I am sure you have seen these Clean Bottles, or at least their mascot running around at the Tour. They unscrew at the both ends so you can easily clean the whole bottle, especially the junk that collects at the bottom. They also cost $9.95 a bottle.
Why buy a Clean Bottle when you could save yourself some money and just buy a bottle brush instead. This one cost $4.99 on Amazon, and I am sure they can found for cheaper. Now you can turn all of your bottles into a Clean Bottle, no stupid gimmick needed. Works with all of your current water bottles, Camelbaks, Nalgenes and Fleshlights.
This article was originally published in the Friday September 3rd 2010 edition of the Lake Tahoe paper, the Sierra Sun.
Summer is winding down into fall in Tahoe with frost covered mornings, early sunsets and a reduced time to ride. The 2010 road bike and mountain bike race season is also closing its doors for the year. Many racers and riders hang up their helmets in September, relax, indulge themselves and watch their bellies grow as their legs shrink. For some, this transition period into winter is an important act of recovery from a long summer of cycling. But for those who may have gotten a late start to their season or racers with a competitive fire that cant be doused, the end of summer bike riding is an unhappy time.
If you find yourself lamenting the cold weather and lack of serious bike riding, I have a solution to your problem, Cyclocross. Cyclo-what? Say it slowly, Sahy-kloh-kraws. Its an off-road style of bike racing, a mix of riding on pavement, dirt, grass, sand and mud combined with some running, obstacle hurdling and bike shouldering. The courses are usually short, no more than a mile or two and are run for multiple laps for up to an hour. Its designed to be a fast, hard event that can performed in any type of weather, including snow. Cyclocross events are usually ridden on mutated road bikes with knobby tires and cantilever type brakes, however specialized equipment is not needed to be competitive. Many Cyclocross racers simply use a mountain bike.
This article was originally published in the Friday July 2nd 2010 edition of the Lake Tahoe paper, the Sierra Sun.
Summer has finally (officially) arrived in the Sierras. These cloudless days of endless warmth bring cyclists of all types onto Truckee's roads, trails and bike paths. From bike commuters on their way to work, kids of all ages zooming through neighborhoods, sightseers touring Truckee on two-wheels and recreational cyclists enjoying the open road. While their ages, destinations and pedal-powered machines may be different, safety is common concern. Here's a few tips we can all follow to stay safe while enjoying a Tahoe summer on the bike.
In light of the recent allegations from Floyd Landis, I think it's time to drag two very pertinent pieces of evidence back out from the Unproven Doping Myths archive.
The first piece is a phone conversation between Greg Lemond and Stephanie Mcilvain. Greg Lemond is, well, the Greg Lemond. Stephanie Mcilvain was Lance Armstrong's liason to the Oakley sunglasses company. This is a 30 minute piece and well worth the listen for those familiar with some of the famous American names in the sport of cycling.
The second piece of evidence is the sworn testimony of Frankie Andreu, his wife Betsy Andreu and once again Stephanie Mcilvain. It's summarized quite well in this NPR article, and even includes an audio link for those who hate to read.
Much like the Landis emails, these two pieces of evidence offer direct allegations against Armstrong from his colleagues and friends. But unlike many journalists who are after Armstrong in order to profit from book or newspaper sales, the Andreus and Floyd Landis don't have anything to gain from Armstrong's downfall. When you combine the Lemond phone call, the Andreu testimony and the Landis emails you have some unproven yet circumstantial evidence towards a real truth.
Since Micheal Jackson's death on June 25th, 2009 - there have been 12 confirmed reports of devout fans ending their lives in response.
If you or anyone you know are even remotely considering suicide as a repercussion to the death of Micheal Jackson, I strongly urge you to take action immediately. Here is a list of possible options.
- Light your head on fire as MJ did in the infamous 1984 Pepsi Ad. To insure a fatality, take a kerosene bath beforehand.
- Reenact the Thriller video as a zombie by burying yourself into a deep dirt grave. Then run out of oxygen.
- Grow up as an a confused pop-star abused by your father, surgically alter your appearance beyond that of a human being, fuck lots of little boys, and ultimately become addicted to pain killers until your body shuts down with a heart attack in your sleep.
This article was originally published in the Friday June 19th 2009 edition of the Sierra Sun.
The Tour de Nez bicycle race extravaganza has descended upon Truckee once again. It's a blur of bright jerseys and rolling wheels all traveling at speeds in excess of 30 miles per hour. The downtown criterium is an hour long display of pure athleticism and team tactics. It takes a mix of brawn, cunning, courage and luck to stand atop the podium at the end.
Bike racing certainly looks like a lot of fun. You might find yourself thinking, "I'd like to do that."
A reflective essay on the 2007 Tour de France doping allegations and ejections.
Doping has and will forever exist in all competitive sports. Regardless of the consequences, there will always be someone who is willing to cheat to win. Cycling is a particularly hard sport, and while the results of doping on performance can be minute – that 3-5% gain can be the difference between first and last place.
September 25th, 2005 - Madrid, Spain. Tom Boonen won the Rainbow Jersey with a long, 300-meter sprint at the end of the 273km World Championships Elite Men's Road Race. Well no shit, who didn't see that coming?
The real question is when did Tom Boonen learn how to use a SMS Text Messenger? Lets take at look his racing results from the last few years and find out.
Start with a city located along the ocean at an elevation below sea-level, add a disastrous hurricane and mix with above-ground cemeteries housing 200-plus years of corpses. The result; an an abnormal count of floating dead bodies.
The flooding in the wake of Hurricane Katrina has become an unpleasant scene of horror for the residents of New Orleans. It isn't fun to see your dead, bloated neighbor face down in the water. It is even less fun seeing your dead, bloated, rotted (seaworthy) grandma who has been cooking in a mausoleum for 20 years.
This fucking asshat hillbilly is infecting the Tour de France coverage with annoying commentary. When hired, the network must have instructed him to bring the conversation back to Lance Armstrong regardless of what any of the other commentators are talking about.
His remarks are so worthless I am starting to miss his ditsy counter-part of last years coverage, Kirsten (DUI and Boob-job) Gum.
Under any normal circumstances I wouldn't be lured into viewing a film such as Madagascar, for I pegged it as turd long before I sat down in the theater. However, when it is pouring rain outside and you are in charge of three children under the age of 10 who sit and stare you all day long unless you keep the activities rolling like a freight train - an hour and a half at the movie theater seemed like a good idea.
Madagascar successfully represents awful children's cinema and willfully encourages a generation of stupid kids brought-up on its brand of shit-laden-crap.
A long time ago there was a young comedian named Adam Sandler with the desire to leave his television background and make funny movies. He accomplished this feat in 1995 with the release of "Billy Madison" and then repeated his success with "Happy Gilmore." Instead of quitting while ahead, he went on to make shittier films, each less funny then the last.
What an epic turd. George Lucas's 6th endeavor into his Star Wars universe may have been his worst production yet. However you can't expect much when the writer/directory of a film is just an aging rich nerd, who has only written and directed a handful of films.
Here is my review in a few short, unrelated sentences.
The following article was posted a few weeks ago on Stolen Underground in regards to Tom Boonen's double win of the Tour of Flanders and Paris-Roubaix.
Before the 2002 Paris Roubaix Boonen and Clinger were in the Postal bus and as Boonen got up to leave he said to Clinger's face..."WE ARE TAKING OVER TODAY BITCH, FUCK YOU!"
Years ago I (anonymously) posted this little rant in the Minnesota Off-Road Cyclists forum (MORC). As intended, it pissed quite a few people off. The president of MORC found my email address and for some reason started sending me really graphic porn. It was akward.
I just moved back to Burnsville after living out west for 2 years. I used to ride Terrace Oaks and Lebanon all the time. For first time since returning to the Midwest, I rode both trails today. (Yes I know Terrace is "closed" – call the police). I have a few comments to make in regards to the changes made to the trails in the last two years:
The very first hill climb into the trails was made way easier. Not that big of a deal – but why!!?? Then the sweet swooping banked downhill into the creek was completely removed! "What the fuck!!" I exclaimed to my riding partner. Then I jokingly said "I bet that really steep climb is closed off too." And guess what – the motherfucking steep climb IS closed off! You fucking pussies put in a gentle switch back grade all the way to the top. WHY!!??
I stumbled across an email I wrote to a customer ages ago while selling Playstation games on ebay.
I am selling the Greatest Hits version. But perhaps you should ask yourself; why does it matter? The only differences between the two versions are additional graphics on the cover. What sense does it make to spend an exorbitant amount of money on something that will sit on your shelf – when for much less you could have the same exact product minus the geek factor.
Don't get me wrong, I am not against collecting – but I am not talking about a Van Gogh original painting versus a copy. I am talking about a god-damn video game!
Unless you have a disposable income, your pursuit of the "Original" Castlevania is mindless. You have become a consumer whore, convinced that the "Original" Castlevania will bring some sort of status or praise. However, in truth, no one really cares. Nor should you.
I hope I have either offended or brought you to your senses regarding this matter.
Rock on Motherfucker
MTV represents all that is wrong with my generation. A soulless conglomerate designed to numb the minds of its already brain-dead viewers. Its promotion of bland, heartless tunes is a disgrace to the great musicians of past and present. I could go on and on about the atrocities of MTV, but in order to conserve bandwidth, I won't. (that was a joke...shut up) Instead I will offer a solution to the issues.
I declare war on MTV, and all that it stands for. I shall destroy their armies of puppets and screaming fans. To my side I call but three parties to step forth. To my left shall be the Man in Black, Johnny Cash. To my right I call upon the scruffy funk-master himself, Beck Hansen. Taking up the rear will be the darkest, and loudest band in history, Black Sabbath. (When I say "Black Sabbath, I am talking about circa 1970, fucking War Pigs and Paranoid Black Sabbath. Not the, we ran out of money, lets get back together Black Sabbath) This trio shall combine their powers and annihilate all the wrongdoings of MTV (except for the gratuitous T&A, that stays and gets it own channel) with a finely crafted musical atom-bomb.
The Pubic Terminator
For the past four or five years, blasted puberty has been cursing me with a non-stop growth of facial and body hair. Every morning I wake to a shadowed face staring back at me in the mirror. My bristly cheeks strike fear into the hearts of children and girlfriends everywhere. Thus I have to perform a self destructive chore; shaving.
The only tool that I ever used was cheap shaving cream and a disposable two bladed razor. After much labor and cuts, it eventually got the job done. Until now...
I came home one day to find a Gillette Mach3 razor resting upon the top of my dresser. It's packaging was intact, so I disregarded any thought that it could be a tampered product from my parents which was setup to kill me upon use. I set the new product aside, noting to use it the next morning.
Cut to the next morning as I am stepping out of the shower. My hand gently caresses my stubbly jaw. I glance down at my new possession, the Mach3. A thick layer of lathered cream adorns my face; the blade makes its first move. Gliding across my flesh like a silk sheet. I feel nothing, yet when it is all over, I am left with the cleanest shave ever. No cuts, no irritation.
Does anyone else remember childhood and the huge issue of hand washing? Right before any meal, a parent would request that you take a trip to the bathroom and wash your hands.
A big fuss was always made, "My hands aren't dirty, look!"
Of course all parents seemed to posses germ-vision built into their eyes, so they always spotted dirt. So off you went, to the bathroom, closing the door behind you. The plan wasn't to actually wash your hands; it was to turn the faucet on for two minutes while you explored the various drawers and cupboards.
Exactly two minutes later you would pop out of the bathroom, wiping you hands on your pants, pretending to be getting that last bit of moisture off.
A parent would then say, "Did you wash your hands? Or do I have to smell them?"
Now you were down to the moment of truth, half the time you would get away with the charade, the other half you were busted. This high stakes game was as real as it got for any little kid. Why, I then ask, didn't I ever want clean hands?!!
Macromedia, the money hungry monster of poor usability
One of the biggest hurdles a web-designer must overcome is bringing together a site that allows access on all platforms, browsers, and systems. Many people thought that the Flash swf format solved that problem. A developer was able to have full control over a presentation that looked exactly the same across the diversity of web users, as long as the users had the plugin installed on their computer.
If the user did not have the plugin, then they could not see the content. Thus, Flash did not solve the diversity problem. It is the same as requiring Netscape to view a site, if the user does not have Netscape, they do not see the content. All of these Flash developers have been lying to themselves, just so they could make some lengthy, bandwidth heavy intro movie.
"But Nick, everyone knows that over 90% of users have Flash installed on their computer!"
Yes that is true, 90% have the Flash plugin installed, however that statistic represents those who have the Flash 2 plugin installed, not the current Flash 4 plugin. (only 74% of users have that) Those who don't have the latest version of the plugin installed will be treated to a movie lacking sound, advanced interaction (actionscript) and forms. While there are techniques for detecting plugin versions, most sites do not use them. (statistics source)
Proving the point that denim has no shame
I was watching tv the other day, and on came this commercial for Wrangler (or was it levi?) jeans. The commercial was emphasizing the greatness of America and the greatness that you could achieve if you wore their crappy attire. The song in the commercial was "Fortunate Son" by Credence Clearwater Revival. Wrangler (or levi) played the first few catchy riffs of the tune, and then ended with the first lyric of the song, "Some folks are born made to wave the flag." Suggesting that we should buy pants because we love America.
Now mind you, I have never had the chance to get into Credence Clearwater Revival's music, but I did know that there was more to that song then the commercial played. I knew that it was an anti-patriotism song. Thus, I did some Napster research. Below are the full lyrics to the song "Fortunate Son." At one time it represented a protest against the "conflict" in Vietnam. Apparently Wrangler (or Levi) feel it is OK to rape it of it's meaning in a shameless advertisement for slave labor manufactured pants.
Donald Trump Donald Tramp living in a men's shelter, Wonder bag shoes and singing Helter Skelter. He asks for a dollar, you know what its for. Bottle after bottle he'll always need more. He's no less important than a working class stiff, he drinks a lot of liquor but he don't drink piss.
There are lots of hobos in the small mountain town that I live in. My daily drive to work shows off a diverse group of instrument carrying and bike riding bums. Aside from the fact that they are all really filthy, those vagrants share another common feature. They all dress as if it is fucking 30 below zero. These stinky fellows are all decked out in winter gear; hats, gloves, snow pants, scarf's, and jackets. Granted it gets kinda cold at night here, around 50 degrees or so, but to me that is still tee-shirt weather. Perhaps my cold heart does not enable me to understand the dress of the hobo, but I still think it's a little odd.
Thus I have decided to slay each and every shit smelling waste of space bum that I come across. I am getting tired of this one icky old bitch vagrant. She hangs out by the major intersection near my work. Every single time I drive past that witch she yells at me that I am a bad driver. I only ever see her yell at me. Soon I plan to drive by and light her on fire. What a joy it would be to watch her greasy face melt into her winter jacket. Johnny Rayall, who do you think you are!
"Workin' nine to five, what a way to make a livin', Barely getting' by, blah blah blah It can drive you crazy of you let it."
Why, if so many people hate their jobs, do they still work them? No one understands how much control they have over their life. It is just a fucking job; there are millions of them out there. Quit it and find a new one. You need the money right? Find a job that you like to do, I bet they will pay you money there as well. Cannot achieve that job because your education doesn't allow it? Too fucking bad then you moronic piece of shit, maybe you should have gone off to college. Stop fucking complaining!
This might be slightly hypocritical of me, because of the fact that I do hate my job too. But, unlike all my bitchy 40 something coworkers, I do the most half-assed effort possible. They slave and slave for what? Nothing! Harder work brings no praise, it brings no raise, it brings no days away from the haze of this life in a rat maze. ...word... From the three jobs that I have worked in my short life, I have found that it is impossible to get fired. As long as you keep your cool and be polite when spoken to, no one will fire you. Thus I get paid $7.50 an hour to hide and do nothing when no one is looking. What is sad is that people notice the fact that I do a really shitty job, yet they care too much about offending me. They will try and be nice about it, but their pathetic attitudes will never have any effect on me.
When I drive to and from work, the thought of spinning the wheel and crashing my car into the river is a daily thought. I wouldn't do it because I want to kill myself, and I would not do it so I could miss work. I instead I would do it because I can. Next time your driving think about this; at any given moment, with just a slight turn of the wheel, you have the power to end your life, as well as the lives of many others.
The desire to murder somebody has been boiling inside of me for the past 18 years. Wouldn't it be cool to smash into some old lady with your car? Watch her yell out in her old bitch language and then bleed to death from her head. Well I think it would be the highlight of my existence. Sweet-sassy-molassey!
A tale of depressing truth
A brief history of western society; 1850 to 2000: Towns grew to be cities; rural areas ballooned into huge metropolises. Our economy boomed and everyone started making more and more money. As the industrialization of the world began in the late 18 hundreds, an efficient and affordable mode of transportation was required to move people around. Thus came along the automobile. This grand new invention was almost exclusively available to the wealthy until the mass production of autos began around the late teens to early nineteen twenties. (I don't know exactly when, and I could certainly give a fuck) Cars then became a mode of transportation that was financially accessible to the general population. People bought cars, many new roads were constructed, and modern civilization was given the ability to live greater distances from their jobs. From this sprouted more towns, more cities, more roads, more cars, more people, more BULLSHIT.
The advent of automobiles to our daily lives has led to an overall degradation of society, the environment, population count, laziness factor, and human nature. Gasoline powered transportation has quickly merged itself into the fabric of our life. (cotton) The human race now depends on such automobiles for its survival. What would happen if every car, bus, jalopy, and motor scooter were to right now, disappear in to the wind? How would you get to work to make money? How would you get to the store for food? How would you get money for the food? What would you do when you got drunk now? How many people would live by not dieing in car accidents? How many would die of starvation, dehydration, or lack of time at the mall?
this is fucking hilarous:
LONGEST TURD The longest dump ever verified was produced by an American, who produced a 'staggering turd' over a period of 2 hr 12 mins which was officially measured at 12 ft 2in. The offender is banned from 134 washrooms in his state.
Today i was stuck helping out my parents at this saftey seat check up thing. Its a yearly event held where you take your kid and its carseat in to have it checked out to make sure it is safe. If the carseat is bad then it is replaced for free, thus your kid doesn't pop out and smash his head open in an accident.
Last summer my little brother died in this manner, and for this i am greatly saddened. Yet, i hate most everyone i meet, and wish that they would die in a horrible car crash. The world is one fucked up, over-crowded place. Kids are being raised up to be pieces of shit assholes, just like thier parents. If you disagree with me, just watch any channel on TV and within 5 minutes you will see a person worthy of death. If you still disagree, then i would like to stick a shive in the back of your skull. Anyhow, this bad-parent raising bad-kid is a never ending cycle. The only way it will stop is if these waste-of-space trashy people stop fucking or just fucking die. Everything we do in society today goes against natural instincts that we used to possess. I dont think i am totally getting my point across with this, but i will end by saying that this world would be a lot better place if 99.99% of the current population died. Go Unibomber!
I hate retail. I fucking hate retail. Last Thursday, I stumbled upon another job. I now not only work for a film/video/edit studio, but also in an outlet store's warehouse. Porters Ski and Sport is my employer, and they own 4 stores in the Tahoe area. My job is to receive all the shit they sell, process the paper work, put tags on all product, and then take the shitty old delivery van to each of the stores to drop off stuff. The warehouse I work in is fucking tiny, it is not much bigger than say two high school classrooms. It is filled with piles and piles of boxes and shit to process. To add to all that chaos, Porters decided to stick their main offices right in the same room. It is a ridiculous mess, coupled with mass confusion.
I want to murder all my co-workers. I work most of the time one-on-one with this fucking 35 old bitch who wont shut the fuck up about what she is doing. "Now I'm going to seal this box up" "now I'm going to hang these clothes" "blah blah blah" To add to that, she has a fucking speech impediment, so she sounds like porky pig. I just sit there quietly doing my work and the whole time she is just flapping out unnecessary bullshit. I just want to look up at the nasty bitch and tell her to, "Fuck off."
Does it not seem fucked up to anyone else that every 365 days, one is required to celebrate the fact that the earth has rotated around the sun X number of times since you slid out of a stinky crotch? To add to that madness, people are supposed to cough up money for you, just because. And if you don't wish that person a happy birthday, you are forgetfull, or rude. Fuck that, i like getting presents and shit, but it just seems a little messed up. Ha.