And so with fingers crossed and furtive glances cast over our shoulders, we creep into the dazzling sunlight, battered and weak after a winter that seemed to never end. No better double secret training tools than a 'cross bike and a backpack full of Mexican beer.

Meanwhile, as Warranty Guy and I were enjoying gentlemanly conversation and colorful springtime trails aboard our Stigmatas over Memorial weekend, the usual, but of late invisible, hero of Wednesday – mister Mark Weir – was in Pennsyltucky, preparing to get beaten like a baldheaded, hairybacked stepchild. The venue for said beating being the very painful looking, very sparsely attended Trans-Sylvania Epic stage race. Three stages in, and Weir has commented that this is no picnic. Fortunately, three stages in, he is at least still kicking the tar out of former Hellride contestant and current internet-primed, single speeding, rigid 29″ riding, endurance kinda racing, navel-gazer emeritus, Rich Dillen. We must make lemonade when handed bags of lemons. But it’s not over yet. That skinny gearless little freak might still creep up on our favorite caveman in the woods somewhere. We leave Weir, wishing him and his less hairy, more well mannered twin, Jason Moeschler, the best of luck, as they exchange pleasantries with Garth Prosser at the start of today’s stage…

"You skinny hippy, stop telling me how much fun it is riding this humid rocky crap, or I swear to God I will pee in your sleeping bag later..."

Meanwhile (not the same kind of meanwhile as earlier in our post. Or maybe it is the same kind of meanwhile, but still a different meanwhile all of its very own), our favorite Tallboy kidnapper, Seb Kemp, has been down in Jamaica, building trails that nobody who isn’t a billionaire vulture capitalist will ever get to ride. Seb’s time down there has been interesting, to say the least, having come from a stint in Mexico where he was building trails that nobody who isn’t a billionaire vulture capitalist will get to ride, either. He sent this “stranger in a strange land” email a while back:

“After a month of shredding in NZ (actually just half a month of unnecessarily shredding cash and half a month of riding in NZ), with a little stop over in your neck of the woods to patch a puncture, I’ve finally arrived in Jamaica to build more trail for the other Dark Lord. I’m still getting my feet underneath me here but I have to say it is rather different from Mexico. For one they drink this dark liquid made from sugar cane instead of Agave. Where I am based also possesses these remarkable geological (or is it geographical) anomalies which I have heard being referred to as ‘mountains’. They are very very steep and covered in a type of cactus that doesn’t sting, prick, scratch, maim or bite. Some of them even bear fruit that can be eaten. The local Mexicans (who I am told are not Mexicans) have odd names for these foods like Raspberrys, Bananas, Mangoes, Papayas, Sugar Cane, and Coffee. (I haven’t drank coffee in three days but I have eaten about half a pound of coffee beans. They have a sweet mucus on them that is delightful but doesn’t give quite the same kick in the heart they way a cheap gallon of brown sludge purchased from a gas station does.)”

Our hearts bleed for him. For some more of his interesting observations of life gleaned in his many wanderings, we urge you to visit his blog. Pay careful attention to his observation of Jamaican social rituals between male and female, but be careful to cover the eyes of any small children or people with sensitive constitutions who might be viewing. In fact, that advice could be applied to any instance where the words “Seb Kemp” appear on your computer screen. As evidenced here, nudity AND skidding AND Tallboy shredding. ‘Nuff said: