a collection of savage and bitter facebook posts induced by over the counter cold medication

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resuming bike setup and testing

so pulling the new bike i'd only ridden a few times before i injured myself was like making out with a sexy woman you want to um, "grunt" with...but not quite going all the way.

criminy, this marin only has a hundred and sixty miles on it!

as it is, i think i need to shorten the stem just a nip to fit my riding style and maybe soften up the suspension a tad--since i've actually LOST weight during four months of relative inactivity.

at any rate, i took it REALLY easy and stuck to the easiest trails in golden gate park i could find with a few minor exceptions.

i'll tell you what, as compared to my first ride back on a 29er hardtail, praise be to the life giving sun for 120mm of suspension. i hardly feel anything through the shoulder i dislocated!

i think i'll stick to easy rides in GG park every other day for a week or two, then i'll start grinding up those fire roads in marin.

chasing trains and eating poorly

yesterday, my friend patrick picked me up bright and early, after which we drove east to stockton, then south through the valley. our goal was to watch trains between stockton and a bit south of merced to chase trains on the BNSF stockton subdivision between richmond and fresno. here's a few of the photos:

next weekend, the plan is to check out the union pacific around pinole and elsewhere in the east bay. stay tuned!

back in the saddle!

the medical people said it was OK for me to ride, so long as i don't do any crazy shit. golden gate park doesn't have much extreme terrain which is why i chose the hardtail--with the new dualie i'd have been tempted to ride stuff which might require sudden tests of my range of motion which likely might require further hospital visits, possible surgeries and all that bad juju.

as it is, i'm able to deal with moderate terrain--i rode over several twelve to sixteen inch drops and felt no discomfort at all. i'm not sure how a twenty mile ride through the headlands might feel though. i'm figuring fatigue might become an issue and with that in mind, i am going to bring myself along slowly and carefully.

i'm nowhere near out of the woods yet.

to use a sports analogy, the team is still down fifteen points with four and a half minutes on the clock and one timeout remaining.

emergency rooms and taking long vacations with a fucked up arm suck!

easing back on the vitriolic throttle with pretty pictures...

why i want to tie asshole macho men down and beat them senseless with lead pipes

here is my savagely angry rant for the day--an example of why i loathe "tough guys" and "macho men" who think being dicks make them bad-asses:

hey, old white haired irish job superintendent on the new building going up just down the street from my house: you are a motherfucking dickhead asshole and your attitude towards the neighbors sucks. you could at the least smile and say "hello" to the locals instead of glaring and spitting like the living, breathing chunk of horse-shit you are.

i know how you act towards people, you fuck. i've been watching you and the miserable ugly condo you're building since the very beginning. the screaming tirade into your cell phone a few months ago cemented my opinion of you as a overpaid fuckhead.

i hope the building you're working on collapses and burns and that every job you're in charge of is a miserable fucking money-draining failure.

you goddamned irish contractor asshole. you get back what you put out. one look at you tells me you're a racist, misogynistic, alcoholic waste of flesh.

i would whack you HARD right across booze-reddened fucking forehead with my unused aluminum 780mm bike handlebar on general principles if i had the use of two arms.

if there is any bad-attitude sonofabitch on this planet that needs a good, painful sucker punch that causes severe damage to your facial bones, it's you.

i'll bet you treat your workers quite badly too, you pinched-face asshole. it's obvious they absolutely hate seeing you drive up to the job in your british douche-mobile. the expressions on their faces when the white land rover appears tells me all i need to know of what the men working this job feel about you, shithead.

i wonder if you savagely beat your wife and children at the end of the day. everything about your demeanor and attitude tells me your family likely despises you too, because you're a miserable, angry man who is very small and filled with hate and fear inside.

why do some tradesmen, especially the bosses, have to be such goddamned dicks to everybody they make contact with?

is anyone capable of reasonable and rational thoughts?

By U.S. Navy investigation board - U.S. Navy military archieves, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1359036

here's an excerpt of a comment made on a facebook post:

(remember i spent much of my time in school during my youth reading about WW2 and doodling P-51 mustangs in class while i should have been working out long division problems--i became much better at drawing a P-51 than calculating the square root of a rat's ass)

what i mean to say is some will take a grain of truth and blow that little grain completely out of proportion for ideological purposes. i'm thinking a lot about japan's attempts to surrender before the a-bombs were used and the overall situation at the time.

now, using the bombs on hiroshima and nagasaki was barbaric...i won't argue about that with anyone--but in the context of the situation, president truman and the U.S. government and the allies were looking at a physical invasion of japan which would have very likely resulted in a horrible, prolonged bloodbath for both sides.

beside the incomprehensible casualty factor, few people remember how the russians went into manchuria against the LARGE japanese force still there on august 9, 1945 (which, once the invasion and battle of japan were underway could be diverted from the asian continent to the home islands with some difficulty--likely suffering heavy losses resulting from allied bombing of troop ships). once again, in the context of the times, the united states government did NOT want the soviets to become too much involved in the political reconfiguration of asia.

we all ought to know what happened in east and southeast asia, anyway. let's discuss that at a later time.

so. the japanese were talking surrender. the islands were already in shambles. that's why the bombs ought not to have been used.

millions of ill-informed people accept this simplistic logic.

ONCE AGAIN, LET'S THINK WITHIN THE CONTEXT OF THE TIMES WITH SOME DEGREE OF OB-JECT-IVITY

never mind that if an invasion had taken place, unspeakable numbers of japanese civilians and military personnel would have perished during the final battle for the home islands. what's more, there is no doubt whatsoever in my mind curtis lemay and chester nimitz would have continued unrelenting air and naval bombardment of the islands, resulting in further heavy casualties.

the revisionists also conveniently sidestep the fact xx bomber command had been area bombing japanese cities with incendiary ordnance starting in 1944, a brutal practice which would have likely continued for the duration of the conflict.

curtis lemay. remember him and what he was about? if you don't, do some reading.

now, when a well informed, rational head of state whose nation has endured four brutal years of unrestricted warfare and its accompanying casualties is presented with facts like those i've laid out (and probably many more which were and still may be classified) what is the choice?

unpolluted by partisan ideological blinders. (although the soviets were a serious consideration for several obvious reasons)

WHAT...IS...THE...CHOICE?

right.

you are going to put an end to this pacific war shit any way you can.

TAIG. (that's All I Got)

don't eat the liquid fish-shits

modern over the counter cold medication makes me crazy and mean.

many ill-tempered and wildly talented people i once loathed but grew to love know this for a fact.

now before anyone types some numbnuts shit, i'm SERIOUS here. don't feed the beast or shoot gasoline on the bonfire.

my...suffering...is..real!

mouth breathing just ain't RIGHT!

it's when i can't take the snot, man, it's that fucking horrible thick goopy vile grey snot, struggling and half-breathing out of one nostril and all that. you combine having a head full of glop with the fact i've still got a seriously jacked shoulder and hey presto, jackass!

that god damned pretentious bubbly-smiley happy-grab-ass holiday spirit is hard to come by.

smoking dope is a no-go, too--i don't care what you're smoking it in today--no pipes, bongs or joints for me the next forty eight hours. i don't want 'em! that's why we have semi-legal-soon-to-be-legal pot in the wonderful state of california and it was a nice day to walk to the dispensary on geary to re-up on my chocolate blueberries.

why give the unholy plague-schlarve in your nostrils more particulate matter to struggle around?

the goal is to make it through tonight with no over-the-counter cold remedies--and ease my misery with green tea with lemon and honey and those tiny little balls in a blue tin.

if you hear me cursing and raging please don't be afraid: the cheap grocery store meds haven't worn off yet. sometimes i wonder what's put in these things at the factory matches what's in those evil little red caplets.

maybe i should just eat the whole goddamn tin of berries at once...

random anxieties 22.11.17

shivering at the thought of seriously slaggo-ing myself in a bike crash while i was out alone at night.


fuck all that.


there's not a lot of folks out after the sun sets at the places i ride outside of the city. if it were golden gate park, the coyotes would be nipping at my nuts while the homeless meth-heads rummaged through my pockets and hydration pack, slithering off into the green darkness with my gear and low-level iphone towards the dealer's house.


any meth dealer in his right mind (a ludicrous presumption) would probably hand a toothless baked pseudoephedrine-and-road-flare freak about fifteen dollars for my osprey and its contents--partly because a lot of meth users and dealers are stupid motherfuckers who wouldn't know what my c02-inflator and tire levers are for. tire levers to them might make good meth-scoops.


mister or ms Retail Street Level Drug Dealer/Fence would probably tell the drug addled derelicts to get the fuck out of his/her house.


maybe i ought to stock up on signature care non drowsy daytime cold and flu relief to stimulate my creative juices and to hell with my somewhat intact liver.


my merciless and acidic degradation of those poor, helpless drug addicts needs to stop here as well.


hurting myself on a mountain bike is the subject here...we'll talk about my disconcerting summer living with the Stern Grove/26th avenue Criminal Methamphetamine Circus in 1985 another day.


i have ridden many times solo in the exact spot that wretched tree activated its tractor beam and drew me into its greasy, ragged trunk with mind-boggling speed and purposeful force. what i did to offend or fascinate old mean grandpa grease tree is a mystery to me and probably will be until the end of my days.


maybe i'll skip this location at night while i'm on solo missions and stick to the easier fire trails traversing the area in the presidio of san francisco. who needs crippling psychological hang ups when one can blissfully ignore them?


them nasty cheap grocery store meds filled with distilled fish shit have not worn off yet and i'm starting to feel a little crazier than i ought to.


time for more kank-kank berries...

shredding the waves at rodeo beach