If You Hear This Song One Hundred Times It Still Won't Be Enough.

Casey and I are running late, but calling it running is perhaps overstating it, indicating a sense of urgency that simply isn't present. We are walking late, ambling late, stopping and talking to people on the way late. As such, we miss most of the preliminary races of the Sid Patterson Grand Prix, and apparently also a majority of the crashes. I'm disappointed by neither.

We are in time to catch the first of three main events for the evening, the Sid Patterson itself. It's kind of an anomaly amongst the handicaps, in that the fields are decided in the preceding graded scratch races, and that each grade has a group mark. In the final there are four groups: the scratch group, containing New Zealand's legendary mullet man Shane Archbold and couple of visiting six-day racers in Marcel Barth and Franco Marvulli. The fifty metre group has a more local flavour, with a handful of VIS kids and friend of The New Timer, Tyler Spurrell. The 105m group, however, is again full of international riders - apparently the Japanese team is here to gain some experience ahead of the track world champs, and they dominate the group. And the 165m group is full of the usual old blokes, young blokes, and journeymen hoping to stay away.

As the race begins they look like they might just do that. They're working together in a way that the groups behind them simply aren't. With two to go everyone has bunched up behind them, but the bunch still has 50m to cover. James Rendell from the front group rolls the dice here and smacks it off the front, gaining about four bike lengths on the field, a lead he holds until 150m to go, when Archbold takes a run off the banks into the lead. No one even comes close to Archbold's infamous hairstyle in the final 50m, and both he and his mullet hold on for the win.

Some Under 17s are up next, and they're pedaling like crazy. Those restricted gears certainly still make a difference. Jack Hickey looks impressive, and takes the win with ease. A victory for rangas everywhere.

The big boys are back again for the next race, the Lance De Luca memorial scratch race. In honour of his old man, Leigh De Luca has been given a spot in this race, and acquits himself admirably. When the break goes away he's not in it, but does his bit in the effort to pull him back. All his work is in vain, however, as the break contains a number of the other six-day racers here tonight, former Tour de France stage winner Leon Von Bon among them. They stay away, NSW's Jackson Law takes it out and De Luca rolls through an admirable 11th.

There's a fifteen minute break before the Melbourne Madison starts, and in that time I organize a little sweep. The deal is simple - whoever picks the winner gets to punch everyone else in the arm. It's a game that is definitely biased in my favour, because a) I've been working out, and my punches will hurt and b) There's a pretty good chance I pay more attention to the results sheets than the other players, one of whom asked what a Madison was when I approached her. Because I'd been paying attention to the results sheets, I knew that Barth, mentioned earlier, had tried to take a lap on the gigantic Packer Park velodrome during the 50k points classic on Wednesday night, in a field that also contained a number of roadies. He was partnered with Marvulli, also mentioned earlier, who I think may have won the race on a previous occasion, and who has been in Australia since November, racing the Tasmanian Christmas Carnivals and any other race on the calendar. So they were my pick.

It was a definite case of head versus heart, however, as I really wanted Horsham's own Mark O'Brien and Sam Witmitz to win. Even though O'Brien had finished third in the points classic, I didn't think they'd finish with the main group, even if I really, really wanted them to. As roadies, I figured they'd have the endurance, but thought their inexperience would result in them at least losing a lap.

When the race began I was a bit worried about my choice. Jackson and Scott Law were dominating the sprints - something they would continue to do throughout the night. For the first forty or fifty laps Barth and Marvulli were nowhere to be seen. Archbold's partner Myron Simpson, on a weird Zenyth bike, has crashed in the early stages, and is now riding with half his knicks missing. I haven't seen so much vulgar display of arse since the last Gilgamesh show. Von Bon and his junior partner Caleb Ewan, who one of the commentary team keeps calling Ewing, are continually attacking, but the field refused to give them an inch. When Marvulli attacks, however, they have no choice. He quickly has fifty metres on the bunch, who are strung out in pursuit. The fifty becomes a hundred before he hands over to Barth, who continues the job at hand. Before another sprint comes around they are awarded the lap, leaving them ahead of everyone, but slightly vulnerable due to their low points. For the rest of the night they are forced to chase down attacks, mark potential threats and generally race with their wits about them.

Witmitz and O'Brien don't attack, they don't sprint for points and they don't take any laps. But they're riding smart, also pulling their turn when it falls to them to do so, staying at the front of the chasing group. It's a gutsy ride, and I'm impressed by the Budget Forklifts pair. Their slings are on a par with anyone else's, and they don't miss a turn for the entire 200 laps. With 80 laps to go Witmitz looks like he's in the box, and they do drop the wheel occasionally, but they somehow always manage to chase back on. To finish on the same lap as a bunch of six-day riders and state-sponsored full-time athletes is an impressive achievement, and I get the impression those two will make an impression on the criterium-heavy National Road Series when it kicks off in a few months.

Ewan and Von Bon continue to launch attacks well into the race, and the minute they ease up Castlemaine's Sean Finning and his partner George Tansley do likewise, but the bunch - including Barth and Marvulli, and O'Brien and Witmitz - refuse to let them get away. With four to go Ewan launches a last-ditch attack, and quickly gains 100m on the bunch. He hangs out there for two more laps, until one of the Law brothers decides he can't let his NSW teammate get away with it. Folks hold their breath as Law gains on Ewan. The little bloke has ten metres heading into the final turn but it's not enough, and coming into the final straight Law flies past and salutes into the air. He and his brother haven't won, but they've concreted their second place, and seem as happy as if they have taken it out.

Barth and Marvulli get the flowers, however. By the time presentations roll around most of the crowd have left. Casey wants to see them stand on the podium, so we wait. The stands are empty as Leanne Cole asks everyone to stand on the top step with their arms around each other. The riders look spent, but happy, as if this race was a club race that they wanted to win, but weren't taking all that seriously. It's a good, fun vibe, and seeing them all chat together in the pits after the race makes me like those crazy Euros even more.

Having picked the winning team, I inform our small posse that I will withhold my right to punch them all in the arm until some undetermined point in the future. They look worried, and rightly so.

Actual results here.

I Got So Much Trouble On My Mind.

Sweet baby Jeebus, it's another Friday Roundup!

That picture above is a tasty hint of things to come. Because ladies and gentlemen, today I have an announcement to make. As of next Monday, the Monday blogpost will be known as Heavy Metal Monday, and will be written by our very own FJ. Positing on life, cycling, metal and everything in between, with a slew of hilarious catchphrases that put ALF to shame, FJ will bring to the blog his unique point of view and an impressive knowledge of homo-erotic, fantasy-inspired metal lyrics. If you see him on the streets, give him a high five.

Since the UCI were generous enough to afford me a press pass to the world track champs, I figured I should cut my teeth on a smaller event, the way Cadel Evans cuts his teeth on Tirreno-Adriatico. So I got in touch with some of my good friends at Cycling Victoria and asked them if I could also have a pass to the Austral. To my unceasing surprise, they too said yes. That was pretty sweet. I would've gone anyways, and probably would've written about it anyways, but to be able to do so for free is sweet.

Despite the fact - or perhaps because of the fact - that I probably won't be racing for another six months or so, the Fitzroy Revolution have once again offered me a spot on their team for coming year. With a growing number of Revolution riders heading down to the track, perhaps in the hope that they might finish a race without being totally covered in mud, you'll likely see us rolling as a posse sometime soon. I also occasionally write for the team blog, which you should check out here. Though my review of Assos Chamois Creme, in which I speak at length about how much I like the tingly menthol feeling on my nads, is strangely yet to appear.

On to coming events: The Sid Patterson Grand Prix / Melbourne Madison is on this weekend, and the lineup is pretty close to incredible. I'll be down there, sitting in the back straight, heckling my old mate Shane Archbold about his mullet and generally being an obnoxious jerk. You should totally come. Bring snacks.

Also happening over Easter weekend is the Australian Cycle Messenger Championships. A quick perusal of the entry list indicates that Safa Brian is likely to win, but who knows what will happen on the day? Besides the race there will be an entire Holy Week full of drinking, debauchery, dubious moral decisions and probably some bicycle riding. Check it out here.

And that probably sorts us out for this week. It's been a long week, but next week, on Monday, I'm going to do something I haven't done for nearly a month. I'm going to go for a bike ride. If you'd like to come, get in touch. Don't let the fact that it's only going to last fifteen minutes deter you.

Meet Me In The Dollar Bin.

Alright, here I go, wading into the Groupset wars with no real expertise whatsoever. Except that, true to form, I once again think the concept is largely bullshit. It's foolish to think that one company does every single thing better than another, not to mention incorrect. I have tried all three now, on a variety of bikes, all three from a variety of eras, and one component has generally worked well in one groupset, whereas another from that same groupset has not. So instead of giving my entire endorsement to one or the other, I present for you a series of components that I think are great (and that you could get to work together).

Please note that most of my technical information comes from Sean "The Man" Hurley, who occasionally wrenches for Genesys. That's experience enough from me. I also get a lot of info from Dan, whom you should know already.

Starting from the front, you should get SRAM shifters. Initially I liked Dura Ace shifters better, but I'm come to love the way you can flick down with the SRAM a lot easier. Plus, you can use the brakes and shift down at the same time. That's handy. I never liked Campy shifters because I don't like the thumb shifter. We developed opposable thumbs so we could hold on to things, and I like to use mine to hold on to my handlebars.

However, you should get Dura Ace brakes. They seem to offer the best modulation, plus when you grab a handful they're as grippy as hell. I haven't tried all the variation of brakes, of course. There seem to be thousands these days, but Shimano varieties are still probably the most common. That helps when it comes time to replace some little broken bit in the middle of nowhere.

I also recommend a Dura Ace front derailleur. The Campy ones won't work with your SRAM shifters, and the SRAM ones - well, the SRAM Red one that I am still using - are as flexy as hell (though I hear that the Force ones are stiffer, perhaps because they use the force to change gears, rather than traditional methods of derailment).

If I had my way I'd currently be running a Cannondale Hollowgram crankset, but because I have a stupid non BB30 frame, I'm not. Instead I'm vouching for a 10-speed Campy crankset. They have the lowest Q-factor of any of the three big guys. Q-factor - essentially the distance between the pedals - is important. You know that bit in The Flying Scotsman where Graeme O'Bree is laying on the floor pedaling with his wife? And he points out that the natural pedaling action is one banana wide, whereas most pedals are two bananas wide? Dude was on to something.

Generally you have to run the same bottom bracket as your crankset, so do that. You don't wanna get too fancy now. Although I gotta say that the White Industries bottom brackets look the goods. If anyone wants me to test ride one, I'd happily do it. When I test ride something I get to keep it, right?

Are pedals part of the groupset? I don't know. But I like Dura Ace, again. They're steady, stable, virtually indestructible, and relatively light. I've also ridden Speedplay, but they have significant reliability issues, so I'm pretty down on them.

I have the same issues with SRAM chainrings as I do with their front derailleurs - they're flexy as hell. Apparently some SRAM sponsored pros are using the SRAM time trial chainrings to deal with this, but I'm not SRAM sponsored, so I can just switch to 10-speed Campy again. Or Dura Ace. On this one I'm not convinced there's a discernible difference between those two.

Down the back you're going to need a SRAM rear derailleur, because it's the only one that will match your SRAM shifters. But that's ok, because they offer the most consistent and immediate shifting I've experienced. Feel good about your choice, and have no regrets.

But - and here's where things get controversial - you should get a Shimano 105 cassette. The SRAM ones wear out quickly, and both the Shimano Dura Ace and Ultegra ones do likewise. For the average shunter like me that's an important consideration - definitely more important than an extra 50 grams in weight. The Campy ones are pretty good, but don't mesh with the shifters. So go with the 105.

Tying it all together should be a Campy 10-speed chain. Campy chains are the best. You know that bullshit line about Campy wearing in, not wearing out? In regards to the chain, it's almost true. It'll wear out eventually, but it'll take a fuckload longer than any of the others. Sure, it's more expensive, but it's totally worth it. You'll also encounter some skepticism about the chain's compatibility with all of those Dura Ace parts. Those skeptics are wrong. Embrace it.

And that's about it. Next review will be of gloves, I promise*.


* Non-binding promise.

** I also make no promises about the accuracy of the pictures in the links. Google images can sometimes be a little off, you know?

And I Thought Suicide Was A Suburban Myth.

Welcome to another La Musique Mercredi, which I think I might also begin referring to as Lazy Writing Wednesday.

I was at this show. It was really good:



And now here's the guitar sound that inspired Albini in the first place:



Stepping away from the shredding for a while, here's some shitty footage of one of my favourite all time songs. Sometimes I wish I was more into Coldplay, because all of their videos are fucking impeccable. But then I remember how fucking awful Coldplay are, and I feel a lot better about my choices. As a slightly cycling-related aside, I bet Anthony Tan likes Coldplay. He seems like the kind of guy who would like Coldplay.

Anyway, here's a song about dying, which never seems to happen to the right people.



I reckon in 2002 I quoted this song so many times - to so many different girls in different countries - that I probably should've been paying John K. Samson royalties. This is a pretty nice stripped-back version, which almost allows me to overlook how godawful the Weakerthans have been since Left And Leaving.



And, while we're in a quieter mood:



See you tomorrow.

There's No Greater Meaning.

Here's an annotated list of things I don't care about:

GreenEDGE Pro Cycling Team

I suppose my lack of interest is due to a strain of anti-patriotism that is particularly strong in me, but I also think everyone else's extreme interest is mostly due to confirmation bias. Folks who are predicting that GreenEDGE will be ridiculously successful in their first year have simply been reading too much Australian media, and probably have tattoos of the boxing kangaroo. Give the team time to develop and they'll go alright, but probably not in 2012.

Also, I'm fundamentally opposed to teams / bands / political philosophies that have stupid spelling and/or punctuation in their titles.

The Grading In Club Races.

Yep, I really don't care, so please stop complaining to me about how some really good kid smashed everyone in C grade last week, and how he should be in A grade because he won a junior time trial last year. For the most part, handicappers do a really good job. Some times they stuff it up though, and that's when people notice. Just like football umpires, I guess.

Here's the thing though. Sometimes racing is hard. Sometimes you don't win because someone way better than you smashes it off the front, and you spend your whole day chewing bar tape in hot pursuit. If you're in C grade, you can relax, because you know that he probably won't be racing in C grade again next week. If you're in A grade and someone way better than you smashes it off the front, however, you're fucked.

Rivalry Between Clubs.

Sometimes I make fun of Northcote having no members, or Caulfield-Carnegie yelling at you, or St Kilda not being interested in races that last longer than an hour, or Italo having an entry requirement that states you must be a) incredibly handsome and b) a handy bike rider. But none of it means anything at all. No one cares what club you're from, and unless you wear your club's jersey, they probably wouldn't even know. There is no real animosity between clubs.

The Tattoo You're Going To Get.

Ok, so this is personal. Unless it's bona-fide fucking hilarious, like a monkey fighting a souvlaki, I don't care. And even if it is a monkey fighting a souvlaki, you'd probably be better off just showing me, rather than sharing your ideas before they become reality.

Where's My Pension Plan?

Alright, so I'm currently a little loose due to copious consumption of painkillers. Like I just told the dentist, I know I've got lots of tattoos, but I'm kind of a wuss when it comes to pain, so right now Panadeine Forte is my best buddy. This, of course, pisses off my other buddy, quality writing, who has no doubt by this point left the building. Proceed with caution.

The other day, down at Birrarung Marr, when I found a moment's respite from being an elitist hipster fuck, I went and chatted to the girls at what was definitely not the Cycling Australia tent. Like I said earlier, they really knew their shit. On a whim I asked them about a press pass to the Track World Champs. Slightly skeptical, they asked me who I had written for. When I told them I'd done work for Cycling News their eyebrows lowered a little bit, and they told me I could apply through the UCI, and that there was a link on the World Champs site.

So I found the link, and set up an account with the UCI. When they asked about my website, I wrote down that it was The New Timer. I didn't think anything more about it, firm in the knowledge that a website that features YouTube clips of old punk rock bands and moaning about mystery illnesses doesn't hold much sway in Aigle.

But then last night I received this email:

"Accreditation request approved.

Hello Brendan Bailey Brendan Bailey,

your accreditation request for UCI Track World Championships 2012 (Melbourne-AUS) has been accepted.

Please check the accreditation centre opening hours in your personal page

Demande d'accréditation acceptée.

Bonjour Brendan Bailey Brendan Bailey,

votre demande d'accréditation pour UCI Track World Championships 2012 (Melbourne-AUS) a été acceptée.

Veuillez vérifier SVP les horaires d'ouverture du centre d'accréditation dans votre page personnelle."

I'm not entirely sure what the French part says, but I'm guessing that it also tells me that I've scored a press pass. Either that, or confesses that Pat McQuaid is a mad Milemarker fan. I will, of course, be convinced of both facts only when I have the lanyard around my neck, but until proven otherwise I'm going to continue to believe it is true. All day I've been fantasizing about asking Sarah Hammer if she is related to MC, giving Chris Hoy tactical advice, and trying to convince Matthew Glaetzer that religion is the opiate of the masses. However, like when Helmets are Hot interviewed Anna Meares, I'm also keen to hear your questions. Who would you like me to interview? And what questions would you like to hear answered? I intend to be there every session - school holidays are a hell of a thing - so will probably have heaps of both time and access. So post your questions below and I'll see what I can do.

Rhetoric And Treason.

Hollaback, it's another Friday Roundup!


First things first, it's FJ's birthday! And Heavy Metal Jono's! And, according to facebook, my friend from highschool Stella Young. She's pretty rad. I see her on TV sometimes. I'm sure she'd be stoked to find she shares a birthday with two such rad metal fans.

Secondly, I think I owe St Kilda Cycling Club an apology. A bit of research has revealed that their prize money allocation is allegedly based on the number of riders in the particular grade, rather than any perceived notions about the quality of the racing or the gender of the participants. So sorry for calling you sexist, St Kilda. I am, however, glad that me shooting off at the mouth resulted in a frank and open discussion about prize money and where it goes. Seems going off half cocked can be beneficial occasionally.

Moving right along, the next three weekends (not including this one) see three of the biggest events on the track racing calendar. Next weekend there's the Melbourne Madison, the weekend after that there's the Bendigo Madison Carnival (which I'm aiming for this year... ahahahahaha!), and then the Austral the weekend after that. See the Cycling Victoria website for more information on all three. All of these events are benefiting from the quickly approaching UCI world track champs, in that a whole bunch of impressive track racers are in town and looking for events to warm them up. Rocking up will mean you get to see some of the best track cyclists in the world. That rules!

And finally, here's some rad pictures of Australian Cycling in the early 1900s. Check out some folks who are way harder than you will ever be.

Enjoy the weekend!

Now We Gotta Do Much Better.

So, here's the deal. I'm suffering from Overtraining Syndrome. Yes, it's a real thing. I'm overcooked, my system is burnt out, I have something like a stress fracture, but for my entire system, rather than just a bone. When the doctor diagnosed it last Thursday he described me as an exercise junkie who had overdosed. He then berated me for not having enough rest in my program. From that moment on I thought he was pretty rad (apparently being Steve Hooker's doctor when he won gold at Beijing wasn't enough).

But then he outlined some rules for me. Definitely two days off a week, and that means absolutely nothing related to training at all. Go get a massage, he said, or see a movie. He even wrote the latter down on my instruction sheet. And a minimum six week break every year. That sounded pretty good.

It got worse though. I'm still off the bike - completely - until the start of March. And then no more than fifteen minute rides on alternate days for the first week. No intensity whatsoever, just ticking the legs over. The next week, twenty minute rides. And so on. After the first month I'm allowed to do two sessions in a row, and a bit longer, with maybe some low level intensity. Apparently it's going to take me a minimum of six weeks to build it back up.

That sounds shit, and it probably will be, but I'm freaking stoked. Knowing what's wrong - and how to fix it - comes as such a relief, that I have no doubts whatsoever that I'll stick to this stupid, lame-ass program like glue. I want to get back to where I was at this time last year, and if I have to do a series of fifteen minute bike rides on non-consecutive days, well, I'll get that job done.

Edit: There's some really great stuff on overtraining here. I told you it was a real thing.

Lost The Thought.

Hey, it's La Musique Mercredi!

Please note new and awesome name.

Crappy sound in this one, but the sight of everyone going absolutely nuts to one of the best ever songs by one of the best ever bands in what is obviously freezing cold weather was too much to pass by:



More shitty sound, but check how stoked everyone is to be dragged up on stage for a Creedence singalong:



And while I'm posting singalongs, here's the Constantines covering Acca Dacca. Which every band should be contractually obliged to do.



I've posted this before, but screw you guys, I'm posting it again. The best performance to ever occur at 10am:



I was never a huge fan of the White Stripes, but if one of their songs came on at a party, I would totally rock that shit. This song is a prime example, and I liked it so much I nearly bought one of their records. But, you know, hardcore pride...



And that's La Musique Mercredi done for another week. You're welcome!

Wish On Everything.

So, this was going to be another rant about sexism in cycling. Seriously, I was loaded and ready to fire. And it wouldn't be the first time I've gone off half cocked. But instead, I waited, bided my time, and did some further investigation. And that investigation revealed that it wasn't a matter of sexism, just a lost opportunity.

Here's the deal. I went down to the Treadlie Bikefest Market on Friday night. It was pretty rad. There were food tents and bike tents and everything in between. I was also pretty stoked to see that there was a tent there representing the UCI track world champs, because I love it when two different cycling tribes overlap.

I was chatting to someone in one of the tents when this extremely attractive young woman, wearing bright pink lipstick and approximately twenty gallons of fake tan, rocked up. "Um, I'm looking for the cycling tent?" she asked. With that much information I was stumped. "The one with the big cycling event in April?" She continued. I pointed her in the direction of the rainbow stripes that represented what I came to - possibly incorrectly - call the Cycling Australia tent.

Later that night I was surprised, given the lack of knowledge she had already displayed on the matter, to see her handing out flyers for the track world champs. And this was when my sexism rant started to formulate itself. I was all set to call this young woman out, but still I had doubts. There was always a slim possibility that it was some A grade trackie from out of town who was just disoriented by the big city lights. After all, the other women down at the Cycling Australia tent certainly knew their shit. So I waited.

I returned to the Market on Sunday to compere the roller racing. This time I was armed with a megaphone, which someone had foolishly given me in order to spare my voice a little. The young woman was there again, walking around in a Cyclones jersey, with the same bright lipstick and fake tan. But this time she had some hot young guy with her, also in a Cyclones jersey, and armed with flyers. My sexism rant melted away, but I asked some questions regardless. All on the megaphone, of course.

"Hey, I'm keen to come to that! What night is the scratch race on?"
The guy answered. He shrugged his shoulders and said, "This event is in April."
"Yeah I know. I want to go to the scratch race. What night is it on?"
He shrugged his shoulders again.
"You don't know anything about the event, do you?"
He shook his head and began walking away.
"Do you even ride a bike?"
He walked away a little quicker.

Obviously this wasn't a sexism issue, but someone had hired two models, with little to no experience of cycling, to promote their event. There's obviously a reason for this - people are more likely to respond well when someone attractive approaches them bearing flyers. But that's some grade A horseshit that we shouldn't buy into. This was a sweet opportunity for whoever was doing the promoting to put word out among the cyclists of Melbourne that volunteers were needed to help promote the track world champs. Certainly there are cyclists around who are equally as attractive, if not more attractive, than the models hired. And those cyclists would have been able to not only provide accurate information about the event, but also share with the punters the enthusiasm, the passion and the excitement they feel for the sport.

And, furthermore, they probably would've worked for free tickets.

So it's not about people being sexist, for once. It's probably more about people being lazy, and going through their existing channels, rather than investigating new, initially more difficult, but eventually more rewarding ones.

All Your Love Has Gone.

No post today, because I'm too tired from doing this all day yesterday:



Doctors orders are not to ride my bike until March, and then only in 15 minute increments on alternate days. I have failed to obey my doctor already, and today am paying the price. It's 5.30 and I'm ready for bed. Goodnight!

Hold On.

Hold on to your hats, it's time for the Friday Roundup!

Once again, this Sunday I and a bunch of other folks will be down on Birrarung Marr encouraging folks to set a freaking fast time on the rollers, and perhaps even show your friends that you really are better than them. This may be an excellent chance to redeem yourself after you don't win at the St Kilda crits. Check out the details and a rad picture of me and Sam McGregor here, and check out the people who are providing prizes - Northside Wheelers and Creux Velowear.

I will say one thing about the blog - it has attracted a number of comments, and those comments have, for the most part, been considered and well written. This seems to be in direct comments with the rest of the internet, where petty name-calling and kneejerk reactionism is the status quo. Good job, punters.

Long time readers of the blog, however, will understand that for some time the posts were almost solely about how I was sick, and didn't know why. The sickness was stopping me from cycling, which in turn encouraged me to write more. Mostly I turned to the subject at hand, which got pretty grim for a while there. But last night I spent a long time with a Sports Medicine doctor who specializes in fatigue issues. He took a look at my long list of symptoms, checked out all of my blood test results, and made a diagnosis. It wasn't great - I'm looking at about six months worth of rehabilitation - but at least now I know there's a way out of it. And that feels pretty good. As an aside, if anyone wants to come on a fifteen minute bike ride, let me know.

And hey, Saint Cloud are turning two! When they first popped up I was certain the store wouldn't last long, probably because I'm not really their targeted demographic, but in those two years Nick has really made the store an integral part of the community. He's a quiet guy, modest where others bluster, and will help you get your bike going when you're desperate. Plus, he occasionally races on the track! What a mad dog.

And that's it for the week, folks. See you Monday.

I Hear Them All.

No blog post today. Well, that's not entirely true, because this is one. But this is all there is. A series of doctor's appointments, followed by social appointments, followed by pleasant times with old friends, meant that I haven't been home for the prerequisite 45 minutes that it takes to write a post. I'll attempt to bring you all up to date in tomorrow's roundup. Until then, goodnight.

Time It Was.

Screw you guys, it's video clip Wednesday!

(Which, incidentally, I haven't been able to brand with a catchy label yet. You may have noticed).

Please note that I have finally stopped listening to Milemarker. But that doesn't mean I've stopped dancing. Here's some Dirtbombs:




Some classic rock from a duo I really like (Gillian Welch and David Rawlings) and a group I don't really like, but who go alright here (Old Crow Medicine Show):



As if I wasn't going to throw in some PE. Surprisingly, given how rad it is, this is a newer one:




And, finally, here's an appropriate one for all of you who came here from a St Kilda Cycling Club re-tweet. Incidentally, I'm a little disappointed that no one has called me a Commie since that post. I guess the Cold War is over. Anyways, here's some Propagandhi:

It Hurts Me More.

The Dads at the kid's clinic are a little paunchier than they were. They gradually gravitate towards each other, stand in a semi-circle, avoiding the intimacy of face to face conversation, arms crossed against heavy chests. Weight on their heels, three quarter length shorts revealing still-shaven legs.

They watch their offspring with feigned disinterest, offer hesitant encouragement, careful not to crush the petals when the interest is just beginning to bloom. They pretend not to care, but they make sure their kid has the best of the shared bikes.

They squint into the sun and slowly reveal their pride with deprecating jokes. They laugh together, scratch an itch, recognize it in each other.

When they talk to me it's as if I'm in my twenties. They look me up and down and ask about the racing, the training, the bike I'm riding, and tell me I'm looking fit, even when I'm not.