My Next Bike

This one's for Ben, who asked me to go find some funny...








I knew there was a reason I eat so much KFC. This is a picture of my mom having an intimate moment with this bearded wizard of breaded wings. I often wondered why she would weep openly as we passed by the drive through. He may be my father. That being said, I am preparing myself for my next mode of wheeled transport....






Power-chairs are awesome. They are clean and green and with a full TOMAC decal kit and some Kenda Excavator wheelchair tires, mean as well. With fully articulated wheely-bars for those rocket-fast starts, and a fully-hydraulic lift access this little honey is ready to get it on at the next NMBS race in Brian Head.
Note the luxurious pleather chairs that offer far more 'taint support than your carbon-shanked, split-railed hollow Ti torture device. This bitch has a remote control hidey-hole and a cup holder, so you can easily reach your Amino Vital water bottle while raging through the countryside. Optional integrated SIGMA HRM and computer functions allow you to track your performance after the event and see where you may need to pick it up. By pick it up, I mean change the small motorcycle battery.













This one is a kickin' race venue loudspeaker model that I may use to bark directives at you guys while you are slackin' up the climb at Snow Summit. That is a bad-ass Rockford-Fosgate integrated 10" woofer down there that has 18 million jigowatts of output. That brings the term "Holla'" to a whole new level.









Here is a future team photo after my first race back from open-heart surgery. That is Roger and the crew there trying not to make me drool with glee after hanging the medal around my heretofore useless carcass.














Here's Lyd ten years from now barging the gate befor the rest of the pack can squeek her at the singletrack. Her chair has a 4/11 posi rear end, so she usually gets that holeshot. I just said holeshot....who laughed? Randy? Bob?




All things said and done, I really can't wait for my chair. I'll be the baddest mo' fo' at the rest home, and I won't be mindfull of your wrinkly old beef-jerky-ass mummified toes in the dining room at the home either..so keep e'm in their slippers if you don't want to lose them.