Ironclad Cycling

This says it all! Road AND Cross ‘natz in Oregon! How cool is that?

I bet a lot of us in the OBRA community will be making a few more trips to Bend than originally planned, and for good reason.

Honesty has a beautiful and refreshing simplicity about it. No ulterior motives. No hidden meanings. An absence of hypocrisy, duplicity, political games, and verbal superficiality. As honesty and real integrity characterize our lives, there will be no need to manipulate others.–Chuck Swindoll

Does your Beer get picked on? Harassed? Maybe the Martinis are heckling your Beer’s fat ass again? Or is it that the Rob Roys and Manhattans have your beer cornered, stealing not only lunch money but dignity as well? And those jocks, the MicroBrews, they pantsing your Beer in the locker room again?

If you want to keep your shitty, cheap, generally weak American beer protected, well then call the latest and greatest in Beer Security : Ironclad Energy Drink In Ass Kicking Cans.

With Ironclad Energy, Your Beer can now walk into the party and kick Jack Daniels right in his balls, if he so cares. Neither Jack, nor his asshole buddy Jim Beam, or that other buttstab, Jose Cuervo, will ever fuck with your Beer again with Ironclad on the security tip. We promise. Your Beer can walk up to that sexy Lemondrop all by his lonesome under the watchful eye of Ironclad Energy and lay down his funky groove without fear of retribution. All it takes is two cans of Ironclad Energy, and your Beer can walk into a huddle of Microbrew sanctimony and swipe the gaggle of those hottie Strawberry Daquiris right from under them. And never again will those closeted Cokes and Pepsis talk shit about how their can is thicker than your Beer’s. Sure buddy, your name is Sierra Mist for Christ’s sake! Right. Aw yeah….it pays to be protected!

Bud Weiser fears no other drink in the club Stovetop this past Saturday. Look at that swagger!

We present to you the first images of victory for Ironclad in the year of our whatever, 2009. Ok, it was off the bike, but this team time trial came by way of beer and perserverance.

Dig on this:

Joe, Greg, and Brody bring the glory to your story

It all turned out ok for the lads…Beer threw an awesome event, well done, and thank you for swinging the spade to get it done. Turns out at the end of the day our lads know their balls.

Taxidermy man’s gonna have a heart attack when he sees what I brung him!

-Quint

It is said that sometimes fish just jump in the boat, and such is the case with our latest sponsor to come on board for 2009.

Introducing Portland’s own Bacn.com! They’re an online high end bacon distributor based in SW Portland. This is their first foray into the cycling world. They’ll be featured on our center rear pocket, so when you are on our wheel, hopefully you either a.) start thinking about tasty bacon and stop thinking about racing, or b.) you are repulsed by eating meat and will give up the wheel and go to the back.

We like PBR, Olympia, Hamm’s, etc, but Portland is a beer town and we get shit on for that. That’s fine. We like bacon, and Portland is full of non-meat sorts, so we’re sure to get shit on for this, too. However, whereas PBR etc. is indeed crap beer (we’ll be the first to admit it), Bacn.com offers very high end product. You just have to check out their offerings right here.

Very high quality offerings on hand, wouldn’t you say? Garlic cured? Pepper slab? Oh, sign me up.

Look for Bacon Primes to be doled out during crit season, where you can win your own. Or you could just go to Bacn.com and help out a brand new local business get off the ground.

We’re excited to fly the pig along with our other fine sponsors this year, most of whom you already know but you can double check them in the sponsor blogroll to the right of the page. We’ve lined up an impressive line of mostly local businesses as our sponsors, and we’re very fortunate and thankful to partner with them all.

Oink!

Another day, another 3+ hour shift on the bike as a team. Today was all about the Ironclad chicks getting together and dumping a pile o’ miles in their legs in a secret location somewhere south of Portland. Anna, Erin, Kira, Ginny, Vanessa, Deann, KMac, and Tricia allowed Crawfy and Dave to join them on a little rolling jaunt consisting of equal parts snow, hills, sun, wind, and angels. Oh yeah, a few alpaca for good measure. And a heron.

gathering on the launchpad deck of the Starship Ironclad. Or, YMCA.

One of the newest Ironcladies made her first ride after ACL replacement surgery! Deann Krill turned her first team pedals today and we welcome her. No signs of surgery lag on this one. None at all.

The gang set off on a starting 4 mile climb, through beautiful turns and trees, and some uninvited albeit gorgeous guests: snowflakes. Undaunted, they pressed onward and upward.

Dear snow, you’re purdy, but you’ve overstayed your welcome…especially on skinny tires

Though tempted by a nearly obscene amount of wineries, the group only stopped to make water and fix a flat. And it was about 1/2 way through the affair when the sun herself decided she was the belle of the ball, and begin to flirt wholesale with us all. We were beguiled. We drank and ate and made merry.

the sun begins to flirt, too

But despite all the merriment, soon the fluids were gone, the food consumed, the breeze seemingly a gale, and many miles to go before we slept. It was at the inopportune time that that old cranky sonofabitch, Mr. Tendonitis Goblin came rolling into the party. Nobody likes that guy, do they? Certainly none of us do.

He came to collect a bill, so the group was split up into a rescue crew, and a stay behind crew.

Spirits were low for a moment, until an Angel named Faye came out of a nearby domicile with ice, Ibuprofen, and blankets. Bless that dear woman’s heart. In the nearby garage, Faye’s husband (who never does anything impulsively but bought this house and old garage on a whim, she tells us) tinkered on a classic automobile and whistled, paying us not a stitch of mind.

Rescue choppers en route, Dave gave Faye his Ironclad cycling cap which, despite it’s saturation level and being funkier than James Brown on goofballs, was immediately donned. This was too amazing an image not to capture:

the kindness of strangers

To the victor the spoils!

A fine day on the first real joining of the women’s team. Fitness is the theme of the day and these phillies are ready  to run. A few tweaks and shimmies here and there, an ice pack or two, some more miles, and the sun will have to make room for a new bunch of belles at the ball.

It was a great show, the kids loved it. The band was tight for 3+ straight hours.

A hodge podge o’ ye oulde team met in various locations to ply the trade once again. Ryan and Gerow took a small squad to Multnomah Falls to do some pickin’ and grinnin’.  A few folks played solo gigs. You know, the Sin-E type shit.  The women’s team gathers tomorrow for a revue.

For those leftover, it was 3 hours in the Northern Hillsboro Plains, heretofore to be referred to as NHP.

tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, Mr. Spock

For Clocking Hours in the Cold, tonight’s performance was to be a special one. For playing gigs in NHP is a good thing. It’s a good place for the slow groove miles to pile up. It’s a good place to get the chatter going and have a few laughs, spin some shit off of back beats while hanging out near delapidated buildings, with abaondoned pick-ups bearing flat tires parked out front.

We couldn’t make this shit up if we tried…….

Snow and Drizzle really cooled the crowd with their lame beats to kick things off, so it had to be something special to bring the mood up, but CHITC pulled it off in spades. Ticking and tocking the band played on. Finishing to the shaking heads of astounded, bar trolling Hillsboroites, the band split up to meet back up at the Goose Hollow Inn for pitchers and Caballero chips and salsa before shit got thrown. Beamed up, the band drank up.

it’s like a postcard kinda….

Saw quite a few folks out today in the NHP, and that’s a good thing. Squads and pods all about the place.

Is anyone hungry? Do you like bacon?

It’s so true. There are few days as wonderful as that one where you get your first ride on your brand new bike. We here in the Ironclad camp prefer the Veloforma brand of bicycle, and quite a few of us are saddling up brand new carbon ponies while readying for the road season ahead. Pulling them off the plains, walking them in circles, getting bits in their teeth, and then eventually throwing a saddle over them. After that it’s all campfires and fiddle playing.

Today, women’s team captain Kira Crawford got her special day, taking out her gleaming new Veloforma F1R for spin in the sun.

This is the beginning of a beautiful relationship…..

We’ll be joining for some rides this weekend, and some envelope stuffing, some birthday celebrating, and some tree planting, all sorts of things. Nothing like mixing philanthropy and general preparations for war.

Getting dropped is essentially like getting dumped, but in more of a poly sense than one-on-one. Well mostly. Today while climbing Germantown, Brody broke up with me and went on without me. But that’s another story. Though we passed on the Skyline Tavern (even as bikes were leaned up against that ridge line saloon, with that come hither look in their eyes) we did not pass on Emanon once back in town, and we patched it up over a beer.

Most folks, when dropped/dumped, fall into self-destructive habits and mindsets. The pain is usually quelled by drink and song. It’s a common fact with people in general that “getting songs stuck in your head” is a given and, with cyclists, perhaps it’s accentuated a notch or two with cycling and music being joined by the link of rhythm.

Today while dropped, I sang this to myself. Learn it. It’s like a mantra of misery with a flash of hope which translates nicely in solitude. When you get past the lyrical sisters and the sinners et al, just substitute whatever is next to you for the return after Doc’s call, just make it two syllables. Tall trees, weak legs, cold beers…..you get the idea.

You can thank us later for this fantastic PSA.

Hey Pigs.

Do you notice the theme here? What’s the common link, if you’ll excuse the pun?

We’ll keep you guessing just a bit longer, just enjoy the songs (click red link one for bad days, red link two for good days)  for now. Stay tuned….

We would suspect that most of you reading this are still reeling in shock. We are too. These successive days of January sun are stacking up like hotcakes, and there’s another week in store of the same. Not sure about you, but we’re not complaining.

The team took full advantage of the odd conditions to go out in a bike gang and play “I’ll dress like you, you dress like me, and we’ll go ride our bicycles.” Another strong showing vectored over the range and out to North Plains, all in search of cokes and salt and the ever elusive Basus Milus Maximus. Slathered in beautiful sun, we ascended up Thompson, then headed out west like so many folks before us.

climbing……

Slighty, ever so slighty, the speeds are getting faster. We’re not sniffing the heels of any kind of shootout just yet, but it’s certainly noticeable that the top end of the accepted base mile tempo is being peeked at.

Also, large pork burritos are being peeked at, too. By the Colonel. He took down a full pounder by himself, sharing one bite of the tasty pig with Dave. Contrary to intuition, he then flew up the return climb. Perhaps there is something incredibly special about pork and how it relates to cycling that we don’t know yet.

About 20 Ironclad sorts and a few special guests rack ‘em up

The wind was a gift on the way out, and a terrible curse on the way home. Having a few folks run out of clock and tendons, a broom wagon was pressed into service. That was a good thing.

The fire is still being stared into.

On a sadder note, we bid a fond farewell to our dear Reuben Vyn, who’s off to chase the dream in Denver, Colorado. We wish him the very best of luck on his new adventure, and we will miss him and his formidable climbing ability. We thank him for his two years of service to our team.