The imitation of self is the sincerest form of vanity

I waste a huge amount of time on the local mountain-biking website. It enjoys a wider circulation than this blog, I'm sure. I would hate to have what I consider to be some pretty good lines go to waste, so they are reproduced below.

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When I see an obstacle in the distance I try to quote to myself what Gen.. Patton would say, at least in the movie: "L'audace, toujours l'audace". But then when I get right up to the obstacle I remember that I can't speak a lick of French, and down I go.

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It was a good ride, folks.

My thanks to Moe, Larry, Curly, and Wolf-Man for breaking me in with my first ever group ride.

It was a bit humbling. I hammered down, faced the fork, ate the cookie, tossed the cookie, and used up some long-saved good karma to enter the Mystical flow and achieve Speed that I heretofore had never Even Dreamed Of. Then I looked up and there wasn't a soul there; not even Curly, who had been anti-trash talking about how much slower he was than I. Everyone waited for me, though, which was very kind.

Yep, I'm that slow. I've gone through Shock, Denial, Anger, Bargaining, and Acceptance of my 'velocity-challenged state'. I can live with it.

The only thing that hurt was someone saying "Yeah, some of your posts are weirdly amusing. You're the one who's always hitting up on (a female MBA member).

No, no, no. I am an adherent to conventional Judeo-Christian morality, and I have Great Fear for the combined wrath of my wife, two daughters, son (the infamous T. wrecks), and numerous other friends who only want the best for me. Any appearance of hitting on anyone is coincidental.

Come to think of it, I'm glad I wasn't accused of hitting up on some MALE MBA member. That REALLY would have hurt. Bad.

And now, a shower, nap, and back to the salt mines.

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A note to all the good trail gnomes:

I for one could grovel in the dirt and kiss your feet, or perhaps buy you a large container of mead or whatever you view as acceptable libation. There has always been an evil little Trail Troll who lives near the Seminary. That little offspring of an unwed mother always grabs at my back wheel when I take the switchback in question with the erosion, etc. More than once I've had to struggle for my life while that b%st%rd tries to drag my bike into it's lair in the creek.

That little bridge was fantastic. Thank you for building it. The next time you gnomes work let me know so I can at least leave milk and cookies out there.

BTW, for the bikers who don't think the sport is any fun unless their life is in danger: hop the fence at the lachrymose Loop and take off down the interstate during rush hour. It will keep you on your toes.

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I've done some careful research into the fancy-dan beers you folks like drinking. Here are my findings:

Berghoff Bock Beer--tastes like beer.

Petrus Triple Ale, in a tiny little bottle that cost $3.59 --tastes like beer.

Arrogant Bastard--I'm saving this for the weekend when I am not on call, as it comes in a very big bottle. I bet this'll taste like, well, beer too.

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I performed additional research this weekend while visiting my daughter in Greenville, S.C., with a side trip up to Asheville, N.C. Here are two additional data points:

Duck-Rabbit Ale--this was a featured ale served at the restaurants of the Biltmore Estates. A product of a Western Carolina microbrewery, it is touted as an autumnal brew because of having bold chocolately/caramel overtones. Just regular beer in which someone working in an abandoned warehouse in Asheville mixed with melted Rollo's? I don't know.

The most striking detail about this beer was the name, no doubt related in some way to the label, which had a drawing of something that looked a little like both a duck and a rabbit. Was the label a result of some private family joke, like the two favorite animals of the brewer's daughter being a duck and a rabbit? Or did someone doodle out a duck-rabbit on a napkin or tablecloth and say "Cool! What a great idea for a name of a beer!" I don't know.

I poured the bottle into a glass and noted the dark rich color. My nostrils flared with both anticipation and apprehension as I wafted in the chocolate aroma. I lifted the glass to my lips, and just then decided that I didn't really like beer. I ordered a diet Coke.

Arrogant Bastard Ale--I've never tasted rat pee, but if you took rat pee and mixed it with PGA, I wonder if it would taste a little like Arrogant Bastard Ale.