Just two days remain in the great Old Guys Who Get Fat in Winter Spring Jersey Sale over at Voler. Use the Secret Code — OLDGUYS15 — and you can get 15 percent off your purchase (but not your carcass).
Once April Fool’s Day stumbles around, wearing its badly made clown suit and ragged rubber nose, you’ll have to pay top dollar like the little people.
O, the horror! The two words no self-respecting bicycle-industry type can bear to hear — “full retail.”
Actually, I have been known to pay the f-r-word from time to time, because I like having bike shops around in case I need something, like products, services or some poor sod who’ll pretend that I’m a witty fellow, if only for as long as it takes to run the credit card.
I don’t want to have to drive to Bend, Oregon, to visit the last bike shop, the way some folks do the last Blockbuster.
Mad Blog Media 
i have a truth in advertising problem. I need one that says “Old Fat Guys Who Get Fatter in Winter,l
Easy peasy. Just grab a Sharpie and scrawl an ” ’R” next to the “Fat.”
I wore one of the originals on RAGBRAI (the Burning Man of old fat guys on bikes) a few years ago. Was unironically loved by all! (except by one pillock who had the second version and seemed to think he owned sole rights to sport it, even though it appeared he may have vomited that mornings beer-and-pie all down the front. It was c. 8:30am )
Some of our brethren and sisthren have no sense of humor. Many of these tight-sphinctered types read and/or advertised in the magazine in which Himself originally appeared. When they farted only dogs could hear it.
Ayup. Unfortunately, that’s true. More pie!
My winter version of the fat guy jersey is starting to be a little…tight.
More butter!
Ok,ok, I caved to you craven appeal to my bottomless consumerism! Sheesh, am I a easy mark or what?
Hah! Another one bites the dust. The world is my oyster.
Sheesh, typing on an eye-pad. I need an editor.
I was just fiddling with my iPad, trying to figure out whether it could be used as a podcasting tool. Hijo, madre, this looks like heavy lifting. I feel like the older reporters at the Gazette back in the Seventies, when they learned that computers were replacing their beloved typewriters. Or maybe one of the hominids in “2001” wondering what the hell that big black monolith was all about. Ook ook ook.
My square fingertips don’t like virtual keyboards or laptop touch pads. You should watch me type a text on my phone. I’m not even talented enough to qualify for Luddite.
And did those feet in ancient time,
Walk upon England’s mountains green:
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On England’s pleasant pastures seen!
And did the Countenance Divine,
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here,
Among these dark Satanic Mills?
Bring me my Bow of burning gold;
Bring me my Arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire!
I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem,
In England’s green & pleasant Land.
Blake and I have much in common. Both of us were born into families of moderate means; delved deeply into art and politics; saw things that weren’t necessarily there. Poets playing at the request of an appreciative audience, or demanding their attention, to a mixed critical reception, bristling at “the meer drudgery of business.”
Oh, sure, he had all that irksome talent an’ stuff. But still, spiritual kinsmen, amirite? Soul brothers. I should buy a New Albion in his honor.
okay you shamed and coerced me with 15 % off. I have ver 2.0 form Velopress but ver 1.0 should join the O’Grady collection. Have a copy of the ” The Season Starts When?” . Missed out on the glasses oh well don’t drink that much anymore..
You could always buy an Adventure Cycling pint glass. I’m drinking a Barrio Rojo in one as we speak.
Patrick got me on his last pitch. I’ll be sporting it in Santa Fe in May if I can lose about 5 pounds.
Bless you, my sons. Those baby polyesters shall not have died in vain.
Not to mention all those wonderful little wide eyed Acrylics
One of these days Voler and I must collaborate on a non-GMO, gluten-free, Oregon Tilth, sustainably sourced, free-range hemp jersey.
At midride you might smoke a sleeve to quell the leg pain, then eat the other sleeve when the munchies strike. By the time you get home you need a new jersey.
It’s a perpetual-motion money machine. I’ll never have to work again!
I commuted from Denver to New Jersey (Newark) for a few years back in the day. I don’t think id ever have that need again. However, consumable riding kit manufactured from weed!? Cool. 😉🤘
Denver to Newark? You must have had the mutha of all culture shock every trip!