Thursday, June 26, 2003

good news.

not cancer

will go down with extreme drug use.

and Sara and I pre-closed on the house, scheduled for July 2 acquisition


Tuesday, June 17, 2003

photos of the Oakland Industrial ride a few weekends ago:

me in TX flag patch with my pal Rebecca on my right:

my bike at port costa

Monday, June 16, 2003

(Warning, may contain one or 2 VERY graphic sentances with medical terms, hide your children's eyes, or do not read it I will give warning)

Hot. It was too darn hot. It was TEXAS hot. And I waren't prepared for it. No cooler, no cold towels, no cold water, no fans.

too darn hot.

livin in the bay area has made me a spoilt-up wussy-boy.

I went out drinkin' friday night, and woke up hungover saturday in a messy way. No practice. Drove up saturday afternoon, pitted with the RKA/Santa Rosa crowd. Wandered around and listened to people tell me how: "young, fresh, cute, better, different" I looked.

Then slept in truck, no practice.

Sunday morning, practice. bike runs okay, I am not hitting on all cylinders. This new guy in the blue leathers, He squirts out of corners. Oh, a pal of Yoav! another Israeli. More of my tribe on the starting grid! YAY! agressive lines, scary at times, but yay!

And it keeps getting hotter as they day goes on.

I see my pal Jerri Grindle, and we speak for a while, she is getting better, and I am happy. I also wander around and try to say hi to everyone I can. I am sporting my sponsorship gear. Joe, Paul & Saskia from MotoJava gave me a pair of furry pink slippers. So I wore them around the pits. I am trying to add a sense of style and fashion to the AFM.

Hot lap. line up, Phil Douglas comes out next to me, so I crank it open and wheelie out of the gate, and through the first 3 gears. and HEAR him yelling 'woo hoo' or something, in his helmet.

Grid up. did I mention hot? and overheating. Me, not the bike.

The flag drops, I manage to keep the front end down, and rocket forward. My gearing is still not worked out. Or my jetting. But it is going okay. Just not enough top speed. And yes, I do own the smallest rear sprocket you can get for that bike.

I pass some guys, some guys pass me back.

then I crest the cyclone, make that next hard left, and there is blinding pain, and white flashes. I have not wanted to think about or mention it all week.


For the past few weeks one of my testicles has been incredibly swollen and tender, I am positive it is horrible like, cancer. I am scared, driving up to T-hill, I am thinking, what if I cannot have kids. what if it is worse.

My doctor's appointment was for Monday after the race. But I was GOING TO RACE, no matter what. Pain can be dealt with.

I hit some bumps on T6? T7? that hard left hander after the cyclone, and it feels like lightning in my crotch, my breath is knocked out of me, and I can barely see.

I fall off pace, I think, but did not lose places, yet, and can barely hold my head up.

If you are a guy, imagine being kicked in the balls, like, 3 times over, by someone with really good aim.

If you are a girl, imagine it really hurts, bad. like, the worst pains us wimpy guys feel.

I consider pulling over, but decide I can finish. And my vision clears up some, and I crank it harder. Rick Cramer passed me, and I try to catch him. But am riding WAY too gingerly, especially in the lefts.

At one point, the guy on the P.O.S. vintage yellow yamaha is just in the damn way, and slow. Ya'll know I used to race vintage, and am a vintage supporter, but I was so mad. Jayce (who I thought was Rick Williams) and France get by me. I could not think, and the yellow bike was just IN THE FUCKING WAY.

Finally got around, rode hard, gave up on roadracing, and took motard lines and style through the u-turns, (11 & 12?) sliding the rear, backing it in. got France back, barely, then tried to keep position till the end of the race.

Finished, and could only think "load, get in truck, ac, go home, bed, ice packs."

It was one of my fastest departures, I tried to not be rude, and tried to say goodbye to everyone, but was in serious crotch pain. Which, fortunately, subsided by the time I got to 680.

Anyhow, it was hot, very hot. it was fun, very fun. It was painful, very painful.

Saw doctor today. Serious antibiotics to reduce swelling, no bikes for a week, appointment next week to confirm and test some more.

Looks like infeciton and swelling, not other, more scary, cancery things. but will not know till next week. She seems confindent, but not willing to make promises. I am happy about that.

So all is well on this front. Still engaged. Still buying a house on July 2, Still like the 400.

well, that's all the news, and most isn't fit to print.

Tuesday, June 10, 2003

I had some great things to post last night. Unfortunately, I was sitting in the movie "2 Fast, 2 Furious" 2 Bad 4 Me.

Yes, with the Monday Night Ride Crew, I wasted 9 dollars and 50 cents, not counting the popcorn and soda, I wish I had just thrown the money at a homeless person, it would have been a better application.

Wednesday, June 04, 2003

Leaving a bayou in Southern Louisiana well known for its fishing, a Cajun was stopped by a Game warden. The game warden pulled along side the Cajun's boat and noticed two ice chests full of fish

"Do you have a license to catch those fish?" the game warden asked.

"Naw, ma' fren, I ain't got none of dem, no. Dese here are ma' pet fish," the Cajun proudly replied.

"Pet fish?!" the warden said.

"You betcha pet fish," said the Cajun. "Avery night I take ma' pet fish down to de bayou and let dem swim 'round for a while, and when I think dey had enough swimmin' for da evenin' den I whistle and dey jump rat back into dese here ice chests and I take dem home."

"That's a bunch of bull, fish can't do that!" the warden demanded.

The Cajun looked at the game warden and said, "It's de truth, ma' fren.

Here, I'll show you." So the Cajun carefully picked up each of the two ice chests, gently poured the fish into the bayou, then sat back in his boat chair, crossed his arms, and quietly waited.

After several minutes, the game warden turned to the Cajun and said, "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Well, how long are you going to let them swim around?" the warden asked.

"Let who swim around?"

"The fish," the warden said.

"What fish?"

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