Pre-Interbike Mayhem

Product Manager John D. is all packed up and ready for Interbike with the most ostentatious luggage on the planet!


Don’t let the title of this blog post fool you. Truth be told, the usual amount of pre-Interbike mayhem has been kept to a minimum this year. The ritual sacrifices, the self-immolations, the endless games of ping pong have kept everyone relatively subdued. If you’re going to Interbike, Hawley will be sharing a booth with our brothers from another mother(land), Lambert. Ogio, Northwave, Catlike and EVO Bikes will also be snuggled up in our corporate hidey hole. We’ll also have some special promotions and events during the week to pique our dealers’ interest (“Personally Shame an Outside Sales Rep” and “What’s in Teddy’s Colon?” should be big hits this year). So if you’re in Vegas or trying to escape it, swing by booth #11063 and introduce yourself! On an unrelated note, inside sales goon JT sent Bloggy this bizarro instance of bicycle industry doppelgangery! Which one is our beloved Tony Stone and which one is from a shop JT knows?



(late edit. Bloggy realized after publication that Tony Stone’s doppelganger should be  called Tony Clone)

Lunch Ride Rumination


A few years ago, Bloggy ran a fansite called “The Fog of Worf”. It was an amalgam of Star Trek the Next Generation episode recaps and in-depth discussions pertaining to the Nash Equilibrium and Cold War strategies (as they were applicable to Star Trek the Next Generation episodes in which Worf played a significant role, which was approximately six episodes). After approximately 789 posts and a total of 8000+ hours of blogging, “The Fog of Worf” folded up shop in august of 2009 with a total of 11 visits and 2 members (Myself and a man sentenced to death row in Oklahoma whose only post was “I did not get my spaghetti O’s, I got spaghetti. I want the press to know this”). If the preceding sentences were true, I would be the saddest blogger alive. Luckily, it is completely false and I am of this post still content if not somewhat hungry. However, the the spectre of sadness is always around us, even in the most mundane activities, like a lunch ride (or blogging about Robert McNamara and Worf’s eerily similar hair styles). Picture it in your internet-pornography-filled mind: There I was, minding my own business when some sort of Lilliputian railroad spike jumped from the tarmac and penetrated my beloved Michelin Lithion. It was totally crappy. But wait, there’s more crappiness. Said spike not only violated my Lithion in a most violent manner, but also had the audacity to sink itself even further into my rim tape AND THE RIM ITSELF! Distraught, I slow-rolled/walked the bike back to the office and displayed the vulcanized injury to my fellow coworkers. Everybody was aghast yet KEVIN refused to change the flat for me, even when I offered him money and fabulous prizes. I threw the bike down and went to shower room 2-B to sob myself to sleep. This post has been a bit, umm, schizophrenic, so I’d just like to say in closing that when Kevin leaves for Asheville today, I’m setting his desk on fire.

This is where people come to practice cyclocross and ride horses… SIMULTANEOUSLY.


Look at this bastard. Gonna need some birthin’ forceps, a quart of rot gut and a whole lotta elbow grease to pop this sucker out!



Zack Hawley (customer service minion): Hey Matt, I need tomorrow off.

Matt Tag (customer service manager): Ummm, yes. And what perchance is the reason for this absence?

Zack Hawley: I’m attending that customer service workshop in Atlanta you’ve been going on and on about.

Matt Tag: Ah, well if that’s the case young man, pleasant travels! May you learn much!

(8 hours later, Zack emailed a photo from the workshop with the text “Cant believe I scored front rows! #mylifeiscomplete”)



Rick Flare


Yesterday was the monthly Handlebar Happy Hour meeting. A small but dedicated crew of Hawleyites rode from bucolic Old Shandon to not-so-bad New Shandon for an evening of beer, food, bicycles and karoake speaker infused public speaking. As the speaker crackled to life (emitting ghosts of forgotten power ballads and Right Said Fred scream-a-thons), Bloggy remembered the evening’s sponsor New Belgium was raffling off a free cruiser bike! Zounds! S’Blood! Before Bloggy could swap excitement-soiled trousers to clean ones, the drawing was made in tandem by local shop thugs Tim Malson and Brian Curran, and the bike was awarded to a man NOT named Bloggy. I quelled my rage chewing on a soiled bar napkin and simmered in my own angst for another 40 minutes whilst Teddy and José talked me off the ledge. Imploring a higher power for cruiser justice, I shook my fists at the sky, read the innards of a butchered chicken and quietly adjourned to a local backyard for an apertif of road flares and marshmallows. La dolce vita? Photographs now follow the account:



Instead of a cruiser, I got some New Blegium chapstick which I used later in the evening after being propositioned by some of our warehouse guys.


There’s the winner with his cruiser and some giggling halfwit who writes the Hawley Blog.


The fire wasn’t raging to Chuck’s satisfaction so he brought out the road flares to expedite the process. In addition to the noxious black cloud and odor, the flare burned for a a solid 20 minutes!


flare  shed_lights

Per his usual tradition José finished his evening at Menkoi ramen house with a steaming bowl of ____ !



Patrick without meatballs.


Patrick with meatballs.


Bloggy would be remiss to not thank Juliette in accounting for making the meatballs as today was National Take Your Meatballs to Work Day. “I believe the meatballs are the future, teach them well and let them lead the waaaaaaay!”