You've seen the chewy outside. Here's a grainy pic of the crunchy inside.

The doc says everything is healing as it should. I'm not surprised. He put everything back together pretty well. I'll be on crutches for 4 more weeks. Then we'll discuss walking and, hopefully, riding....at least with the sidehack on the Stoke'd Big Dummy. I'm off the meds, and my flexibility is coming back slowly. But it's depressing knowing that I'll waste some of the nicest days of the year sitting on my ass when I'd normally be doing something active outdoors.

Note to self: Stop falling down.

Steamroller Complete bikes are now back in stock

Steamroller Complete bikes are now back in stock

Steamroller Complete bikes are now back in stock

Steamroller Complete bikes are now back in stock

I'm sure most of you who read Dave's blog about his broken femur have developed a sudden craving for red meat. Well, maybe you haven't, but I have.

Honestly, have you seen a better looking burger? It's the Grumpy's Burgermeister. For sure it will be the death of me but dammit, burgers taste good. Pork chops taste good. Bacon tastes good.
Speaking of pork and pork products, this saturday is the big day for Brose and his lovely wife Julie. Their annual 4th of July sausage party is going dowwwwnnnn. Check out Goathork for the details on the when and where. Brose's sausage is to die for. That might sound dirty. I don't care. It's tasty, and unless you've tried it you'll never understand. Just be there.

We eventually found ourselves behind One on One Bicycle Studio after an off-road Wednesday Nite Ride at Wirth Park, a post-ride swim w/bonfire and flapjacks at the lake, and last call at Cuzzy’s.

While Gene was opening the dock doors and Zito made a dash for pizza, a roundy-round ensued…as it often does with the lovable riff-raff that makes up the ride. Brauer and I bumped shoulders a few times, and I took the inside line to cut him off near a brick wall of a building that forms part of the derby circle perimeter across the alley from the bike shop. Then, Brauer Power and gravity got the best of me. I went down and hit the uneven pavement without unclipping from my ATACs. My left leg took 95% of the impact. My left elbow took the rest.

I knew I was messed up. The way my leg was resting and the amount of pain I was in indicated that I wasn’t going to walk/ride away from this. I thought my hip was out of its socket. It was time to call for an ambulance.

I laid in the alley in too much pain to move to the side, hoping a drunk wouldn't come blasting through in a car, and waited for the meat wagon. The EMTs showed up within minutes, and they, along with some help from the Wed Nite crew, got me onto a stretcher and into the waiting ambulance. I asked to go to Fairview Riverside Hospital instead of HCMC (the downtown trauma center), because I was hoping Dr. Nemenich, the doc who put my ankle back together last August, could work on my new project. At the time, I didn’t realize how remote the chances, of getting him assigned to my surgery, were. I felt every bump on the way to the hospital.

X-rays, at the ER, revealed a spiral-fractured femur. I couldn’t see the X-rays, but I was told by my ER support/heckling crew…Gene, Zito, and Brauer…that it was pretty ugly. The size of my swollen thigh was also a pretty good indication that I had really messed myself up.

I was moved to my room to await my surgery. The morphine was kicking in, but I could still feel my injury every time my muscles twitched. I was looking forward to surgery, so I could get some total relief from the pain under the general anesthetic…even if it would only be for a few hours. I was hurtin’.

Dr. Nemenich was scheduled for surgery at Fairview Riverside that morning, and I got on his surgery list. I was told, by one of the nurses, that the odds of that happening were incredible. Had I gone to HCMC instead, they probably would have admitted me into surgery sooner and spared me a few hours of pain, but my surgeon would have been an unknown. I’m glad I took the long shot. At least, something was going in my favor.

Surgery went well. The doc used 14 screws and a long, concave steel plate to put everything back together. Femur injuries are notorious bleeders, and mine was no exception. I sucked up 4.5 liters of B+ during and after surgery. My 33cm incision was closed with 40 staples.



I was released, after 3+ days in the hospital, to go home, sit on my ass, manage my pain with Oxycodone, and do the physical therapy exercises prescribed to me.

It has been 12 days since I smacked myself up. I’m happy to report that I’m regaining some flexibility in my leg, and my pain is manageable without the prescription narcotics. Tomorrow's visit to the doc should give me a better idea of my probable recovery schedule. Needless to say, I’m getting anxious to walk without crutches and ride my bike again.

I’ve been asked many times over the years, “Why do you ride your bike so much?” I have lots of reasons, of course...fun, health, environment, convenience, cost, etc. But the one answer that always holds true…”Because I can.” I’ve been laid up a few times since I started riding a lot in 1991. In 1997, I crushed my T5 vertebra in a cycling accident. Last August, I broke my ankle while skateboarding. And, now, this. I know what it’s like to not be able to ride. It sucks. So I take full advantage of my able body when it’s able. There will probably be a day when I’m too crippled or sick to ride anymore. When that day comes, I’ll know that I took full advantage of the skills and physiology that my creator gave me to enjoy tens of thousands of miles in the saddle. I’ll remember all the good rides I’ve been on, all the beautiful places I’ve seen from the saddle, and all the kind and interesting people I’ve ridden with. It’s good to know that I’ll recover from this. I have more memories to make.

Charlie Kelly Responds

Today I received an email from Charlie Kelly in response to my blog last week about the KLUNKERZ world premiere.

He writes:

Peter,

Saw your discussion of Klunkerz, and had a comment or two.

Whether or not the hardware for mountain biking was "invented" in Northern California, the SPORT of mountain biking certainly was. There are many people like you who rode their bikes on dirt roads and trails before the first real mountain bike race that took place on October 21, 1976. I did it myself as a kid in the '50s, and a late friend also featured in Klunkerz built a bike in 1951 that was indistinguishable from an '80s mountain bike.

But mountain biking was not "invented" in 1951, even if there was a guy with a mountain bike.

What happened in Northern California during the '70s was organized racing, which gave people a reason to spend money on these (at that time) strange bikes, and a couple of guys who opened a shop where the only product was mountain bikes. And we called our company "MountainBikes," which became the generic name. Nothing that took place before that had changed the bicycle market forever, but opening that shop did, and that's why Northern California is where it all started.

Check out my website and when Klunkerz comes to the Minneapolis, my wife's home town, check it out.

Charlie Kelly

Thanks Charlie for setting me straight. Please understand that I meant no disrespect in my blog. The history of mountain biking is fascinating and I, for one, greatly appreciate what you and your gang have done to promote the sport. Can't wait to see the film.

People of Earth:

Fresh in stock: utility blue Long Haul Trucker FRAMESETS in sizes 52-62cm, and maroon Steamroller FRAMESETS in all sizes.
Complete bikes are still not here but are not far off. Stay tuned.

Hugs,
Kang & Kodos

We Invented The Mountain Bike!

Actually, we didn't. But some folks claim they did. And, that's OK, if it makes them feel better. (Nevermind that I was riding on dirt trails on my sister's Schwinn Breeze in 1974, so take that!). The rest of us can simply bask in their glory. Literally. You can, because Saturday June 30th marks the Hollywood Premiere of the new cut of the film, KLUNKERZ, at the 600 seat Vine Street Theater on Saturday, June 30th at 5:00pm near the corner of Hollywood and Vine. That's Hollywood, Caleeforniya kids. It's in Lost Angaleez I hear.

Here is what Director Billy Savage sent me about it:
The film is a feature-length documentary about the birth of the sport of mountain biking. What started out as a way to cross-train for some hippie/athletes in Northern California became a multi-billion dollar industry, a form of recreation for the masses, and an Olympic event. The film includes interviews with most everyone involved in the genesis of the sport, and lots of archival photographs and footage. The screening is in conjunction with The Bicycle Film Festival (see below) and it should be quite a gas (pun intended). Gary Fisher, Joe Breeze, Charlie Kelly, Alan Bonds, The Larkspur Canyon Gang and other legends of the cycling industry will be on hand to answer questions.

Check out the Bicycle Film Festival website for ticket info. Sounds like it's gonna be a hoot.

And for that matter, Surly is sponsoring the Minneapolis leg of this fine event again this year. So, while none of us will be making it out the the Premiere, it is likely that you'll see some of us at the Minneapolis Premeire in September. Can't hardly wait.

Just for the record, it really doesn't matter who invented the mountain bike, but it is interesting to track the history of the sport. The significance of the contributions of the "founders" of mountain biking has more to do with them providing a tipping point so that the rest of us could discover it in our own way. I, for one, am genuinely excited about this film. I had the pleasure of meeting Billy by chance when we were at Sea Otter this year, and I can honestly say that a nicer guy there is not. So, if you can, please get out and support Bicycle Film Fest, Billy and his Klunkerz film, and all the other fine films that are being shown.

Toilet paper is not the most important thing in our lives, but think about what it would be like without it. I’d prefer not to think about that. I mean, it’s always easier to avoid thinking about things that would make our lives less convenient. But, my friend Jonathan, who has traveled extensively in Africa, tells me that they don’t use toilet paper there (most places, at least). Instead, they use a small bowl of water and their left hand. As part of this cultural uniqueness, it is a huge faux pas to touch anyone with one’s left hand. Not so in Japan, though. In Japan it’s not really acceptable to touch others at all, unless you are familiar with them. And, regarding toilet paper, they use it. Lots of it. And they have really cool high tech toilets that wash your bum (and other parts, if ya want). Yep, they are called Washlets, at least by one company (TOTO?) that makes them. God I want one. Hey, I’m a father. Someone buy me one for Father’s Day, would ya?

Speaking of presents, and also on the topic of toilet paper, our Japanese distributor made up a thousand rolls of the stuff featuring Surly frames and parts. It’s one of the best give-away ideas we have ever heard of. Please don’t ask us for one. We only got a few rolls, and I doubt any of us will ever want to part with them.

Long Haul Trucker complete bikes

LHT complete bikes should be ready in about 6 weeks. You can start mapping out your next journey now.

The lovely & talented Ms. Bloggings and I live across the street from a school. We have a fence that acts as a net, collecting stuff lost by the school kids when it blows in the wind. We find love letters ("Dear Pedro, I luv U wil U B mine. I would die 4 U."), drawings, all kinds of good stuff. Last Monday I found the best one yet:



Poor kid. I know just how you feel.

Girls Gone Grumpy III

Last Saturday marked the third installement of the GGG ride in Minneapolice. I was the only Surly to attend, but that made it all that much better. What wasn't better was my memory for how things went down. You see, I was there to tag-along, and tag-along I did. Heck, I did so much tagging-along that I barely took any photos. One might have even called me a slacker. Heck, one might call me slacker any day of the week. In fact, I'm such a slacker that I've decided I'm not gonna write a report about how much fun this ride was, how crazy we all got, and how it changed all of our lives forever. Nope. Instead I've enlisted the talents of the lovely yet lippy Kelly Riordan (a.k.a mplsminx) to write her version of what happened. So, enjoy this report as I return to my lounge chair to wallow in my slackerdom:

Dear Surly Blog-Readers,

Last Saturday marked the third annual Girls Gone Grumpy ride. If you've never been on a GGG ride, you should know a few things. One: A female MUST lead the ride at all times. Two: Any boys attempting to lead the ride will be derbied to the ground and humiliated. Three: Any boys riding must adhere to our dress code. Lucky for them, this year it was tame: the a-frame shirt, otherwise less P.C.-ly known as the "wifebeater".

Under an ominously cloudy sky, we assembled a motley crew of forty to fifty riders (and two of the rider's moms!) at One On One downtown and headed out to our first stop: Grumpy's Nord'east. Led by me (the Minx) and backed up by Hobo Girl (the lovely Shawn) and her trailer of boombox and beers, we began. We were greeted there by Anitra (Pink Pigtails) and several pitbull puppies. Drinking and carousing ensued. From there, we headed towards the parkway to begin a leisurely spin around the Buzzard Loop (also known as the Hopkins Loop, for those of you who aren't familiar with the infamous AmyC). We stopped for ice creams and beer near a golf course and got lots of gawks and giggles, and continued on our way. We again stopped for beers and repairs in St. Louis Park on our way back downtown.

We paused to regroup outside Minneapolis, which is when the real fun began: the super-storm. We stopped under a nearby bridge to wait out the rain, which became an impromptu wet t-shirt contest for the boys, and a wrestling match between Lando and Boy-Sean. We even got a glimpse of boy-bum. It was...great. We cheered for the soaked riders passing us and tried to get them to drink with us. We were lucky enough to have a gentleman stop, take a pull off the whiskey bottle, and ride on. Good man. He got a huge cheer.

After a while, we got impatient and hungry, so we headed to our last stop: Grumpy's Downtown. Surely they were thrilled to have the remaining riders stumble in, a little tipsy and totally soaked. We shivered our way through dinner and departed, happy to have had another successful GGG ride. Join us next year--we can't control the weather, but we do guarantee a good time. Thanks to all who came to ride, and especially to Grumpy's NE and DT. Oh, and our Cabana Boy, Mike.

You can see photos here, here, and of course on the Surly Flickr page. See you next year!

Love,

the Minx.

Special thanks to Hobo Girl for working things out.

Freeway of Love

They closed a section of Interstate 35W in the heart of Minneapolis this weekend to do some road work. I'm sure everyone was thinking it, but this guy did it. I hear it ended with him in handcuffs and a spendy ticket, but was according to the kids "the best day of their lives."


That's what an eight lane highway should look like.

- Skip

Black Hills Fat Tire Festival


Rapid City, SD hosted the first annual Black Hills Fat Tire Festival over the Memorial Day weekend, and I decided to check it out.

I roadtripped out to SD with Paul Larson, a good friend and a past and present co-worker of mine. We worked at the same bike shop in the 90’s, and he now works for QBP, our US distributor. We left from Minneapolis on a rainy Thursday morning and arrived at our tent “camp site”, in sunny Rapid City, 8-1/2 hours later.

The Lake Park Campground caters mainly to RV and cabin campers. 6 catbox-like spots, crammed next to each other and adjacent to the office/shower building, are reserved for tents. One of those litter boxes would be our home away from home for 4 days and nights. To add to the ambiance, the Wiettrasch family arrived on Friday with every camping item (still boxed) one could possibly glean from the camping isle of a Wichita, KS Wal-Mart. Big Daddy Wiettrasch yelled at his kids morning ‘til night, while Big Mama looked on and ate delicious salty and/or sweet snacks from one of many Mylar bags piled inside their screened-in chow area. Big Daddy snored each night like a pig hot on a truffle trail. At least, they had extra-loud electric air compressors to pump up their max’d-out air mattresses each morning.

I hadn’t ridden in the Black Hills prior to this trip, so I didn’t quite know what to prepare for. I grabbed my 1x1, equipped with a Psylo, V-brakes, and 32 x 18 gearing, and hoped for the best. Paul chose to ride his geared Univega hardtail sprung with a Marzocchi fork.

My first taste of Black Hills off-road was a locals’ ride scheduled for Friday morning. Steve Beals, an old friend residing in Rapid, told us to meet at the coffee shop. For some reason, Paul and I assumed it was a ride-to event, and we set out on our bikes. The realization that we should have driven the Toyota didn’t hit us until we were past the point of no return. Duh…this isn’t Minneapolis. Luckily, Steve had extra capacity in his truck for 2 sweaty, pasty Minnesotans and their bikes. We ordered some vittles and coffee for the road and set off toward the trailhead to get our asses handed to us. Our ride was on a new section of trail at Breezy Point. It was sometimes rocky, sometimes steep, full of pinecones and pine needles, and sometimes hard to find. We rode 5 miles in 2-1/2 hours. Our average speed wasn’t impressive, but part of that time was spent watching some of the full-sus riders hucking some of the bigger drops on the trail. I felt pretty worked when we got back to the parking lot, but Steve had a cooler full of cold Grain Belt to help me forget about the pain. I was happy, but tired. And I was wondering if all the riding would be as raw as the stuff I’d just ridden.



After this ride, I understood why geared, full-sus, disc-brake-equipped bikes are the norm in the Hills. Flat pedals are pretty common, too. Throughout the festival, I saw a handful of single-speeds on the off-road trails. I didn’t see any rigid forks out there.

If nothing else, the Lake Park Campground has nice, hot showers. After a good degunking and some lunch, Paul and I decided to meet up with our friend Trent Knight (former Minnesota resident and shop wrench), who was helping out at one of the trailheads, and then hit a section of the Centennial trail for a 45-minute out-and-back ride under light rain and dark skies. That was a lot of fun. Rocky and rolling with descent flow. Paul and I are discussing a future self-supported trip along the 111-mile length of the Centennial. I’ve been told, by our friend Simon (Western Spirit tour guide and all-around troublemaking dingo) that there are some really hellish sections that they generally shuttle around. But I’m still interested.

Friday night’s schedule included the festival registration gig at the Chop House, conveniently located within a stone’s throw of our campsite, and a pub crawl to many of Rapid’s more eclectic drinking establishments. I started to feel right at home. After last call, we rolled home. Trent only turtled onto the bike path 3 or 4 times, and we eventually made it back to camp to have another beer and get a little shuteye.

Sunrise came too soon, as it often does at these events. Paul, who had avoided the pub crawl, was up early and found a breakfast joint to his liking while I slept off some of the haziness I’d acquired the night before. Paul ordered and ate 2 breakfasts. I think he has a tapeworm…a very large, hungry tapeworm that wears denim and flannel. I was up when he got back to camp. Trent was still sleeping in the back of his ’54 Chevy parked in front of our site. Paul and I went back to the breakfast joint, the Colonial House, so I could dilute some poison and take in some calories before the 1:00pm ride at Victoria Lake.


The Victoria Lake ride started off at a very slow pace. I wondered why until we got onto the main loop. This 15-mile ride was going to be more about energy conservation than speed. The first climb put me in my place. I went out first because I was the only one on a single-speed (a trend that continued throughout the weekend), and I have to go faster uphill to keep my momentum. It wasn’t long before I had to dismount and walk. I simply couldn’t keep moving over the steep, rocky trail. Most of the riders walked the majority of the steep climb, so I didn't feel too bad. I waited for Paul at the top. We continued on at a little faster pace than the rest of the group. The group leaders would catch us occasionally and we’d ride together, but more often than not we’d be riding in front. Sometimes, it’s easier that way if the trail is marked. The Victoria Lake Trail is well-marked with orange arrows, so we felt confident that we could cruise ahead without worrying about getting lost. The second half of the trail is smoother than the first and we started to ride a little faster. The weather was perfect, and I was really diggin’ the ride. 4 miles from the end, Paul caught up to me and told me he’d broken his pinky finger during a crash. Damn. It looked bad…crooked, green and purple. He thought it was a compound fracture, so he didn’t bother to remove his glove. I had electrical tape in my bag, so we taped his bent pinky to its neighboring finger and continued down the trail to the car. Paul rode well despite his injury.

On Sunday, Paul and I decided to ride Storm Mountain by ourselves without a map. Paul had ridden it before, and we were told that we couldn’t get lost because it’s well-marked and well-ridden. Of course, we missed a turn somewhere and rode the main loop twice. Then, when we were 500 meters from the car, we followed our instincts and some arrows and made another wrong turn away from the parking lot. After a few more small loops, we found a local single-speeder who pointed us in the direction of the car. The trail was pretty sweet, overall, and I wasn’t unhappy about the extra laps. But it was nice to be done, and we were both looking forward to some food and a couple cold beers at the Gas Light Saloon down the road.

That night, Steve and his wife Erica, Paul, and I sat under the stars in the Beal’s backyard, smoked shisha from Steve's hookah, drank a few beers, and talked about our bikes, our families, and our friends until the charcoal and shisha burned out. It was the perfect ending to an already-great day.

Monday’s ride was to be my favorite of the trip. We started off in Shank’s Quarry. This was supposed to be a mellow ride, but the first couple of climbs and descents proved it otherwise. Our large group split into two groups…a fast group and a not-quite-as-fast group. I was perfectly content riding with the slower group. We took different routes, but met up down the trail, anyway. The terrain varies wildly in this area…rocky double-track road climbs, rocky single-track descents, dirt, gravel, pine needles…a little bit of everything. The fast, winding descent down Howling Beagle put smiles on all our faces and burned a visual, of this serpentine chain of riders, into my head. Around noon, most of the group headed toward the parking lot. It was Memorial Day, after all, and a lot of folks had family commitments. Steve, Paul, and I wanted to ride more trail, so we bid our companions farewell and pointed toward the trail that would lead us to the Bone Collector.

It wasn’t long before we came across these guys…



They were testing out a newly-built .54 caliber black powder musket on one of the many roads that crisscross this multi-user area. Steve (who is a multi-faceted, well-read funhog) instantly identified and took interest in the gun. He asked its owner if he’d fire his weapon, and we were treated to a fine display of historic firepower. The other gentleman appreciated my 1x1. These were back-to-basics outdoorsmen, so the single-speed thing was more intriguing to them than the full-sus bikes that most people use in the Hills. After some more bike/gun geekery, we made another move toward the Bone Collector.



The Bone Collector is a rocky, technical-but-not-too-steep trail that invites riders to test their nerves and machines on natural granite and man-made trials. There are lots of challenging technical lines, but there are also less-demanding alternatives for riders who are not willing/able to ride the tough stuff. Gaps, ramps, ladders, shoots, and drops make this trail a destination for skilled technical riders. Knee and elbow pads are not out of place here. The 1x1 did fine, because I rolled the drops and took the mellower lines when they were offered. This is a fun trail.

The heavy logging throughout the Black Hills is a little unsettling. National forests are fair game for loggers, regardless of the bike trails running through them. Most of the trail systems we rode had been logged to some degree. Luckily, local trail builders have rerouted many of the damaged or erased sections.

We rode more of the trails in this area (I wish I could remember all the trail names), took in more great views, and finally made it back to the cars on a fast-as-hell doubletrack descent that scared me in a good way.

After some grub, a couple beers, and a much-needed shower, we drove out to Trent and Carla’s place for a holiday feast and a gathering of kind souls. Heavy, dark storm clouds loomed over us as we pulled up to the almost-complete strawbale house, and, within minutes, the wind picked up and heavy rain began to fall. Nobody seemed particularly alarmed by the imposing weather. The thick bale walls of the house, covered by cement, are quite reassuring. A huge garage sits under the main living area of the home. The garage was the gathering area that evening. It’s a great example of what a mancave should be. I’m jealous. We, a group of cyclists and non-cyclists…men, women, and children, sat in a large circle…talking, eating, drinking, and watching the newborn kittens frolic on and around piles of tools, car parts, and building supplies. Trent’s badass 1920’s touring rod sits in the corner. A CroMo funny car frame rests in another corner. Bikes, bike tools, and bike parts are mixed in with the car stuff. There’s a little somethin’ for everybody here.

New Grey Pugsley status

Thunderhead Grey Pugs should be in stock today or tomorrow. It's a rather small batch, since we still have the Purple models in stock. So if you miss your opportunity this time, there will be more later.

Thanks for being patient with these delayed framesets.

Surly Slugs





In its current format, my Big Dummy is a great tool for collecting slugs. The balding Endomorph tire, on the front, picks up the sticky little fellas and flings them onto the downtube fender...and bottom bracket, downtube, crankset, etc. Of course, I need to squeegee off my bounty before it dries; dried slugs are tenacious.

Slugs are delicious fresh or dried. I eat dried slugs like popcorn. My son prefers them over candy. Slug pot pie goes well with a cold Hamm's or two. And sweet slug pudding is an easy-to-make dessert for the homemaker who's short on time. Simply puree them fresh or rehydrated with a bit of cats' milk, then add a little brown sugar to the foamy gelatinous blend. Lip-smackin' delicious.

I've been known to stuff three Hostess Twinkies in my mouth at once without laughing, fold a pizza in half and eat the whole thing like a sandwich and down 13 White Castles with room for dessert, yet I've been one-upped on many occassions. Once, by a guy who ate three Chipotle Burritos in 16 minutes without barfing. Another time by a guy who ate over 7 pounds of crappy chocolate pudding for $103 during an 8-hour work shift.

Let's face it, eating is fun. But the whole speed eating thing is way over the top. Ever heard of Kobayashi? The reigning king of hot dog eating just got dethroned by up-and-comer Joey Chestnut. Nice work.

Get Me A Bucket

What would you do for a free trip to NYC, a years supply of hot dogs and a $250 gift certificate?

This vehicle is from a DIY'er gent in France who is also convinced the world would be a better place if people opted for bicycle transportation. He's so convinced, he made it himself "from aluminum old ATB and BMX and a few extra tubes" for hauling his kids and his neighbors kids to school each day. Right on brotherman!

It Was 40 Years Ago Today

Well, I might be old, but even I ain't old enough to remember when The Beatles Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band was released. But, it was this day in 1967 that they changed rock music forever. Check out this cool Youtube video on their official page.



Be sure to dust off your vinyl or CD copy and play it today, if you care at all about this kinda thing.