Horrific porch death

Murder

Whoa. Now that's a f*cking circle of life if I've ever seen one.

Am I right? Or are you too busy trying not to throw up? I know I am.

And I had to clean that shit up.

Should I have titled this post "Horrific porch death" or "Horrific porch murder"?

You tell me.

As you get a hold of yourselves, I'll give some background. We have three cats: Large, medium, and small. Also known as Peanut, Sugar, and Honey.

Honey is the athletic, adventurous one of the bunch. Today, she caught up with our dog Cricket for confirmed animal kills. The score is now tied at one.

This gruesome struggle for life - or lack thereof - took place approximately 10 feet away from my desk, where I was busy working diligently.

I followed Honey around later in the day and saw how she hunts. She hangs on our side porch, watching and waiting. When she feels like a bird is most vulnerable, she launches off the porch, takes a hop or two, and is on top of a bird in mere seconds.

Not sure how to feel about this.

But as a guy I work with said today, "Points for separated limbs."

Dead people in the river!

I see dead people

Dearest Asheville:

As if the unbelievable free music last night - the final 2014 Downtown After 5 for 2014 - wasn't enough for this weekend, now we're going after a world record.

All I can say is: OUTSTANDING! We need 635 people linked together, floating on tubes to break the record. I'm thinking we're going to go over the 1,000 mark. The river is going to be littered with zombies.

Awesome.

Though I'm still in a sling and cannot participate, I'll be routing for us. I have a feeling we're going to pull it off.

Why? Because on any Saturday in the summer, there are between 400 to 700 people floating on the French Broad River. All we need to do is get those folks to join up.

Let's do this AVL!

The number one way to become a real cyclist

All smiles

...before the pain blocker wore off

Apparently, you're not a real cyclist until you've destroyed your shoulder.

Check.

In fact, as of Friday, September 6th, I broke my first bone! Now that I live in an area quickly becoming the new U.S. hotbed for mountain biking, it was hilarious to note the lack of reaction to the complete destruction of my shoulder - not just from other riders, but from all my healthcare providers as well.

My favorite nonresponse happened at the urgent care center right after my accident. I told the Physician's Assistant that I had seen a bunch of Patrick Swayze movies where he - or one of his friends - pops his shoulder right back into place.

"It looks really easy," I said. "I'll stand facing the wall, and then you smash my shoulder against it. Done and done."

She lifted my shirt, took a very quick look, and then laughed.

"That's not happening," she said. "This is series three. All your tendons are disconnected."

"No Patrick Swayze?"

"No Patrick Swayze."

So now I'm a real cyclist, but not a Patrick-Swayze-ripped-body-cool-hair real cyclist. Maybe that's just setting the bar too high.

Before we close out, I have to give huge props to my current, noncelebrity wife, Barb. She's been wonderful.

Except for that moment at 4 a.m. last night when I heard her mumble, "This is going to be fun."

That wasn't helpful. Speaking of not being helpful, where the hell is my celebrity girlfriend Rihanna when I need her? I'm starting to think about breaking up with her.

Although maybe I shouldn't be so rash. She's out on tour, so she's really busy. Or maybe she's waiting until I'm done smelling like surgery.

Holy wipeout!

Right shoulder, wrong

After working diligently all day yesterday, I hopped on my bike late in the afternoon. I climbed a wonderful 1,300-foot peak called Spivey Mountain. As I've mentioned before, the ride takes 20 minutes to go up and two minutes to come down.

Yesterday, I was on pace to make it down in about 1:45. But in the end, it took more like 15 minutes.

I've ridden Spivey about 10 times now. Unfortunately, that familiarity made me think I could handle a wicked turn at about 31 mph. Nope. I came all the way across the road, skidded into a ditch, hit a two-foot embankment and flipped through the air.

Get on you bikes and... oof!

See the arrow? My speed drops for the left-hand turn, then I wipeout on the sharp right-hand turn. Everything after that is the drive home.

Luckily, my awesome wife bought me one of the best helmets out there, so even though I clearly landed on my head, my brain is fine. So even though I landed on my head, my brain is fine. So even though... uh oh.

My new headshot!

My right shoulder, however, is a grade-three mess. I guess I'll need surgery. Though I'm still hoping a miracle worker will shove it back into the socket.

After returning from urgent care, I sent a text to my friend, neighbor, and bike sensei, Jason.

All I said was: "I suck."

He was over five minutes later to check in on me. Jason was already aware of what happened, so it was great to talk about the details with an expert.

"Yeah, you came into that turn too hot," my sensei told me.

That's for sure.

Ironically, 48 hours prior to my wipeout, Jason was out riding in Pisgah Forest - an area many are describing as the new mountain bike mecca of the U.S. - when one of his friends went down hard. Dude broke his clavicle.

Yikes.

Big shout out to my new friend Jerry for refusing to let me ride out of there, throwing my bike in the back of his pickup and driving me home. He even wanted to take me to the hospital. 

That's what most people are like around here. They're not in a hurry, so they have time to help others.

The people are just one reason I love it here so much. Obviously, I also love the mountains. And I still love Spivey Mountain. I'll be returning soon, perhaps with a little humility, but for sure with 100 percent functioning brakes. We're not going to talk about that right now.

The Inaugural Madeline Avenue Bike Parade!

Get on your bikes and ride!

Holy cow! What a wonderful time the first Madeline Avenue Bike Parade (MABP) was! Even though my celebrity girlfriend Rihanna wasn't there.

While planning the MABP, my current, non-celebrity wife and I started coming up with perfect scenarios in our heads. Barb's big dream was that we would formally close the street. You know, making the parade safe and all that jazz.

Ha! Reach for the stars baby!

...Now grab that end of the table and help me move it into the street.

Spring's bike has a cheeseburger ding-ding!

My big idea was going to be an awesome opening ceremony - complete with a wonderful speech and a crowd-pleasing ribbon cutting. It didn't happen. Because as soon as we blocked off the street, Eli took off like he'd been shot out of a cannon. 

For about 10 seconds. Then he wiped out.

"Well, we got that over with nice and early," my friend Matt said.

Funny because it's true. Although, probably not so much if you're Eli's parents.

Spring and her cheesy burger bell

As someone who's a little too into biking, I've always admired those people who go the extra mile and get a little bell to let people know they're coming.

When flying down narrow trails or giant downhills, I've recently taken to just yelling, "Coming through!" a few times. 

When your vision is a bouncy mess because you're speed down a trail full of rocks, tree roots, and drop-offs, it seems a lot easier to just yell "Here I come!" than slam into a tree to slow down.

Am I right? Yes. I am.

Lookie-Lou Avenue

You can't have a parade without a crowd. And this was an awesome one.

It's magical

We even had wizards!

Tyler, daughter, Molly,

and the former President of Collyforni

Again, I'd like to thank everyone who participated. Riding a bike is a pretty important thing, especially these days. If we can encourage each other to ride our bikes as much as we can - instead of hopping in a car - we're headed in the right direction.

Even when it's uphill.

Biking is delicious