G
G.T.
Guest
(skip to paragraph 7 if you have any sense, or better yet, just delete this post)
Long ago, in a galaxy blah blah blah cliche cliche cliche it was preordained that after an initial 6
year battle in cyberspace that there would be a meeting between the Ultimate Moderator of a.m-b
(that being me for you boneheads out there) and the Kung Fu Master of a.m-b (that being Pete F. for
the rest of you morons) to battle to determine the destiny of
a.m-b. Pete being in favor of keeping the status quo so he can continue to enlighten the clueless
dewbies of the world and me being in favor of moderating this pathetic piece of cyberspace into
oblivion. If Pete won I had to promise to never grace a.m-b again, and if I won he had to drink
the 12 oz bottle of UREA(*) I had brought along for the challenge.
Needless to say Pete was nowhere to be seen as we started our first challenge on Friday (even though
he had called and woken me out of my peaceful slumber at llam to inform me that he would in fact be
arriving early so we could begin our challenge in a much better arena behind the Wonderbread
curtain). For Pete's sake (pun possibly not intended, don't always know about my subconscious) it
was probably a good thing he was delayed as due to my incompetence our Friday ride lasted well, well
into darkness. By the way, Pete, I was wondering, did you have to stop in the middle of the desert
to leisurely inspect and apply neosporin to Mike recently reattached foreskin? Was that the reason
for your delay? Now back to my incompetence, there were 2 reasons for this which I'm sure the
referee of the match, JD, will probably get plenty of pleasure in recounting (3 if you count that
I'm a fat, old, slow ass, or old, slow, ass fat, or whatever it is you want to call me). I think the
ref gave the first round a draw.
When we finally rode back into town who should be cozily awaiting us back at the ranch having
conveniently missed the first challenge? Well, Pete, of course. I must say even after reading his
reports here and viewing his videos and photos on his website that I was expecting your typical,
puny, passive-aggressive internet troll, and sure enough my expectations were met right down to
his Deep Space Nine t-shirt. After Pete's peace offering of a fine ale or two or three we and our
support crews terrorized the local establishments with our non-whitebread ways. Along the way we
attracted the attention of a local couple who had not yet been assimilated into the local cults.
On our walk back to the ranch the adult-bmxer half of the local couple entertained us with many
great feats and urban moves. Considering his youth, big moves, and his wrist brace we drunkenly
awarded him the bottle of UREA(*) even before he had a chance to prove himself on natural terrain
the next day.
We all gathered in Room 1/3 the Mark of the Devil (painting of hell included) to strategize for
the challenges of the next day. Well, we were actually mutually entertained for hours by 7 mtn
bikers who can't hold their liquor along with one mtn biker who had OD'd on 5 liters of Mt Dew.
What a sight. After the ranch management had asked us for the 19th time to return to our
respective metropolises never to grace their strange state again the last Californian showed up
and we retired to sleep.
The next morning arrived in about 30 minutes and we all awoke bright and chipper. On Saturday
instead of battling, Pete and I called a truce and the 8 of us went up to Room 222 and drank more
fine Californian and Coloradan ales and passed out. The end.
Well, that's what I wanted to do but unfortunately everyone else wanted to see me battle Pete up on
Dingleberry Mesa. So after delaying the inevitable as long as possible we loaded the wagons and
donned our gear and drove out of town. What can I say? If it wasn't Pete's superior riding skills it
was his unrelenting wit that just wore me down. I conceded defeat when Pete pointed out that a
Teletubbie had just ridden by and cleaned one section that I couldn't even walk up. JD awarded the
round to Pete and in complete humiliation I didn't even bother to stay at the ranch Saturday night.
Instead I drove straight to the city of Lost Wages and drowned my sorrows in wine, blackjack, and
song. And here I am now, typing my farewell post to a.m-b.
Actually, it was an incredible weekend and the reason I cut it short was that after I had arrived in
Las Vegas Thursday I found out I had gotten an offer to return to an old job. I figured I would
celebrate in Zion with great new and old mtn bike friends as long as the beer lasted on Fri and
Saturday, and then celebrate in Vegas with friends and family on Saturday night. It turns out there
couldn't have been a better way to celebrate the new job than the rides on Friday and Saturday along
with BSing with
goes out to Spanker Scottie for not having any faith in the KING. I stuck with my plan and didn't
end up humping the film developing machine at the one hour photo counter at the local Walmart like
Scottie does.)
Utah is a great state for riding but remember, nothing beats Moab, don't bother stopping in St
George. And I gotta say, riding with the immortals, Bryce, Kevin, JD, Pete F., Angry Man, and Gordon
the dog really motivates me to work on my technical skills. Bryce did in fact end up earning the
previous night's bottle of UREA(*) with his move rolling instead of wheelie dropping off of one
goodsize boulder that no one else rode, and with suffering the most carnage later in Saturday's
ride, thankfully he only had to walk out about 2 miles. The other five of us mortals watched many of
their moves in awe.
I'm sure Pete and JD will have some actual mtn bike content up on their sites soon (I may, too).
Anyway, adios to a.m-b as I've heard my former employer had disconnected my old, private T1 and
their proxies don't allow direct Usenet access (and Google sucks). Pete F. banned me from a.m-b
anyway, I'm just getting in my last post before he returns home to put the ban in place. Maybe I'll
see some of you on MTBRetards.com. Maybe not.
Farewell,
a.A.
--
"You gotta stop riding the brakes, you gotta stop robbing the cradle" - Chris D.
Long ago, in a galaxy blah blah blah cliche cliche cliche it was preordained that after an initial 6
year battle in cyberspace that there would be a meeting between the Ultimate Moderator of a.m-b
(that being me for you boneheads out there) and the Kung Fu Master of a.m-b (that being Pete F. for
the rest of you morons) to battle to determine the destiny of
a.m-b. Pete being in favor of keeping the status quo so he can continue to enlighten the clueless
dewbies of the world and me being in favor of moderating this pathetic piece of cyberspace into
oblivion. If Pete won I had to promise to never grace a.m-b again, and if I won he had to drink
the 12 oz bottle of UREA(*) I had brought along for the challenge.
Needless to say Pete was nowhere to be seen as we started our first challenge on Friday (even though
he had called and woken me out of my peaceful slumber at llam to inform me that he would in fact be
arriving early so we could begin our challenge in a much better arena behind the Wonderbread
curtain). For Pete's sake (pun possibly not intended, don't always know about my subconscious) it
was probably a good thing he was delayed as due to my incompetence our Friday ride lasted well, well
into darkness. By the way, Pete, I was wondering, did you have to stop in the middle of the desert
to leisurely inspect and apply neosporin to Mike recently reattached foreskin? Was that the reason
for your delay? Now back to my incompetence, there were 2 reasons for this which I'm sure the
referee of the match, JD, will probably get plenty of pleasure in recounting (3 if you count that
I'm a fat, old, slow ass, or old, slow, ass fat, or whatever it is you want to call me). I think the
ref gave the first round a draw.
When we finally rode back into town who should be cozily awaiting us back at the ranch having
conveniently missed the first challenge? Well, Pete, of course. I must say even after reading his
reports here and viewing his videos and photos on his website that I was expecting your typical,
puny, passive-aggressive internet troll, and sure enough my expectations were met right down to
his Deep Space Nine t-shirt. After Pete's peace offering of a fine ale or two or three we and our
support crews terrorized the local establishments with our non-whitebread ways. Along the way we
attracted the attention of a local couple who had not yet been assimilated into the local cults.
On our walk back to the ranch the adult-bmxer half of the local couple entertained us with many
great feats and urban moves. Considering his youth, big moves, and his wrist brace we drunkenly
awarded him the bottle of UREA(*) even before he had a chance to prove himself on natural terrain
the next day.
We all gathered in Room 1/3 the Mark of the Devil (painting of hell included) to strategize for
the challenges of the next day. Well, we were actually mutually entertained for hours by 7 mtn
bikers who can't hold their liquor along with one mtn biker who had OD'd on 5 liters of Mt Dew.
What a sight. After the ranch management had asked us for the 19th time to return to our
respective metropolises never to grace their strange state again the last Californian showed up
and we retired to sleep.
The next morning arrived in about 30 minutes and we all awoke bright and chipper. On Saturday
instead of battling, Pete and I called a truce and the 8 of us went up to Room 222 and drank more
fine Californian and Coloradan ales and passed out. The end.
Well, that's what I wanted to do but unfortunately everyone else wanted to see me battle Pete up on
Dingleberry Mesa. So after delaying the inevitable as long as possible we loaded the wagons and
donned our gear and drove out of town. What can I say? If it wasn't Pete's superior riding skills it
was his unrelenting wit that just wore me down. I conceded defeat when Pete pointed out that a
Teletubbie had just ridden by and cleaned one section that I couldn't even walk up. JD awarded the
round to Pete and in complete humiliation I didn't even bother to stay at the ranch Saturday night.
Instead I drove straight to the city of Lost Wages and drowned my sorrows in wine, blackjack, and
song. And here I am now, typing my farewell post to a.m-b.
Actually, it was an incredible weekend and the reason I cut it short was that after I had arrived in
Las Vegas Thursday I found out I had gotten an offer to return to an old job. I figured I would
celebrate in Zion with great new and old mtn bike friends as long as the beer lasted on Fri and
Saturday, and then celebrate in Vegas with friends and family on Saturday night. It turns out there
couldn't have been a better way to celebrate the new job than the rides on Friday and Saturday along
with BSing with
goes out to Spanker Scottie for not having any faith in the KING. I stuck with my plan and didn't
end up humping the film developing machine at the one hour photo counter at the local Walmart like
Scottie does.)
Utah is a great state for riding but remember, nothing beats Moab, don't bother stopping in St
George. And I gotta say, riding with the immortals, Bryce, Kevin, JD, Pete F., Angry Man, and Gordon
the dog really motivates me to work on my technical skills. Bryce did in fact end up earning the
previous night's bottle of UREA(*) with his move rolling instead of wheelie dropping off of one
goodsize boulder that no one else rode, and with suffering the most carnage later in Saturday's
ride, thankfully he only had to walk out about 2 miles. The other five of us mortals watched many of
their moves in awe.
I'm sure Pete and JD will have some actual mtn bike content up on their sites soon (I may, too).
Anyway, adios to a.m-b as I've heard my former employer had disconnected my old, private T1 and
their proxies don't allow direct Usenet access (and Google sucks). Pete F. banned me from a.m-b
anyway, I'm just getting in my last post before he returns home to put the ban in place. Maybe I'll
see some of you on MTBRetards.com. Maybe not.
Farewell,
a.A.
--
"You gotta stop riding the brakes, you gotta stop robbing the cradle" - Chris D.
