bunnel bridge hott lap

one of poppies' fav afternoon/evening summer love rambles, is the bunnel bridge loop of north kenilworth (the olde town of clinton and modern day killingworth).  this area has an interesting history, from a western's perspective, dating back to 1663 when the settlement known as "hamonoscitt" was knighted by the euro-colonial powers that be: “ye towne of Homonoscit shal for ye future be named Kenilworth, & for yr brand of horses they shal have ye letter V on ye near buttock.” 

much of the romantic zones the hott bod boiyz brand their buttocks throughout, are veritably the olde indian villages of the native and peaceful hammonasetts.  Their sachem, Sebaquaneh or “the man that weeps" (presumably because he didn't own the not yet invented bicycle), wed his daughter to Uncas, Sachem of the Mohegan who came into possession of the lands of the Hammonassets post wedding parti loosely based on the GnR "november rain" video. On the 26th of November, 1669, Uncas, with Joshuah, his son, sold to the inhabitants of Kenilworth all the lands in the township, which he had not sold before to George Fenwick, Esq. of Saybrook (not yet olde enough to be called modern day old saybrook).  much of these lands continue to be undeveloped to this day, and are criss crossed with a dreamy loco network of carriage roads and horse paths, imploring the lofty essence of hott/cool romance... 

hott bodding the bunnel bridge

trøy's new bridgestone MB-zip ratt-rod

poppie pine pow

snack thyme sun blessing 


Dos trakk chi lok0 "Thee Lœko"

the lower connecticut river valley has been my summer home since i first moved to this country back in may of 1958.  its an odd place to be #21&horni, but for all of its shortcomings in party zones, it does have some of the best, if not thee best, dos trakk cycling i've ever put the supple rubber to.  a seemingly endless network of olde carriage paths winding aimlessly through a canopy of semi-mid olde growth deciduous forests past 400 year olde farmhouses, long forgotten in the green velvet cloak of hi-spring.  its no surprise that frame building legends j.p. weigle and richard sachs (until a few years ago) call the lower valley their home.  

i've spent 3.623 lifetimes linking all this dos loko trakk together, and have still fallen short of the royal perfection this region deserves... until last fall during maximum nuke foliage fall out, a vision came to me in the form of connecticut state hero, nathan hale.  he told me about THEEE lœko.  60 miles out the front door, 45 of them "wakked out".  we then got wicked fäjked and tripped watermelons on nutmeg before he vanished into a technicolor maple grove leaving nothing behind but a dog eared parchment map of the route, and his gold's gym membership.

flash forward to memorial day, nutmeg country 2014.  in nathan's honor i decided to enlist some brave locals to attempt and quilt thee lœko together with me.  we met up at malone's coffee shoppe in the olde library building of downtown clinton, and sipped espresso out of styrofoam cups (its clinton...).  5-6 hours later we had completed the best dos trakk ride imaginable, right from our front doors.  enjoi!
canadian marc and american marc

poppi finds a "hen of the woods" for tonight's pizza! (canadian marc photo)

can't have swamp yankees without swamps

aaaaaaand there were plenty of them!  will probably dry up in a month or 2 (game camera photo)

marc on marc romance betwixt a classic connecticut stone wall

i was on my 650bx42 raliegh international, marc and marc opted for cross bikes with 33.333's (canadian marc photo)

we licked this turtle and saw nathan hale again for advice at a wrong turn

Jøtul's Quinetucket Traditions from Jamie Murrett on Vimeo.

many of the roads, pre-lœko vision, were featured in the above video a few years back in time.  all of this face melting quaint is easily accecable from NYC via the metro north-shoreline east for about $15 each way.  the nutmeg county pedalers chapter of thee hott bod random boiyz will be hosting a proper lœko this fall, amidst peak nukerz.


Nutmeg Outback

  was bumming that i was not on the latitudinal opposite side of the country for the oregon outback this past weekend.  it wasn't really even the ride i was sorry on missing (looked a bit windy), but the rented amtrak packed with bikes and chiller camper bikers, all partying and arm wrestling...etc.... but im currently working hard with the board of tourism promoting the lower connecticut river valley, and a trip to oregon would be highly unfashionable in my position.

being recently seasonally domesticated naturally leads me to a hi-risk deficiency in fire and both open air sleeping and pooping.  also missing the slow squirm of a heavy bike on the road/trail.  So my mom called up marc's (@xlevelbossx) mom and got him to go on a sleep over with me.  innnnn the #nutmegoutback  



Ol' Brændi, my olde friend

 Ol' Brændi (@brendanoshafer) is a classical renaissance MAN.  We grew up together in #nutmegcountry, and met when he was just a we 12 year olde trying to make an honest buck vacuuming floors at the famed Cycles of Madison, of where i (poppi) was employed as a hi-pressure Ibis (pre ugly carbon) salesman.  in the mid 90's, his father was the liaison in bringing the local, Richard Sachs, and Dario Pegoretti together in the first ever meeting.  Dario stayed at Brændi's house and eventually got kicked out after a week for not abiding by his mothers farcical rules of no smoking in the house, and for getting his father drunk too much.  you can't make this stuff up.  I've seen the pictures.

years later, i moved from the shoreline and attended college in Durango, CO.  I would come home for the holidays and summers to recount the wakkiness of the southern colorado 1-trakk.  ol' Brænt would wide-eyed listen to these tales of lettuce chopping brown pow, and get all jazzy.  a month after i had graduated and left, Brændi moved out their with nothing but one of his father's Steelman MTBs and a pillowcase full of Cliff bars.  And so his life began as a Durango legend...

2011 MTB cat 1 national champ
2011 MTB cat 1 colorado state champ
Makes his own fiddles and banjos
banjo and vocals Six Dollar String Band
Durango Devo head coach
theeee most wakked out MTB style with the fluidity of the most fluid fluids
proud owner of a Fat Chance Yo Eddy mouse pad

here are a few pictures taken this spring in durango at our special meadow hott spot.  enjoi!!


Chihuahuan 1 trakk chimichanga

Happy Romance Card Day,

Local towne election pollings suggest the desire for a multiple romantic outlets to display Hott spotts and rusty cycling couture. I've written delegates of Gnarniaville towne proper, and in aiding my run for comptroller, I've decided on this format as I sadly can't figure out how to host it on Angelfire or Geocities. Enjoi! -j.cøöl

Day 1:  We pedaled heavy water loads and 5 days coconut block rations into the rarely clouded misty desert mountains. With Lorde Adam as our guide, we ripped buffed out hero dirt wakki 1 trakk freshies beyond the vale of time, entering a forgotten landscape of rancheros, whiskey smuggling, and adobe candelilla wax processing ruins. 

We made camp the first night at an abandoned stone ranch house, complete with fire place and yucca stem roof. Nearby we found abandoned cinnabar mines, along with all the weird stuff that goes along with dusty ghost towns at dusk. Here we were treated to quite the sunset, and Jared channeled a space robot with hi powered SLR arm attachment. 

After the mountains swallowed the sun and devoured the electric afterglow for dessert, the clouds cleared for yet another cinema of nature. The stars of one of the darkest places in the Americas shown brightly among the moonless sky, and could be viewed nastalgically through our ruined thatch roof. The fire place was all too tempting as evening temp approached Norde-Mex frost madness. Here we heated up our coconut rations and tucked in for the night. Foto contributed by @rivbike. 

Day 2: began with the frosty tendrils of heavy poler vortexing reaching our sun baked time capsule. It was to be a chilly day for tanning, but tan we must. Here's Jared starting the day with a few puffs of creosote that we dried on the mantle the night before. Pipe made from entirely locally sourced artifacts, fair trade from me to Jared. 

we dragged our feet for most of thee morning, exploring the olde adobes and used car lots. I've worn out so many shoes living like this.... 

Off we rode around solar noon for some lazy pedaling and bike pushing gnar. Pushing works the glutes from a different angle, and really tones the buttocks for that Top Gun beach look. 

We knew we had to make some shelter before the icy nightmare vortex set in, so we spotted some caves, ditched our bikes and hiked up an ancient creek bed to our home for the night. Here we birthed a roaring fire as Jared chopped wood with boulders. 

Day 3: It poler vortexed on us heavy duty that night. Jared kept the survival fire going as Lorde Adam and I spoon train-ed him like olde scout leaders. 

Pretty heavy duty wakki stuff all day. We covered some ground as temps approached defcon 3 tanning international levels. 

More sunset burroshit as we pedaled to an oasis and adobe ruin for some spring water and less survival based romantic sleep for the night. 

We rolled some wakki red carpet down to a creeked cottonwood grove, where Lorde Adam washed "1000 years of dust" out of his hair *british accent emphasized. We drank our fill until we pee didn't look like Ecto Cooler anymore... 

Day 4: Our adobe ruin accommodations for the night offered some decent views of the ancients grabbing skidz amidst a dazzling procession of cosmic Tread the Movie. @rivbike foto

Up and at em. It's time for our morning Zumba calisthenics led by the spirit of Pancho Villa. 

Back in the sleds for another day off bro-ing and shredded wheat waves. We needed to rooster it to the rondezvous check point by solar noonish to add more Hott boiy to our company. Manfred and Griz are doing compound power lifting moves under tanning lamps and natural sun out there at a strategic local. 

Day 5:  If yer still following the story line, you most likely posses volumes of Ivy League intellect and class.  This is for you. Star studded Hott bod cast of rando boiyz, tastefully nude at the Hott spring rendezvous. @grizzaa and #manfred showed up here at 3 am, turning this Rio Grande spring into a historical hotdog boil resembling a Coney Island if sorts.

Since we were in the park, and had boiled out roughly half our body water weight, we decided to stay out of the sun for once and go nature hiking. If we had only packed the squirrel suits... 

Late start hitting the wakki trakk, but it truly was the magic hour... Well, in this wizard land, it's more like the magic 3 hrs of generally royal purple Hott mists. It was great to be ripping rails with so many good brüz.

 The sunset lasted for eternities. Truly the best of the trip, and my recent recollection. 360 degrees of dragons breath nukage Geiger readings. 

As the Sun Gods sounded their last trumpets of the day, we rolled into our ranch camp for a brushfire pizza party and amateur thespian interpretation of Legends of the Fall. The pizza menue  for the night was "whatever Poppi makes you!¡"

Day 7: The final day began with more Poopies Pizza, and it became the proud mundane aroma for the remainder of the day... It tasted good though... But even with all that tail wind, we still had to do some pushing.  

Let's pretend we pushed all day, cuz maybe we did. But at any rate, we eventually evaporated into the nukage and our atoms split spawning a masculine metamorphosis. Hott tans