How To Form Excuses On Horrible Climbing Shows

So your riding buddies trash talked you into riding some monstrous hills out somewhere in the exterior of civilization. But you've felt better on other occasions and boy oh boy, today is just not your day. If only bicycles were made like computers, we could all have an escape key before the bone breaking, lung chopping climb to hell. But there are no shortcuts to escape.

Hit hard...

So how on earth do you back up and slow down like a rock efficiently on the incline without hurting valuable pride and self-esteem in front of other people?

This, it turns out, is an easy one. Let me show you The Way.

Things you will need to carry in your jersey pocket :

• -Pair of scissors.
• -Wife's makeup. If you're a wife, then borrow your husband's makeup. Look in the garage.
  
• -Cell phone.

Things you will need to carry on your back :

• -A camelbak filled to the gills with water. (If it does not have gills, make sure you purchase one with gills)

As your attackers, a.k.a riding mates, slam down the pressure and leave you climbing slowly like an unattended VW Beetle, cleverly start launching the escape tactics. You may do any of the following or all for a combination excuse strategy (like those 2-D video game "COMBO" attacks)

1. Cell Phone : Quickly reach out to your cell phone and start calling people you never knew. Old uncles, old distance-relatives or grandparents are usually the best. They ramble on and on and on without direction and it won't matter much if you hang up on them. They'll never remember. Ask them questions about life and wisdom and pretend you're in serious conversation with the sage. Exaggerate your voice and follow your attacker's reactions. They'll turn back and look at you. Then they'll mumble amongst themselves in the distance, nodding their heads and acknowledging the fact that you're making a few business calls and that takes priority over climbing some stupid hills.

2. Makeup : Quickly reach out to the makeup box while your attackers aren't looking.

• -Take a shade of gray or something and start coloring your hair on the sides. Use a helmet mirror for assistance. When your attackers look behind, they'll see an old, worn out friend struggling up a hill. But sympathy will usually turn to respect and disbelief. It is an unwritten code in cyclysm to encourage and respect an old dog who can climb.

• -Take a shade of yellow and start coloring your face. When your pace is exactly below 4 mph and you risk looking like a dork on wheels, yell out that you may be coming down with a bout of Dengue Fever and you need to climb slower for it to go away. Pretend you're rubbing the disease away.
  

3. Scissors : So you're climbing like a dork today but you're showing off a kit that says 'Winner Of So and So Race' or 'Champion Of Ridiculous Time Trial In Town' or something along those lines. Kits musn't be shamed with bad performances from the wearer. It is a hurt to pride.

Quickly reach out for the pair of scissors. When your attackers aren't looking, snip away cool looking sponsor logos, titles, past honors etc etc...then form them into a ball and throw them into the bushes in the side. Make sure they roll off and away from sight. When your attackers look at you and spot your disheveled state, tell them you had a wipeout. "The front wheel shimmied!" They'll quickly slow down and come to your rescue. If they don't (jerks), they'll ackowledge that you need to climb more slowly because of this 'crash' they didn't see. Slow climbing performances will then be accepted without question. Onward.

4. Camelbak : Hydration forms the core of excuse making. Now don't get me wrong. This is not a hydration to quench thirst. It is a hydration to excuse forming. When the climb is about 5 or 10 miles away, quickly start slurping in all the water you can find from the hydration bag. Get to the front of your attackers. Then get off your bike and take a long pee. Start making a few whistles. Put on a grimace to show that its getting tight down there. Stay in that position for 3-5 minutes.

Your attackers will notice this and acknowledge that you slowed down naturally to take a difficult leak. You're not going to climb as fast as them. Atleast not today. They'll wait on the top of the hill for you.

Now that was easy.

But please be reminded that none of the above strategies will work if you see a road sign beside the official start of the climb that looks like this :


To your dismay, the advantage is now on the attackers' side. You either let the inevitable happen, or you slip out of your house in the black of night, drive your car to the climb, dig the sign out with a shovel and a flashlight and hurl it down a big cliff. Wear thick black leather gloves when you do this.

* * *

The Crash General Classification

Participants in this year's Tour will heavily contest the Crash General Classification or CGC for short. The coveted prize has more to it than the crappy yellow and green jerseys. Winners of the CGC will receive an emblematic white top with gory blood stains all over it. To go along, they will be presented with torn black shorts, a Polaroid photo of the moment they crashed and full medical expenses paid for the surgery/surgeries required.

But winning the C.G.C, as it turns out, is no small feat. It takes several hard years of experience and training to loiter about precisely in the dangerous back end of the pack, while correctly timing when to scrape wheels with riders in front, or to slam into a traffic island at 70mph, or to hook your handlebar on a bystander's bag or his wife's long hair, or to ride over a stray water bottle, somersaulting in the air and falling on top of others while they ride, or to select the biggest, deepest, darkest dungeon of a ditch to drop into, or to get entangled in myriad team radio wires to strange yourself momentarily like a helpless chicken while other riders look on, lose their focus and in turn crash.

Riders crash in turns like a deck of cards, feeding off each other's energy for mishap. This is the purest form of motivation. "Its addictive, like yawning," said one rider in the peleton, who is prominent for causing crashes.

If you're going down, you might as well get something for it, remark Tour officials. "Its not fair to riders," snapped one French official when the Tour's details were released last year. "Those who crashed got a big zero in the past. In our Board meetings, we were like 'WTF??' Its all about to change now."

You might think that riders who crash but fail to injure themselves and others cant have a dig at the spoils of war. You're so wrong. Since it is likely that they would destroy their ultra high modulus carbon fiber bikes in the process, Tour officials decided that those who have the best looking exploded bikes will receive "Carbon Credits". This will technically up the candidate's ranking in the CGC by about 10%. "Its like intermediate sprint points....same idea," said another Tour official.

All this may sound like one bloody party indeed. But the defending champion of the CGC from last year isn't going to give it up without a fight. So dream on...

* * *

Bike Shop Dreams

"As long as you're going to think anyway, think big."

- Donald Trump

Be cautious. Have you ever found yourself, that day, fooling around in the bike shop, looking at mediocre bikes with modicum price tags when a clever little salesman decides to reel in your interest by quoting Donnie Trump (see above) ? And then he escorts you like a long lost brother towards a sleek and voluptuous looking bike hanging on the wall at the premium end of the shop.

Your eyes suddenly widen and you stare at it for a long time. You are entranced as it captivates you in a spellbind. You are gaping like a hippo. You are literally drooling from the mouth. There is a puddle of it near your feet. Now there is so much of it that it has become a scaled down human version of Lake Baikal.

Ofcourse, in no way is he asking you to make the purchase. You see, bike shop salesmen have an innate sixth sense. Without much physical contact, they already know how worn out your wallet is, the amount of cobwebs residing inside with its intricate architectural designs, that black and white photo of you in front of your house before you couldn't afford it anymore and it was foreclosed, those finger print grease marks on it from the engine of your vintage automobile that would spontaneously combust into flames when it was driven in the sun, those business cards handed to you by sympathetic employers after interviews with "Don't Contact" handwritten behind them, that credit card whose magnetic stripe won't work anymore due to the mountain of overflowing debt, those food ration stamps creased and folded so horribly that an art connoisseur would mistake it for Origami and may actually even offer you a price for them....

..Sigh.

Like a child who first wet his bed, you slowly furnish him your embarassing wallet with a strange sort of smile. Perhaps blue from shame, the last thing you do to save yourself is flick the lone green colored penny from in there like David Blaine the magician and quickly wipe it off with saliva to clean the copper oxide.

"Its okay, " he says in a morose tone and pats your shoulder. Then he points you to the door as he turns around to help another customer. His face has a smirk that you never caught properly.

"The exit is that way," he finishes off.

Its high time school textbooks corrected themselves. Mayflies don't have the shortest lifespans.

* * *

AFLD Team Up With Supercuts For A Drug-Bust Hair Salon

If anyone has taken a close look at Lance Armstrong lately, it can be observed that he has put on a copious amount of both age and.... hair. As always, the wonder man is yet again displaying miracles. For a long time, it has been known that hair actually decreases as age increases. Hence, your grandpa and mine have a moonshine on top of their bulb-like cranium. But whats this? Hair is sprouting young and wild on the 7 time Tour winner like unattended weeds in an agricultural orgy.

Yet, we know this is only because Armstrong has not allowed the French doping agency (AFLD) anywhere near his sights, after last month's "surprise" visit gone wrong when they pulled out half a dozen clumps of hair with a giant tweezer, leaving the Texan in a completely disheveled and disoriented state.


The AFLD has been monitoring his hair growth closely since then. Recently however, they have begun raising alerte rouge. In a new twist of drama, experts with the agency claim that if their computer simulation studies show the correct picture, in 2 months, Armstrong's entire face could be veiled with hair. This event could allow him to hide his identity and flee doping tests. The AFLD fear they may ultimately be beaten up, slapped, or pepper sprayed on as they round up wrong yet look-alike female suspects on the street in their hunt for Armstrong. (The French, don't like getting slapped by women. Their forte is in French kissing. Well, I guess you could combine a slap and a French kiss?)

The AFLD are now proposing Armstrong a treat to get closer to him. Knowing this brash Texan loves college football, Blackberries, hometown burgers, and any other cultural insignia of the US of A, they are now reportedly joining hands with none other than Supercuts (an American barbering franchise) to service the 7 time Tour winner's hair. This initiative is being called the 'Drug-Bust Hair Salon'. Of course, every AFLD visit is unexpected and impromptu. But when they do show up at Armstrong's door, they will now be accompanied by a busty female barber (okay fine, I'll call her a hairdresser) trained by Supercuts and more graceful with scissors and number 4 trimmers than the clumsy AFLD.

Through this act of appeasement, the French hope to recover some of the love lost between them and Armstrong, by getting hair samples more humanely and restoring hair to youthful state.

Now 8 hair styles have been made available to Armstrong.


The Look : A fringe cut adorned with a French beard. One eye is cleverly covered so that he has to stress only one eyeball while giving the textbook 'Look'. There is a chance he may go blind stressing out both eyes, hence this is optometrist recommended.



Mohawk Reparto Corse : This is a post-modern punkster style with Bianchi's own Reparto Corse neon green highlights to go along. Feel a little stupid and Italian at the same time.


Medieval Monk : Medieval Monk could be a choice self-reward for those days when he has been a good boy, and his tested hematocrit levels are lower than a 40%.



Afro Militant : This haircut captures the shamelessness, the non-nonchalance in him when he aggressively pursues petite blonde women young enough to be his daughters.



The Boss : Running many different organizations as the boss maybe easier said than done, but it is actually easier when he has a Donald Trump coiffure on his crown. All he then needs to do to someone is give both "The Look", and say "You're fired."



Rock n' Roll : Long, hard days in the saddle requires some new characters. Some music. Some dance. Its easier to forget the pain this way. Life is a blur. Bring on the classic Elvis hairdo, b**ch.



Short And Classic Native Indian : This is one of Supercuts' specialties, combining Native Indian heritage with a classic nerdy look of a master strategist to make him exactly that - a Native Indian strategist. Grow those locks now and make war!



Bend It Like Beckham : When you want to curveball the goal, slip in your wife's panties, fight with a journalist or take a 30 minute shower during a drug test....when you want to break all the rules, this one takes the cake. Rub that hair gel in hard and bend it like Beckham.

How do I look, ya'll?

* * *

P.S :

Now give me my hair back!

WBMD : Water Bottle Of Mass Destruction

Every cyclist can be a chemist. And a dangerously accidental one at that. Even if you flunked high school chemistry.

Did you ever have that time when you threw a water bottle into the kitchen sink, without emptying that tad bit of fancy powdered drink you made eons ago? So long ago that in this time period, you probably went through numerous jobs, laptops, credit cards, religions, dogs, cars, inner tubes, multiple wives? And remember one day, an hour before a Sunday morning ride, you discover the long lost bidon while trying to find one damn bottle to pour some liquid into? Yes. There it was. Near the corner of that sink on the counter, over there... lying in wait to be found like the deteriorating treasures of the Titanic on Atlantic seabed.

And do you remember, when all of a sudden, you became so excited about this discovery that you proceeded to unscrew the lid and check into its contents? (After all, there was something in the bottle when you shook it..."oob-gluck oob-gluck"..).

Little did you know that within this huge time period of sheer neglect, your bottle was probably a Petri Dish for so obscure a set of chemical reactions of such erudition, that studying them would have likely made the great Dalton epileptic.


THE AGE OF NEGLECT

Here's what may have happened during the Age of Neglect, when the bottle lay there in the corner, unbeknownst, unloved, unwanted.

Pay attention.

In the carefully controlled dark, hot, anaerobic environment inside the plastic case, molecules of the coloring extract decomposes and fuses with expired maltodextrin and tints of all those amino acids, citrates, shitrates and whatever stuff they mix with the powder to make it of any value. Soon, we're lost...aah, some unknown catalyst finds its way into the bidon by way of osmosis. There is a controlled chemical explosion like when spark plug meets fuel-air mixture. <<BOOOM>>

Drops of green ooze begin to form. The green ooze sits there and is now all pissed off because some new variant of fungi is feeding right off them. Way to be born into the new world and find yourself right on the dinner plate of parasites! But this territorial imbalance won't go on for long. Follow on.


THE GREAT WAR

A cutaway of WBMD

Like white blood cells ward off invader cells in the human body, these molecules of ooze fend for themselves against the parasites. Armed with gas power, there is a great battle between the two. Fungi tentacles clash with gas bullets from their liquid rivals. Meanwhile, gas bullets hone in on Fungi tentacles like precision guided missiles. Suffice to say, there is total and unhindered chaos. This is a war torn microbial world with such verisimilitude that it could do a much better job of simulating a post apocalyptic world for Terminator : Salvation (too bad the director wasn't a cyclist). Here, there are thousands dying in the battlefield. Others are victorious. The air is thick with the fires of battle, and then....a new kind of vapor is formed. It forms like a rainbow. Its as a covenant of ceasefire. Like heavy black clouds skim the vast countryside before the rains, it sits right above the ooze and its new fungal Prisoners of War.

But what is this vapor? What are its constituents? Do not ask me. Make any empirical chemical formula of your choice. You might like to start with this : SGO (Stink Galore Oxide).


FAST FORWARD : YOU OPEN THE BOTTLE

Ofcourse, when you discovered your bottle, and decided to check its contents, you saw absolutely nothing of the above mentioned events. You open the lid, parting it like a proud prince draws a palace curtain, and look inside inquisitively with your huge eyeball.

The smile you had on your face slowly draws to a blank. Then it turns to one of indescribable disgust. Mix it some acute distress, pain, and horror and you get an emotion even Shakespeare cannot fathom.

What signals to you that something must be awfully wrong is the sudden escape of this pungent vapor. Like a steroid driven hot air balloon in a distillation chamber (wow that made no sense), it rises to the top of the bidon and finds its way into the chambers of your nostrils.

At first, you think you're dreaming. But its not to be. What you've just smelt is so real, so rotten, so fetid and so feculant, that you can even taste it in in the roof of your mouth.

Now take note : the exit of the vapor from the bottle is rapid. It diffuses quickly into the kitchen air, faster than an Axe deodorant can into the hearts of female species in a fake TV commercial. Frightened, you throw the bottle, exit the house, lock the door, get on your bike and propel the hell away to rendezvous with your club riders. Ofcourse, when you see them, you pretend like nothing happened and wipe your hands clean behind your 13 panel shorts like a scared kid who haphazardly stole candy from a store.

A little into the ride, your cell phone rings. You're ofcourse riding your bike, blowing the stink out of your nose some 200 times before this happens. You quickly fish in your jersey pocket for the unit and answer the call.

Why, its the voice of the local fire marshall. In a concerned tone, he inquires if you're the owner of this so and so looking house on so and so street.

"Hi, yes I'm he....c-can I help you?"

"No...can we help you?", shoots the Marshall. "I called to say your house is on fire, sir. None of our boys can get in. There's this nasty...ugh...look, would you be able to get here soon, please? No time to explain. And goddammit, bring a face mask along!"

* * *

Famous Cycling Personalities as Babies

PHIL LIGGETT & PAUL SHERWIN

Charles Liggett and Paul Sherwin were both attracted to television from infancy. On one of these occasions watching the idiot box, Charlie gave a piece of his mind to Paul for distracting him from the commentary ahead. It is now believed that Charlie changed his passport name to 'Phil Liggett' so that Paul wouldn't recognize him as his childhood attacker, that left him challenged with just nine fingers.

FAST FREDDY

It is no folklore that Freddy was born fast. He displayed his ability for taking risks, and sensing danger at an early age. His parents decided to refer him to the United States Cycling Federation to further develop his talents and put some more sense into it.

SIR CHRIS HOY

From old video archives, here's Sir Hoy some three decades ago, quite unlike the macho British Olympian that he is today. One theory put forward by biology experts suggests it wasn't the mimics of his father that cracked him up, but infact the rapid development of his piston like leg muscles that tickled him every now and then.

TOM BOONEN

For starters, Tomekke's experiments with snort isn't anything new. Adorable videos of the Belgian superstar in pampers reveal that he was just as stoned then as he is now.

THOR HUSHOVD

This Norwegian God of thunder was a force to reckon with, ever since His Highness stepped foot on the planet. I had to go grab a glass of water and gulp it down hard to gain some strength to watch....

DAVIDE REBELLIN

Rebellin consistently delivered in races, but he was a quiet man, never reveling in the excesses that his contemporaries plunged into. However, our man who captured this video of him back in the days just shows the amount of change that hard, unforgiving cycling can bring upon someone. The sheer charisma this man had back then, you know.....errr....

ROGER HAMMOND

Hammond had some prodigious childhood abilities, one among which was the power to foretell the future. Hammond's family said that a 12 month old 'Roggie' would literally "simulate" how fast he would go at the World Championships in Athens in 2004. It is now held that he needed a little more firepower in his predictions to have landed a podium spot.

IVAN DOMINGUEZ

Ivan, it seems, was a small, chubby chap. He was constantly bullied by his cousins and members of his extended family into doing things they would never do....but which would nevertheless be awesome fun to watch. Note : Video has been removed but it can be watched on Youtube here.

Texas Baby Eating Lime - The funniest movie is here. Find it



CARLOS SASTRE

Sastre was a noisy brat, compared to the composed man that he is now. All too often, he would resort to a corner of his baby's room, in the remoteness akin to that of a lone climber breaking away on the Alpe d'Huez. Then, he would start one of his Spanish canciones that made absolutely no sense and sounded more like an adult animal in labor. Researchers around the world are now trying to decode what he tried to say.

THE SCHLECK BROTHERS

Even drug dealers have an innocent, adorable childhood. Frank was always the temperamental one, but Andy was on his back at all times, chilling out in his brother's shadow and requiring little maintenance at all.

CERVELO TESTTEAM STAFF MECHANICS

We found a disturbingly funny set of videos in the pile of junk. These guys would later be turning nuts and bolts for one of best teams in the world. Let's hope one of them decides not to drop a monkey wrench in the party.

JEAN MARIE LEBLANC

Some say leaders are made. We say leaders are BORN. Certainly, handling the immense logistical challenges of the biggest sport event needs something like Leblanc's innate traits of the oratory, diplomacy, and corruption which went on to make him one of the best Managers of the Tour de France. This is by far our best find from the archives.

Project One : Customizing Mrs.Obama For Cycling

She left the White House for the G20 Summit donning a white custom ivory tulle tweed coat with grossgrain piping (whatever on earth that is). From there, it was all downhill. She changed to a yellow silk dress with a studded belt on Air Force One to land in London, met with the London Prime Minister's wife embellished with beads and rhinestones, wore a funeral dress to meet with the Queen and then took off the top cardigan to display her biceps during tea time with her Majesty.


Erm. One word.

Disaster.

It is now left to some of us, style gurus of cycling, to advice the First Lady on what bike to pick and what clothes to wear for future occasions so that she doesn't resort to committing the same no-no's when on two wheels. Obviously we don't want Mrs. Obama to ride a white Colnago out of the Whitehouse, change to Chinese made jerseys and shorts that have lead in them which will tick off the airport's security systems, or ride a Walmart bike with triathlete shorts on to meet with the Queen in royal environment.

My idea was to create a Project One for Mrs. Obama's biking choices, similar to TREK bicycling's customization application. This will get her tricked out and all set to bike in whatever globalized mess of a crisis the world throws at her.

Apparel choices in Project One will strictly be from the following :

Compagnolo Sportswear
Assos
Santini Summer and Winter Fashion
Giordana
Nike Swift Skinsuit
Capoforma
Tweed Suit
Primal Wear

Bike choices in Project One will strictly be from the following :

Auramania (24 carat gold bike, hand adorned with 600 Svarovski crystals)
Strida (Fastest Folder)
GoCycle (Thixomolded Magnesium E-Bike)
Richard Sachs Custom Built Dream Bike
Go-One Velomobile (enclosed, reclined position)
Cervelo P4 (badass TT bike)
Koga Miyata Track (million dollar track bike)
Terry Valkyrie Cross (Elegant women's cross bike)


The question I would now pose to you is this : What combination of clothing and bikes with be most appropriate for her in the following situations -

1) Doing chores around the White House
2) Going for a ride on a Washington D.C trail
3) Hotel to G-20 summit
4) Post G-20 stress buster group ride
5) Biking in Saudi Arabia after a Mid-East visit
6) Speed challenge against Queen Rania of Jordan
7) London cycling clinic with Queen Elizabeth in attendance
8) Volunteer work with special needs kids in a bike shop
9) Famous Alumni Day ride at Princeton University
10) A visit to Paris for Stage 21 of the 2009 Tour de France


Style gurus of cycling, what are your recommendations for the First Lady in the above situations? Fire your comments and thoughts away. Make this a creative exercise. Remember, there is no one solution to each of the 10 problems.

* * *

Bike Rage And Toilet Row On The ISS

Reuters - The International Space Station was once a place where astronauts were sharing a toilet and a bike. Now in 2009, it is said to be embroiled in a Cold War-like stand-off. Or is it?

It was 4 and a half years ago when the additional 3 crew members of Expedition 20 were shot up to the low earth orbit to conduct careful research on claustrophobia and its effects on humans. But after widespread criticism from below on why they couldn't achieve the same on earth and save costs of space travel, Russian cosmonaut Yuri Furykovev, and U.S astronauts George Smooth and Dr. Frank Jarr learnt that there was an untimely revision to their mission dossier.

To kill boredom while they waited on new orders, they surfed the internet and harmoniously shared in riding the Huffy at the corner, which itself was hooked to a Nashbar fluid trainer. Keeping bone density stable was priority.

The initial plans of the micro-gravity research lab was generous in providing national toilets. There was a toilet for China, for France, for Russia, for the United States, for the Christmas Islands... The toilets accommodated for the anthropometric proportions and complex ergonomics of people's rear ends. Comfort in space, said researchers, led to higher performance.

Ironically, space had space constraints. When multi-billionare Bill Great wanted to visit the space lab in 2005, they realized that the toilets came in the way of giving him a respectable accommodation. There were toilets everywhere. Only toilets. It was plain ridiculous.

Infact, when in 2006, the ISS went on a toilet diet, the mothership detached 2 of its boy's rooms and released them into a violent elliptical orbit towards the Indian Ocean. Bill Great was happy. He visited. He wrote an email to earth. He made space tourism history. A ferry took him home a day later, leaving the original baggy-eyed inhabitants behind.

Until 2008, there was still no mission plan in sight for the new members. And space can be a tough place, especially to be in a 10'x10' waiting room for 3 years and minus 2 toilets.

Two of them have apparently rocked the ship. Russian cosmonaut Furykovev recently filed a complaint that his U.S compatriots had begun a regimen of systematic bullying by not allowing him an equal share of the stationary bike. When he did get his chance to use it, they jeered at his tattooed arms, cycling cap and weight weenie legs.

"Why would anyone wear a messenger bag to ride a damn stationary bike?" snapped an irate Dr.Jarr.

"He rides the bike so damn hard that our ship rattles," complained Smooth. "He will destroy the Nashbar trainer."

"Soon, we'll have drops of bearing oil floating around, " added Jarr. "Space is at a premium here. We don't even have space for drops."

"I embraced tha fixed geer kaalture in my kaanthry," told a angry Furykovev to officials over satellite radio. "Why they make fun?"

Furykovev reported that the Americans took their own sweet time in the loo when they knew about the obvious facility limitations on board. When he left his proud comments on the restroom walls, they were 'marked up', adding further insult to injury. He took pictures of it and sent it to Moscow, complaining that he felt he's getting harassed and his rights encroached upon.



The standoff over the stationary bike, Yuri's idiosyncrasies and the toilet appears to mirror the dismal relationship between Moscow and Washington under the former US president George Bush and Russia's Vladimir Putin. It also reveals the tough life of long time space dwellers and the uncertainty of space travel.

Americans at home were however quick to respond. "While we understand astronauts are not allowed to exhibit unprofessional behaviors, in this case they are on their guard against a potential fixie hipster infestation of the ship, " justified one NASA official in Houston TX. "That shit can drive anyone nuts. Its worse than the Cold War."

Moscow isn't ready to compromise either. In order to lift the morale of their man high above the clouds, an order has been placed for a brand new, state-of-the-art toilet, specially made home cooked Russian food and a limited edition Huffy with white Aerospoke wheels to exercise and sleep with.

* * *

BREAKING NEWS : Inspector Clouseau Finds Lance's Bike

Fiery news fresh off the stove is pouring into our media center that the world's most famous detective, Inspector Jacques Clouseau, and his team have found what appears to be the cancer Savior's stolen time trial bike. Following Clouseau's Clitter updates on the left sidebar of this blog for the past two days, he reports that it was found in a raid into the shoddy quarters of a certain Paul 'Skimmage'. Scanning dental records at his doctor's office have led us to believe that Skimmage may either be a journalist or a reporter with an above average mouth.

But tragedy has it that Clouseau has an almost illness-like obsession with one of the Italian detectives on the team, Mrs. Stella Bonasera. He's undergoing intensive therapy to determine whether he still has his sanity about him. Meanwhile, check out the latest picture from the raid :

Detectives shine light into the basement. There was a bike in there...

Earlier, Clouseau also reported on discovering manuscripts of a memoir floating around the inner most circles of Skimmage. Whether the book was authored by this journalist himself or not is not known at the moment. However it is clear that someone didn't like the harsh ride of carbon fiber and was about to publish his thoughts.


But whatever happened to the wheels of the bike?? The last clue to this mind boggling case may lie with a second suspect caught by Clouseau on CCTV. A certain Sterile Crew.

Clouseau's thoughts were superimposed on the image using top French technology.

Thank you Clouseau for saving the day! I hope Lance Armstrong will stick to his promise, and reward him with a pair of used bike shorts. Its what our poor Clouseau needs at the moment.

* * *

How The Investigation Took Place

Who is Inspector Jacques Clouseau? There is only one like him. Click Here To Find Out.

Clouseau's Clitter Updates :

Check the official missing time trial bike notice. Clouseau updated you with his findings through his Clitter updates. Clitter updates were 200 character limit conversations between the Inspector and Lance Armstrong. In Italics was Lance responding back to Clouseau. This is how those conversations went.


Prologue

" Armstrang,yeuw have me, ze best ditecteeve in ze werld to find yeur stolen time thrail beeke. "

Err...Clouseau, correction.. My name is Armstrong.
"Armstrang."
ArmstrOng.
"Armstank."
No...Armstrong! Armstrrrong.
"Armswine!"
Sigh. Never mind!


Feb 17

8:00 am

"To zee Armstrang : I sink zat zee repeurter Paul Skimmage is the criminel! Yeuw insulted him in pebleec days before zee race. Since yeuw said he is not weurth zee chair he sits on, he thought your beeke is not weurth for you to sit in ulso. Now is zere an Ireeush craigslist for him to sell theu time thrail beeke? I will chick Googil dot cum. Zank yeuw.

Yes!! Zere is Ireeush craizy list. See here."

But Inspector Clouseau, don't you think Sheryl Crow may be a greedier suspect? I heard from my 5 year old son that due to the credit crunch, Citibank isn't giving her the loan to buy a new guitar. How awful. Livestrong!

"Yeus, zat is posseubil. I will chick. Maybe it weus both Skimmage and Sterile Crew. Tag-teeem yeuw know. Leevstreung!"

9:00 pm

"To zee Armstrang. I chicked. I have zee suspiceun at zee Sterile Crew. My CCTV spotted her walkeeng in Sacramento with a funny pose and hiddeun luggage. Is theus hiddeun luggage underneath her bra zee time thrail beeke? I have uplewded CCTV image here. Chick. Zank yeuw."

Interesting Clouseau. I was always suspicious of Sheryl Crow. I just returned after stage 3 of AMGEN so I'm getting ready to shower. But quickly...I don't think my time trial bike is a folding bike. It surely cannot get so compact that it can hide within the confines of her under-shoulder-boulder-holders. Good work anyway. What about Kimmage? Livestrong!


Feb 18

8:00 am

"To zee Armstrang! Hush! This ees my lateust news. Paul Skimmage, mei first sespect, ees secretly writing new beuk. He is apparuently at discomfert afteur fleeing away on yeur time thrail beeke. Zee low riding positeun and steuff carben feebeur has destroyed his back. My sourceus have photogrewfed cover page of beuk in his rrewm! See. This is our sespect! We must arrest heum et vence!"

Voila. Paul certainly is addicted to the written word. He will certainly scribble down any nonsense he feels. Any wonder he wrote in papers that I'm the cancer of the cycling world, when clearly I cannot be a tumor myself? My bike surely is not custom made for his old bottom. Ha! Clouseau, excellent find. We must find him and have him in custody. His Irish accomplices must have been pissed scared of the investigations and last night, we found one of the stolen bikes quitely returned in our hotel. But he's still at large with my bike! Livestrong!

7:00 pm

"To zee Armstrang. My team of Detecteeves have broke into Skimmage's apartment while he was shaving heus Ireeush beard. We feund time thrail beeke frame hiddeun in zee basement, and quickly escaped without Skimmage threwing his razor at us. Phew! I have zee crush on bosomy Detecteeve Stella Boneseura. She's my hero. I mean, heroine (but she teulks like a men). What is yeur reward for zis magnificent sexess?"

Clouseau, magnificent? Hardly! Where are the damn wheels? I spent a fortune on those Bontragers. If they're not found, I'll have to ride a set of shitty Taiwanese hoops this Friday with Livestrong imprinted on them. That's like smelly Pont L'Eveque cheese with reese's pieces sprinkled on it. Both gag and make me want to puke. If you discover the wheels too, my reward will be a set of used bike shorts. It lasts long. Livestrong! (Hey, that rhymes!)



Feb 19

11:00 am

Clouseau. This is Lance. Again, thank you for finding my TT bike frame. I'm just heading out for stage 5. Okay, no sweat about the wheels. You win. I'll have my Livestrong Foundation ship a pair of used bike shorts to you as reward. UPS shipment. Livestrong!

9:00 pm

"Lance, this is a representative for Clouseau. While he's undergoing therapy for going out of his mind, this is to say that we have received your UPS shipment. The virtues of same day shipping! However, the box only contained a yellow chamois. Surprised, we inquired with UPS by phone where the rest was. They replied that your soggy shorts was too heavy for their underfunded airplane so they had to use industrial cutters to separate it and ship in different boxes. We are to expect the shorts and the elastic separately before the end of this week. How we'll stitch it back together is a big question but like you remarked back in 2004, 'its not about the shorts either'. Livestrong!"

* * *

How To Twitter.... Like Ivan Basso

Ivan Basso always strikes me as this happy, go lucky, cute little cyclist in the peleton. The guy is always smiling when he talks. Atleast most of the time. Makes everyone around him happy. Sometimes you have to wonder what he's on.

He's such a simpleton that he's even modest about his doping. Some years ago, he said this to a disciplinary panel, appearing completely righteous in the face of adversity :

"I know I made mistakes and I deserve to be punished"

It'd be surprising if the UCI didn't go "Awww....cut his ban short will ya? He's making me teary. Get him out of here."

And off Ivan went playing in the ice, like a kid who just learnt to ride a bike.

But don't get me wrong. When this guy wants to do something serious, he'll go at it 100%. Is it little wonder the tenacity and persistence with which the Italian bombs out 140 character status updates on his Twitter page every 4 hours? Boom boom boom boom boom. I tell you, this guy is a friggin' machine.

As you all know, Twitter is the latest bird flu among procyclists. Its everywhere! And Basso smiled and willingly caught the ailment.

The bottom line of it all is pretty simple : From the time you take a shit in the morning, to the moment you crank out the final belch from your dinner before bedtime, you're required to shamelessly self promote yourself on Web 2.0 in real time. Your life is under a magnifying lens and hundreds of people try to peer through it to get a slice of what you do everyday (whether they have nothing better to do with their life is for another discussion another day). I guess we all cried at one point for cycling to be more 'transparent'. But THIS transparent? Spare me! This is just too generous a gift! Whatever happened to 'personal affairs', 'privacy', and 'minding your own business' !

Take a look at Basso's seriously important Twitter updates. I reckon the 4500 followers who, gaping wide at their screens every minute of the day to religiously read his lines in real time, think they actually deserve every minute of it. Here's a snippet of Basso's tireless conversations.

Basso tells Cunego there is transparency. Cunego and his big mouth! Here is the transparency.

Entertaining. Within the span of 24 hours, only sleeping, eating and getting massaged! By current levels of progression, I can see whats coming in terms of transparency in the next few hours :

Ciao. I sleep now.
about 1 hour ago from Twitterberry
------------------------------------------

Hi! I back from race. Massage.
about 5 hours ago from Twitterberry
------------------------------------------

Good morning to evrybody I go to brekfast. Good. Tasty.
about 9 hours ago from Twitterberry
------------------------------------------

I sleep. Long sleep. I tink I dream.
about 18 hours ago from Twitterberry
------------------------------------------

I tok to wife on telephone. She good. I happy.
about 19 hours ago from Twitterberry
------------------------------------------

I race now. Beutiful day. Birds in the sky.
about 24 hours ago from Twitterberry
------------------------------------------

Ciao! Race finished. I freeze.
about 33 hours ago from Twitterberry
------------------------------------------

Massage.
about 40 hours ago from Twitterberry
------------------------------------------

Ciao! I sleep now.
about 52 hours ago from Twitterberry.
------------------------------------------


Who's next in line? Dear Lord. I just heard someone has got the Twitter illiterate Phil Liggett into the Twitter scene. (I mean, cut the man some slack Carlton. He's pushing 60 and busy as it is! Do you really want him to have a nervous breakdown as he copes with the extra stress of redundant status updates?)



But I have some wise words for you, Phil...should you choose to Twitter afterall. To earn your first 4000 followers like Basso hath done, all you need to do is recount every single tidbit of absolutely worthless information you've done in the day. If your wife and kids simply cannot stand you, fear not. The faithful Twitterati will. And it'll be phenomenal!

On a more elementary level, you can earn your first 400 followers of the day just by typing absolutely nothing at all. 0 tweets = 420 followers! How about that, champ?

These faithful 400 will stare like drones into blank screens all day, sipping coffee and scratching their butts, waiting for the first wise words from you like strange, hyptonized zombies.

Remarkable, isn't it? Oh, the internet boggles the mind. Tweet tweet.

* * *

Lance's Bike Missing Notice

Lance. Don't despair for your precious bike. You have survived more worse things. You have also famously once said 'Its NOT about the bike'. C'mon, you'll come out of this loss pretty quick.

Meanwhile, I have asked my local milk producer to publish a "Missing" notice on the face of their carton. Tomorrow, every man, woman or both... will drink from it. They will see it and at once be outraged. Lets hope that outrage won't lead to indigestion.


I have suggested the characteristic "15/2" theme for this occasion since this is the day your bike actually got stolen and this logo was made. It is also 5 days after you got disease (10/2) which works well since everything happened in the same month. Let me know if you want ideas for other merchandise centered around this theme (shoes, wrist bands, caps, long underwear, etc).

Later man...