My fellow Americans ...

I felt a twinge of guilt when I got home Wednesday night. All the online news sites were full of coverage of the State of the Union address. Millions of “serious” adults had, no doubt, devoted the evening to watching Obama’s speech.

I, on the other hand, did what I usually do. I went and played in the woods on a fat bike. Didn’t give the big speech a second thought, really.

It’s not that I don’t care. I just don’t need the dog-and-pony show of a constitutionally mandated annual address to know the state of the union—it’s fucked up. And I didn’t need to hear the Big Man say anything to feel reassured that we’re in better hands than we were for eight years. I still think he’ll steer us onto the right course. But I have my own course to steer.

The stuffed suits in D.C. can have the State of the Union address. I can read about it in the New York Times.

I felt it was my duty to confirm the State of Blue Dot. And I slept better knowing what a fine state that is.

Phresh phinger photo

Huber gets in on the action.

(This is the thanks I get for taking
the trouble to ride with one hand
while trying to capture a warm-and-fuzzy,
family friendly moment.)

Let’s face it

A little carnage is what makes mountain biking so exciting. It's not as if we want to crash, but knowing we might adds spice to tricky moves or high-speed turns and descents. And when we really think about it, most of us have to admit we secretly enjoy knowing people think we’re either brave or crazy for riding singletrack that they wouldn’t hike.

And, like the guy in today’s photo, let’s face it: Once we know our friends are OK, we usually get a laugh out of their falls. Hell, it’s probably because we know they’re OK. Laughter is often a sign of the hysterical relief one feels after nearly getting creamed.

If we manage to get a photo of the crash and our friend comes out … well, less than permanently crippled, then everyone wins. That’s why I’m sometimes accused of setting up to shoot a picture in a spot where someone could easily take a header. The way I see it, if you’re gonna fall, you might as well do it when we have a chance to save the evidence, ya know? You’d think friends would understand and try to cooperate once in awhile. But noooooooo.

My friend Ken crashed and burned a few days ago. Separated his shoulder, destroyed his helmet, the whole bit. But not on the trail. He did it a block from my house while riding over so we could carpool to the trailhead.

Now he’s out a helmet and a fat ER bill, he's facing surgery, and he doesn’t even have a gnarly photo or a wild story to tell. Well, OK, he can make up a good story.

“Yeah, uh, I was shooting down this steep descent when I bunny-hopped a big log and this moose … no, uh, this bear ran right in front of me …”

Heal up, Ken. The season is short.