The Racing Chronicles
w/Bill Stone

The Interminable Diary; or, Oh, How I Have Sacrificed to Be Free.

Hipp Denies the 12 Cent Dreamers

I.
Thanks for Reading

Men and Women read on average eight minutes a day and somewhere around forty two percent read a book last year. Fortunately for bike racing fans, not knowing anything is not a handicap to the successful bike diarist. Nonetheless, here at the Chronicles we are mindful that eight minutes a day is quite a lot of time to carve out of a busy training day and thus diary readers should indeed be thanked, early and often. In the interest of sparing up that time for an extra indoor hamster interval, the Chronicles offers up the universal diary. Thanks for reading.

II.
Dear Bike Fan

Well the season is just about underway. At the end of last season I was pretty much burnt up with everything. It seemed like I was maybe putting off being an adult and that it could maybe have been that I should have done more by now. And so, you know, it was sort of like I ought to be using myself so what I could buy my own food for a while. Now, what with having never gone on the school because of a lot of things, I figure that employers would be really happy to have someone who had experienced all ready Hard Knocks University and besides, learning to work with others is a pretty important skill that can't be learned very well unless well you have to sacrifice a twentieth place finish to assist the designated leader for whom you are designated to help try to do his best.

So, I was just about ready to take my father-in-law- to-be up on his offer to help out at the shoe lace factory when I got to figuring that this was pretty selfish of me to bail out of cycling just to be able to maybe support my wife almost- to- be without who's emotional and bodily dedications I would have not been so successful. There are I think maybe already two many who sell out to the imagined comforts of greed. Money as some say doesn't mean nothing so long as someone else can be counted on to give it to me.

Some have described it as "shinning on God" to not go the distance and test the dimension that only a few of us can even begin to know.

I mean, like hey, it is not easy to live off the almost fiancé- to- be who sometimes has to borrow off the credit card her mom provides her to pay for diapers and stuff such what I can get to go to the necessary summer like places to train rightly and to pay my coach-as what it is next to almost impossible to be a major league player without being told what to do each day. It is like you know I'd like sort of really maybe prefer to make my own decisions about life and not be a kinda slave to the road and my hart beat level.

You know I'd much really preference going out to the beach to watch the volley ball girls than stay in my room playing Super Nitendo or right now Madden Superbowl- GO BEARS-but that walking to the beach would be wroing because just this morning before I woke up and almost peed myself because I had to go so bad-you know you have to take your hard rate (pun) before you get up and right it write down or it is of no use whateverso to gauge whether I am too tired to even eat breakfast lest ways ride for all day at capillary development stage of my custom training plan-and wouldn't you just know it my rising from sleep rate was like 63 when it is usually sort of in the range of 61 and well if what I hadn't taken it and called my coach I'd maybe have really over extended myself. Wow, you just never know what could ruin an entire season with being too tired.

So, I figure this was a good day to stay in and catch up on the news and write this here diary entray. A lots of people would I think want to know how a real up and coming racer manages his day. So, here you have it. A day in the life you might call it.

First, I get up and go to the bathroom. Then I eat a light breakfast and sit around for a few hours catching up on what Britany Spears done last weekend. (Hey Heather, you are still the only heart I hold closed to me but even I can only think of you soo much.)

Second, I look at my coaching plan for the week and note that today I is to ride a half of it at seventy perchentage points of my previous figure to a mathamaterial cernty optimal hart rate of return. But, this is only if my rising up in the morning is right and if you followed you'd know by now that my up waking rate was risen two high. Now, the coach told I not to risk my March races by ignorant of how to adjust the day to the hart health. And being what I can only contact him by email when my roommate is not playing mind sweeper, I sort of am stuck as to what to do today. So, I just rided slowly to the Racers Caffe by the Ocean Side and told some biker guys that I'd forgotten to bring money-silly I-and wouldn't you know they paid for a double dutch machio suprema after I said I'd help them with their riding styles. You know it feels really good to help up an comers who haven't yet figured out the intrigate mature of correct racing pacing. But, you untimately it gets down to whether you are willing to give up working for your dream. Not a lot of guys can do this but as I writ above this I got to belive that my two kids by the wife- before the dawn of Heather- would want their daddy to be happy as what I can pass this state on to them as sort of a legacee because as my President is prone to say "freedom is given by God but you got to know how to take it away."

Well, it is time to do some serious riding. Next week I'll give you some keen insights into how the team is working its way up to being really and how we figure to explain failures on the fact that unlike everyone else we'd never cheat. I mean would a guy who signs off like me be someone who'd shot up?

THANKS FOR READING.

III
No Time For 12 Cent Dreamers

Hippstar sent in this report from Menlo Park, home of the one million dollar five hundred square feet lot line home.

Dateline: January 23, 2005. Freemont, North California.

Today Labor's Peter Pan Dreamer, Hippstar, lined up at the Early Squirelly Bird Parking Lot Criterium. Present were the professional Molly McQuire and Lombardi Sports teams and a various assortment of other 12 Cent Dreamers; twelve cents now being the inflation adjusted price of the formerly 12K Dream.
Hippstar put up Labor's first win of the Season. However, as is the fashion the Molly McQuires protested because Her Hippster cheated by not riding courageously. The spokesman for the Molly McQuire Insurance Scammers noted that Labor yet again rode without courage and only won by ganging up on the professionals who were merely out to train hard. 1

In this past weekend's race Hipp was second with forty plus cheaters taking the first four spots. Hipp reports that he was just happy to be there and graciously offered his first place prize of a book on racing tactics to the professionals.

1 Chronicle readers will remember that the Molly McQuire Team lodged a criminal complaint against ET last year because a McQuire rider fell off his bike while attempting to hit ET. Of course nothing came of this cry baby exercise. But it is only fitting that an insurance company should make baseless claims.

IV
Buffet Beaten

MKA offers the following from his hiding place inside a mudslide:

Outside of Nut Case TV Evangelicals there is perhaps no longer running scam than Las Vegas. For decades it has advanced itself as a place where all gamblers are welcome. But, as we know people who can actually count are not permitted to play blackjack. Similarly, there are no end of casinos and hot water joints offering all you can eat and beautiful girls.

So, it was that the Vampire opened his season by beating all comers in the Damnable Desert Classic this weekend past. The Rican carrying his winter weight of 110 pounds, bike included, had a hard time beating the master's field by more than a half hour. Afterwards, they descended upon the $3.99 Steak and Fluff Bizarre at the RIO. Three hours later they were told to fill up one more garbage can sized plate and were wheeled out on skids. Appropriately, Vampire stopped half-way to Hell in Barstow to take on a small snack of two dozen Krispy Creams.

And MKA wants to Thank EVERYONE For Reading.

Bill Stone
February 1, 2005 in the Second Quadrennial of Permanent War