O.k., before the ugliness: we were sent this link by the Ramstacker. Sort of like watching a home movie, it's mundane and intriguing at the same time.

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Surly In The News

I'm getting to this one a little late but I think it still bears mention. Local "fickle fashion-first hipster" City Pages writer Bradley Campbell articulates better than he may realize why we do what we do colorwise. He even goes so far as to call in expert analysis to figure out why we don't have better taste, though it should be noted that he did not bother to contact us prior to (or after) publishing his opinion.
So, for the record: We don't make stuff with the intent that it will color-coordinate with your ensemble, apartment, townhome, condo, car, or lifestyle. We are not obsessed by the design ethic of Smeg, Wolf, or Apple. Rather we offer bikes and bike stuff by and for people who ride bikes. If you like the color, great. And if you don't we assume you're a big enough person to get past such niggling detail or else have the thing painted some shade of Personal Expression Of Good Taste.
Oh, Ugly. We love you better than the transient tastes of myopic hipsters and retrogrouches alike because you are real. And low maintenance.
Anyway, thanks Bradley and City Pages for the backhanded compliment. This even makes me consider doing a frame in Raspberry Kiss just for you.

Skip covers the rest of the ugliness from here...

Yesterday it was 46 degrees and we lost about 75% of the 8" of snow we got last week. I took the Pug out for a real slush-fest and had a fancy time leaving drunkard's tracks as I struggled to keep it vertical on the uppy-downies.

Actually, it was the second long Pug ride in as many days. Saturday night I took it out for some long laps of town - rolling between the groomed x-country ski tracks - lit up by a nearly full moon, no wind, perfect crunchy snow, awesome. I stopped for a long conversation with a lone white-tail doe by the campground and she seemed to agree that it was a great night to be out. I gave her some tips to avoid the folks in blaze-orange, but she seemed philosophical about the whole deal.

Either way, last night the wind picked up and the mercury dropped like lycra shorts in a Ragbrai porta-john. We woke up to -4 degrees (what's that in Kelvin?) with a 20mph west wind. I try not to keep track of the windchill, but suffice it to say that it's cold out. The windows are rattling some and the furnace is groaning to keep it survivable. Lethal weather is cool.

Get to the point Skip.

Those of you with whom I've spoken in the past have surely heard my take on competitive cycling, as I tend to wax sarcastic about the whole process - I don't race because racism is wrong. This view helps me be ok with the fact that I'm slower than a Minnesota recount. Racing hurts and I hate pain. There, I said it.

Still, I've decided to emerge from my self-imposed fast riding moratorium to try out the Triple D. It's an adventure race. It's in Iowa. It's hilly and stupid. Perfect. I'm going to give it a shot, but don't bet on me winning, placing, or even coming in with a respectable time. QUIT PRESSURING ME!!!!

You should check out the deal and see if you have what it takes to leave me in your snowy wake. I hear it's a lot of fun (if potentially toe-losing frostbite is fun.) Plus, it ends at a bar and I like bars.

So, if you find yourself in Dubuque on January 10th, roll down to watch the yahoos hit the trail. Do me a favor though, don't offer me a ride in your big warmed-up American car. I'll probably take you up on it and I rarely smell good.