My first bicycle was a black Huffy with a rounded rectangle for a seat. I guess it was an inexpensive, mass marketed, get on the bmx train, easy for Dad to find, available at K Mart type of deal. I loved that thing and have a clear memory of an impending Minnesota summer storm crackling on the horizon just as I was wobbling out into the street for the very first time. Alone and pedaling. Fucking stoked. Then it started pouring rain.

My next bike was the Huffy Pro Thunder. Heavy as a house and bombproof. Rode that thing into the ground (well, until my lawn mowing money afforded me the Kuwahara pictured below). My friend Jay and I had the same bikes and when we were ready for "real" machines we chose to try and destroy the Pro Thunders.

First we threw them off his balcony, then we stuffed the seat tubes full of firecrackers. Neither option did much damage so we hit em with baseball bats as we ghost-rode them down the hill at each other. The mags stayed intact as did the frame, the only real damage was to the handlebars, forks and seat post. 

And after years of dirt jumping and kick ramp riding and endless nights of sneaking out to literally just ride around, I finally sold the Kuwahara to my little brother's friend Two-Tone Moe.

Fast forward to November 2008. On my way out of downtown one afternoon, I rode by Prestige to see what was up and Paulie had this two-wheeled flashback parked right out front. I seriously got goosebumps as I was hammered straight back to my childhood in a Stryper colored vortex.

A few weeks later the baby was asleep on the couch with us and I heard some footsteps crushing through the leaves out front. The doorbell rang, the dog barked and the baby yelped himself awake. I opened the front door and right there on the stoop stood the Huffy Pro Thunder. I peeked up the street just in time to see Paul peeling around the corner in the dark. A note taped to the seat said: 

"TO: PATTRICK FROM: SANTA" 

Thanks, Paul (I mean SANTA). I'll ride it around once in awhile but instead of trashing this one I can give it to Liam for his second bike. 

But I am not afraid they are going to break my spirit...

If I don't slow down with the addition of semi-necessary

apparati to the Bridgestone, I may end up with a 

escape-to-the-woods-and-make-bombs-and-manifestos-mobile 

like this one that I saw yesterday. And speaking of ole Teddy:

Found these great photographs when I was trying to figure out how to spell "Kaczynski". Photos by Richard Barnes, details HERE. Check out the story linked under the pics page, among the more interesting facts is the address of his property: Humbug Contour Road 30. Humbug was an understatement, huh?

After living alone in the woods of Montana for TWENTY YEARS, he now shares confined space with close to 500 other men in a supermax facility in Colorado.

"What worries me is that I might, in a sense, adapt to this environment and come to be comfortable here and not resent it anymore. And I am afraid that as the years go by that I may forget, I may begin to lose my memories of the mountains and the woods and that's what really worries me, that I might lose those memories, and lose that sense of contact with wild nature in general. But I am not afraid they are going to break my spirit". Ted Kaczynski

Hamachi updates his blog with such regularity he should call it Colon Blow. A couple of days ago he was commenting on his neighborhood and had a nice photo of the ghetto bird circling above. Yesterday, Liam and I were trying to head out for afternoon errands but the BPD had some dude trapped in a house on the corner. Half the street was camped out in our front yard watching the excitement. The guy finally surrendered with hands-on-head (and shirtless for some reason). The SWAT team let off a couple rounds of rubber bullets at the pit bulls that bounced out of the house with the fugitive. The zoom on my camera got me close enough to the action to observe one of the dogs clearly making something besides "aggressive actions". One of the bullets landed in the front yard and a neighbor kid scooped it up. It looks nothing like a bullet and it's huge, not something you wanna be hit with, when taking a dump or not. Quote of the afternoon came from an onlooker (clearly beaming as she said to her son upon his return from elementary school): "Look honey, there's a police standoff on the block and it's not even at our house!".

After about 20 minutes of requesting the guy to come out, they broke out the big guns.

Check out the dog to the left of dude.

This kid was lovin' the spotlight.

 

Okay, one last posting of Irish pride and then I'll resume the day-to-day musings.

Sean. Fucking. Kelly.

SLAINTE!

Day's end found Warren and I at the Ha Penny vying for Half and Halfs (Half & Halves?).

After about twenty minutes, we were served one Black & Tan and one Half & Half in plastic cups.

 At least we finagled our way past the $5 cover and found a seat on the patio.

We moved on to the Piper Pub for Guinness (and they even came in glasses for big kids!). 

Not only did my bike have the proper colors flying today, it's now complete- with kickstand.

We went to the new "Bad Irish" pub but found it closed (and therefore: aptly named).

Anyway, Slainte! From me and mine to you and yours.

A classic gem forwarded on by Mr. O'Dell:

"I'm so sick and tired of the stereotype that Irish guys are just a bunch of drunken brawlers.

It makes me so mad I just wanna get drunk and punch somebody!"

Click HERE for St. Paddy's Day festivities.

Erin Go Bragh!

Liam's Grandparents (on his Irish side) live in Wisconsin and sent him the clover and cow themed outfit. Erin has the Packers crock pot filled with corned beef and cabbage. 

There are bottles of Smithwicks in the fridge.  

This week...

Rollin' dirty.

The house is slowly being overtaken by small, plastic, colorful objects.

Art stopped by so we could work on the route for this weekend's  bicycle race.

This photo was exactly how the table was laid out, I couldn't have staged a better visual example what we were doing (planning an Irish themed beer and bicycle blowout).

The "Happy St. Patrick's Day" ribbon from my Grandma was sitting there (Liam and I fell asleep on the couch before we got to hanging it on the front door) along with the coaster adorned with our family crest. Art arrived and broke out the High-Life cans and the map, then set his old-ass Campy hat down on top of it all. A Guinness, some shepherd's pie and Erin the Red(head) was all we were missin'.

Our mayor rides his bike to work. It was really crappy outside that day, too.

Wine goggles.

So an Irishman walked out of a bar...

7 Days of Weak...

Whatever new strain of contagious, airborne weirdness floating around Idaho last week landed at our house in full effect. Baby L got thumped, passed it to me, I rode it around it for a few days then gave it back to him for a full blown fever/wheeze/cough and cry bout that he's just now recovering from. Poor lil dude, had his 6 month check-up, a new round of vaccine shots and was subjected to his Father's ineptitude with a thermometer to finish off the week. Yeah, administered not orally or via the armpit: the third option. The duration wasn't a complete wash as we had some quality time with Mom; we juggled lemons, partied in Party Town, took some photos, drank some bah-bahs and celebrated some birthdays. Here's a brief photo summary:

Flannels Monthly stopped by last Friday for a photo shoot.

Baby L, air piano to Smokestack Lightning. 

"If you don't like fighting in hockey, go have a hot dog..."