudge on the camera lense. It is probably banana juice and not at all related to any Greasy Mexicans, who (as it turns out) need have no connection whatsoever to Mexico.

You will notice that part of Humberto's problem may be related to the slenderness of his banana. See how easily it slips through the slit in his seat? Said the seat, "I didn't even know it was in there. I never felt a thing."

This is so like Humberto, to provide considerate warnings in addition to his public toiletry. [see BUTTON PUSHERS below]



SlingShot's choice was between a local club's easy twenty mile-ish spin with a couple hill sprint intervals, or a 36 mile hard and hillier ride with Poor Latrine and the Black Widow.

It was an easy choice, because it would be Shot's first ride in more than a week, and he needed the mileage to help get his back recovered from its recent blowout.

Things got more difficult than expected, although the Widow disavowed any instigatory involvement.

"I just kept hoping for Bob to get dropped, so the pace would slow down; but, every time we turned around, he was right there."

She added, "I was only going hard because Poor was pushing my buttons. It is NOT my fault my half-wheeling pushed his own buttons to make him push mine harder. We were riding over a straight course to a vicious circle."

SlingShot reported, "For me it was a personal best of sorts. I have finally moved up from hearing after a ride that all the other riders kept saying 'What about Bob?' to hearing for myself people saying again and again, 'Are you ok, Bob?'"

In any case, going over to Poor's house put Shot and Widder across from Humberto's, so they got to see that he has recently installed the new universal signage for public restroom facilities.

The Widder got this photo:

Man, there's another one. This subdivision is full of toilets. Almost as full as I am of...well, not for long.
National Standard Signage for Public Toilets

If you inspect the photo closely, you will see a tiny little SlingShot approaching on his bike to avail himself of the facilities.

Be aware that certain variations are allowed for this official signage.

1) Floral adornment is not mandatory.
2) The red flag need not be raised.
3) You may come with your own banana.

Otherwise, you may identify outdoor toilet facilities by inspection of the surrounding grass. If it is indistinguishable from a well manicured lawn, it is in fact a public restroom.

If you find that a full roll of paper has not been provided, feel free to use one of your gloves and drop it on the grass. Of course, you may use both your gloves in order to keep your touring pairs together.

If still in doubt as to the status of a facility (quite truthfully they usually look exactly like a well tended suburban yard or garden), you may confirm by word of mouth.

As you are ride away, you will often hear the caretaker shouting words of encouragement behind you. Many of them have picked up cycling related jargon from motorists, so you will be quite familiar with the vocabulary.

Please, never place your used gloves in the "mail box" receptacles. That is the European standard. In the U.S. these are merely for show, and the government fills them with excrement.

When using these sorts of rest stops, take extra care that the local police do not spot you.

Apparently, cops are disallowed by their employers from using these facilities and have become so jealous that they often trump up charges to punish the more fortunate.

We know somebody who was using one of these public outdoor toilets on the Heritage Trail just outside of Goshen when they were spotted (immediately afterward) by a local police officer.

Their modesty precluded them from accepting undeserved accolades, so they had to get a lawyer involved in order to avoid having the prestigious title "Registered Sex Offender" tacked onto their name. And that facility was unmarked!

Sounds like a joke, doesn't it?




Yesterday, SlingShot and the Black Widow happened to see Dangerous Dan and Kevin Douchbag Haley riding on 88 going out of Pine Island toward Sussex.

Despite Kevin Douchbag Haley being already deep in the midst of kicking Dangerous Dan's ass, Dan remained giddy and smiling during the entire encounter.

When asked what that was all about, SlingShot told the Widder, "Dan was just running through jokes about the current situation, plus predicate jokes about the current situation, and also possible outcome jokes related to the current situation. Like always."

He continued, "Only about 2 to 3 percent of his humorous thoughts ever make it to the surface, which is good because most of them don't make any sense to human beings anyway. He was also probably reviewing your little breaking and entering escapade sneaking into Poor's house while he was away in order to banana him... along with several variations of how you pissed on Poor's lawn."

"Yeah, that's why the first thing I said was that I was looking for a place to pee. I knew my only chance was to say it first. What did Kevin say?"

"He asked if you think that all of Orange County is your toilet."

Unfortunately, Mary didn't have her camera with her (due to her early-bird special birthday dinner at Taco of the Town), so there are no photos of the encounter.

However, it is still important to remind people a banana'ing can never be avoided—neither by absence of bananas, nor lack of a camera.

Here it is:

Good Lord...I think the Black Widow caught us with our bananas out.
Kevin Douchebag Haley and Dangerous Dan Sullivan



The following caution submitted by Humberto Cavalheiro (aka: Turtle Boy, The Beave, GM):


WARNING: To all riders using this kind of seat.

During a ride your banana (or any kind of snack) can fall through the seat, creating a problem for climbing or sprinting.


Editor's Note: Humberto, thank you for the heads down. American Road Cycling would like to return the favor by mentioning that your fruit may be tainted. Time to return the loaner saddle to Poor Latrine for restocking back to the Premium Shelf.

The Black Widow has mentioned that with a saddle like the one shown, one could be quite happy not even making it to the sprint.




Hey! Listen up. SlingShot cannot run the whole fucking Internet for you guys.

Today you would be much better off watching the video linked below instead of reading another installment in the annuls of nothing for nobody from the lips of His Dreariness.

Besides, if SlingShot was going to say anything today, it wouldn't be about cycling. He would have to comment on this.

He heard that Israel has offered to give up the Golan heights and initiate diplomatic relations with Iran, and the only thing they are asking from Iran is for them to agree to a couple of preconditions.

The conditions are for Iran: 1) to cut off all support for Hamas, Iraq, and the Taliban, 2) to open up a Starbucks on Mars and develop the Sun as a vacation resort.

Granted the stipulation that the Sun resort include significant numbers of ski slopes may pose some problems due to zoning restrictions, but on the whole these things should be pretty easily accomplished.

With such simple requirements, can peace be far away?

However, nobody likes it when SlingShot talks about shit like that, so it is probably better if he doesn't say a word today. We will publish a link to an interesting music video instead.

SlingShot found this video online while searching for the title and the name of the artist of his current favorite tune.

The reason he now has favorite tunes is because ever since Imus got canned there's nothing to watch on TV, so he just leaves on the Cablevision Public Access Schedule and listens to the music.

Despite his TV blackout, he heard through the grapevine that Al Sharpton has finally been called upon in the Paris Hilton affair.

SlingShot said this is the perfect venue for Al. It matches the reverend's skill set and level of importance perfectly.

However, nobody wants to hear SlingShot talk about that either, so we are not going to let him.

As for his "music" channel, when SlingShot started watching 24 hour listings for public access cable, he got all excited about the wealth of great music provided. Ever since MTV et al became nothing but game shows and thinly disguised commercials, he has missed hearing music.

It is only recently that he realized his new discovery is merely an infinite random loop of about 2 dozen songs.

Actually, that's pretty much exactly the same as American Road Cycling, which is a constant loop of about 2 dozen people reading repeats of the same 3 third grade jokes every day: 1) poopy, 2) yucky, and 3) sexy.

Well, ok...two jokes.

In any case, start your day off right by taking a few moments to watch the video linked below and listen to the tune.

Please excuse the video for having Internet de rigueur image quality with flaky audio, because it gets the job done.

You may want to watch it a few times keeping in mind that this is the sort of stuff that causes SlingShot to break out in goose bumps and start weeping like a baby.

Sorry, there is no joke here. This is just the literal truth, and we don't understand it either.

To make things interesting, we will refrain from mentioning the tune's title and the name of the band. Go see for yourself.

NO BONGS, please!


Editor's Note: SlingShot, quit calling yourself "we."



Yesterday Humberto Turtle Boy Cavalheiro (The Beave) circulated the image above with only the following message:

Nice job, Mary!!!
You had too much coffee.

This was sent to a relatively small CC list but, since it was sent by Humberto, has probably viruled itself onto most of the computer screens on the planet, so we had better explain.

Just before the now infamous PLAN TAINTED ride of last Sunday (see yesterday's story below, and Palletman's concerns in the Chatter Box), and long before the security alarm at Poor's was triggered, Humberto asked the Widder if she might like to use his facilities.

The Widder declined mentioning she had already gone...on Poor's lawn.

Turtle Boy responded, "You what?! (giggle, giggle, giggle)

"It's ok, I do it in the parking lot at the Hump all the time. I had my car door open."

Apparently, the Beave (being in charge of Latrine Security) went over a little later to see what was what and found that, sure enough, Poor's lawn now looks exactly like the perimeter of the Big-V parking lot.

Guess the cops won't be hard pressed to collect DNA.

Nice job, Mary!!!




On yesterday's ride from Humberto's, nobody would accept any bananas whatsoever. Maybe that helped Dangerous pull The Black Widow to their 19.88 average (as calculated by SlingShot's Excel spreadsheet time/distance/speed ride calculator) for a hillier than Hump 53 mile course.

However, American Road Cycling must still remind everybody that there is no shelter from a banana'ing, such as was the case for Humberto who left his bike out on the lawn after the ride. A mistake.

Finally...something of size on my saddle.

And Twin George who left his car anywhere. A mistake.

Hey, do like riding your bicycle in the drainage ditch?! Now get back up here and retrieve your bananas.

And Poor Latrine who left his house and office unattended. A mistake—even though a bribe to security failed to stop his house alarm from going off and prompting the police to show up.

At least we got a photo of the security camera's display on Poor's computer showing the arrival of the police looking for The Black Widow. Looks like the law was having a busy day and doubling up cruiser duty. In any case, Poor leaving his house empty: a mistake.

My widdle weggies huht...

Below is the bonus photo of Humberto's saddle that Dangerous thought was important to show.

Kind of odd. You'd think that not having anything would mean NOTHING is NOT needed here.

As for the rest of you upset at being left out, never you worry for a moment. Your banana is coming.

Editor's Note: We are probably not out of the woods with the police yet. After the alarm went off, Humberto told Mary, "Just get out of here before the police come."

Then Mary phoned Liz who said, "Just cheez it, man. The fuzz are going to be all over that place like a hen on a June bug."

That alarm going off ostensibly made the house a crime scene, so Mary is most likely defined as "fleeing the interview." That means she is a person of interest and on the lam.

SlingShot is still nursing his back so wasn't on the ride, but he is probably now considered an accomplice after the fact. Maybe he can get a plea bargain by ratting out the Black Widow. In any case, this cannot end well.

Say, Widder, give our regards to Paris.

On a happier note: Humberto, did you say your new Moe-winky was taken in the burglary? But Poor's homeowner's will take care of it? Covered in Campy was it?



Today we commemorate Glenn "Pretty Boy" Babikian Day.

The day is awarded to Glenn for his chivalry exhibited during yesterday's Hump when he blocked the wind for The Black Widow on the approach to the big hill on Route 1—thus allowing her to beat an appropriate number of riders in the front group up that hill while saving bullets to stay in the ride well past the camel farm outbound.

In fact, she hung in the ride until a group of ten or so irate horn blowing close calling motorists spooked her into taking the Carpenter Road shortcut  home.

Honorable mention to TP Joe Straub

Good thing Mary came home early too.

SlingShot had dropped her off for the ride while attending a back-health seminar at Dr. Art's. He returned early to pick her up and found her pulling into the parking lot well before the front riders from the full Hump.

Therefore, they were fortunate to be leaving the parking lot in time to see TP Joe Straub coming in with a couple riders immediately after the end of Hump sprint, several moments before the main front group arrived.

Said SlingShot, "You should have seen Joe. He looked fresh as a fresh in fact, one might have thought he only did a few miles of the Hump. Very, very impressive."

Therefore, honorable mention goes to TP Joe for a job well done. We still can't figure out how he managed to look so fresh.

Of course, today the entire day is handed over to Glenn Babikian for helping out the Widder.




Sorry, but I've got nothing for today. I have been too focused on the whole Paris Hilton "now she's in/now she's out" nonsense.

I guess I could write about how weird it is that not one person has mentioned maybe this is a young lady in the last throws of self destruction, and maybe (just maybe) the judge was trying to wake her up.

Or maybe I could say something about how I probably agree with Geraldo when he said, "It is just two guys fighting over whose Johnson is longer." [Really, this is a quote!]

I also might report how things got so bad that a commentator actually called it a "freaking" something or another. [Really, he said it out loud.]

Alternatively, I could say something about how the news conference with the Sheriff last night revealed that 5 days out of 40 for such an offense is not at all that uncommon, especially since it appeared the DT's and withdrawal was probably going to kill her off pretty soon anyway.

But I shy away from mentioning any of it, because I am sure that if I said any one of those things Palletman would run over to the Chatter Box and immediately ask what any of it has to do with cycling.

Then I would have to respond, "C'mon, Palletman. If you don't know what Paris Hilton has to do with a great ride, you are well beyond help."

I don't want to do that, so all things considered, I better just keep my mouth shut—except to point out that all this "is she in/is she out" talk reminds me of my back which is at this very moment out.

Too bad too, because I was finally going to kick all you fat ass losers' asses on the Hump today.



American Road Cycling is much chagrined by having missed the fact that our 06/06/07 banana'ing of Kevin Douchebag Haley was in fact only possible due to the forethought of Humberto Turtle Boy Cavalheiro who brought out his own banana prior to the ride and passed it around to all present.

Sorry, that should have read, "...his own bunch of bananas..."

Only Dr. Steve refused to take a banana, because previously he took hold of a banana handed to him and is now quite wary of Portuguese bearing gifts.

We hope the following photo makes amends for our slight to Humberto, but in truth we were merely relying on the lack of information provided by Poor Latrine...probably always a mistake.

In any case, immediately below is our apology to Humberto and the whole south western side of the Iberian Peninsula.





You've all heard about the obesity epidemic. SlingShot knows a lot about it, because he is a member in good standing most of the time. Plus, he has often been heard to say (when somebody mentions he has put on weight again), "Just when I thought I was out...they pulled me back in."

Turns out things are worse than ARC could ever imagine.

Yesterday the Widder stopped at a local mega store to get a skirt.

She has known for some time that dress sizes have been totally warped by market forces, and sizes such as 2, 4, 12 now mean nothing, so you've got to try everything on.

Well, things have gotten so bad the only skirt she found that fit was a Size XSM in the Juniors Department. Yes, that is an Extra Small, and in the young girls department.

Her eye opening find went along with what SlingShot heard while sitting and waiting for her in another store. A sales' person schmoozed a woman by telling her that their new Size Zero's might be just perfect for her.

Yuck! That shop till you pop fat ass loser would be hard pressed to jam herself into a size 16 of just a few years ago.

Fucking sales' people.

All this nonsense is fully supported by the Weight Loss Industry which obviously has no intention of running out of clients by giving people the actual facts about weight loss.

Last night the Widder and SlingShot were in a local restaurant and heard a table near them going over their "points" system in order to choose their meal.

The loud controlling asshole among them chose a soup worth a certain number of points. What were the ingredients in that soup, he had not a clue, but his point system told them it was allowed, so he got it and explained to everybody else at the table what a good choice he had made, and why.

The Widder exclaimed (in a whisper), "That soup has enough calories in it to feed him for three days...even if he was going to do any exercise...which he obviously isn't. Point system my ass."

In any case, points or not, calories or not, paying attention to any of it probably wouldn't to make much difference for him anyway.

ARC's standard position on this is: "Restaurants could not do a more effective job of poisoning people if they set out to do it on purpose." Anybody who eats in a restaurant is an idiot. That is especially especially true if they rely on "excellent presentation" to protect them from vile fatty-sauce poisons.

Point in case (though this one is far removed from refined presentation): SlingShot recently saw a commercial for a chain restaurant that now offers CHICKEN RINGS!

Said the Shot, "Perfect. I know how an onion slice is dipped in batter and deep fried to make an onion ring, but what part of the fucking chicken do you think they use to make chicken rings?"

Of course, American Road Cycling is preaching to the calorie challenged choir here, but we feel compelled to say that if the world has come to Chicken Rings, then a rump roast is just beating around the bush.



And before I was a cyclist, I did some eye modeling.
Don Stark "Nurse Betty"

Coming Soon
Don's Archival Photos
from the roots of American Road Cycling

Here's a sample

(Toe Clip, do you notice anything besides Stark's extra baggage?)

Here's a hint. Otherwise, he still carries the extra baggage.

July 1973: The photo above was taken near the time Stark was offered a position on an Italian Pro Team but had just put a down payment on his house. He chose responsibility over valor. This is also near the time Don was a founding member of the first cycling club in Orange County, called "The Colossal Nuts and Grain Company" which eventually transmuted into the OCBC and finally grew up to become American Road Cycling.

Around the same time as the July 1973 photo, there was already a vital and growing local racing culture. Here is a race with major sponsorship by the Kingston, New York Rotary Club.

Not an index shifter or clincher in sight, but if you look to the second helmeted head from right (black helmet & glasses) you will shudder with the shock of recognition. And no, those are not just vintage helmets bought on eBay.

More coming soon!



Because FG mentioned in the Chatter Box that he would like to see a comment from SlingShot during the recent blackout and weeklong holding of the flag photo memorial on the home page, below is the original text written to accompany those Memorial Week festivities.

There was also published an underlying link to the flag photo that most people missed which provided an additional degree of poignancy. However, the text below was withheld, because it communicated not one single thing more (and maybe much less) than the simple photo with tag, "Just bring them the fuck home...NOW!"

In any case, here is the deleted text that was meant to explain the photo.


Looks like we got fooled again. Looks like we always will.

Of course, Monday the 28th of May was Memorial Day. Also, of course, I was pretty much oblivious to that fact until I started questioning why I was flipping through so many war movies on TV.

I asked Mary, "Do we have a DVD movie?"

"Yes, we have two. I got one of them just for you, titled: The U.S. vs. John Lennon."

"Oh, goodie. Beatles music."

I soon realized it was actually just another war movie, more or less, and it was the perfect match for a day of commemoration.

Recently, I have been looking at how much (and how radically) language changes over short periods of time. In part, I started paying extra attention, because I have been studying French for several years now and still can't say if I understand a single word of it.

My confusion with French led me to take a closer look at my own use of English (the language I supposedly know) to decide if anybody has ever understood a single word that I have written.

My conclusion is this: given how fast language changes, it is unlikely that anything I write will ever be understood for very long, even in the more unlikely event that it is understood at the moment of its writing.

Therefore, it was amazing to see how much of the language from 40 years ago (shown from news clips in the John Lennon movie) is being repeated today with absolutely no change in meaning whatsoever. Even the duckspeak remains topical and intact.

My knee jerk reaction was to believe I had stumbled upon my own little "lost world" of stability in language use, but on closer inspection it appears to be merely a case wherein a lie, once found useful, is useful forever.

Probably most of you already knew about this, but if you need a refresher, rent the video. If you prefer to keep your sanity, get on your bike and go for a ride.

In any case, the movie reminded me, more than any Memorial Day services or news coverage did, that yesterday (by that I mean yesterday for whatever day you may be reading this) somebody died trying to protect my freedoms.

That is to say, more precisely, once again somebody (or a number of somebodies) followed a bullshit line of total crap to its ultimate conclusion.

Like I have said before, "1984 came and went...and was worse than expected."

Obviously, we got fooled again. Looks like we always will. The only thing we can do about it is to get up on our bikes and ride, just like yesterday.


During the blackout SlingShot added a new Site Map button to the home page which clicks to a page providing navigation to all the Old New's pages and some direct links to articles that have become perennial favorites.

Also, SlingShot spent the time watching Apocalypse Now just to make sure he never stops having acid flashbacks. Next week he'll probably rent Swimming to Cambodia and try to remember why Spalding Gray drowned himself. But that is neither here nor there.


Clipster, please excuse my delay in answering, but I got distracted. What you wrote in the Chatter Box about how useless of my own appearance at the Hump is sans Widder, but it couldn't be helped.

A little after midnight the night before the Hump, I heard the Widder making a commotion in the bathroom.

Good thing I already had a full hour's sleep in, or I wouldn't have been able to drag myself in there to witness her projectile puking and shitting. It was just like a T'd fire hydrant blaring from both barrels. Finally she decided to just stay in the bathtub in order to facilitate cleanup.

It was such an interesting sight I had to stay up all night to watch it. By the time early morning Hump rolled around, Widder had been awake the whole night working on excuses.

I myself only showed up to ride, because we promised Nuclear Dan Buckley an early easy Hump to help out with his back which is on the fritz.

Also, my knee is fritzed, so I figured a slow Hump couldn't hurt. My "haven't slept all night" excuse did not trump the Widder's "I looked down and realized I had shit all over my foot!" excuse. Therefore, I had to face my responsibilities, showed up for the Hump, and left the Widder holding her own head.

Good thing I did too, because I would have missed the final sprint at the end of the Hump. A rare site indeed, unless I just come early and park my car by that telephone pole with the white square painted on it.

As it happened, Poor Latrine went out with Dan and me, and we ended up making a little game out of how far we could hold off the AA's. I almost talked FG into going with us, but he had his eyes set on kicking somebody worth it's ass.

As we approached the biggest hill on the way to Pine Island Poor and Nuclear were making the first of their many calculations.

It was just then 8 o'clock, so we figured (depending on the length of Robb's warm-up speech) the AA's should be leaving the parking lot just then. We had a six mile head start, so that meant they might not catch us until the near the top of that hill. But it took a little longer.

Poor got it in his head that he may as well just pull us for the entire Hump, so after he and Nuclear reviewed their experiences driving race cars on vacation, he just hopped on the front and worked like Paul Latrine used to work. Of course, he and Dan kept the calculations going, and I just kept my mouth shut and held on.

We just kept looking back and saying, "Nobody in sight. Shouldn't be long now."

As we made the turn off Big Island onto Round Hill for the final approach to the S turn, we looked back and saw three riders almost to the low bridge and coming hard. Did I say coming hard? I meant coming really hard.

"Fuck! Here they come. And we almost made it to the S turn."

So we started working. I noticed they weren't catching us as fast as they should, and I realized, "Shittooey. They ain't so much worried about catching us, each of them is feinting, parrying, and positioning for the sprint." We worked harder.

They were almost on our wheel just a little after the S turn, so I asked Poor, "Here they are. Do you want a lead out?"

Paul said, "What?!" so I took off.

I shouldn't have, but I did. I figured it should be over quick, but I forgot they were barely even aware of my own existence, what with all their bluffing and counter bluffing each other coming toward the finish.

Then I looked down and realized I had been pulling close to 30 mph and somewhat longer than I should, but still they should have already gone around, so when they finally did, I didn't make an issue out of it.

I shouldn't have been that fucking close to their sprint and fucking it up anyway, but it never occurred to me they'd let me pull as far as they did. I guess they were having too much fun laughing at my wild ass futile spinning to let it end so quickly.

In any case, last I saw was Kevin Douchebag Haley, TP Joe Straub, and Kirk from Verge in a wild thrashing sprint to the line—just like the big time races. And there was a clear winner which only the three of them and I saw.

Someday I hope you'll get to be there to see one of these sprints. Just get on any one of these guys wheel, and don't let go.

When we got back in the parking lot, it seemed like it wasn't more than 10 minutes before the rest of those who consider themselves AA's pulled in. A second or two after that everybody had already melted back into the "front group," so the record of the ride will always be written and remembered as just another Hump.

No winners, no losers, only riders, and the front three were way the fuck off the front of the front group with a 23.6 average.

For American Road Cycling the unfortunate part of my being in the parking lot that early was when Kevin Haley's mother came over and accosted me for calling him Douchebag.

She has demanded royalties on the use and publication of the name, because she says she is the one who came up with it, and that she realized it was appropriateness way back when he was just an ittybitty kiddie.

We are looking to our sponsors to help us out with this, because she is not asking for much, just enough to cover her mortgage payments. We would really hate to have to stop calling Kevin Douchebag, because it is so appropriate for us to do so. Oh, right. We don't have any sponsors.

Otherwise, like I said Toe Clip, I would have written this earlier, but I was so busy thinking about how weak and pitiful the Widder had been with her "food poisoning" episode that I only had a chance to start working on it yesterday morning around 6 am when I found my own head buried deep in our toilet, loudly calling New Yawk on the big white phone myself.

Editor's Note: This weekend's Hump signals a new ride series.

We already have the Rump (going backwards), the Rump with a Boil (an extra loop after the backwards camel farm to make it a 42 mile ride), the Jump (which SlingShot was doing on his own last year as the regular course but starting 45 minutes early), and now this newest one (only a 30 minute head start but with recovery from significant rider injury involved) now named by Nuclear Dan: The Slump.



Monday the 28th of May was Memorial Day. A single day does not seem nearly enough, so American Road Cycling will display the commemoration below for the entire week. During this time, SlingShot will also show his respect by remaining silent in the Chatter Box.

What the hell have I done?
Just bring them the fuck home...NOW!



All the New's too old to print.




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this page last updated:
02/01/2015 10:38:59 PM

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