And From The Fog, 2012 Officially Rises

Good day one and all, and again, Happy New Year! We know you have a choice when surfing the web to look at content concerning idiots on bicycles, so we appreciate you stopping by.

2012 had it’s first official team ride on Sunday, where 22 riders made it out to the island for our traditional opening easy spin whereupon we compare fatness, sloth-ness, and added lbs from the holidays. We’ve got a long way to go to get back to last year’s lethal nature….so, don’t worry about us, we’re just gonna be in the salt mines for a little while. No one’s been riding, not one bit. No base miles, no nothing.

We did have that New Year’s Day ride, or so we’re told, but no one can remember it.  So, this was the first actual ride for the entire squad, and boy howdy it was a good one.

Walter Payton, risen from the dead as he has (beat Jesus to the punch!) and manifesting his new self as a 1997 Ford Econoline van, surprised the squad on the far end of the island, replete with coolers full of drinks, and tables full of veggies and tasty bits. A million thanks to Carrie and Vanessa for piloting ol’ Walter out there.

We also trotted out some of the new recruits for our 2012 roster. We hired slowly and poorly – again. We got about 6 new riders and we managed to barter some chewing gum, some old OUI magazines, and radial tire to procure the rights to these new poor souls. They’ll soon learn the error of their ways for wading into the free agent pool of PDX based cyclists.

‘Suppose that’s about it for now. Oh, wait, we forgot to mention we were actually exiting the island on the bridge when we managed to witness the sun going super nova. Holy shit, that was cool. I guess the apocalypse comes early in ’12! Check it out:

guess the upcoming season won’t matter too much when the Earth burns to a crisp

Happy New Year!

All good times, and all good rides.

Couldn’t ask too much more on this wonderful 1st day of 2012. Sun, friends, beer, German Style pornography, and a bunch of easy, slow miles. Add all that up and you have yourself a good time.

Pedals got turned and off we went

steady, eddie

And of course, no ride in January is complete until a hot toddy and a cyclist meet. Or a bunch of both have head-on collisions.

Since half of the earth was closed, we found a fair spot in the Nite Hawk. More imagery here, but you might just get by with the following image.

We wish you all a very Happy New Year!

Merry Christmas, One And All!

We hope your Christmas is wondrous!

Ours ended up poorly. Guess which Ironclad rider is filmed below, and win a fabulous prize!

Why Not Ride?

Actual formal team rides haven’t even started yet but people keep calling rides, and people keep showing up. Most of us have nothing better to do anyhow, and it usually helps us earn our daily beer.

A whole pile jumped in Walter, others arrived by bike or Max, and off we went into the Mists of Hillsboro. Pretty out thar, sure is! We set up camp at Dizzy’s place, made a rack plan for Walter, and then reviewed the year’s financial papers. Faces were sullen at the inverse between race entry fees and bar tabs. A burrito stockpiling later, we headed out into the wild blue yonder.

An early flat allowed for the first meal stop. At roughly 5km in, you know, we’re all kinds of knackered. Luckily we had stowed proper nutrition for the ride:

carnitas burritos will do nicely, thank you

After the succulence passed, we mounted our steeds and pointed for Stub Stewart park….and that was a good little ride. Luckily, we received only one verbal assault out in the nether regions: a subtle but clear “idiots”. Riding correctly and respectively though we were, methinks the old bat still had a point. We reached the turnaround without incident but with many a laugh. It was then that Ditto, having dug all of the burrito remnants and wrappers from her pockets, discovered her Surly flask, loaded with the finest recovery drink ever. We enjoyed a nip before moving on.

At least there was sun. And more sun. And sun.

could think of worse ways to spend a Saturday

Afterward there were things like Billy’s, a Gnome Party, and some cold bike riding. We’ll spend the Christmas week laying low and gorging ourselves before hitting formal team rides. Rack up the miles in this lasting dry while you can!

Baby, It’s Cold Outside

We ain’t kiddin’.

Cold. Grey. 3 hours. All together now. Full photos here.

frosty, chilly, productive

Blackjack = 21

21 Ironclad riders and friends headed out to PIR to support the BTA‘s Bike the Lights event, and of course festivate the holidaze cheer. Yes, I said festivate. It’s activating a festivity, and we’re good at it.

Firstly it was a gathering at HQ to create hot toddies and to have the grand opening of the Wolf Bar, sure to be a homey hit for the year to come. Then we straddled our two wheeled machines and rolled to do a few not-so-hot laps with a few toddy stops along the way, then it was off to the World Famous Kenton Club to drink cylinders of cheer.

There’s just a pinch of photos at our Flickr, but here’s the pick of the litter:

bicycle cheer to you and yours!

It Were A Beautiful Day.

‘Twas. Had some sun in it, and some Budweiser and mustard. Beef sticks. Air fresheners. A little bit of Crown Point, and a little bit of the ol’ wind tunnel on Marine Drive.

At the Winter Cross race, Ace, Levo, and Sharon took to the fray, while about 12 of us went all spandied up on pavement roadways instead. Cold. Foggy for a bit, then glorious sunshine met us and held us in her arms all day.

For the group ride, it started with some coffee and scones, as per usual. Sadly, no one came armed with the usual whiskey flask on a cold, cold morning.

I suppose we should go do stuff. You know, on bikes.

So off we went. We headed east in the wind tunnel and went on the hunt for the Willis Dick Party, Cakes, Joe, and Joel. We found them, and after doing so did a great job of averting the camera. Being successful at that, we spun through the Travel America for some cokes and sugary candied goods, then onward toward Vista House. On the way, Willis got a flat, but he arrived later. There was much rejoicing. 

Cristina and Brie shared a Supplement Necklace.

Trevorcakes decided to sunbathe.

After a good deal of useless assgrabbery, we got the hell out of there, bound for the snack shop in Corbett, where the promise of hot chocolate, beer, and air fresheners awaited.

Travis is smiling too, you just can’t see it.

On long-ish rides like this, it’s good to help each other out. Point out treacherous road debris, move over a bit before blowing snot rockets, and of course, if you have a particularly fuzzy and/or stinky member on your team, help out there, too.

After that, and after blasting down the remnants of the gentle descent, it’s best find somewhere to take a moronic artsy photo before the final push for home. Case in point:

darned good food, and open for business

So it’s about that time of year to compare two-wheeled fancy machines. We hope your rides are going accordingly as well. Nothing beats goofing off with your friends on dry, sunny (!) December days…..

A New Edition

No, not this kind.

Now, we may look silly like that from time to time, but that’s not the New Edition we’re talking about.  No, this new addition is Sweetness himself, #34, Walter Payton. Back from the dead and slightly heavier and less fleet-of-foot, ol’ Walter has returned as a 1997 Ford E350 Econoline Superwagon.

Now in his new life form, he’s tasked with carting our stupid asses to races near and far. Just a few more interior design perks (stripper pole, wet bar, koi pond, and dvd player) and we’re all set. Oh, and we’re painting part of it black too….kinda have to.

So, without further ado, meet Walter Payton II.

Walter Payton

You See, There’s Two Kinds Of Phil Collins On This Earth.

Yeah, you read that right. Phil Collins.

As two wheeled sorts, we’re at the inflection point between the two very distinct forms of Phil Collins in the universe. At this time of year, we all deal with both incarnations. There’s the fat Phil Collins, with the expanding gut and continual failure despite the best of intentions:

And then there’s the sort who seeks the rhythm. The pocket. The butthole. The right cadence up Newberry. It’s true. And say what you will about Phil Collins’ crimes against adult contemporary music (and the arguments therein are valid and plentiful), but anyone who speaks ill of the man’s ability to skullfuck a drumset is but of the purest form of clueless assrocket. To wit:

So cheers to us all. To the belly warriors, their paunch hardened like a puppy’s; and to those tapping out the cadence in search of the elusive rhythm, and to those of us who lay in the great inbetween. You ride.

We’re all in the soup now, as it were, deep end or shallow. And soon the cannons of road 2012 shall sound, and to arms we will go, be we groove masters or Lords of the Onion Rings, managers of Cheeseburger garages.

Get Fat Day!

We should allow ourselves at least one (hundred) days to eat a ton and drink an insane amount of tasty hot toddies, right? Sure we should.

Here at Ironclad HQ we’ll be tossing the ol’ pigskin around and employing a fully operational bloody mary bar, then gorging on epic amounts of turkey, ham, and all the fixings. There may or may not be some bicycle riding involved….

We wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving as well!