Bike porn, food porn, booze porn

Yep: this post has it all!

My lovely bike. I recently took off the milk crate, and it was kind of amazing how much lighter and more nimble Sitba feels without it.


I used to, uhhhh, hate bloody marys. My sample size? One. Unfortunately, it was after running a hot, fast 10K in Denver some years ago, and they were giving away free bloody marys with some top shelf vodka. I took one sip, and nearly had to spit it out. Then last year, I bumped into my friend J4 at Atlanta Streets Alive, and we popped into the Corner Tavern, where J4 introduced me to how delicious bloody marys can be, if made well. The not so secret ingredient? A little bit of high quality stout! The above bloody mary was at J4's house, before the Inman Park Festival.

This was the bloody mary fixins bar.

Speaking of the Inman Park Festival, yeah, well, it sort of sucks. I'll leave you to judge the above image (hints: yes, that is a Volvo crossover, I think an XC60, and yes, they were an official vendor for the event.)

When was the last time you cooked 10 quarts of coconut vegetable curry on camp stoves? For me it was last weekend. (And this won out of four dinners over two nights in our friendly but fierce little competition.)

This is what happens when you organize a cycling event for 400 people, are are somewhat obsessive about diverting recyclable and compostable material from the waste stream. Yes, that is my kitchen floor.

Busy busy busy. Today Atlanta, tomorrow Costa Rica, next week West Virginia. Whee!

of Js and motorized ice chests

This photograph was taken by our friend J2*, who was on the phone with J when he saw it in Albuquerque:
Yes, friends and neighbors: that's a motorized ice chest. No, I don't know why he made it, how fast it goes, or where the guy puts his feet while (riding?) J2*, feel free to elaborate in the comments section if you have additional details!

*As I was starting to write this post, I found myself in the throes of a naming dilemma: I realized I have described two different people as J2 in previous blog posts. And I have already coined a J3 and a J4, so I can't just reassign further muddying the waters. As a matter of fact, I was out at a local filmmaker showing last night with J4 and someone who will now be coined J5 when J was on the abovementioned phone call with J2*. This shit is getting confusing!

The thing is, you'd have to know me reasonably well and at least know of my friends if not know them personally to be able to decipher who any given blog post references. And referencing people in the blog is mostly a shoutout to the person, not meant to identify them to the masses on the internetz. So any confusion, well... kinda doesn't really matter.

But dammit, what was it with naming kids names that start with J in the 1970s and 1980s? Actually, a little more internetting shows that J names were awfully prominent throughout most of the 20th century.

Thus, going forward, it's like this: J2(a) and J2(b), y'all are now joined in cosmic-cyberspace bondage. This is forever, since the internetz don't forget. Readers, you'll just have to sleuth it out in any given post, or email me for clarification. J2(a) and J2(b), deal with it. I actually think you'll like one another quite a bit. And I don't want to hear any fighting in the back seat if you don't, or I swear to god, you'll be walking home! (A shoutout there to mom. Or maybe it's more a shoutout to my brothers, since we actually had to walk home once.)