flahute » mountains

Christmas morning …

flahute — Sun, 25 Dec 2011 18:16:36 +0000

ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST’S NATIVITY

This is the month, and this the happy morn,
Wherein the Son of Heaven’s eternal King,
Of wedded maid and Virgin Mother born,
Our great redemption from above did bring;
For so the holy sages once did sing,
   That he our deadly forfeit should release,
And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.

II

That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable,
And that far-beaming blaze of majesty,
Wherewith he wont at Heaven’s high council-table
To sit the midst of Trinal Unity,
He laid aside, and, here with us to be,
   Forsook the Courts of everlasting Day,
And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.

III

Say, Heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein
Afford a present to the Infant God?
Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain,
To welcome him to this his new abode,
Now while the heaven, by the Sun’s team untrod,
   Hath took no print of the approaching light,
And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?

IV

See how from far upon the Eastern road
The star-led Wisards haste with odours sweet!
Oh! run; prevent them with thy humble ode,
And lay it lowly at his blessèd feet;
Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet,
And join thy voice unto the Angel Quire,
From out his secret altar touched with hallowed fire.

The Hymn

      It was the winter wild,
      While the heaven-born child
   All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies;
      Nature, in awe to him,
      Had doffed her gaudy trim,
   With her great Master so to sympathize:
It was no season then for her
To wanton with the Sun, her lusty Paramour.

II

      Only with speeches fair
      She woos the gentle air
   To hide her guilty front with innocent snow,
      And on her naked shame,
      Pollute with sinful blame,
   The saintly veil of maiden white to throw;
Confounded, that her Maker’s eyes
Should look so near upon her foul deformities.

III

      But he, her fears to cease,
      Sent down the meek-eyed Peace:
   She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding
      Down through the turning sphere,
      His ready Harbinger,
   With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing;
And, waving wide her myrtle wand,
She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.

IV

      No war, or battail’s sound,
      Was heard the world around;
   The idle spear and shield were high uphung;
      The hookèd chariot stood,
      Unstained with hostile blood;
   The trumpet spake not to the armèd throng;
And Kings sat still with awful eye,
As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.

V

      But peaceful was the night
      Wherein the Prince of Light
   His reign of peace upon the earth began.
      The winds, with wonder whist,
      Smoothly the waters kissed,
   Whispering new joys to the mild Ocean,
Who now hath quite forgot to rave,
While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.

VI

      The stars, with deep amaze,
      Stand fixed in steadfast gaze,
   Bending one way their precious influence,
      And will not take their flight,
      For all the morning light,
   Or Lucifer that often warned them thence;
But in their glimmering orbs did glow,
Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.

VII

      And, though the shady gloom
      Had given day her room,
   The Sun himself withheld his wonted speed,
      And hid his head of shame,
      As his inferior flame
   The new-enlightened world no more should need:
He saw a greater Sun appear
Than his bright Throne or burning axletree could bear.

VIII

      The Shepherds on the lawn,
      Or ere the point of dawn,
   Sat simply chatting in a rustic row;
      Full little thought they than
      That the mighty Pan
   Was kindly come to live with them below:
Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep,
Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep.

IX

      When such music sweet
      Their hearts and ears did greet
   As never was by mortal finger strook,
      Divinely-warbled voice
      Answering the stringèd noise,
   As all their souls in blissful rapture took:
The air, such pleasure loth to lose,
With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close.

X

      Nature, that heard such sound
      Beneath the hollow round
   Of Cynthia’s seat the airy Region thrilling,
      Now was almost won
      To think her part was done,
   And that her reign had here its last fulfilling:
She knew such harmony alone
Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union.

XI

      At last surrounds their sight
      A globe of circular light,
   That with long beams the shamefaced Night arrayed;
      The helmèd Cherubim
      And sworded Seraphim
   Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed,
Harping in loud and solemn quire,
With unexpressive notes, to Heaven’s newborn Heir.

XII

      Such music (as ’tis said)
      Before was never made,
   But when of old the Sons of Morning sung,
      While the Creator great
      His constellations set,
   And the well-balanced World on hinges hung,
And cast the dark foundations deep,
And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep.

XIII

      Ring out, ye crystal spheres!
      Once bless our human ears,
   If ye have power to touch our senses so;
      And let your silver chime
      Move in melodious time;
   And let the bass of heaven’s deep organ blow;
And with your ninefold harmony
Make up full consort of the angelic symphony.

XIV

      For, if such holy song
      Enwrap our fancy long,
   Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold;
      And speckled Vanity
      Will sicken soon and die,
   And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould;
And Hell itself will pass away,
And leave her dolorous mansions of the peering day.

XV

      Yes, Truth and Justice then
      Will down return to men,
   The enamelled arras of the rainbow wearing;
      And Mercy set between,
      Throned in celestial sheen,
   With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering;
And Heaven, as at some festival,
Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall.

XVI

      But wisest Fate says No,
      This must not yet be so;
   The Babe lies yet in smiling infancy
      That on the bitter cross
      Must redeem our loss,
   So both himself and us to glorify:
Yet first, to those chained in sleep,
The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep,

XVII

      With such a horrid clang
      As on Mount Sinai rang,
   While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake:
      The aged Earth, aghast
      With terror of that blast,
   Shall from the surface to the centre shake,
When, at the world’s last sessiön,
The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne.

XVIII

      And then at last our bliss
      Full and perfect is,
   But now begins; for from this happy day
      The Old Dragon under ground,
      In straiter limits bound,
   Not half so far casts his usurpèd sway,
And, wroth to see his Kingdom fail,
Swindges the scaly horror of his folded tail.

XIX

      The Oracles are dumb;
      No voice or hideous hum
   Runs through the archèd roof in words deceiving.
      Apollo from his shrine
      Can no more divine,
   Will hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.
No nightly trance, or breathèd spell,
Inspires the pale-eyed Priest from the prophetic cell.

XX

      The lonely mountains o’er,
      And the resounding shore,
   A voice of weeping heard and loud lament;
      Edgèd with poplar pale,
      From haunted spring, and dale
   The parting Genius is with sighing sent;
With flower-inwoven tresses torn
The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.

XXI

      In consecrated earth,
      And on the holy hearth,
   The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint;
      In urns, and altars round,
      A drear and dying sound
   Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint;
And the chill marble seems to sweat,
While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat.

XXII

      Peor and Baälim
      Forsake their temples dim,
   With that twice-battered god of Palestine;
      And moonèd Ashtaroth,
      Heaven’s Queen and Mother both,
   Now sits not girt with tapers’ holy shine:
The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn;
In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn.

XXIII

      And sullen Moloch, fled,
      Hath left in shadows dread
   His burning idol all of blackest hue;
      In vain with cymbals’ ring
      They call the grisly king,
   In dismal dance about the furnace blue;
The brutish gods of Nile as fast,
Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste.

XXIV

      Nor is Osiris seen
      In Memphian grove or green,
   Trampling the unshowered grass with lowings loud;
      Nor can he be at rest
      Within his sacred chest;
   Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud;
In vain, with timbreled anthems dark,
The sable-stolèd Sorcerers bear his worshiped ark.

XXV

      He feels from Juda’s land
      The dreaded Infant’s hand;
   The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn;
      Nor all the gods beside
      Longer dare abide,
   Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine:
Our Babe, to show his Godhead true,
Can in his swaddling bands control the damnèd crew.

XXVI

      So, when the Sun in bed,
      Curtained with cloudy red,
   Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,
      The flocking shadows pale
      Troop to the infernal jail,
   Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave,
And the yellow-skirted Fays
Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.

XXVII

      But see! the Virgin blest
      Hath laid her Babe to rest,
   Time is our tedious song should here have ending:
      Heaven’s youngest-teemèd star
      Hath fixed her polished car,
   Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending;
And all about the courtly stable
Bright-harnessed Angels sit in order serviceable.

  — John Milton (1608 – 1674), English poet

Crushed!

flahute — Sun, 17 Jul 2011 22:33:54 +0000

They came, they saw, they got crushed (and crushed in return).

When I first found out that Burke Swindlehurst was putting together the Crusher in the Tushar, a half-road, half-dirt climbing sufferfest at altitude, I knew immediately that this was going to be an event in which I had to be involved. I’ve written in the past about my admiration for Burke, both as a professional cyclist and as a person … he is quite simply one of the classiest people I have ever had the pleasure to know, and it was my pleasure to volunteer to assist in anyway that I could.

Originally, I anticipated helping out with the timing and scoring of the race, but in actuality most of my pre-event involvement was tweeting about the event and general enthusiasm … before helping out with registration check-ins on Friday night night. My reward? The best seat in the house for the race itself, riding shotgun in the lead vehicle with Burke.

A beautifully crisp and cool morning greeted the field in Beaver, a small town in soutwestern Utah settled by Mormon pioneers in the 1856, just west of the Tushar Mountains, and birthplace of Butch Cassidy (notorious outlaw) and Philo T. Farnsworth (inventor of the television).

In attendance were 180 enthusiastic (and somewhat nervous) cyclists on a wide variety of bikes, ranging from cyclocross bikes to both rigid and full-suspension mountain bikes, geared and single-speed, with flat bars, drop bars, and even a few bikes with mustache-bars. Most of the field was from Utah, but the event attracted riders from all over the country with a few riders coming in from the low-lands in Southern California, New England and the Mid-Atlantic region to tackle an event that never dipped below 5900′ in elevation, and crested above 10,000′ as it approached the finish at the Eagle Point Resort on Mt. Holly.

Amongst the starters were Tyler Wren & Nick Frey (both road professionals for Team Jamis-Sutter Home, but racing off-road for Nick Frey’s Boo Bicycles), BMC’s Jeff Louder (racing as an individual), mountain bike legend Tinker Juarez (Cannondale), professional cyclocross rider Tim Johnson (Cannondale-Cyclocrossworld.com), Paul Mach (Bissell Pro Cycling), former road professional Todd Littlehales (Rapha Racing), and multiple-time Canadian Olympic team member and medalist Clara Hughes (Right To Play).

After a short neutral roll-out, racing began in earnest as the road kicked up on the outskirts of town as the riders entered the Fishlake National Forest with an attack by Boulder, Colorado’s 38-year old Benjamin Blaugrund (Team Juwi Solar/First Solar) who quickly opened up a sizeable gap on the main pro men’s field. It seemed as if the rest of the field were happy to let him go as an unknown sacrificial lamb. Little did they know how strong an impression Blaugrund would make.

Back in the main field, Nick Frey moved to the front and and put the hammer down, and the main chase was soon whittled down to less than a dozen riders, including Tyler Wren, Tim Johnson, Tinker Juarez, Paul Mach, Zack Vestal (VeloNews), and Utah riders Jeff Louder, Reed Wycoff (Contender Bicycles), Jake Pantone (Roosters-Biker’s Edge), Evan Hyde (Realcyclist.com), Nate King and Dave Harward (both Canyon Bicycles). In this lead chase were 4 mountain bikes (Louder, Mach, Jaurez & Harward), 7 cyclocross bikes (Wren, Johnson, Vestal, Wycoff, Pantone, King, Hyde) and 1 road bike (Frey).

Shortly the pavement ended and the gravel climb ended, Frey peeled off the front, his main job for the day of getting the group down to a manageable size for teammate Tyler Wren completed, at which point the remaining 10 riders settled in for the long climb ahead. Unable to hold the pace, Harward, Pantone, and Hyde soon faded, reducing the chase to 8 riders, with Blaugrund still off the front with a lead of about 1 minute by the top of the first climb.

On the steep descent into Junction, Wren, Louder, and Johnson opened a gap on the rest of the chasing group, but Juarez, Wycoff, King and Vestal were not far behind. Unfortunately, Johnson flatted and lost contact with the elite group when he stopped to change tubes (as this was a self-supported race, no outside mechanical assistance was allowed). Coming off the dirt descent, the riders still had a few miles of paved road to go before beginning the return loop down Highway 89 from Junction to Circleville and beginning the return climb.

Reaching speeds that must have been in excess of 60mph (as we in the lead car had to hit 80mph in order to get past them), Louder and Wren caught and passed Blaugrund while the remaining 5 riders in the original chase regrouped as the road began to flatten out. Blaugrund and Vestal soon put in an effort and bridged the gap back up to Wren and Louder, with Wycoff, King, Juarez and Mach working together about a minute behind as the riders turned off the pavement again to begin the return trip. With Mach leading the effort, eventually all 8 riders regrouped as the road ever so briefly became paved again as the road turned left to begin the return ascent up State Road 153 to the King of the Mountains point.

Once again, on the long climb, riders began to fade and lose contact; first Vestal and Juarez, then Nate King, followed by Reed Wycoff and finally Paul Mach, reducing the lead group to just 3 riders, Juwi Solar’s Benjamin Blaugrund, Tyler Wren, and Jeff Louder. About half way up the climb, once again Blaugrund attacked and opened up a 15-second gap on Louder and Wren, which he managed to hold all the way to the summit to take the KOM prize, as Wren experienced a bad patch and was only able to sit in as Louder paced him up the remainder of the climb.

Once the three riders passed the KOM point reaching the turn off to the finish at Eagle Point Resort, with a little more than 10 miles to go, the three riders regrouped in a gentleman’s agreement for a quick nature break on the rollers; once all business was completed and the three riders were back together, Tyler Wren (recovered from his previous troubles) punched it on a short, steep rise with about 6-7 miles to go and opened up a gap on the chasing Blaugrund and Louder.

Meanwhile, back on the climb, unbeknownst to us in the lead car, Zack Vestal was riding himself back into the race, overtaking Juarez, King, Wycoff and Mach.

By the time the road turned back into pavement again for the final 3 miles to the finish, Wren had opened the gap back to Louder & Blaugrund to over a minute and continued to increase his lead to take a solo win at the inaugural edition of the Crusher in the Tushar in an amazing time of 4 hours, 27 minutes and 4 seconds.

As the clock continued to tick back, what did we see in the distance? A solo rider with followed by two others … Zack Vestal had put in an amazing effort to not only re-contact Louder & Blaugrund, but to pass them and hold on for 2nd place 2:44 behind Wren, while Blaugrund (who would have won the prize for most aggressive rider, had there been one) held on for third at 3:14, and Louder faded to 4th at 3:48. A little less than 4 minutes would pass before Paul Mach crossed the line in 5th to round at the long podium at 7:32 behind Wren.

Of the top 15 riders, 10 rode cyclocross bikes, 4 were on mountain bikes, and 1 (Greg Gibson) finished the race in a strong 14th place, 35 minutes behind Wren on a road bike, with 28mm tires.

Nick Frey suffered a double-flat at the near the summit of the first climb, accepting mechanical assistance at the first feed, disqualifying him from the final results, but allowing him to continue for a finish time. After 2 more flats on the first long descent, Frey abandoned the race, turning around and riding a flat tire back to the summit and finish.

Clara Hughes (Right To Play) dominated the women’s Pro/Open field, finishing in 5:21:12, with Rachel Cieslewicz (Church of the Big Ring) finishing 2nd at 21:10 and Tana Stone (Contender Bicycles) rounding out the podium at 21:32 behind Hughes.

Boo Bicycles had a excellent day, with Brad Cole winning the single-speed competition on a Boo 29er with a belt drive in 5:12:50 (the 16th or 17th rider overall across the line), taking the win by 30:03 over second place rider Brent Cannon, with Cutthroat Racing’s Steve Wasmund taking third at 46:38.

Many thanks to Burke Swindlehurst for putting on such an incredible event and allowing me to experience it from the vantage point I had. Many more thanks to Eagle Point Resort, RealCyclist.com, First Endurance, all the rest of the sponsors, and most especially to the Beaver County Sheriff’s Department and all the volunteers for making this event possible.

Official results for Pro Men are as follows. Complete results for all finishers available at Race Day Timing.

PLACE	NAME	FINISH TIME	TIME BEHIND
1	TYLER WREN	04:27:04	-
2	ZACK VESTAL	04:29:48	00:02:44
3	BENJAMIN BLAUGRUND	04:30:18	00:03:14
4	JEFF LOUDER	04:30:52	00:03:48
5	PAUL MACH	04:34:36	00:07:32
6	REED WYCOFF	04:35:51	00:08:47
7	NATHAN KING	04:37:27	00:10:23
8	TIM JOHNSON	04:40:35	00:13:31
9	DAVID-TINKER JUAREZ	04:40:41	00:13:37
10	JAKE PANTONE	04:50:59	00:23:55
11	DAVE HARWARD	04:55:36	00:28:32
12	ROGER BARTELS	04:58:28	00:31:24
13	ERIK HARRINGTON	05:01:04	00:34:00
14	GREG GIBSON	05:02:59	00:35:55
15	TODD LITTLEHALES	05:14:02	00:46:58
16	EVAN HYDE	05:23:16	00:56:12
17	ALISTAIR SPONSEL	05:24:19	00:57:15
18	PETER ARCHAMBAULT	05:28:19	01:01:15
19	MARK ALBRECHT	05:29:29	01:02:25
20	DUFF JOHNSON	05:30:33	01:03:29
21	KEVIN DAY	05:34:58	01:07:54
22	RICHARD HURST	05:48:29	01:21:25
23	MATTHEW MCGEE	05:55:38	01:28:34
24	PATRICK WILDER	06:10:14	01:43:10
25	JORDAN HUKEE	06:28:35	02:01:31

Poetry Friday

flahute — Fri, 13 May 2011 13:58:00 +0000

TO . . .

You have been my love for so many years,
It makes me dizzy to think of so much hope,
And my dizziness won’t be aged, or cooled;
Even by what waited for our death,
Or slowly learned how to fight us,
Even by what is foreign to us,
Or by my eclipses and my returns.

A boxwood shutter
Encloses our outrageous luck,
Our chain of mountains,
Our compressed splendor.

I say luck, my wounded one,
Each of us can receive
The mystery of the other
Without divulging it;
Moreover our grief, which comes from elsewhere,
That grief, which destroys and renews us,
Will dissolve itself
In the flesh of our union,
Will finally find its orbit
In our cloudy center.

I say luck; it’s how I feel.
You have lifted the mountain top
Which my hope will have to climb
When tomorrow disappears.

— René Char (1907 – 1988), French poet. Translated by Susanne Dubroff.

Crusher in the Tushar

flahute — Tue, 05 Apr 2011 23:52:13 +0000

Burke Swindlehurst’s new event, the Crusher in the Tushar, will be having its inaugural running this summer on July 16.

The 79 mile course starts in quiet downtown Beaver, Utah and finishes at Utah’s newest ski resort, Eagle Point, and will feature a nearly perfect 50/50 split between pavement and dirt fire-road sectors, allowing riders to explore the stunning back country of Utah’s little-known Tushar Mountains and Fishlake National Forest. The course also features a total of over 12,000 vertical feet of climbing, including Utah’s highest road (elevation 11,500′) over Mount Belknap, while the summit finish at Eagle Point will be at a “mere” 10,300′. Also prominently featured will be an 18-mile, 5,500′ off-road descent from the KOM/QOM point to the town of Marysvale (elevation 6000′).

Billed as a “roadirt”, riders can choose any bike they wish, but choose wisely, because it’s the only the bike you’ll get to ride during the event.

This event will truly be a crusher for anyone crazy enough to enter it … and I’m sure that everyone who finishes will be asking when they can sign up for the 2012 edition.

325 starts available. Registration opens on Monday, April 18 at 7:00pm Mountain Time (9:00pm Eastern). If the pre-event chatter I’ve been hearing is any indication, this event may rival the Park City Point-to-Point for speed of sell-outs (300+ riders in under 6 minutes).

So get on it, and if all goes well, I’ll see you there … at the start and finish lines.

I miss San Francisco

flahute — Fri, 28 Jan 2011 04:41:46 +0000

Tonight, I miss San Francisco … I miss A Bicycle Odyssey in Sausalito (and Tony Tom, the owner) and City Cycle in the Marina (and Clay Mankin, RIP) … I miss the Hi-Ball Lounge in North Beach and I miss Spencer’s upstairs in the back room of the DNA Lounge … and I miss the sound of the cable cars ringing as they go up Powell Street around the corner from my shitty little studio on Nob Hill.

I love Salt Lake City, but sometimes I wonder if it’s time to start thinking about going back home.

And then I step outside of my condo and look up at the majesty of Mt. Olympus (and the Wasatch in general), and I can’t imagine being anywhere else.

Somewhere on Highway 89

flahute — Sun, 02 Jan 2011 23:56:41 +0000

A couple of photos from my drive home from my mom’s house in Fountain Hills, Arizona on the 28th of December … these two shots were taken on Highway 89, somewhere near the North Rim of the Grand Canyon; the first image is of the mountain going up the right side of the road … the second is the drop off and canyon off the left side of the road. Click the images to see the full-size panoramas.

Somewhere on Highway 89, north of Flagstaff, near the North Rim of the Grand Canyon

Shot with a Sony DSC-WX1 in panorama mode.

Poetry Friday

flahute — Fri, 20 Aug 2010 11:20:21 +0000

No. 67

The cold in these mountains is ferocious,
has been every year since the beginning.

Crowded peaks locked in perennial snows,
recluse-dark forests breathing out mists,

grasses never sprout before the solstice
and leaves start falling in early August.

This confusion includes a lost guest now,
searching, searching—no sky to be seen.

— Han Shan (c. 7th – 9th centuries CE), Chinese Ch’an [Zen] poet.

Jens Voigt: hardest of the hard men

flahute — Wed, 21 Jul 2010 00:32:15 +0000

Saxo Bank’s Jens Voigt shrugged off the pain of yet another crash at the Tour de France.

On stage 16 Tuesday, Voigt was hurtling down the descent of the Col de Peyresourde, the first of four mountain passes, when he suffered a puncture and crashed at top speed.

The German managed to avoid a repeat of the horrific injuries he suffered during last year’s race when he landed on his face while rocketing along on a descent.

After waving away the help of race assistants in the broom wagon, Voigt battled on to finish the stage with the gruppetto, the group of sprinters and non-climbers who club together in a bid to beat the time cut-off.

“I’m doing 70 kilometers an hour on the first descent when my front tire explodes,” explained Voigt. “Before I hit the asphalt I actually manage to think that this is going to hurt. Both knees, elbows, hands, shoulders and the entire left side of my body were severely hurt.

“My ribs are hurting but hey, broken ribs are overrated anyway. Fortunately, I didn’t land on my face this time and I’m still alive.

via VeloNews.com – Jens Voigt shrugs off another high-speed crash at the Tour de France.

Jens writes a little bit about his day in his blog on Bicycling.com:

I came over the top [of the Peyresourde] only 20 seconds down on the front group, but about 2 kilometers into the descent my front tire blew and I thought, “Oh God,” and I went down. Just one year after my horrible crash, and there I was tumbling on another mountain descent. And let me tell you, about the only place that feels good right now is my right ankle. The rest of me is all road rash. Plus I’ve got five stitches in my left elbow and then there are some ribs that are not in the right place! I may have to get x-rays, but I hate x-rays (the radiation), and plus, if I’ve got a fractured rib, what can anyone do about it?

And that’s the way I was today when I was lying on the ground. I just thought, “Oh no, I’m going to Paris this year, I’m going to Paris. There’s just no way you are going to get me out of this race for the second year in a row!”

via Saying No to the SAG Wagon | Bicycling Magazine.

Ooof. This man is tough! And here are some of the ways …

Jens Voigt only rides 53×11 when he needs a granny gear after climbing 10 HC mountains.
Jens Voigt will never have a heart attack. Jens Voigt’s heart isn’t stupid enough to attack him.
Some people wear Superman pajamas. Superman wears Chuck Norris pajamas. Chuck Norris wears Jens Voigt pajamas.
There is no such thing as global warming. Jens Voigt just got cold and turned the sun up.
Jens Voigt once challenged @lancearmstrong to a “who has more testicles” contest. Jens Voigt won by 9.
Jens Voigt is not hung like a horse. A horse is hung like Jens Voigt.
Jens Voigt doesn’t get road rash. The road gets Jens rash.
Jens Voigt doesn’t have a shadow; he attacked & dropped it so often, it retired to do ice dancing commentary for French TV.

And from @RevBigRing? “Jens Voigt doesn’t ride rollers, he just rides and the Earth rolls under him.”

View from the backyard

flahute — Sat, 29 May 2010 04:00:01 +0000

It’s times like this that I really love living in Utah.

Mt. Olympus, as seen from Holladay at sunset

Another view of Mt. Olympus

Sunset over Holladay

Let us pray (Giro edition)

flahute — Fri, 14 May 2010 14:05:48 +0000

A prayer for the second and third weeks of the Giro d’Italia; for the battles in the mountains to come.

Andy Hampsten, climbing the Passo Gavia during the 1988 Giro d'Italia

Let us pray:

I believe in Hampsten, the Climber Almighty,
     the Creator of heavenly tours,
     and in the Landshark of steel, on which he rode:

Who was conceived of the skinny legs,
     born of the massive lungs,
     suffered on the Passo Gavia,
     was frozen, yet not buried by snow.

He ascended into hell.

The fourth day He arose again in the mountains.

He ascended onto Vetriolo Terme
     and crushed the mighty Dutchman,
     in the manner of the Cannibal Merckx.

I believe in the Big Ring, the holy cycling church,
     the communion of riders,
     the forgiveness of admitted dopers,
     the resurrection of the clean riders,
     and road racing everlasting.

Amen.