Moveitfred wants to add this about the irascible Al Bangorhard: He don't fuck around (pardon the blunt, caustic language).
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Where's Al?
Moveitfred wants to add this about the irascible Al Bangorhard: He don't fuck around (pardon the blunt, caustic language).
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Glee
Moveitfred has got a little chirp in his whistle. The insolent Al Bangorhard intends to pull himself begrudgingly out from under his rock and join Moveitfred for some cycling in the countryside tomorrow.
Al tells Moveitfred he intends to set a plan in motion to bust our two heroes out from the drudgery of their factory jobs early. Something involving smoke bombs and feces.
Anywho, apparently Al intends to swim out in the always treacherous Long Island Sound as well.
So he says.
Al tells Moveitfred he intends to set a plan in motion to bust our two heroes out from the drudgery of their factory jobs early. Something involving smoke bombs and feces.
Anywho, apparently Al intends to swim out in the always treacherous Long Island Sound as well.
So he says.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Full Day
Moveitfred took purple cx bike out for two hours this morning and tore the shit out of the new grass over at the elementary school.
This evening, he and Moveitfred Jr. slayed up a bucketfullota of bluefish and porgies over at the sacred fishing grounds down the road.
Moveitfred's gonna walk Stupid Dog and call it a day.
This evening, he and Moveitfred Jr. slayed up a bucketfullota of bluefish and porgies over at the sacred fishing grounds down the road.
Moveitfred's gonna walk Stupid Dog and call it a day.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Soft Cheese
The ol' Montauk Hope ride got a rarin' start yesterday with plenty of standing around in the parking lot. Moveitfred volunteered to haul Mrs. Moveitfred and two other local compatriots and their bikes to begin this epic adventure.
Moveitfred unloaded the bikes and then leaned against Sexy Minivan with a cup o joe and watched the hoards arrive while the painfully slow process of registration, filling tires, and figuring out there to stash the lunch tickets ensued.
For many attempting this dash to the east end this is the one and only bike ride of the year. This is a ride where one can literally spot spongy housewives dabbing spider webs off their bikes with tissue. Also, plenty of this: a dude pulled in next to Moveitfred in an Escalade with a spotless Madone strapped to the back. He told his buds across the lot that he "just got it" the previous night over at the local Trek-n-Go across town. Man, Moveitfred'd like Trek dude's cash register take day before this thing. Moveitfred would buy a shithole in the mountains and leave all y'all the fuck to figure out what to do with this world....
But, back to business. Moveitfred got his crew stable and relatively pleased before inching out of the lot. One of the most terrifying 5 minutes of Moveitfred's life was negotiating Sexy Minivan out of that lot as dozens of once-a-year bikers wobbled around and compared chainring tattoos. But y'know, good for them and their fat asses.
Moveitfred got home to rouse the kids and figure out how to pack Sexy Minivan for the ride out east. He saw the note left by Mrs. Moveitfred that contained these words:
"Don't forget the brie."
Are you fucking kidding Moveitfred? The brie? Sometimes Moveitfred thinks there must have been a moment in time he completely missed when his life took a radical about-face.
Reluctantly Moveitfred packed the brie, his bike, and all the beer he could squeeze into the cooler, threw the kids in the car, and drove. Long drive short, Moveitfred did the Hamptons Crawl for much of the drive before finally arriving at the end point, but not The End, where Mrs. Moveitfred would conclude the pedalfest.
Brie intact.
When Mrs. Moveitfred triumphantly arrived at the beach Moveitfred gave her a peck on the cheek, the keys to the car, and notification that Moveitfred was about to unload his very red Serotta and be gone "a long time." The clambake/briefest beach bingo would have to go on without our hero.
Moveitfred's intention was simple. He wanted to kill a couple of hours roaming around the east tip of things until it was about time to pack up and head home. Pretty much sums up how Moveitfred rolls. And along the way he saw incredible things.
First significant stop, the bar at the Memory Motel for a beer.
Moveitfred can't think of a time he's ever stopped mid-ride for said beverage, but figured the Memory Motel was just as good as any place to do it. A few crusties and surfer types swilling as well, but in the end not as significant as Moveitfred thought it might be. He can't be faulted for imagining a life-changing experience, can he?
Next, another lengthy stop on the sunshiny bluff at Camp Hero where a shitload of fish were getting murdered.
Cheap sucks onshore couldn't reach them.
After nearly passing out and tumbling off the bluffs to his death, Moveitfred roused himself from his buzzed half-life snooze and back on the wheels. He continued out to what the natives call "The End"--that point of symbolic entitlement that says you have reached the conclusion of all that matters--and then latched onto the tailwind for a spirited hammerfest back to Hither Hills.
Where, thankfully, the brie already had been consumed and most of the crowd had dispersed. There's your end of summer.
Moveitfred unloaded the bikes and then leaned against Sexy Minivan with a cup o joe and watched the hoards arrive while the painfully slow process of registration, filling tires, and figuring out there to stash the lunch tickets ensued.
For many attempting this dash to the east end this is the one and only bike ride of the year. This is a ride where one can literally spot spongy housewives dabbing spider webs off their bikes with tissue. Also, plenty of this: a dude pulled in next to Moveitfred in an Escalade with a spotless Madone strapped to the back. He told his buds across the lot that he "just got it" the previous night over at the local Trek-n-Go across town. Man, Moveitfred'd like Trek dude's cash register take day before this thing. Moveitfred would buy a shithole in the mountains and leave all y'all the fuck to figure out what to do with this world....
But, back to business. Moveitfred got his crew stable and relatively pleased before inching out of the lot. One of the most terrifying 5 minutes of Moveitfred's life was negotiating Sexy Minivan out of that lot as dozens of once-a-year bikers wobbled around and compared chainring tattoos. But y'know, good for them and their fat asses.
Moveitfred got home to rouse the kids and figure out how to pack Sexy Minivan for the ride out east. He saw the note left by Mrs. Moveitfred that contained these words:
"Don't forget the brie."
Are you fucking kidding Moveitfred? The brie? Sometimes Moveitfred thinks there must have been a moment in time he completely missed when his life took a radical about-face.
Reluctantly Moveitfred packed the brie, his bike, and all the beer he could squeeze into the cooler, threw the kids in the car, and drove. Long drive short, Moveitfred did the Hamptons Crawl for much of the drive before finally arriving at the end point, but not The End, where Mrs. Moveitfred would conclude the pedalfest.
Brie intact.
When Mrs. Moveitfred triumphantly arrived at the beach Moveitfred gave her a peck on the cheek, the keys to the car, and notification that Moveitfred was about to unload his very red Serotta and be gone "a long time." The clambake/briefest beach bingo would have to go on without our hero.
Moveitfred's intention was simple. He wanted to kill a couple of hours roaming around the east tip of things until it was about time to pack up and head home. Pretty much sums up how Moveitfred rolls. And along the way he saw incredible things.
First significant stop, the bar at the Memory Motel for a beer.
Moveitfred can't think of a time he's ever stopped mid-ride for said beverage, but figured the Memory Motel was just as good as any place to do it. A few crusties and surfer types swilling as well, but in the end not as significant as Moveitfred thought it might be. He can't be faulted for imagining a life-changing experience, can he?
Next, another lengthy stop on the sunshiny bluff at Camp Hero where a shitload of fish were getting murdered.
Cheap sucks onshore couldn't reach them.
After nearly passing out and tumbling off the bluffs to his death, Moveitfred roused himself from his buzzed half-life snooze and back on the wheels. He continued out to what the natives call "The End"--that point of symbolic entitlement that says you have reached the conclusion of all that matters--and then latched onto the tailwind for a spirited hammerfest back to Hither Hills.
Where, thankfully, the brie already had been consumed and most of the crowd had dispersed. There's your end of summer.
Friday, September 10, 2010
It wasn't a rock
Shout out goes to Paul Sadoff, the man at Rock Lobster Bicycles, for building a superb frame this summer for Mrs. Moveitfred.
Mrs. Moveitfred has been pushing the blackie/pinkie machine for a few weeks and has her first big ride for the Montauk Hope in the morning.
Moveitfred has been cleaning/tuning the bike this afternoon and, upon close inspection, has gained even more appreciation and respect for Paul and his work. For a base-model steel tig frame he did some clean, precise, and even detailed work. Shit be tight, yo.
In short, Mrs. Moveitfred will stand out among the hoards of Specializedkleintreks with the sweetest damn bike in the crowd. Nice work, Paul.
Mrs. Moveitfred has been pushing the blackie/pinkie machine for a few weeks and has her first big ride for the Montauk Hope in the morning.
Moveitfred has been cleaning/tuning the bike this afternoon and, upon close inspection, has gained even more appreciation and respect for Paul and his work. For a base-model steel tig frame he did some clean, precise, and even detailed work. Shit be tight, yo.
In short, Mrs. Moveitfred will stand out among the hoards of Specializedkleintreks with the sweetest damn bike in the crowd. Nice work, Paul.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Labor
Moveitfred removed the computer from his road bike today.Moveitfred is now computerless.
Done with that.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Dummy
Everyone should know by now that Moveitfred and Al Bangorhard created the universe.Doesn't take a fucking genius.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Fixin' Shit
Moveitfred got his neighbor, Jimmy, to snap a photog of him doing some yoga this afternoon.Since returning from LA, Moveitfred has felt the effects of too much lazing at the beach and them In-N-Out Burgers out there. So it's been strict as shit back to the hardcore for Freddo, including light spins on the bike and yoga.
Correct: Fred is not fucking around.
Moveitfred plans to explore the often overlooked aspect in training: flexibility.
Heywood Jablome sent Moveitfred a blog link for flexibility training that Moveitfred has since lost, but it covered some type of west coast approach popular in the SF Bay area. Anyway, Moveitfred didn't have the attention span to view/read/follow the instructions anyway, however Heywood explained to Moveitfred that the training involves repeated toe touches and something Heywood called "Thigh Flutterbies" with a partner.
Trouble is, Moveitfred doesn't have a partner.
Unless you count Al Bangorhard.
But Moveitfred doesn't.
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