green light

I'm the most vile, worst kind of scofflaw. I wear spandex and sweat profusely while committing unspeakable crimes in broad daylight during holiday weekends. But not today goddammit. On one of the busiest days of the eyar for law enforcement, I'm the one they go after. I ain't admitting to SHIT! I didn't do it, I was framed and I'm not motherfucking guilty. You've gotta believe me. Officer Kamin didn't see it that way. That corksucker couldn't stop his motorscooter fast enough to start writing me a ticket. He started laying into me as he was reaching for his tablet, when I didn't put up with any of his crap. Normally I'd start with the ridiculous "yes sir/no sir" bullshit. You know, REALLy get in there DEEEEEEP and cradle his ballsack a bunch. But he was already writing the above ticket before his kickstand was fully engaged. Nowhere to go but down so all bets were off. I had to spew a little encouragement for his job well done protecting society. He don't ride bicycles and has no idea what's safest for me. Fuck him. He couldn't be happier to get rebel scum such as myself off his streets. I'm fightin this one just for the fun of it. I stopped, didn't put my Sidi Dominator down cuz I can balance like that, then proceeded through flashy red light safely. It's not my fault that my blocker, the truck I had pulled up next to, started then stopped like some pussy when it was OUR turn. No apologies and I'll do it again. Hopefully when Kamin ain't around. Such a dick.

God's Junk Shot to Humanity

Boy, I can't keep track of the celebudeaths...Dio, Dennis Hopper, GC, and Art Linkletter to name a few. We're losing all the good people. Near miss with ol hairweave himself, Brett Michaels, but he's still above ground...for now. Yet, that giant motherfucking anabolic filled ginger zit on humanity's sphincter, Carrot Top, is still alive and appearing twice nightly at the Luxor in Vegas. Book your tickets today! He's up there flexing on stage with a fresh scrote shave via some random smokin-hot coked-up coed each and every show, I'd imagine. All this is going down while illegal Mexican dolphins in the Gulf are drinking oil flavored Super Big Gulps and watching BP fire off endless "junk-shots". And we all know how painful those can be. BP seems to be shooting junk shot blanks though, and It all spells doom. DOOM I tell you. There is no hope. They kill everybody we love along with the delicious fish, yet Carrot Fucking Top thrives. Fuck you baby jesus in heaven.

On a side note, epic day round hyar. Hot as balls outside, no wind, long 40 mile spandex session, mini bronzing naptime at the beach, pumped some iron, stuffed my pie hole, almost surfed, and a bunch of other shit that doesn't really matter.

GC

Say prayer for Gary.
He fell down and cracked his head.
Beedy beedy beed.

*After lunch update...you people didn't pray hard enough. We lost him. RIP little buddy."

Brocken Bud

Spectre of the Brocken is a newer cyber bro from the Pacific NW who's a bro of one of my otro bros. Dude talks funny. I usually don't fully understand much of his writing cuz I'm inflicted with advanced ADD & ADHD so I don't stay focused long enough to comprehend. Thankfully he usually includes lots of pretty pictures of bicycles, guns, and bicycles. 3 of my favorite thingys. You may to scan ahead through the many many many pics of dudes, unless that's your bag, baby.

Born in 1962

Happy Birthday Bobcat!

Mountain of Storms Crew

Adventuring sounds fun. Minus all the climbing of course. Just surf and shred all the way to the teet of South America....




I just need to find me a solid CREW....

The Crew Trailer from Adam Riser on Vimeo.

WAF

Ever since I got back from Mexico last month, it's been windy as fuck around these parts and there seems to be no let up in sight. It's been destroying of my sinuses, but I'm luvin it. Makes me feel alive, like I'm competing against Mother Nature like some kind of modern caveman. Headwind is a nightmare in cycling. Nothing like working hard for a mere 10mph on a steep descent that should net closer to 30. It calls for a little more aerodynamics, some grunting and lots of swearing all the while keeping my heart rate in check...don't want to blow up you know. Here in California, unlike everywhere else in the US, there are no seasons. We get sunny and warm with very little wind, 360 days a year, like it or not. So it's nice and refreshing to feel the beatdown from nature from time to time. Today was one of those days. I'm a month into Fitness El Hefe, so it was time to put the legs to the test with some hill climbing to see where I'm at physically. Actually, I cheated last week and snuck in a few hill repeats after which I felt like shit for several days. But today was the real first day of climbing, maybe a couple thousand vert, all in one climb, and about 40 miles all together. Felt great to suffer a bit, felt rewarding. It's good for the head. Over the summer, those little numbers will seem more like a warmup. One of my favorite quotes of all time is from a Dutch book about a bike race, isn't that weird. Tim Krabbe says...

"The greater the suffering the greater the pleasure. That is nature's payback to riders for the homage they pay her by suffering. Velvet pillows, safari parks, sunglasses: people have become woolly mice. They still have bodies that can walk for five days and four nights through a desert of snow, without food but they accept praise for having taken a one-hour bike ride. "Good for you". Instead of expressing their gratitude for the rain by getting wet, people walk around with unbrellas. Nature is an old lady with few friends these days, and those who choose to make use of her charms, she rewards passionately."

daily affirmations

Several mornings each week, on my way to work, I stop by the Montecito Starfucks to pick up some coffee and shoot the shit with my little coffee group. It's convenient and they're some funny motherfuckers so it's always a comedy show. The group is quite the crosssection of society; a couple homos, scientist, architect, CPA, developer, waiter, car salesman, and me, the wax retard. Today, after one of the dudes asks me what I've got planned for the weekend, I reply with "the usual, surfing, cycling, and probably going to the gym". He leans into me and says..."I don't mean to offend, but isn't that a little childish, all that 'playtime' for Jeff?". I wasn't offeneded, but that's exactly what I struggle with all the time in California. Not alot of people around here understand the need to do something BESIDES work every single day in order to keep my head together. I seriously get depressed if I miss even one day. Am I being selfish and childish? Aren't I ever going to grow up? Am I ever gonna get serious about anything? Fuck that! Fuck growing up and settling for the cliche, bullshit, old people's life. I'm not settling. I don't ever want to sit at another stupid fucking happy hour. I don't want attend any industry function just to schmooz. And I certainly don't want to be lazy and boring. All I wanna do is breath fresh air, work up a heavy sweat, and have fun outdoors. Nope, not offended.



Have no fear...I will stay on target.

FLOYD LANDIS IS SCUM

There are so many scum sucking rat fucks in pro cycling these days. I don't know which is worse, all those soccer fags who fake collaspe, writhing in pain or these faggoty Floyd Landis types. They're a bunch of bitchy, drugged up prima donnas who's only goal is to not get caught with a team needle in their arm. As soon as their piss test comes up with something they fold like giant pussies and try to bring everybody else down with them. It's obvious to even a gapping retard that they're all on drugs. No news there. But for fuck's sake, have some goddamm class when you fail your drug tests you fucking junkies. OR STAY OFF THE JUNK in the first place. Don't cry in some artificial press conference about how you were forced to shoot up your ball sack to be competitive. And don't throw everybody else under the team bus just because they were smart enough to NOT get caught. You suck. Eat a cock, Floyd Landis and all you other asshole druggies who make such a painfully brutal epic sport look like a buch of Kansas City Faggots prancing around in spandex. Happy heart attack at 43, you penniless whore. You dick.

PS....Tour de France starts in only 44 days. Plan accordingly.

HST and the JVC

Since I'm all fuckin zen'd out and empty of rage these days, I had to scour the anger archives. There is some swell heading our way in a couple days, so i needed some inspiration for the lineup. This led me to Hunter S Thompson. I really like his style. Just when you think he's losing it and backing off, he comes on stronger with greater power. Here's some answering machine recording when he had problems with his JVC.

May 18, 1980

At the time in 1980, as a 9 year old little shithead living in Portland Oregon, the only thing of importance on May 18, was the massive fucking eruption of Mt St Helens. It woke the entire Pacific Northwest up early that sunday morning. We could see it from our house, but we drove up the road to get a better view. People were stopped everywhere. Later in the day, with the drifting of the winds, the ash started raining down and covering everything with a silty, gritty, grey layer sometimes inches deep. The shit seeped in everywhere and on everything. We scooped up piles and filled Mason Jars that we later shipped off to relatives. I think we also planned to get rich by selling it, then we realized that it covered 50,000 square miles so it wasn't a scarce commodity. I was dog sitting my buddy's stupid dog and the thing FREAKED. It broke loose and bolted for higher ground. The fucker probably realized impending doom and skeedaddled. I was cruizing all over SW Porkland wearing my little dust mask following it's footprints trying the corral the fucker. He stayed one step ahead of me and I never got him. But he found his way home eventually. Also on that same date, and completely unknown to me at the time, Joy Division's crazy old Ian Curtis hung himself at the ripe old age of 23. That is WAY to young to get THAT crazy. His weird trance dancing thing has always been creepy cool to me. Joy Division stands the test of time and never gets old. If they showed up today, for the very first time, they'd still be ahead of their time.

The Resume

My brain and eyeballs aren't workjing so great today. Spent the weekend polishing my resume and working on a cover letter. It's always lame for me to put this stuff together since the goal is to brag about how rad you are. Being a low-profile, behind the scenes, quietly-get-the-job-done kind of dude, I really don't enjoy it. Makes me seem shallow and oh so SoCal. Might as well try, so let's see if it works.

I WIN/I FAIL

I tell you what, today was kind of fun. I drove around LA making my deliveries, minding my own biz. Just cruizin. You know, a thursday in May. Just me and my thoughts. Oh, and I stumbled upon some outdoor porno shit. Not sure how it happened, but here's my story. Pull up to The Rider Shack on Washington in Venice. While diggin inside the side door of the Waxmobile, some hot broad walks up while filming some other hot, young, dark skinned thang.
They say "het waxman, you mind if we take some pics in your van...your sex van?".
I say "ladies, climb aboard, my van es su van. By the way, what kinda pics are you taaaaaaakk....... Awe shit, I can see your whooo hoooo!"
She had forgotten to wear her undershorts today. Because right about then was when her short demin was ridin high above her hips and her tube top sunk well below her belly buttom. Things were flopping right out in the open air.
The chicks start laughin and filmin, filmin and laughin. After a couple minutes of this action, the filmer says to flimee, "hey, how about from the doggy style angle"
"YES! YES! YES!", I exclaim like some exuberant depraved maniac, "that's what we need, then maybe the both of you jump in and I film the both of you".
Hahahah. Stupid!
Thankfully, before I completely forgot about everything and ran to nearest jiggle joint and called it a day, they got up and moved along so I could continue in my mundane delivery run. I didn't want to stop the nudie-fest by breakin out the perve cam, so I didn't take any pics. But the above drawing should give you some idea. I completely failed there. But in the future, when this situation arises again, I'll know exactly what to do. You can count on me.

I chose poorly

Once again, I'm starting the search for a new place to call home. I just can't catch a break with chosing roommates or apartments. All I want is quiet place with room for my stuff and a mellow roommate that isn't a dick or powertripper. I run a tight program and I just wanna BE. I'm an adult who doesn't need any scolding unless it's from the strong arm of some skank in leather smackin me around late-night. I've come to realize I'm not a fan of stoners, either. Not the weed, just the people who are tied down like a ball and chain to it. Life is about haing fun all the time every single day. Don't sweat the small shit. Focus on the positive and not the negative. Might have to find my own place again. The common denominator problem seems to be me. Hmmm.

Take off...2 turns...and a wipeout

FUCK YES!
BEHOLD....the Drifta.
I've been hunting forever to score one of these and I finally made it happen.
I tracked down the dude who's got rights in the US to produce Terry Fitzgerald's Hot Buttered Surfboards boards. Compooter shaped and hand finshed in San Diego. Who cares, in a few short months, there's gonna be a stoney fuckin Drifta under my feets.

Muy tranquillo

I'm having a real hard time getting aggro about anything these days. One of the original purposes of firing up this blog was to point out the bullshit and get angry about something every single day. I mean, there had to be at least 1 thing I could get pissed about every day. But for some reason, I've got nothing. And I haven't had anything freak out about for a long time now. And it's fucking pissing me off. I haven't surfed in 2 weeks, so you think I'd be a little backed up. But no. Been filling my time with cycling(reports coming soon) and pumping massive iron instead. Work is tollerable. My shoulder is fucked up, but it's cool, it'll work itself out. I guess I could only get pissed about my crappy little apartment and all the negative energy that fills it. But I just don't care enough. Life is too fun, it's motherfucking beautiful outside, and summer is here. Muy tranquillo, mi amigos.

April 2010

Rincon Del Mar 2010 from Brown Recluse on Vimeo.

I finally got around to linking up some shit from our trip south of zee border. It's so fun to break through the rust of my Final Cut Pro. It always reminds me that I barely know how to use that megaprogram. Enjoy some stuff from a really good trip.

Seis de Mayo, pendahos

While I'm out on the road crushing SoCal traffic today and tomorrow, I wanted to wish everybody a Merry 6th of May. I'd imagine Arizona has a similar ratio of Mexicans to Whiteys as California. So Arizona is gonna get fucked in its butthole real soon. Can't we all just get along? Por favor?

Secret Message to Tonto

on the road again

My buddy Duffy is a goddamm driving machine. When he's not making the twice monthly, 17 hour drive between his homes in Sun Valley Idaho and Santa Barbara, he's driving between Zihuatenajo, Mexico and Santa Barbara. Usually dragging a 31 foot Airstream or a trailer loaded with all kinds home building shit. Dust, arguing with co-pilot, topes, spacing out, arguing with co-pilot, pay offs and bribes for 4 hard days of driving. Yesterday began yet another one of these twice-a-year adventures. On his way south, out of town, he stopped by the office for a few last-minute cases of wax and some board shorts. One for Corky Carrol, one for The Inn at Manzanillo Bay, and one for himself. I wish I could've just walked away from my desk and never come back. Along for the ride this time is his contractor in Mex, Gonzalo. I just hope they don't beat the shit outta each other at some point. Good luck amigos.

cyclemania

It's starting to look like I'm a bit surfed out after the epic winter we had and the 2 weeks in Mexico. Or maybe I'm just being a big fucking pussy about jumping into questionable 50 degree windswell. Who needs it eh. I sure as hell don't. And I was feeling a little out-of-it all last week for some reason. So I skipped the surfing entirely. Lots of other shit to do..like stuffing myself into the spandex clownsuit and rippin along the bike path at an incredible rate. Last weekend appears to be the re-opening day of my 2010 bike season. A couple 25 milers to stretch out the legs and keep the heart rate stablized well inside the mellow range. Not tryin to win any race you know, so no need to prove anything. At my advanced age, and all the years spent completely off the bike during long stretches in the winter, I've learned a few lessons the hard way. One of the hardest things to do is bring it down a notch in the beginning of the season. The quote that sums it up best is... "it's hard to go easy but easy to go hard". I just end up breaking down more if I push it too early. Once that month is up, then it's time to catch up with the rest of the peleton who trained all year and pummel myself with hills, repeats, tempo, and sprints. A solid month of mindlessly spinning the legs in circles and keeping shit restrained will pay off later in the heart summer. Last year was the Repair Year. And it worked, my back is solid. This year, since I turn 40 at the end of summer, is the Peak Physical Conditioning year. After 40 it's all fucked and I start my rapid decline into becoming a gummer dude.