Category: Not at all Cycling Related

Bring Your Dog To Work: Homer


Wait a second, it’s Friday already? What happened to Wednesday? Where did Thursday go? Where are my pants? Bloggy is so confused. Time travel conspiracy theories aside, even though I find this gaping hole in my weekly timeline most unsettling, I’ll take a Friday over a Monday any day of the week, especially if it’s Friday. Now that we’ve settled that, it’s time to introduce our weekly furry office visitor. This week’s special guest is Teddy’s (Marketing Manager) dog Homer. Homer is an Australian Shepherd. He’s only 7 months old so he’s still got a lot of hyperactivity and curiosity that comes with that age group. Bloggy and Phil agreed that Homer looks like a Muppet come to life, which is pretty awesome if you think about it. He’s our Muppy Puppy!

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Desperately searching for Teddy…


Homer, what have they done with your tail? Have you misplaced it?!


Homer passed the Jose test… and earned his love… forever.

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Have a frank and productive weekend, see ya’ll at the Queen City Cyclocross race Sunday. Patrick, play us the heck outta here!


A Thousand Pardons…

…But it would appear that despite the copious amounts of non-blog work, including a morning session in our receiving department that can best be described as “illuminating”, (toil is sometimes a necessity) which has engulfed Bloggy recently like so many rats engulfing the consumptive body of a 19th century beggar, Patrick Augustine, the buyer of Campagnolo, the forgetter of all things Schwalbe, the “wait a sec, that’s my account??!” of SOMA and countless others, felt the need to prod Bloggy’s gut with the stick of shame in regards to the “less than stellar” quality of these daily missives. Yes, the quality has decreased and thus Patrick’s prodding was warranted (He has entered a cabal with young Matthew Wheeler, of this, I am certain) but there are many reasons for this. Where to begin? Malaise, milieu, mildew? Gout for sure. Perhaps a touch of swamp lobe. Ulcerated ghost sweats. The lack of sunlight, thus vitamin D deficiency, the rickets, and the ensuing psychotic darkness crazies that plague my Doritos ravaged corpus have only wreaked even more havoc on these already  brittle fingers that bang away on a keyboard like so many folding chairs against Dusty Rhode’s skull. Sadly, the American Dream I am not, but please be patient and as soon as this stuporous funk has lifted (we’re projecting 2015), it’ll be back to the normal, daily record of bicycle part trappings and travails (with 900 percent more “Musings With Phil: Your IT Loveline”). With that, here is an awesome and thorough article about Sycip Frame welders. Everyone knows when it comes to California frame slingaz, Bloggy’s heart belongs to Paul Saddoff and Rock Lobster, but this is an entertaining look at a group of young men involved in honest and industrious labors. That is all.


Tuesday, The Other White Meat

“I’m outta here!!!!”

A belated congratulations to Hawley graphics department hefe Julie and the newest addition to her family, Lyndi! If you know Julie, you know she is not a fan of having her picture taken and one would assume that extends to having photos of herself published online, especially post-birth photos (almost typed “after-birth” but thought that might cause some confusion). It appears this aversion to photos is genetic as Lyndi shields her babyface from the encircled babyrazzi. “Lyndi, over here! Lyndi! Lyndi! Lyndi!”

Joshie sent this loving, bike lane-related homage to the GREATEST racing game ever, “Mario Kart”. Leave it to those plucky rain-sodden hipsters in Portland! What next for that city, HANDMADE BICYCLE FRAMES??? CYCLOCROSS RACES??!?!

Lastly, I espied this giant banner at Fort Jackson on my Sunday morning ride. First of all, Kid freaking Rock??? Second of all, what was the last album Kid Rock released (that WASN’T spoken word) and more importantly, what decade was it ? I didn’t even know he was still alive. Totally mind-boggling. Don’t look up ticket prices or your head might explode. But most importantly, if I’m paying 30 dollars for a ticket, there better be a Joe C surrogate or we’re going Altamont on those hucksers.

Monday’s Featured Entrée: Rasta Primavera

Basso the Butcher, bringin’ Alice the meat…

First things first. As much as Cyclingnews and Rapha and great blogs like Pave Pave Pave and Neverendingmonkeytronbicyclespaceship tried to hype up the Tour of Poland and Denmark, they were still snoozefests compared to Jeff Kerkove’s harrowing write-up of his first attempt at the Colorado Trail Race. Egads. Almost regurgitated my peanut butter toast on the keyboard this morning looking at that jungle rot foot shot. Inadvertent rhyme this early in a post? Tis’ a portentous omen. Red sky at morning, bloggers take warning. Rhyming in a post, barf up your toast. Second on the agenda, an apology to my good friend and shipping department cohort Brad who was kind enough to invite me to the airing of the Mixed Martial Art bout this weekend at a local “wings” dispensary (I think it was Gentleman John Wiggins versus a Mega-Raptor for 134 rounds). Health concerns of a gastrointestinal nature “arose” and fearing a catastrophic “event” miles away from the friendly confines of Castle Bloggenstein, I chose to stay ensconced within my labyrinthine system of tunnels and passageways burrowed out of jazz records and Seinfeld DVDs. For those of you who run a shop and order from us, there is an excellent chance that Brad may have packed your last order of Super Record and Honka Hootas. As far as the World Shipping rankings go, Brad is currently ranked third overall in Kenda tube box to riser bar logistical space usage percentage and has a .732 slugging percentage. He also ranks number two in “healthiest daily lunch choice”, just behind Jose, but nine spots ahead of The Blog. In addition to an unhealthy obsession with MMA fighting and submission holds yet a healthy obsession with rabbit food, Brad recently completed his collegiate schooling where he majored in Octagonal Capitulation and Anaerobic Constriction. Cum Laude! But as befits a Renaissance man, in addition to “death blows” and “larynx removals”, Brad is obsessed with some seriously intense music: Randy Newman (visual proof provided by his Facebook page),

Steely Dan, Buckethead (?!), T Rex, Hall and Oates and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. While these are monolithic examples of contemporary pop music, the young whippersnapper still refuses to accept the fact that western music begins and ends at Studio One in the heart of Kingston, Jamaica!

He is an obstinate lad indeed but luckily a certain Defeet product manager has given in to the “riddims” and acquiesced to the demands of young, dreadlock-less Michael Bronsons all over the globe: bring in the “One Love” rasta sock for 2010 (CLTH6092). It’s called the “One Love”, but ever since we shot images of the sample pair, I insist on calling it the Peter Tosh, which doesn’t make sense, but feeeeeels right. And yes, they come in the Aireator model with the standard 3″ cuff. If Defeet makes these in a sleepwear model, I assume they’ll be called Prince Jammies (hoo ah!). By the way, Michael Bronson has the only roll of Cinelli rasta handlebar tape in the warehouse (discontinued from our inventory as of the writing of this entry), sitting at his desk, taunting me… TO TAKE IT!!!

Menchov Demands Sacrifice!

Thomas Voeckler Colnago C59 resplendent in the French colors…

Happy Bastille Day gentle reader. In 1789, a bunch of plucky demonstrators brought “tha ruckus” (to borrow a period colloquialism) to a prison containing 7 prisoners, none of them the Marquis De Sade, and sent a portentous message to the French royalty. Fast forward thousands of years later to today’s Tour De France! A Portuguese rider (Sergio Paulinho) wins the stage and a rubber legged Frenchman (Maxime Bouet) gets dropped from the escape group. Many a Jacobite are turning over in their graves (but not Robespierre as he despised sporting activities that didn’t involve “terror” and “reigns”) right about now. Nevertheless, the French have ridden a solid Tour and should be happy that their successes have obfuscated the failure of the French at this year’s World Cup for at least a few more weeks. By the way, hopeless purchasing hack Patrick noticed Velonews might be jumping on the Menchov train. Silent threat indeed!

Speaking of lurking, Hawley alumni and bon vivant Brandon Caskey directed Ole Bloggy to a bunch of pics of his beyond-ridiculous ascension of the Half Dome Regular Northwest Face in Yosemite. Huzzah and much respect to a man who still owes The Blog $12.57. We’re not a climbing company but we occasionally deal with climb-servicing dealers and vendors and would like everybody to know that we have much admiration for the scaling of rock edifices and those who participate in these endeavors. That is all.

You Have Lunch, We Have LUNCHEON!

Brian Orloff of vendor powerhouse Sigma Sport is known by many names. Some call him Brian, others, Orloff, and a few refer to him as Brian Orloff (and the ultra rare anagram “Born For Fail”, first seen on his kindergarten report card). Around these parts, he is simply known as “The Man Who Saved Lunch on June 16th, 2010”. Apparently, Mr. Orloff, still reeling from the effects of an all-night ether binge at Clamdiggers, mis-texted a missive to Sigma product manager Sandy Emmanuel this morning along these lines: “Sandrew. Yo. Gonna blow up tha spot with like, i dunno, 33 pizzas for Hawley. Peace” 9 hours later, a line of pizzas not dissimilar to Hannibal’s war elephant caravan through the Alps descended upon the “S” aisle in the warehouse to raucous applause and cavorting. King Edward, shipping department Noid, danced a furious jig then consumed an entire bottle of Stan’s sealant in his excitement and is now tripping the light fantastic as these words are typed. In honor of today’s event, we have a created a Sigma Pizza Mandala to honor Brian’s generosity. Grazie!

Pay careful attention to the lumbering figure in the background. His name is Adam Rickard. He works in the shipping department. He is, seriously, seven feet and four inches tall. He weighs, 151 pounds. His parents are Kaminoans, the same folk who cloned Jango Fett. He likes to yell “epic!” at The Blog which never fails to elicit a guffaw…