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Wednesday, July 19

'17 Dirt Rag Dirt Fap Fest: Part Two

The following images would prove to be the closest thing I have to a "memory" of what happened Friday night.

Although, I do remember taking a leak at the edge of the woods in full sight of everyone watching Blood Road and then falling down the hillside for no other reason than that I felt the pull of gravity and then just went with it.

And I mighta been rescued by Abby and Andy when they found me staring at a stage watching a band that had stopped playing quite awhile ago.

Only to find a second wind and end up shotgunning beers, trying to break my hand "thumb-gunning" beers, complaining about pour over coffee (apparently Christians shouldn't drink it and I was a Christian that night)... and other things.

Mebbe someone stole my gloves and put a bomb in my beer sack too.  Dunno.

Coulda been rocks and I found my gloves when I woke up the next morning, so really all a mystery at this point.

Andy making friends.

Jim making friends.

People that I know and more that I don't.







Chainsaw Don trying to drink through osmotic process.

I guess I asked everyone to join me in the photo booth.  Evidence.

My camera in the hands of another.



Me capturing someone capturing the Mo-ment.

This is acceptable behavior at Dirt Rag Dirt Fap Fest.


At some point, I rode a clunker on the airstrip and changed the settings on my camera to do this:

The Mo-man.

Andy, wondering how I'm still awake and/or alive.

Elizabeth made something like a thousand wood-fired pizzas.  I ate half of them.

Wheelie Jesus from TSE.

Devon (who encouraged most of the thumb-gun attempts).

Pizza...
Feet...
and crotch.
At some point, I went to bed or was forced there.  Either way, I'm glad that's where I ended up.

Tuesday, July 18

'17 Dirt Rag Dirt Fap Fest: Part One

So everyone's standing under EZ-Ups looking at their phones and checking the radar every five minutes looking for a window to get a ride in at some point.  Hours pass by...

Eventually, at a time I can't recall, the rain stopped and we kitted up.  Danimal, Jon, Jim, Leaf Life, Andy, and myself.  Andy's the one familiar with the area, so we follow his lead.

We roll some sweet ass trails.  I don't remember all the names.


I do recall a giant quicksand pit on Chunder Mountain(?) that had Andy pull a scorpion and myself landing pretty much on top of him.  That was delightful (to nearby observers).



photo cred: Andy


We go down Jump Trail, which has three jumps mebbe but a lot of climbing and rocks you can "jump," I guess.  Voo Doo Rocks and Crack are out that way, about as far out from the venue as you can get.  We decide to head over there...

And then on Voo Doo Rocks, the skies opened up.  It was a challenging trail, to say the least.  More so, what with the blinding rain and slight excite with the nearby crack of lightning.  We get to the intersection of Crack and Voo Doo and pull the plug.

I don't know how many miles it was back to camp, but we were already at the saturation point, so whatever.  The gravel roads were running deep with water.  Bearings were being toasted.  Once we got to the main road, we all cleaned up in the fast running ditch water that was right there before riding back into camp.

I guess I lied when I said I probably wouldn't bathe the whole weekend.

Back at the venue, the rain would let up for short periods, but I was never smart enough to get dry and change.  I did what any reasonable person would do.  I started drinking beer.

At some point in there, the rain just quit, and I got dry, and then I kept drinking... but at least I remembered to eat something before continuing to fall into the darkness that was Friday night.


Scott Williams on a geared bike (blech)...

and this...

These were a few of the last things I remember clearly, and they were also the beginnings of the things I'd like to never remember but will probably be reminded about until I'm ded.

Monday, July 17

'17 Dirt Rag Dirt Fap Fest: Preamble

I get off at 1:00PM as planned and meet Jim and Leaf Life in a parking lot as planned and swap my rack over to Jim's truck as planned and toss my shit in the back as planned and we took off for Fayetteville as planned and then everything from then on went as planned... so much to say that I planned for everything to go off the rails from there.

We get to New River Bikes and two of three people that we are supposed to travel with aren't inside, but the vehicle we're supposed to hop in isn't there either, so we walk around the shop and poke our noses in things.

Jon was busy getting his clunker ready for the weekend.

Clunkers are the ironic mustache and Hawaiian shirt of a mountain bike festival. 

They take security against bad hombres as serious as they take the local vampires. 

One thing about living in Fayetteville Jon never could stomach; all the damn vampires.

They had plenty of shiny new bikes but loads more bikes with what the French speaking people of Fayetteville called "l'histoire."

Silipints.  Why promoters aren't handing us non-breakable pint glasses at races that can be dropped by people who can't handle post-race free beer, I don't know.

Andy has a good supply of Backcountry Research products.  I was sure to fix his Tülbag display so all the Dicks were facing out.

I spend some time digging in the garbage, as I'm ought to do.

SRAM/Avoid product for days.  At least they're good for something, likekeeping this box from blowing away in a strong storm.

Eventually Andy and Abby (and the Wonder Bread Van) shows up but then Jon disappears and then Shanna from Endless Bikes rolls in with her sister in a magically timed manner as they were actually on their way to a wedding.

Somehow she talks us into some food products at a nearby brewery/pizza place thing and soon after it was realized that we were supposed to be on the road mebbe a couple hours ago so we leave out for the Dirt Rag Dirt Fap Fest.

We got there well after dark and set up our shelters and then made our way to what some might consider the Dirt Rag special victims area.  Beers were plentiful and tasty and everywhere and then at some point Evan Gross decided to shove me into a cooler.

photo cred: Jon
I believe this was less out of anger or mischief and more of a scientific experiment.  I think he wanted to see if I could drink myself out of drowning in beer like Bob McKenzie.

Anyways, I'm sure the evening went late, but I turned off my phone when I got there, so I dunno.  I woke up the next day feeling like I went little hard in the paint, but not too hard.  I at least felt good enough to go for a ride...

if only the thunder and lightning and monsoon rains would let up.

Wednesday, July 12

I've never been fested before

I'm off tomorrow and heading towards West Virginia for the Dirt Rag Dirt Fap Fest.

Back when I signed up a few months ago, I was planning on flying solo.  Now I'm leaving here with Jim and Lee and meeting up with the crew from New River Bikes in Fayetteville to hop in the "Wonder Bread Van" for the rest of the journey.  I'm pretty stoked to be going, as this is my first Dirt Fap Fest ever.

Not sure what to expect.  Bike riding and beer drinking, I'd imagine.  I was happy to hear that there will be all kinds of food and coffee available, so I don't have to think about cooking and clean up and whatnot.  Just in case there's a long line for the elephant ears, I did cook up a pound of bacon and three sweet potatoes last night.  That and a box of Pop Tarts and some Tummy Gummies and I should be ready in case there's a run on the cheeseburger stuffed onion rings.

Not shown is the one case of Coors.  According to the rules, that's the maximum allowed amount of beer to be brought in per person, which makes me think they're suggesting that's how much I should be prepared to drink.

Dunno.

See you next week, ding dongs.*

* Unless you're gonna be at Dirt Rag Dirt Fap Fest, in which case, I'll see you this week.  If for some reason you don't know me but would like to, feel free to introduce yourself.  I know everyone thinks I'm gonna be an asshole (before they meet me, sometimes still after), and you might be confused as you'll think I should be taller.  Apologies in advance, as I'm afflicted by nominal aphasia, but just because I can't remember your name doesn't mean I didn't like your company.

Tuesday, July 11

The best things in life are truly free (and usually filthy)

Firstly, apology.  Albeit a totally half-assed one.

If you look back through some (way) older posts, you'll see some bad photo links in past blerhgs.

I used Photobucket (for free) quite a bit, especially on our local forums, some stuff on MTBR, and obviously here.  I understand charging money for things and services.  Bandwidth ain't free.  America!

But going from free to $399.00 a year for third party hosting?

I don't think that many people are reading a bunch of old posts that often, and besides, I make about zero dollars off this blerhg, if not negative dollars.  Thusly, I'm not throwing down $400 or going back and downloading those lost images and reloading them VIA Google photos or elsewhere.  I really wonder how many people are gonna go from free to $400 annually?

Lost to the ether, mine images.

Speaking of lost, one of the benefits of getting around by bike would be finding other people's lost shit AKA ground scores.  Sometimes, they are pretty pointless, like the torque sledgehammer I found years ago.

I rode for miles with this in one hand... just because.   It's truly pointless without the operating manual.

I scoop some stuff because I think that I might need it some day.  A sanding block.  A putty knife.  A key chain with a tiny, lockable, two-sided carabiner.

I pass on sockets most of the time, occasionally picking up an extension if it hasn't been run over too many times.  The other day, I turned around and went back for yet another stupid open/box end wrench.

Usually, it's an Imperial size wrench that I see lying in the gutter.  I've got more of them than I can shake a torque sledgehammer at (all I've ever found that it's good for).  Alas, it turned out to be a 13mm.  No idea what I'd do with it, but I took it home and tossed it on the satellite office table in the living room.

Ignoring it for days, it dawned on me that it looked really close in size to the nut on my homemade fender for the tarck bike (made from a real fender, a zip tie, a carriage bolt and copious amounts of Shoe Goo).

It worked... sorta.  The fit was close enough that I wondered if one of the many wrenches I had found over the years would fit.

Of course one of them did, 13mm being bigger than a 1/2" by .3mm... and I have a plethora of 1/2" wrenches.  Most popular size to fall off the back of a contractor's vehicle twenty years running.

So no longer does my medium-sized crescent wrench sit in the satellite office upstairs.  It's back on the pegboard where no self-respecting bike mechanic would allow it to exist.

Last weekend, I saw a set of channel locks on the way home from drinking/bike riding with Nick.  I passed them up.  They were really greasy, perhaps ran over a few times.

Dammit.

I turned around and scooped them up.  I've already got a bunch of ground score channel locks of various sizes at home, but whatever.

I got home, and on closer inspection, I saw it was a Knipex Cobra.  I've never played with one, but with some googling and fiddling, I figured it out.  Within a few days, I found its perfect use.

Industry Nine has tightened the fit on their Torch end caps from the OG design.  It's to the point where sometimes I struggle to remove them.  I've found myself avoiding some easy free hub maintenance just because I don't feel like struggling with them, inventing a tool to get them off, or scratching the shit out of them with various tools that don't really grab the thing well enough.

This thing (with a little rubber grippy fabric to keep the ano from getting scratched)?

Buenos.

It really is the little things in life that make my world a better place.  Mebbe not as cool as when I found a hundred dollar bill (which woulda bought me three months of third party hosting), but I have no idea where that went, so mebbe these found tools are slightly better.