12.1 miles in 1:25 (7:01 pace) out in VF. -------------------------- When I reach the point in my life where I become a Chris McCandless ascetic and roll around the world on a squeaky bike with a flower basket, I'll be sure to keep in mind that I can get free food at road races. Most major cities in the U.S. have races during the week and always on the weekends. One needs to only look the part, which can mean a shaggy beard, a skinny frame, and clean hands. Dirty hands are a dead giveaway. Most porta potties have hand cleaners so, in theory, you could roll up on your squeaky bike, stash it under a bush, step into the portajohn, clean your hands, and then go feast on orange slices and bagels while sipping the mac daddy of energy drinks. Damn, it could go further. You could hang out at an expo, get your face painted like a fierce eagle and then wander around the hawkers and snakeoil salesmen, getting free samples of da Clif Shot Blokz and da magik Jelly Belly NRG beans. You could pretend to be genuinely interested as the guys from Clif with the messy-chic hair and the black-rimmed glasses tell you about how the secret Wonka recipe for their En-ER-G-barz were developed in a secret Swiss lab and how Clif is on the verge of developing a 'magic ball' that you stick up your ass during your race. The 'magic ball' disolves when lactic acid is produced and detected by the ball's antenna that gets extended--periscope-like--upon entry; it then shoots magic ball shotz of NRG through the periscope to your rectum. the NRG travels to your colon, then to your legs by way of your pancreas. You could pretend to be a marathoner and get a goodie bag with free vaseline (for chapped lips from riding across the Mojave on the bike) and free laundry detergent for your Tolstoy-esque rags. You could get a free calf massage (you will need it after that desert ride) from the 'stick' guys and a free backrub from the 'stone' guys. Then you could get the idea to combine the two into the 'stick and stone' device that you could sell for 2x the price of the 'stick' or of the 'stone.' Your jingle for this invention would be something like "Sticks and stones may break your bones but the sticknstone(TM) will never hurt you." (jingle copyrighted as of.....now). If you get bored at the expo, there's always Yasso. He's everywhere so he'd be somewhere near you to tell you about naked running and Yasso 800s and the time when Bingham got so drunk at the pasta dinner that he did meatball shots chased by Jaeger. If you get really bored, there really is Bingham--the pied piper of the new running boom (go here and buy, buy, buy!) --who rides shotgun in the Runner's World Batmobile in front of Yasso. Bingham has cornered the market on underachievement and has found that sweet spot of the running market, the lucrative and literal American cash cow: people who bask in self-pity and excuses. Still, Bingham will talk your ear off! But don't you dare ask him about that night with the meatballs, that's our secret! ;-) There was that point-to-point marathon run over 5 hours in 55 degree temps and no wind and then there was that other marathon where he ran around 5:30 because he was talking to someone about whether or not Bruce Willis really was dead in Sixth Sense or if he just thought he was dead. That damn N.Night Shamalamadingdong, he's so crafty! What is it with them Indians? From pincushioning Custer with arrows to pushing Pandu down our throats to promting us to question our own mortality! A place to sleep would be easy: all the pre-race tents that get set up the night before. You could pretend to be a volunteer and get free coffee in the morning and even some free raingear as you man a water stop. Then when the race is over, you could help at the feast and drink cup upon cup of chicken noodle soup. Finally, when everyone is really gone, you could just wander around and pick up discarded Hazmat suits and unwanted race tee-shirts for warmth to stow in your flower basket as you prepare to cross the Rockies on your way to your next race. ------------------------------ There was a flurry of emails today unbeknownst to you folks. The correspondence was between some Vermont friends of mine and myself about a potential ringer at the VCM. This ringer was a newly recruited Skirack runner who was supposed to be in for the win. Well he ain't running it (I already got wind of him from a fellow Bucknell runner); the seas of correspondence became calmer during the day; things are back on track.

----------------------------- Hot damn, it's garlic time again! ----------------------------- More about the Stickenstone(TM). Here's a technical drawing of what I have in mind. Bill of Materials: -Stick from the backyard (we got lots of them out there, but Tippet eats them whole so we got to get him some pig ears or something, because sticks are sacred now) -2 rollerskating wheels (rollerblading wheels can be substituted) -Duct tape to keep the wheel in place -Nylon 550 parachute cord -Bigass rock from the backyard (bountiful harvest just outside McWorld) -Nail to hold the parachute cord in place The roller wheels will be attached with duct tape along the X-axis of the stick, parallel to the grain of the wood that was grown during the halcyon days of McWorld--before development and the Hoot movie and the Hoot movie poster in front of the development. You can then massage your body with the wheels (wash them first if rubbing them on exposed skin for Pete's sake!) The bigass rock will then be tied to the cord and the cord nailed to the stick. The rock will be placed on your back so when you move the stick, the cord will pull the rock against your back and massage it as well. You get twice the massage! I've found that you need to sit in like an Easyboy chair when doing this; it makes the rock flush against your back. I think this thing is good for 5 minutes in a marathon PR and if you upgrade to the Stickenstone 2-Electric Boogaloo(TM) which is a bigger stick and larger, dolly-sized wheels with the same size bigass rock, you are good for 10 minutes or so. ------------------------ More Brady Bunch Season 4 observations:

• Mike Brady pats his tummy during uncomfortable situations like when he's got to deal with the crazy archaeologist who tied up his kids in the spooky cave and stuck a spear at them. Very delicate situation...must pat tummy.
• Tiki Taboo spooky noise appears during the antique lamp breakage episode. Mo need to reuse that noise; it belongs on the Waikiki beaches with the 10-foot swells and the misplaced tarnantulas.
• There's some fucked-up washboard noise every now and then. The more mysterious the situation, the more the washboard comes out.
• Alice, everyone makes fun of Alice, but I GET Alice. What does Mrs. Brady do and why does Alice even have to put up with all THAT? Alice is my hero.
• In the episode where the boys are out to spook the girls and vice-versa, Mike Brady shows up wearing the most insane jacket that Moby wouldn't even try to wear nowadays. If Moby won't wear it, then what does it signify?
• In that same episode, there's no way in hell that the trunk in the attic could lift. I'll yield the tape recorder, but not the moment arm required from the girls' room to the trunk. No way. I have a Civil Engineering degree from the school that built Vauban fortresses during the age of cannon, back when the more 45-degree angles you put into the fortress, the more you deflected shit and the better the military scholar you were; I simply cannot vouch for the soundness of this. Nope. Maybe Sherwood Schwartz approved it, but not me.