Eki and I...Feeding the Rat...Maybe too much? Yet, the TI is only 2 months away!!!!!!

Einstein: His Life and Universe by Walter Isaacson

I am currently reading, then rereading, then thinking while drinking, and then once again reading this great book that a brilliant Einstein-like kid loaned me…In it there is a description of the 16 year-old Einstein pondering what it would be like to ride atop a light beam. In this context, the author (Walter Isaacson) mentions what many of you probably already know, as we all learned it back in school, but even so, every time I read it and contemplate it, I am completely taken aback to the point that I am left desperately reaching for another Bell’s Kalamazoo stout, a sturdy hand-rail, and wind gear!!! Below is the basic notion that has the author in such a pickle!!! (Note: the title of this great work is listed above):
“A person ‘at rest’ (aka couch potato) in an armchair watching golf on TV is actually spinning with the earth’s rotation at 1040 miles per hour and also orbiting with the earth around the sun at 67,000 miles per hour…”

Off-spring earns her first BELOW ZERO HERO Award in winter camping

Me and da kid had a blast winter camping...but it felt like cheating cuz we weren't super cold at night, cuz we had a wood burning heater/stove (complete with stove pipe). I was also taught that you were suppose to be cold at night when winter camping...Now I got me a plan for retirement...They say a man my age should plan for retirement...So, when I retire, I am gonna get me a full-on winter expedition kit (big Empire Canvas tent, ti stove, caribou robe, a 30-30 "meal getter" and may be even a Black River sled), then I'm gonna figure out a way to load it all up on Rosinante, my trusty winter steed born from the nice folks @ Surly and head straight NORTH...Don't worry if you don't hear from me, I will be fine. I'll be livin' with a She-Wolf...As for winter camping with an eight year old in sub zero temps, itz easy....itz no problem what-so-ever (as long as you bring plenty of whiskey and a snowtrekker outfit w/ titanium stove)....Seriously, It was great, absolutely no problem, and it was great being "out-there" in the magical Northwoods. I even had time to converse for a bit with my little girl, which was sorta nice...See snowtrekker.com and Black River Sleds... Thank you, Empire Canvas gear :)

At my age...there aint no time to sit back, so we are back in the saddle, me and Eki Hondo

It don't mean nothing, it don't pay the bills, and it certainly ain't gonna stimulate the economy but itz what Eki and I do, so we left at 4:30 a.m. with cold, but tolerable temps for what we hoped would be a Trans-Iowa kick-off HONDO work-out (and/or about 8 hours on THE ROAD), but Eki's pedal broke about 30 miles into it and so we had to settle for a little 5+ hour effort. Of course riding with one pedal afforded Eki a relatively "stout" effort...It was probably for the best as I am scheduled to take "off-spring" winter camping today, leaving in one hour...

Finally, mercifully the end comes...Part III of the Arrowhead Chronicles...Scroll down for Parts II and I respectively...

"If I gave up teaching, I would have no time at all for writing."

Joseph Heller



Dear Readers: The author admits to being caught in a self-destructive redundant trap of which there is little hope for escape…Read on with the comforting knowledge that it will all soon end!!!

Pre-Therapy Session # 3
Freudian therapist discussing case with contemporary, that is a devotee of Erikson, in a Caribou Coffee Shop located next to the therapist’s office in a suburban strip mall [Note there are faux caribou antlers on the wall to enhance the ambiance]—

Freudian therapist: “…mentally, he is a child, essentially a self-exiled victim of his own impulsive id. He cares only for the here and now and never considers or even disregards all consequences of his actions. Hence the degree to which he can cheerfully withstand extreme chapping within the nether area.”

Devotee of Erikson: “Sounds like a classic case of ego-integrity versus despair and stagnation. How intriguing! Has he any interests other than cycling? Can he read? What kind of literature does the patient read; fiction or nonfiction?” I have found that one can ascertain some degree of access into a tormented mind by an examination of what the patient finds interesting or compelling...

Freudian therapist: “He does read…Interestingly, I think, in part to garner favorable attention from me, perhaps in the hopes of securing a discount on my consult fee, currently he is ardently working his way through Freud’s classic and my favorite, "Mitteilungen der österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften" (loose translation: “An Academic Study of The Testicles of Eels”), but otherwise he finds great contentment and enlightenment in reading the R.L. Stine Goosebumps Series, copies of old MAD magazines, and old Woody Allen essays from the 1970s.

Part III of the therapy sessions—

Secretary to therapist over the intercom: “Doctor, he is here. Just so you know, he has that well worn copy of Freud’s classic, ‘Mitteilungen der österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften’ under his arm. Oh yeah and he’s good to go for ten more sessions, so milk it out, we need the money… [Aging amateur cyclist shuffles in and lies down on the couch].

Freudian therapist: “How are you? How are you sleeping? Are there any changes regarding the tormented, guilt-ridden, tepee-themed dream scenario in which your friends are caught forever within the bonds of Hell Fire and Eternal Damnation?”

Aging amateur cyclist suffering from bouts of both dementia and self-doubt: “Hey Doc. Well, I guess I could say that things are progressing towards some kind of closure, as a matter-of-fact I have begun to experience a new, even more sinister dream. It usually occurs in the evening, after I have worked through a chapter or two of ‘Mitteilungen der österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften’ which by the way is great stuff. I can see why you love it! Wow! Freud was such a genius!! I would have loved to have partied with that guy!!!”

Freudian therapist (unimpressed): “Tell me about this new dream? You know of course that I have to charge you the regular fee despite your reading Freud's landmark dissertation on the sex life of captive male eels, plus don’t worry about the money, as you are covered by Blue Cross/Blue Shield.”

Aging amateur cyclist suffering from bouts of both dementia and self-doubt: ”Telling me not to worry about my Blue Cross/Blue Shield coverage ranks up there with Bush telling us about all those scary Iraqi WMDs pointed at us or McCain telling us that the economic fundamentals in the USA are sound. Or Columbus telling the locals, "no worries, I come in peace and I won't be staying long." They didn’t even want to pay for my ambulance ride last year after the Cable Classic crash, where my head violently slammed into…”

Freudian therapist (pressing forward, exasperated): “The dream!!The dream!!!...Stay focused, what about the new dream?”

Aging amateur cyclist suffering from bouts of both dementia and self-doubt (sheepishly): ”The new dream is very strange, intensely reflective, and almost cryptic involving both you and me and our expensive conversations. It always starts the same, that is, with me hunched over a lap-top computer pecking out an entry on my modest little amateur cycling website. Somehow I am cognizant of being frustrated because I cannot generate any witty euphemisms directed against rival protagonists or even anecdotes related to flawed personal eccentricities. I understand that the effort is, of course, an attempt to amuse my readership by telling a good story about the 2009 Arrowhead 135. I want to do a good job, because I love the race and I want to convey to the readers both my genuine appreciation for the many efforts of the race organizers and volunteers coupled with my fondness for the other racers. I also feel trapped because I have come so far with the therapist theme and yet there seems no way to end the thing. As the dream progresses, I am finally forced to admit to myself that it is all a terrible mistake. The whole Freud psychoanalytical thing is a disaster! Itz silly!! Itz not working, itz too contrived!!! And most of all itz not funny!!!!...The dream finally concludes with the realization that carefully planned and executed adventures are exceedingly self-fulfilling but make for boring public post-race commentary…

Freudian therapist (excitingly sensing a major break through in the case): “Yes, Yes, Yes!!! What do you think the dream means?”

Aging amateur cyclist suffering from bouts of both dementia and self-doubt (disgusted): “Isn’t that why I am paying you the big bucks?”

Freudian therapist (annoyed): “Tell me what you think this new dream means? Tell me!”

Aging amateur cyclist suffering from bouts of both dementia and self-doubt (reluctantly): “In the dream, I think I come to realize that I really don’t have anything extraordinarily witty or amusing to pen for 2009 Arrowhead Race Recap because the Surly with the cantilever brakes worked great, I was well practiced and fit, and I had all the gear, food, and fluids that I needed to pull it off without any foreseen problems getting in the way. At the start and for the majority of the first half of the race I shamelessly pulled off of the stronger Dave Pramann and subsequently speedy Lance Andre after he caught me a couple hours out from the halfway cabin. Although I felt strong, happy, and confident of a top four or five finish heading into the halfway point, I did have one faulty 12 fl. oz. bottle leak out on me [leading me to profit from an unforeseen “hinge factor” that by definition benefited me in the end result]. However, an exceedingly powerful dryer at the half-way cabin luckily fixed that minor problem. And also ironically forced me to stay longer (and thus gain significantly more rest) than the front runners, which in a twisted-sort of Kafka-esque absurd turn of events put me in a better position to finish the race ahead of both Lance and Dave. In other words, I am convinced that the leaking bottle lead to the following personal advantages [aka “the hinge factor”]: 1). The leaking bottle forced me to contemplate staying longer than I wanted to at the halfway cabin causing me to abandon my committed plan to leave after only a fifteen minute break. Subsequently during the involuntary break of nearly sixty minutes, I totally rehydrated and consumed thousands of calories, as well as to ascertain successfully that an electric dryer was indeed available for use; 2.) So given the availability of a dryer, the leaky bottle also compelled me to undress from my damp clothing (some gear wet from manly sweat, some from the leaky bottle, some wet from both sources) and to thoroughly dry all of it. The result, of which upon redressing, had a dynamic euphoric/ revitalizing effect on me, and causing my spirits to soar as anyone that has put on “dryer-hot” gear can empathize to. Thus, I left the cabin renewed and strong and my optimism continued to swell when I saw that the front runners were walking many of the hills; 3.) In addition, the delay at the cabin put me in fourth place among the front runners which seems counterintuitive in terms of tactical advantage, but it afforded me a much more packed down and substantial trail from which to follow the leaders, and most importantly; 4.) Had I been with or near Dave and/or Lance, given my disposition and sense of teamwork, I am fairly sure that I would have bivied with them in the Tepee of Despair, but since I came by after they had already set up their own little personal dens of torment, I was open to exercise free will and to move on towards Terry Brannick, (who had been third until the top two cracked, with just some 20 miles or so from the end-point and most of that being flat fast trail) and ultimately the finish line. So there you have it, Doc!!!

I went to the Arrowhead to race, there is no doubt about that, and I had a good finish. Yet, the upstart of it all is that I pretty much lucked out as Lance Andre and Dave Pramann were both much faster than me and probably faster than Terry as well, but they heroically wore themselves out just a little bit too soon. They did what leaders are suppose to do...they lead the way, pushing the whole first 112 miles with Pramann doing the most of the work at the front, but Lance was right there on his heels. I have always admired the guyz that go for it ("Damn the torpedoes...full speed ahead") and I fully understand and applaud their motives and had I been able to I am sure that I would have been right there with them...Actually, I have even more respect for Dave Pramann now as a Champion cyclist and first-rate humanist after this most recent race result. I also was proud of the way Lance conducted himself afterwards as well...To my way of thinking, taking the DQ hit does not diminish his outstanding effort in anyway. Furthermore, I am convinced that the two of them could have vied for the course record had we not gotten the freshly fallen snow on Sunday night. Of course there is always next year!!! So am I cured, Doctor? Does the admission that I have really nothing astonishing to report absolve me from my commitment to this effort at writing within the psychoanalytical genre? Can I finally move on?? Am I well, am I finally normal??? Please Doctor, Please…”

Secretary on intercom: “Doctor, your next appointment is here.”

Freudian therapist: “I am afraid that is all we have time for today, but we are making head way…see my secretary on your way out…”

The end……….

Inside the mind of a truly disturbed cyclist. Part II of the 2009 Arrowhead Transcripts from the clinically insane and his Dr.

Dear Readers: Below is the second transcribed conversation between the Freudian Therapist and his greatest challenge: _________________________________________________________________
Pre-Therapy Session # 2
Freudian therapist discussing case with his partners, a Jungian veterinarian and an existentialistic podiatrist (of which he shares office space with in a suburban strip mall): “He seems so fragmented, so confused, so disassociated from reality…but his family and students say that he is always that way. In any event, I think I have finally met the case that can get me published in the APA! Have both of you worked with him in the past?”

Jungian veterinarian: “Yes…I know him. At this point, is he danger to himself, his students, or any of his pets? Have you discussed his strange interactions with the family’s pet gecko? In my exchanges with him, the gecko seemed to dominate his discombobulated mind. I determined that he felt intellectually inferior to the gecko and thus resented its place within the family dynamic. In the dream, did he mention buffaloes within the context of his tipi obsession? Or did he mention the French Revolution or Merlin of antiquity, for these are common themes with him? I see the tipi fixation as a metaphor for his disharmony with nature.”

Existentialistic podiatrist: "In my work with him, I was struck by his decidedly small-man complex. He does have remarkably small feet. In that way, I think he empathizes with Napoleon. Perhaps the tipi fixation comes from his sense of being forever a part or marginal player? Very strange case, there can be no doubt….”

Freudian therapist: "Yes, he is a complicated bundle of neurons. This is the case to win me the status I so deserve among my peers! Perhaps Hollywood will make a movie out of my work with him. They could call it A Pathetic Mind and star Russell Crowe as me, the therapist, Ed Harris, as the veterinarian, and Jennifer Connelly as the podiatrist, and starring Theodore Kaczynski as the aging mentally ill cyclist."

Therapy session #2
Secretary to therapist over the intercom: “Doctor, he is here. I checked on his insurance. He is good to go for twelve sessions…[Aging amateur cyclist shuffles in and lays down on the couch].

Freudian therapist: “How are you doing today? Where were we? Oh yes, you were going to start at the beginning. That is, the beginning of the Arrowhead 135. Tell me about this event. Were you able to enjoy healthy social intercourse with the other competitors? Did you use some of the coping mechanisms we worked on?”

Aging amateur cyclist suffering from bouts of both dementia and self-doubt: “Thank you sir, I am a bit better as I have been taking large daily doses of organic grain-based libations, which seem to calm my frayed nerves a bit. The pre-race festivities were great as I was able to see many old and fond acquaintances including Rick Mangan and Dave Simons—Simons is a young Jedi with a great future in intergalactic cycling events, two of my all time favorites from North Dakota, both valiantly fought with the Duke of Wellington at Waterloo; Lindsay Gauld—tantamount to Yoda and his friend Ian from Winnipeg. These boyz put on the Red Ass 300, plus they offer just about as great a company as a guy could wish for, Lindsay beat Bannister for the first man to run a 4 four minute mile; Josh Peterson and Dave Pramann, two gifted riders and men of high moral standing in their respective communities, both have developed a refined taste for aged Irish whiskey, and both rode with King Author of Round Table fame; Mike Remer of Salsa Bicycles. He helped to defeat Hannibal in the Alps while riding a Salsa single-speed; Dave Gray and his way cool Dad. Gray is the inventor of the Pugsley, wing man to Richard the Lion Hearted, and his father regularly dines with Rasputin; Pierre & Cheryl Ostor, they made it ALL happen, Peirre was close personal friends with Robespierre and Jean Paul Marat ; Don Clark (aka Gear Nazi); Jim Grijalva, a true intellectual who is making a career out of trying to assist others in matters of great complexity of which I am uncertain; Pat White (bike wizard extraordinaire and personal bike mechanic to Eddy Merckx); Pat Susnik, Jim Reed, Chris Finch, and A.H. rookies Cousin J, John Kurth, and Mike Stattelman all top notch men, proud Duluthians, and all active participants at the 1968 Summer of Love held in the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood of San Francisco!!!; Terry Brannick, a samurai ninja warrior and early suitor of Catherine the Great and his lovely lady friend from Romania; Greg Ames, a very impressive young pilot from ND with a future that is bright in enduro-cycling; Chuck Linder, the Northern Terror from Warroad and member of the inner circle of Chuck Norris' entourage; Bill Shand from way up North in Canada, fought with Crazy Horse at Little Big Horn; Ken Krueger, the Perpetual Motion Machine; Steven Moulds, a soft spoken ND sugar beet farmer with resolve not unlike that of hardened steel; Lance Andre, founder of the Triple D, force to be reckoned with on any race course, and samurai ninja with Jedi leanings, and several others that escape my memory. I also reconnected with several of the crazy running crowd including John Storkamp. Although, I have found that it is not a good idea to spend too much time with the runners or skiers as their fate is usually not good. There is an aura about them that is not unlike the feeling one senses that cattle may feel as they make their way up the slaughterhouse ramp. In any event, I love the positive vibe of pre-race informational meetings and this year’s was especially cool because of having Mike Curiak in attendance. Mr. Curiak is well known among cycling enduro-freaks as being the record holder of many amazing cycling feats of great distance, including the Alaskan and Yukon Classics and the Great Divide Race.”

Freudian therapist: “Were you nice to Mr. Curiak? Did you act appropriately? As you may recall, in past sessions we were able to work through some of your anti-social behaviors in terms of dealing with guyz that have way more testosterone than you.”

Aging amateur cyclist suffering from bouts of both dementia and self-doubt: “Well I must admit that at first I was hoping that he would be obscenely cocky or elitist or at least have bad teeth or a lisp or something a lesser guy could use to bring him down a peg or two. But I remembered our work and I remembered that I should not try to demean or bring quality people down to my level. So after a few seconds, I resigned myself to the fact that he was not only a great cyclist and man of adventure, but also a really nice guy. He gave an inspiring slide-show on his arctic travels and upon completion generously gave himself to the group, answering questions and listening to our little stories as well. I must say that I was very impressed with Mike Curiak as I am with all the guyz that finish the Arrowhead.”

Freudian therapist: “See your money is well spent here! What else, tell me about the start of the race. But remember, pay attention!...this is big, really big...REMEMBER that you are at your best when you are with people like the ones you have just described to me...”

Secretary on intercom: “Doctor, your next appointment is here.”

Aging amateur cyclist suffering from bouts of both dementia and self-doubt:”What? You gotta be kidding me! I just got here! How much did this cost me!”

Freudian therapist: “I am afraid that is all we have time for today. I will see you in two days. In the mean time, stay away from tipis and try to refrain from crepes in the early mornings. On your next visit we will discuss the first half of the race.”

A psychological thriller with the Arrowhead as the backdrop. Part I

2009 Arrowhead Race Muse.

Dear Readers: A special treat, a glimpse into a conversation between a twisted, tormented mind and the mental health professional charged with its healing. The names have been changed to protect the innocent, but the transcripts are otherwise unabridged. Look forward to several installments…

Therapy Session #1:

Highly paid professional Freudian therapist with a bald head and a little goatee, “I trust your insurance will pay for this? Have you discussed payment with my secretary? Hold on just for a minute, make yourself comfortable on the couch. Lay back and relax, let yourself go. Relax…Now tell me about these dreams or visions that you have been experiencing since that silly Arrowhead race you went to up north, Remember, I told you not to go. And can you tell me why these fantasies cause you so much stressful anxiety?”

Aging amateur cyclist suffering from bouts of both dementia and self-doubt, “Well, Doc, I aint well. To this day the surreal vision of those two gaunt, ghastly men, encompassed in putrid smoke while the mournful Keepers of Hades’ eternal fire look on hinders my slumber and disturbs my normally pleasant disposition. In this oppressive reverie, it is the sight of my hero Dave Praminn crumpled on a tipi floor that haunts me most. I am especially confounded as to the state of this once indomitable figure and Arrowhead’s most noblest figure, as he lays mummified within a hair’s breath of the inferno of infinite damnation, his once strong physique in anguished and cramped repose, uncomplaining, but his forlorn eyes tell the story of trials and tribulations of which only the survivors, the chasers of the aforementioned can contemplate. As the dream progressives, for it is always the same, I spy a hideous Gollum-like creature opposite Praminn convulsing in a semi-fetal position, whimpering for nourishment and a bit of warmth, as a pair of manly footwear roasts on the fire-pit of doom adding to the steamy and thick clouds of choking smoke that gathers within the tight confines of this conical hell on earth. Yet upon closer inspection it is the once proud and zealous Lance Ander that lies before me, and it is his hi-tech winter boots that are roasting! Mr. Ander, a young, healthy man that just a few hours before was brandishing his sporty cycle across the frozen barrens with a sense of entitlement that was both adamant and confident. By all accounts he was a man on a mission, the man perhaps that could pry the title of “Arrowhead Champion,” from the wily Praminn. Now, here in this tipi of death and transformation, he is reduced to but a bag of wasted bones, a mere shell of his former grandeur…What has become of these vanguards of honor, integrity, and sportsmanship? Physical fortitude, anatomical structures, kinesthetic compliance all exhausted or useless due to their ultimate sacrifice so that others, less talented ones, may ride these hard won tracks to Tower and the House of Sinful Wagering! Still in the trance, I contemplate their fate—surely in the near future Lucifer will allow them safe passage from this place of which deadly pestilence, loneliness, and desperate cold reigns supreme. Certainly the Angel of Darkness will grant respite to these most innocent and compassionate of mortals and free them from this tipi of grim trepidation and eternal suffering? And what of the fate of the Keepers themselves? Their only crime is that of the Good Samaritan! Why must they be sentenced to such grisly duty? Why must they languish and lament in such a hideous environment? Will Beelzebub sentence these two gentle volunteers to an eternity of life in this tipi of despair? It is at this point that I usually awake sweating and anxious…hoping that it was just a bad dream.”

Highly paid professional Freudian therapist with a bald head and a little goatee, “A tipi, like the kind in Dance With Wolves? Your friends are trapped by the devil in a tipi. Very interesting. Are you trapped as well? What I sense is a feeling of deep psychological, even pathological guilt. Are you feeling guilty? Perhaps it is best to start from the beginning. This may take some time, many sessions. Are you sure your insurance premiums are paid up? Before you leave today make sure and see my secretary."

Aging amateur cyclist suffering from bouts of both dementia and self-doubt, “How many sessions? Guilty? May be a little, although I associate guilt with the moral high ground, so I doubt it is guilt, but maybe a tinge of culpability. After all Praminn broke trail the whole way. And Lance was riding well “LANCE-like.” Plus in the dream, it is as if I am viewing the scene from afar. I peer in, the Keeper says, ‘turn off your light for there is no light here.” Praminn mutters to me. ‘Leave now before it is too late.’ As far as my insurance premiums being up-to-date…Yep, at least I think so; my wife takes care of all that kind of stuff. But I do help out some at home; I shovel snow, stuff like that, after I get my biking in of course.”

Highly paid professional Freudian therapist with a bald head and a little goatee, “During the next of many sessions, I will have you tell me about the beginnings of this silly race; this Arrowhead affair. Again I am afraid that we have a good deal of complex psychological issues to work through; did you say you are with Blue Shield/Blue Cross?”

Aging amateur cyclist suffering from bouts of both dementia and self-doubt, “What! We are out of time already? Don't I still have a few minutes?…We all met up in International Falls, the epicenter of something or another, I think may be the world’s focal point for car battery testing. The boyz from North Dakota were kind enough to meet me at the end point which was a big modern House of Sinful Wagering, where mostly old, even ancient people smoke cigs and automatically with a sense of desolate fatalism put their shrinking savings into slot machines. From the finish Dave, Rick and I ventured northward to the start which is at a Holiday Inn in International Falls."

Secretary on intercom: “Doctor, your next appointment is here.”

Highly paid professional Freudian therapist with a bald head and a little goatee, “Very well, we have made some head way. But we have a long road ahead of us. See my secretary, I think I will need to see you again in a day or two. In the mean time stay away from tipis and check with your wife about those insurance premiums."

Gear Report Card while itz still burned in my fragile mind

Craft base layer top A+ ; Craft top XC jacket C (did not breathe as advertised); Wool tights with chamois C (fabric worked great, chamois was not gentle nor empathic, chapping occurred...); Craft wind-proof pants A+ ; Dachstein Wool socks A+; Surly wool cycling socks A+; Lake boots B+ (An "A" during the day, but my feet got real cold at night with 17 below, but thatz sans neoprene overboots); Kevin Kinney's and Granite Gear Mitts both earn As, I used the Vulpine mitts (made right here in Duluth, Minnesota) during the first half and the Granite Gear mitts for the second half...both worked as advertised!; Old school Prolog wool jersey modified for bladder in the back by Kevin Kinney and front pockets sewed by Tailor Modifications here in Duluth, Minnesota, worked great A+ (although a water bottle full of Ensure leaked and soaked me during the first half, so the water bottle gets an F); Old school heavy wool hat A+ repaired by Ann Sanford, my neighbor here in Duluth, Minnesota; Surly Pugsley A++ designed by Dave Gray of Minnesota [I am sure that I could have finished it on my trusty Gunnar (built in Wisconsin) but it would have taken a lot longer]. Patagonia Ninja Warrior top with built in face mask A+++ (I always say itz the best piece of gear that I own, of course they don't make it anymore...so it goes). More notes on gear once my head thaws...

"Jokerman" By Bob Dylan about sums up my 22 hours on the Arrowhead Trail…I got the song stuck in my head and it played on and on and on and it was good…We danced all night “flying high by the light of the moon” and it was amazing…Brannick and I lucked out while the undisputed hero was Brave Heart Pramann, who broke a lung-busting trail for 112 miles, but more on that in the full recap. Conditional, contexual, and setting aspects were perfect from which to craft an epic recap with many twists and turns coupled with several characters of intrigue that would make Dostoevsky smile with the possibilities, including Sir Lancelot, Brannick, Lindsay, Curiak, etc…So look forward to a fully embellished report in a week or so…

"Standing on the water, casting your bread. While the eyes of the idol with the iron head are glowing. Distant ships sailing into the mist. You were born with a snake in both of your fists while a hurricane was blowing. Freedom just around the corner for you. But with truth so far off, what good will it do. Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune. Bird fly high by the light of the moon. Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman.
So swiftly the sun sets in the sky. You rise up and say goodbye to no one. Fools rush in where angels fear to tread. Both of their futures, so full of dread, you don't show one. Shedding off one more layer of skin. Keeping one step ahead of the persecutor within. Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune. Bird fly high by the light of the moon. Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman. You're a man of the mountain, you can walk on the clouds. Manipulator of crowds, you're a dream twister. You're going to Sodom and Gomorrah. But what do you care ? Ain't nobody there would want marry your sister. Friend to the martyr, a friend to the woman of shame. You look into the fiery furnace, see the rich man without any name. Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune. Bird fly high by the light of the moon. Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman.
Well, the Book of Leviticus and Deuteronomy. The law of the jungle and the sea are your only teachers. In the smoke of the twilight on a milk-white steed. Michelangeo indeed could've carved out your features. Resting in the fields, far from the turbulent space. Half asleep near the stars with a small dog licking your face. Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune. Bird fly high by the light of the moonOh, oh, oh, Jokerman. Well, the False-hearted judges dying in the webs that they spin. Only a matter of time 'til the night comes stepping in. Rifleman's stalking the sick and the lame. Preacherman seeks the same, who'll get there first is uncertain. Nightsticks and water cannons, tear gas, padlocks. Molotow cocktails and rocks behind every curtain. . Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune. Bird fly high by the light of the moon. Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman. It's a shadowy world, skies are slippery gray. A woman just gave birth to a prince today and dressed him in scarlet. He'll put the priest in his pocket, put the blade to the heat. Take the motherless children off the street. And place them at the feet of a harlot. Oh, Jokerman, you know what he wants. Oh, Jokerman, you don't show any response. Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune. Bird fly high by the light of the moonOh, oh, oh, Jokerman.
WOW thatz a great song....and the Arrowhead is a really great race :)