Crawlin'

There is no better way to spend a Friday night

than hanging out with bike friends.

 You can play in traffic on your way to bars ...

ride in the dark without a light ...

 and flip off your friends.  A lot.

Party hard. Ride home.

Beach Monkee

Anchorage is in the throes of breakup. (That's what most people refer to as "spring.")

Snow is melting everywhere, and gradually exposing more and more mud and thawing dog shit. But does the Bike Monkee show solidarity and suffer through it with the rest of us? Noooooooooo.

He and Jules ran off to become beach bums and rub it in by sending me a flip-off pic from Edisto Beach, S.C., for the Fabulous Finger Gallery.

At least he wore that stylish hat!

Gettin' high on the Chugach

Darcy and Ryan keep the freak flag flying.

The winter trails are cooking off in the sun and warm, daytime temps, so this is probably the last fat-bike finger flip of the season. Fortunately, it comes from a paceline of Fatback riders rolling down Wolverine on Sunday, because that's a nice way to close out a winter of snow riding.

Even if I did have to pedal my fat ass uphill for two hours to get all the way up there.

A few intrepid folks are already dusting off the road bikes and starting to riding with an extra 100 pounds of tire pressure. I have to admit, I've caught myself leering at the plastic bike a little more often recently.

My first major road outings are probably three weeks away, and that's assuming I survive a move across town and the completion of a major project at work.

I always sort of dread the end of fat season, but I'm starting to feel the need for speed.

Festive Fingers

Deb and the twins wish you a Merry Christmas.
(The dogs do, too.)

It's a tradition this time of year to send cards with family pictures on them, so what better way to create an official Bicycles & Icicles holiday card than to use a flip-off photo from a member of the dysfunctional family that makes up the regular readership of this blog?

As another year winds down, I'd like to say thanks to everyone who shared a fun ride, contributed to the Fabulous Finger Gallery, or killed time reading this silliness every week.

Whatever you're into this weekend, have a good holiday and safe travels. Especially when you're on two wheels.

Sunday services

Fabulous Fingersicles at -25 in Talkeetna

To everyone who got up offa that thing last week and started riding the Hillside singletrack, nice job. After a stressful week, I need to attend Sunday services at the Church of Bike, and holy crap, the trails were sweet. Thanks to some extra effort by guys like my friend Carl, even some of the "secret" trails such as Sith (shown at right) were full of tight, twisty goodness

Fortunately, we’re getting more snow tonight. Unfortunately, this storm could dump another six inches just before the holiday weekend, so we’re all going to have to get out there and groom the trails all over again. I promise to do my part.



The sanest way to deal with the retail hell of “Black Friday” is to stock up several days' worth of essentials now, stuff yourself on Thursday, then hit the trails on Friday while avoiding any building that contains a cash register. (Except for bars that serve post-ride beers.)


Thanks to Queen Bee and her “training camp” crew for today’s new entry into the Fabulous Finger Gallery. They spent more than four hours riding in temps down to -25F up by Talkeetna on Saturday. Stopping for a flip-off shot in such conditions is admirable, even if they couldn’t feel their hands well enough to be sure which fingers they were using.

Check back later this week for a possible update on a Frigid Bits event that just might be brewing for Saturday night. And in the mean time, have a fun and fattening Thanksgiving.

Get up offa that thing

The body of an alien in Area 51.

John Prine was right—it’s a big ol’ goofy world. Anchorage finally has enough snow to kick off fat-biking season, and my friend Deb the Crazy Cat Lady is sending me flip-off photos from trails where the weather is so warm, she can still smile after failing to make it through a stream.

She made it into the Fabulous Finger Gallery—again—but we get the last laugh, because she’s down there wearing shorts and riding in the woods where men are banjo-playing men, and the canoeists are nervous. Meanwhile, those of us in Alaska may be wearing a few extra layers, but the snowy trails are gettin’ sweet.

The only question is, where the hell is everybody? It seems like you can’t swing one of Deb’s dead cats in this town without hitting somebody who recently bought a fat bike, but the singletrack is shaping up slowly after snowstorms, because few people seem to be venturing out.

What the shit, people? The main advantage to having so many snow bikers in Anchorage is that when more of us hit the trails, they get buffed out faster. Hell, a few years ago it took at least a week for trails to get decent after a significant snow dump. The past couple of winters, while snow bikes were flying off the shelves like ugly underwear in Salt Lake City, the trails got so much fat-tire traffic they were routinely in great shape only a couple of days after a storm.

Are you having trouble accepting the arrival of winter? Are you spending your weekends watching football? Did you take up knitting? Have you been too busy watching that bitch Nancy Grace do drunken cow imitations on Dancing With the Stars?

OK, if it’s that last thing, do whatever you want. I have no use for you. Otherwise, dust off your fat bikes and go outside. It’s a big ol’ snowy world, and you're missing it.

Generation FU

What do you do if you're a bike rider who wants a spot in the Fabulous Finger Gallery but you happen to be chronologically challenged and have parents who don't want your face plastered on the interwebs next to your middle finger?

Well, you find a way. Ya do whatcha gotta do. You improvise and overcome. That's what's all about.

In other words, you find a way to flip the bird anonymously.

That's what this fine example of America's youth did on Missouri's Katy Trail earlier today. I expect more from her in the future, but for now her public image will remain intact. After all, one should probably be old enough to have a driver's license before openly joining the denizens of this dark corner of the Internet.

Know, young Mystery Girl, that we are proud of you. While the lost members of your generation are wasting their youth trolling malls and flipping the joysticks of video game systems, you're outside riding mountain bikes and flipping the bird at your elders. Good job.

We know who really owns the future.

Fall fingers

It's time for another installment of Fabulous Finger Gallery Fotos from people who are flying around with their bikes and having way more fun than I am. Damn them. I don't get a bike trip this fall. Fortunately, there's a plan simmering on the back burner for next year. Meanwhile, I'm living vicariously through friends with vacation time and air miles.

Our first new photo comes from Gina and Tony, who did the Big Flip-off atop Col du Galibier. That's the classic Tour de France climb where skinny people ride in thin air and slap Bicycles & Icicles stickers on the famous summit sign before giving the finger to the guy who was kind enough to send a sticker and give their vacation a purpose.

Without that sticker assignment, the whole thing would have simply been shallow, two-wheeled hedonism with no more meaning than a one night stand with a solid "10." You're freakin' welcome, Gina.

Next we have Rose and her crew, who are doing what October was made for—riding mountain bikes in southern Utah. There is only one thing that can lure me to that Mormon-infested state, and that's sunny, high-desert singletrack. That shit's so fun, I get a little bitter whenever I see pics of someone enjoying a vacation there while I watch leaves fall in Anchorage.

At least they sent a flip-off photo to take the edge off my jealousy. Thanks to Lori, Bev, Rose, Fixie Dave Nice and, of course, Dan, who managed to take the photo and still get his own finger in it. (That's what she said.)

Go ahead and soak up that sun, Rose, but remember: Tans are temporary. Winters seem to last forever.

Blistered fingers

When Queen Bee sent this fabulous finger foto from Kincaid Park, I was afraid these hardworking trailbuilders were flipping me off for not showing up to help work on the new singletrack. I've been too busy and distracted to show up even once, and that's shameful.

Fortunately, she said the sentiment was directed more toward a poacher or two who have ridden the trails before they were ready for tire treads, an act that's even more shameful. I'd be happy to add my own finger for any poachers who screw up trails that are under construction.

But to all the crews who have put in hours on the trails this summer, I offer a huge thank you. You're the people who make great new trails possible, and I hear nothing but promising descriptions of what has been happening at Kincaid all summer.

If you've swung a Pulaski or dragged a McLeod through the dirt even once this summer, pour yourself a cold beer and feel good about it.

Happy Finger Friday

It has been a busy week at Bicycles & Icicles, but what better way to end it than with two new entries in the Fabulous Finger Gallery? And fine additions they are.

The first comes from the guy Anchorage riders know as “Super Al” Mitchell (right) and his buddy Kim Kittredge during their 500-mile ride across Iowa in this summer’s 39th edition of the Register’s Annual Bicycle Ride Across Iowa. Most people refer to it as RAGBRAI. Super Al calls it “a frat party for grown-ups on bikes.”

Thanks for the pic, Al. Double thanks for shooting it before you ate corn on the cob through that mustache! And it should go without saying that we're also grateful you didn't show us what you did to earn those Mardi Gras beads.

Our second shot comes from Acadia National Park in Maine, and a repeat offender in the rogue’s gallery of finger flippers—my nephew Brendon, from Kansas City. I believe when we last saw Brendon, he was risking disciplinary measures by posing for flip-off pictures during a school trip to China. (Don’t blame me, I think he gets it from his mother’s side.)

Brendon heads off to college next week so I’ll be counting on a creative new shot from campus this fall. Good luck, Brendon. Have a great freshman year.

As for the rest of you hosers, have a great weekend. To help yourself remember how good you feel, just remember: you’re not riding the Soggy Bottom!

The Devil's in the Details

Oscar near Devil's Pass

There’s nothing like an overdue to trail ride to improve my outlook on life, so Saturday was a good day. Oscar the Grouch and I motored down to the Kenai Peninsula and then pedaled up to Devil’s Pass. My original plan was to ride all the way to Cooper Landing, but a one-way ride with the resulting car shuttle didn’t hold much appeal with only two riders, and the rest of our group chose to stay home and vaccum the rugs, or grout the tub, or some such shit.

That’s OK. By the time we finished the 10-mile climb and then tacked on an extra mile or two on the Resurrection Pass trail, I was satisfied, and my legs were feeling cooked after my biggest week of bike commuting in years. Aiming the front wheel downhill and enjoying the descent didn’t bother me at all.

The weather was dry and the ride was sweet. And when we got back to town, the tub grouters made me dinner, and we shot the shit over wine for a few hours.

In other news, today we have a fine new entry into the Fabulous Finger Gallery, courtesy of Dann and his buddy Matt, who flipped the bird during the recent OWL ride, a fund-raiser event in Omaha. Dann said 2,000 riders lit up their bikes and rolled through town for 16 miles. Sounds like a hoot. (Sorry, I couldn’t resist.) Thanks for the pic, Dann.

And in a sad bit of news, several teenage hikers taking part in a NOLS course were attacked and mauled by a brown bear in the wilderness northeast of Talkeetna this weekend. Two of them suffered life-threatening injuries. Keep ’em in your thoughts and wish them a full recovery.

When stuff like this happens, it doesn’t matter who is a hiker, runner or mountain biker. All of us who find our fun in Alaska’s woods and backcountry face the same danger. It could happen to any of us.

May they heal quickly, and grow old with a story to tell.

Fireweed Dominance

Leonard "Steel is Real" Fancher flips a Fireweed finger.

Damn, I have to say something nice about this guy. It pains me, but he earned it. My friend Leonard Fancher, who I crewed for in last year's Fireweed 400, returned to the race this year and not only placed third in the solo division, but finished in 28 hours, 12 minutes, which is about 3 hours faster than last year's time.

Leave it to Leonard to make sure the crew got back in time for plenty of sleep in the year I wasn't available to help. Nice work, Fancher! I'd be pretty pissed right now if you hadn't made time for a new entry in the Fabulous Finger Gallery.

Leonard's strong finish (on his trusty steel Waterford, no less) secured the top three spots for Backcountry Bicycles, with Erik Christensen finishing first, and Kristin Wolf taking second. And that's not second in the women's division, that's just flat-out second place with no asterisks or qualifiers.

That also made it a happy day for Janice at Tower Coaching, who trained all three racers.

Erik, Kristin and Leonard, you're all crazy. But amazing. Congratulations.

Happy Bird-flippin' Fourth

Happy Fourth of July, courtesy of Amber, Rose

and Carey, who celebrated their freedom
to let their Fabulous Fingers fly
on rainy Resurrection Pass.

Damn fine work, ladies.
You make me proud to be an American.

Something fishy's goin' on

We have another fresh photo for the Fabulous Finger Gallery, courtesy of Alaska Bike Girl. That's her on the right, smiling at the prospect of chowin' down on that big king salmon, which she and her friends caught last weekend while the rest of us were out riding singletrack.

Personally, I think pedaling over Johnson Pass was more fun than splashing around in the frigid waters of lower Cook Inlet that day but, come winter, Rose will still be eating a big, tasty stash of fish.

Desert Rats

Shortly after I posted last week's addition to the Fabulous Finger Gallery, I received the following message via e-mail from a Bicycles & Icicles reader named Tomasz Studziński:

"Don't you forget about guys out of Eastern Europe. Flip off procedure far away from home. Syrian Desert. Right on time."

In the annals of serial flinger flipping, I have never looked at my inbox to find a photo attached to the words "Syrian Desert." Nor have I ever seen two guys in more dire need of some fat bikes and a snowy stretch of singletrack on which to cool off.

Tomasz and his friends took this photo during a trip that started and ended in Adana, Turkey, and passed through Syria and Lebanon. They got the shot on their third day of pedaling straight ahead while crossing the desert.

They might not have felt like it at the time, but that's pretty badass, in my book.

Strong work, gentlemen.

Between a rock and a ...

Trivia question: What do I have in common with Lance Armstrong? Seven Tour de France victories? Nope. Dated Sheryl Crow? Nope. One nut? Nope. Admired by millions? Hell no. Hated by ... nevermind, I'll stop there.

The only thing I have in common with the winningest soon-to-be-(possibly)-indicted cyclist in the history of the world's greatest bike race is being flipped off by people all over the world. Hell, I bet I could even top Armstrong in the category of being flipped off in more countries than I've actually visited.

(Click the pic to see the larger version in all its glory.)

The latest, greatest addition to the World-famous Fabulous Finger Gallery is a stellar showing of disrespectful digits from a whole gaggle of mountaineers who were led into this mess by my friend Harter. That's him on the ground out front, during the crew's rock-climbing trip in Penticton, British Columbia.

Even with some conscientious objectors in the crowd, they managed to get 27 people to let it rip, and that's damn impressive. In fact, I think it's a flippin' record! This is the best mass flip-off since that international incident at Refugio Monte Bianco back in '09.

If you'll excuse me a minute, I think I have something in my eye.

Good job, Harter. And thank you, Bellingham climbers!

(Note: For those of you who are new to the Finger Gallery, don't forget to keep clicking "Older Posts" when you get to the bottom of the screen, because this thing has become a monster.)

Muddy mate

I'd like to thank to my man Ashley, aka lemmiwinks, for providing the latest piece of fine art to grace the Fabulous Finger Gallery. This shot comes from Down Under—lemmi’s home turf of Australia.

As lemmiwinks explained it, he's a “roadie by nature” who was recently given a free GT Outpost Trail steel frame (circa 1990s) that he built up using the parts he had lying around. Then he took it out out and trashed it in a race that raised funds for a rescue helicopter.

Looks a little slippery, eh? Here’s his description:

“As you can see it was wet and muddy. I still had mud in my ears after taking a shower. They called it off after four hours, I got two laps in, my teammate one. We weren't too devastated—the slipperiness was indescribable.

If there’s anything I love more than international submissions to the FFG, it’s mountain bikers with enough good humor to build up old frames and flog themselves against the terra.

Cheers, Ashley.

End of the road

This photo is what I love about the Fabulous Finger Gallery. Every time I think the movement has quietly died, a gem shows up in my inbox.

Our man Dylan here pedaled from Seattle to where the road ends at the southern tip of Argentina, and then he propped his camera atop his bicycle and flipped me off. That's style!

Dylan missed Anchorage during his trip, and he said Bicycles & Icicles was one of the online escapes that helped him cope with 130-degree heat in Paraguay. It's good to know a few pictures of beardsicles and snowy trails provided a few moments relief along the way.

Dylan, you capped an epic journey with an epic flip-off. Well played, sir. And congratulations on riding all the way to Tierra del Fuego.

Self-medicating

Worshiping at the house of the Sunday-morning flip-off.
Breakfast at Luce's Lodge last weekend.

My friend Heather accuses me of being full of shit when I blame my irritability on a lack of singletrack. Don't listen to her. This is a woman talks more trash (to me, anyway) than most pro wrestlers. She isn't sensitive to my needs.

My riding routine has been unsteady for weeks. By Tuesday night, I was about ready to rip doors off the kitchen cabinets over minor irritations while making dinner. That's a sure sign that I need to drop everything and go for a ride, so I announced that on Wednesday evening I would be occupied elsewhere.

When you've gotta go, you've gotta go.

A couple of winters ago, I was renting a bike in Wellington, New Zealand, so that I could get out for a couple of hours of sanity-restoring exercise. The shop guy recognized my symptoms. "You really need a ride, don't you?" he said. "I completely understand."

A few minutes later, he sent me out the door without taking a dime of my money for a deposit. He didn't even ask for my name or a credit card number. He simply handed me a bike, and told me to knock on the back door if I got back after the shop had closed for the day. He knew I could have pedaled away and never returned. He also knew I wouldn't.

After only a few minutes, that guy in a bike shop diagnosed my affliction with as much accuracy as any doctor ever could. Not everyone could have done that.

Fortunately, we bike junkies are pretty good at treating ourselves.

Winter's Waiting Room

Winter was off to such a nice start.

The fat biking was sweet for days until last weekend’s warm weather hit. Next thing I knew, the trails were turning to slush, and my route to work went from packed snow to ice that forced me to park the Pugsley and break out the studs.

The whole mess makes me envy Daniel, who sent today’s Fabulous Finger Photo from Joe’s Ridge in Fruita. If I’ve gotta have my stomach come up in my throat during a scary moment, I’d rather have it happen on Joe’s than on a wicked-slick patch of hard-as-concrete glare ice during my morning commute.

Besides, a ride at the Bookcliffs ends at a cold beer. A morning commute just ends at work.

Oh, well. Winter will return. And snow will renew the trails (I hope) even if there isn’t any in the forecast for the next week. It’s fat-bike season, dammit.

By the way, there are still “No Waxing Required” frame stickers available, so if you’re a winter rider who feels like blowing a raspberry at Anchorage’s bike-hating ski snobs, hit me up for a freebie when you see me around town.

Then you can proudly let your freak flag fly.