Guacamole and Sweet Tea

Half a bottle of Firfly Sweet Tea and a speeding ticket from officer Hicks were the epic souvenirs from the trip to Francis Marion National Forest in South Carolina. The trip started with me nervously driving down the freeway while I watched my rear view mirror in horror. This wouldn't be the last time either. We had opted to take off the roof rack for better gas mileage and instead affix an ancient strap rack to the hatchback of my hatchback. I must say my level of paranoia when it comes to bicycle security on vehicles looks about like this.

The borrowed bike for Britt began to flail through the wind like a sad kite, and thus our first pit stop took place in the "Vast Wilderness of Rednecks and Retired Hippies" according to this map. Finally we let a man pump our gas for the last time and headed into the unknown, also known as the south. Then, after adjoining the hood of the car with an innocent dear (she was ok) in Pennsyltucky, we meandered our way south like a flock of seagulls pausing only to sip margaritas and eat fresh guacamole.

After a wonderful Mexican Banquet in Virginia, we pressed on through the night playing games of "Would you rather?", MFK, and enjoying the delight of peeing on private property right off of the highway. Finally, we could bear the road no longer, or perhaps it could no longer carry our load of vegetarian food, camping equipment, and bicycles. Either way, we knew we had to pull off soon before the lurking highway monsters disguised as police attacked.

In our cozy motel room, which did include free wifi and breakfast, Britt spent the entire six hours hacking into the government's mainframe to gain intel on whether or not Dick Cheney is actually a human being or an alien cyborg. The results were inconclusive, however she discovered Mitt Romney is just a hologram that appears when you rub two one-hundred dollar bills together. That morning, or rather later that day, we checked out and ate our free breakfast. Their waffle maker was piping hot and ready to go, yet something atrocious happened next. The waffle batter caked itself onto the griddle and began to crack and smolder. Our breakfast pretty much turned into an archaeological dig. I took this footage on my cellphone camera. Then, with tired arms and the worst cup of coffee humanity has ever brewed, we drove the rest of the way to the campsite!

We rode bikes on really awesome trails near the water and hung out on this dock where Britt pushed a man out of his kayak into the water, though she claims he fell in all by himself.

The camping was beautiful, the nights crisp as we hunkered down into our sleeping bags. We even got in a day at the beach where we watched a very large woman play with her pitbull and some pathetic parents antagonize their wonderful children. Kidding (or not) aside, the beach of Isle of Palms in South Carolina is truly a gem of the east coast. Sadly we packed up the toyota and began our journey north and got pulled over before we crossed the state line. I still haven't paid that ticket, but I intend to, maybe.

Abaco Bahamas, Remote, No Double A's Required

This will serve as the summary of a seven night Bahamian adventure,on which not a ton happened, but was very relaxing and rewarding nonetheless. I had the privilege of being invited by my friend Matt who is the gentleman gracing us with the middle finger in this photo.



The trip to Abaco started with a bang when my flight was delayed due to the plane's radio malfunctioning at Newark Airport. Biding my time, getting into a wonderful and interesting book (that is still residing on the boat in the picture) a man in his mid forties spewed forth a shower of snot very similar to the kids in this video.



To my dismay the snot was not water from a spritzer bottle which I would have welcomed in the dry, stuffy atmosphere of the grounded airplane, but actual snot, snot potentially housing bacteria and pathogens, a multitude of viruses. The look of horror I shot at this man did not make up for the snot-tastic eruption he shot at me. I thought maybe since I'm 23 I'd be alright. Technically I should have the immune system of an Olympian God, but coupled with the lack of sleep and vat of Sam Adams I guzzled at the airport, I destroyed any chance of my shields withstanding this type of beating. So I cut my losses and tried to enjoy my flight on the puddle jumper from Florida to Marsh Harbor. On this flight I became aware of how cool the Amazon Kindle actually is.



I sat on the airplane in the flickering sunlight squinting at my Murakami hardcover, which may tip the scales at four pounds, while an elderly gentleman in front of me held his kindle at an arms length and happily gazed over the giant print. The size of the print was cranked up to the 'fucking large' setting. (Don't google that with safe search off.) I was amazed at the adjustability and the clarity of the text in the varying light. Also what was most amazing was that this man, decked out Sperrys, a nice golf shirt, probably around 75 years young was reading about vibrators. I wanted to give him a high five, but thought it might be rude, considering I had been learning about vibrators for the first half of the flight over his shoulder and without his knowledge.

So we landed in beautiful 75 degree weather, hopped in a rental car with a left-hand drive steering wheel, which we were told to drive on the left side of the road, and stopped at a grocery store to fuel up the home we would be staying in. The house is gorgeous, high ceilings, right on the beach, small pool on the side. Very private, very rad. Five minutes on a golf cart got us to the beach club where we paid $20 for mango daqueris, took out kayaks and paddle boards,



played some epic ping pong with the locals,



and sailed this aqua craft.



This was the daily routine for most of the time until our epic boat trip with this hessian named Steve.



He's a total rad guy who gave us an awesome tour of Abaco, showed us amazing snorkling spots, and how to spearfish. With his guidance I was able to spear a lobster, which I ate later that evening. So epic.



This brings us to today, which is gorgeous although I am not taking advantage of the sun because I got scorched yesterday catching dinner. A big thank you to Marsha and Bruce for putting me up on this radical adventure. I am looking forward to getting home to see a doctor and other wonderful people who could not join me on this adventure. I will leave you with a video of Matt's band Artemesis. Thank you for reading.

Back in Business

I regretfully inform you that I have taken on the task of reviving this blog. I'm not exactly sure what will happen to it, for it has taken on several themes already. There will be an intense effort to continue with the mixed motif motif, so as a reader, you at least have that to look forward to. My guess is that there will continue to be adventures, with or without bicycles, and of course beer. Thank you for making it this far. If you decide to give up I won't blame you, but you may end up buying a high-end hunk of shit bicycle, which I wouldn't wish on anyone.

First, I would like to say, "Thank you." to Specialized for making great bikes and mostly because they spawned from things like this.






While this is really what mountain biking is about (seeing who's the fastest out of your friends) I want you to have the best bike possible so you can win those "smokables." Now, without further ado, I would like to present the Specialized Camber.



The curves and simplicity of the suspension are rather beautiful. They embody the Specialized look. But the bike handles like a Cadillac on snowy roads. The back end is all over the place. It may be the flexy roval rims, or the geometry that is just aching to be aggressive, but is just a few degrees too short of a well cooked chicken breast. You're getting Salmonella. Dear Specialized, please stick with the Stumpjumper which is such an awesome bike and stop trying to sell your customers this in-between stuff. Like Salmonella, it isn't fun for anyone, the riders, the mechanics, or the poor souls who read this blog (all two).

Even if you have a camber, enjoy the warm weather and keep riding hard. Much Love.

The Road of Unforeseen Expenses

Well shit. I was stuck between Wolf Creek and Pagosa springs due to a giant gash in the sidewall of my left front tire. Why? Some piece of metal on the road thought it would be hilarious to jump in front of my car while I gazed longingly at the snowcapped mountains. I got out of my car whilst cursing at myself for the sheer lunacy of this trip and then was awestruck by the looming mountains framing the valley as well as the Matrix and me. After removing the cooler, bicycle, miscellaneous groceries, and the stove, I frantically dug out the doughnut like Johnny Depp digging for pirate's treasure.



Once that was taken care of, I drove the next 20 miles like the person in the volvo, but was kind enough to pull off to the shoulder when people snuck up behind. Once I pulled into Pagosa Springs I stopped at an auto parts store to ask if they knew where I could get a new tire at 6:00 on a Monday night. The manager called his pal at Big O Tires and they hooked me up with a brand spanking new piece of rubber even though they had already closed. Would that have happened in NJ? Yeah right! Although now I am compelled by the forces of the interweb to bring you this video about Dirty Jerz. (Sorry for the commercials. I'll apologize on the behalf of youtube for selling out.) But really, we all know the people they interviewed were not actually from New Jersey because they didn't look like this.



but I digress...

Although the tire story has a happy ending (I made it to Durango.), it was still costly, actually greater than or equal to the cost of the gas to get to California from here. So Cali will have to wait until I can devote a solid amount of time and dolla billz to it's visit. My intention as of now is to begin driving south to Tempe AZ and then back up to Flagstaff to grace the Grand Canyon with my presence before driving East through the south.

So Durango...



It's a little different than the way they portrayed it on the cartoon show "Doug", meaning I didn't see anyone make a rattle snake belt. Other than that the video describes the area perfectly. There are people here dressed like Doug in that cartoon, and that put a smile on my face when I drove from Durango to Cortez this morning from the hostel. Forty-Five minutes was all the journey took for this much anticipated destination, Phil's World. This is my most favoritest place to ride a bike in the galaxy. The trail is fun, fast, twisty, and if you don't live above 5,000 feet, Phil's World will kick your ass.
Here I am sucking wind after a friendly local-shredder put me to shame on the second climb.



But at the top, the view of Mesa Verde was more than worth it.



After the "Ribcage" section, filled with sweeping turns, whoop-de-doos, and the occasional kicker on the side to get you extra stoked, I couldn't wipe the grin off of my mud covered face. It was everything I hoped and dreamed it would be, and then some. The aromatic scent of sage stayed with me for most of the ride home. I will now leave you with a "Dubstep" song. The people of Boulder go crazier for dubstep than they do for outdoor gear or even medical Mary Jane. You may hear something like this at the next scuzzy house party you attend.



Peace, Love, and...no, I can't leave on that note again. How about,

Sex, Drugs, and Rock n' Roll,

J

Boulder: Indecision and Glee

First, I must apologize for falling off the bandwagon of blogger and not writing a blog for the past two weeks. I've been making an effort to be more wrapped up in what I'm doing at the moment, than what's to come next; something that's easy to do in Boulder, CO. This place feels like home, and it's unclear as to why. Maybe it's because seeing old friends is one of the best things in the world, or maybe it's because Boulder has so much to offer.

Initially the plan was to stay for a few days, which turned into a week, which turned into another week. Having a free place to stay had a lot to do with it, but so did the openness of the people that dwell in this city. One of the first Boulder experiences happened in a Pizza place where I was introduced to a Yerba Mate and wheat beer concoction. It was a good choice. One person I was with saw some friends he knew and we sat, ate, and drank with two cool cats.



One told us a super intense story, about the military, going AWOL, and traveling around, something that would seem difficult to tell a complete stranger let alone an acquaintance. He let us all into his life so easily. After spending some time here and meeting so many great people, it became clear that while the cool cat's story is unique and amazing, his attitude is right on par with the people of Boulder. Even the skatepark, the best place in any town to find the sketchiest people, contained an element of politeness I've never seen at a park.

Let's talk about Marijuana. It's legal here for medicinal use, with dispensaries lining the streets like Starbucks in NYC. That may be a slight overehxagguration, but it's advertised as much as alcohol or rather the 3.2 beer they sell at the grocery stores. It's very prevalent. You can get whiffs of pot smoke while walking along Pearl street at night and gaze into the windows of the illuminated headshops in between the bars. Very different from the east coast, where if caught with marijuana, you can look forward to lawyer fees and a lot of unfulfilling job interviews.




The relaxed laws reflect the relaxed police force. They'll pull you over with a smile and without hostility. On nice days, they'll set up speed traps on motorcycles. The police will sit on the sidewalk with their motorcycles and radar the traffic going by. I was skating in the bike lane because the road was supa smooth, and one cop on the sidewalk literally said, "Pardon me, I know it's smooth, but could you please skate on the sidewalk? I'm sorry." I've never talked to a cop, even off duty, who was that polite.

Once you get out of the city itself ( a ten minute drive), you can drive up to Flagstaff Mountain, go bouldering, hiking, biking, or just plain chilling. If you're feeling adventurous, you can drive to Greeley and see a metal show! (They put on one hell of a show.) There's also Chataqua State Park or Boulder Canyon. This is Jacob on a dome in the canyon.




This is some perspective on how large that dome actually is.



Here's Colin at Flagstaff Mounain in front of a very difficult bouldering problem.




To continue on the climbing theme, Boulder is a hot spot for professional climbers and those who just love to climb. The world famous bouldering gym, The Spot, is five minutes away from the city center, and is so large, I can't imagine it ever getting boring, especially when there are real boulders lurking just about everywhere outside.

Unfortunately, snowboarding is not cheap, so I decided not go right now, and instead spend some time in California. Being outside every day was more than enough, even when it snows, it's just a beautiful place to be. Between the smiles of acknowledgment and the sights, Boulder is an ideal place to live. As of now, my intention is to come back and live here for some time. That, however, may change as there is still more to explore in the west. This place is sooooo laid back, that even though I planned to leave today, I'll be spending one more night and then heading down to Cortez, Co tomorrow morning to ride the legendary Phil's World. As far as self searching goes, well shit, things are getting clearer.

Peace and Love,

J


Oh yeah, we had festival of meats! (Insert dirty jokes here.)

16 Hours, 5 States, 7 Cigarettes, 2 Redbulls, and a 5-Hour Energy

The drive to Colorado began early in the morning. I said one last goodbye to the amenities of the motel room, not knowing if the Toyota Matrix would carry me all the way to Colin's couch in Boulder, or if I would be camping in the very flat state of Nebraska. I started the drive in Chesterton, Indiana, roughly 40 miles east of Gary. The few miles left in Indiana flew by and soon I was welcomed into the state of Illinois.

Immediately, the selector , put on the Sufjan Stevens Album "Come on Feel the Illinoise". It was interesting to imagine what he was looking at when he wrote that album, as I was driving through. With the music carrying the Matrix across route 80, I was able to slip through Illinois fairly quickly. When I got into Iowa, things really changed...



They have this thing called i-Zoom instead of EZ Pass. I think EZ Pass still works in an i-Zoom toll booth, but I couldn't help but think about which other i-Products must be out there for the general public. Something like this would surely take-off.


Oh wait, this one's actually for real. Hunger overcame the Matrix and me, so while she gassed up I satisfied my craving for greasy hamburger meat.



Even though Keenan and Kel were not there to greet me, I was still pleased with both the food and service of this establishment.



The burger was a sort of hybrid thing. It had the flavor of a super dank burger, but the consistency of a sloppy joe, minus the sauce. Whatever the creature, it was mighty delicious. I thought about that burger the rest of the way through Iowa, and even upon entering Nebraska, where the traffic was so thick in Omaha, I missed the 'welcome to' sign. Since the fullness of the burger had worn off, I decided to pull off of 80 and snag some beef jerky. In the gas station parking lot, some fellows were trying to make room for something in their pick up truck. In order to achieve maximum efficiency whilst moving shit around in a vehicle, a person must take his/her dead deer's head out of the vehicle and place it on the roof of his/her vehicle to sit there and drip fresh blood all over the windows and doors...of said vehicle. This was something I'm glad I witnessed because that scene doesn't happen often in NJ. Back on the road, the sun began to set over Nebraska and generally blinded me for the next two hours since I was driving straight at it. Nebraska was large, flat, and chock full o' farm equipment.

Hours later, while belting out my version of Patois with Damian Marley, the colorado border hit with a breath of fresh Rocky air. With only two hours left to go, the sheer excitement of not driving anymore was pushing me on as well as a second Redbull.

Upon arrival, Halloween night, there were students everywhere, some in costumes, some not. All were definitely 'loosened up' one way or another. Welcome to Boulder!

-J

Stolen Fires and Knobby Tires

Hello! This is the long-awaited-no-wifi-in-the-state-of-Pennsylvania-first adventure blog. After spending a few nights in Hawley, PA, I decided to go camp at Trough Creek State Park. This park is very close to the Raystown Lake Allegrippis Trail System and is just a bit cheaper than staying at the Raystown Lake campsite.

As you can see from this picture the first night at the campsite was very crowded. Actually there were two other campsites occupied with trailers considering I was the only one crazy enough to tent camp in 30 degree weather. Conservative talk radio was bellowing throughout the site while I pitched the tent, so I felt right at home. Trough Creek has some great trails to hike and some picturesque landscapes. I did not get to explore the whole park, but what I did see was well worth the short hike. On the way up to 'Balanced Rock' you can find the 'Rainbow Falls'.

(The Rock is literally teetering on the edge of a cliff so I couldn't get a shot from the other side.)

The first night was lonely as well as frigid, however thinking about the trails I would soon ride and having this song stuck in my head (thanks Mike) made those dark hours bearable. When the sun rose, I made some coffee, ate a couple granola bars, and set out on the journey to ride these trails. It was about 50 degrees and overcast when I arrived at the trailhead, so I sat there for a few minutes while some raindrops drizzled onto my windshield contemplating moving from the driver's seat. Finally, I begrudgingly began to assemble my mountain cycle when a truck rolled up with a niner-wheel visible through the window. The driver, Kurt, had never ridden Raystown either so we decided to tackle the trail system together. The noises of my Karate Monkey's bent rotor and Kurt's loose hub on his Rumblefish could scarcely be heard over the crunching of the leaves and frequent "Woo-Hoo!" These trails are east-coast heaven. If you like rigid bikes, they're perfect, if full suspension is your forte, you're in luck, if you don't like to ride bicycles, then go take a hike on these trails and check out the amazing views of Raystown Lake. Riding with Kurt made the memory of the miserable last night vanish. Meeting someone and sharing an experience like that is indeed the purpose of this purpose-less trip.

--Interlude with Moses! (Mike's Dog)--

Later that evening when I expected to arrive back at the desolate campsite and listen to Glenn Beck with the cast from Deliverance, I was greeted by some fellow crazy tent campers at the site next-door. Randy and Kelly are some of the nicest and most fun people I've ever met. They immediately greeted me with a 'Lemon Drop' which turned into several, and simply put, we had a kick-ass time chilling at the campsite. The title of this blog entry alludes to theft involving fire, which I will now explain. Randy had seen a huge pile of wood on his way into the site. Technically a camper has to pay three bucks for a "bundle" of logs (which means four split pieces of wood), however with Randy's insight about the whereabouts of this secret stash, we were able to drive up and help ourselves (scramble under the gate) to some real logs, so we could have a real fire.

I'm writing now from Chesterton, Indiana, (I drove through Ohio today, it was very flat.) and if all 15 hours of driving go well tomorrow, I'll be writing from Boulder, Colorado.

Peace, Love, and Heavy Metal,

J