Last Bubba at the Lake of Spaniards

Greetings You Jerks. Yooooouuuuu Jerks. The same rain that kept the smart riders off the mountain bike trails on Thanksgiving, also supplied the first beloved slop of the StL CX season. So this past weekend, after a season of everyone blubbering about how much they wanted mud and slop, and saying shit like "Waaahhhhhh, did you see that last Belgian race where it was so muddy they had to run half the lap? I wish we could have that..." and "Wahhh I do a lot better in the mud." and "Wahhhh... I wish I had the chance to use my new mud tires which allow me to " and "Waaahhhh, my vag is a sandy, island paradise." Well, we almost got our wish. After two days of rain two days prior to the race, we got a couple of mud holes, and A LOT of soft ground. The ground was so soft, that, to quote Scooter McScooterton, "it was as soft as Criss Angel at a Playboy Mansion party." All of this soft ground, in turn, made it very hard to get any speed out of the legs. In fact, it was as hard as Criss Angel on his way over to meet Chad (lead vocalist for Nickelback) behind a dumpster.

Jerkmeyor and myself, the Coach, being around to lend a hand in putting the course together, had laid some devious plans with which to foil all attempts at going fast while on course. However, these plans were not destined to hatch. Regardless, we made sure that each of the wet spots would be touched by all tires. It was fortunately not a bumpy course, just soft. Softer than Criss Angel being jerked off by the Olsen Twins.

As we lined up on our start line, Myself, the good Mr. Forrest Taft, Tropical Storm, and myself were pitted against the likes of Kirby (Kurby?), the esteemed Mr. Dan Bruns, former beard-doper Robert Mayfield, recent ally D-Wayne, Matt L, and he who does every race, among others. We were off down the pavement, and it wasn't long before the SS man-train was sorting itself out fairly quickly. I was surprised to pull past Mr. Shoemaker in the first lap, and once again, he reminded me that he likes fucking crotches. I totally agree. Then again, maybe he was just cursing my name? Hard to tell, what with the deafening sound of his wrists snapping. Dwayne was very audibly going anaerobic right behind me, and I was worried that he was going to do what he's done a few times before, which is pull around to become the locomotive of the man-train, only to un-hitch me, leaving me to drift down the tracks, a tanker car soon to be the caboose. Instead, I was surprised to find that I unhitched him from my train. The Dark Horse winner of the SS race, Dan Bruns, didn't just win, he mouth-violated of SS class. When he passed me within the 45 seconds of racing, it was the fastest, most demoralizingly fast pass I've ever had. I almost started weeping uncontrollably right there. A lot of ups and downs in that race, and I managed to have some interesting back and forth with a Big Shark rider on a Felt Breed, or "he who does every race." I found that he'd put time on me on the straights, but then could do little else other than cause me to hit my brakes more in the turns. The jerk still beat me, despite wholesaling at the barriers. Sideline motivation came in the form of Gino Felino and Jerkward Toscani, who rode their jerk-asses up to watch the race and drink beers.

We then proceeded to follow official cyclocross guidelines by changing out of our kits, pillage the cooler for some PBRs, and cheer Professor, Devin, Jeff, Matt James, Scott P (who seemed to ride pretty damn well), and some other crunk-ass jerks who were all in attendance for Professor's newest lecture, entitled "How to Win Your A-Race - By a Fuckload." Professor, Devin and Jeff broke off the front for a while, until a split developed, separating Professor from Devin and Jeff, the two of whom made a very cute couple. Congrats to Professor for winning both this race and the Bubba Points Series! (Can you believe that dude is on our team?!)

Next weekend will be a whole new ballgame, as the Missouri State CX Championships in KC will be going down, and the StL Wrecking crew needs to take care of some business, knowing that they have some serious business going on over there.

What's Up Tyrone,
-Casey F. Ryback


Turkey Chorbb!

Greetings Thankful Team Seagal Jerks. We shall be talking a break from all of this cyclocrossing foolishness to revert back to our beloved mountain biking roots. Sweet Jesus. Thursday: Chorbb Trail, Lone Elk side, 9 or something. I can't stay long however, as I have to go to thanksgiving dinner with the family at my newly married cousin's house - they sure do look happy, don't they?

-Casey F. Ryback

P.s. - Robort should come too.


Mt. Tain't-Destroyer

Greetings Team Seagal Fans. It's strange how things happen. Despite the fact that the race at Mt. Pleasant Winery was pretty well regarded as being the most ridiculously hard race last year, the race was destined to come back. In fact, I'd say that it was probably the most anticipated race of this season. All season long, the thought about all of those hills compacted onto such a small plot of land got me all hot and bothered. For it had been foretold in the Necronomicon, "Verily, he who is known as Yog Sothoth did spake of a grower of fermented grapes, and upon this land there shall be held a yearly race of bicycles, and they shall know but terror and destruction. They shall ride alone, under the gaze of Cthulu, on ridges and upon grass of which time hath forgotten, and now only knows the odor of the undead souls of the begotten. Truly, this was not to be a happy place to be racing your bike.

There are two big things in cyclocross that hurt a shit-ton. going uphill, and cold, shitty weather. (And getting slapped in the ass from the official Team Red Wheel horn.) This past Bubba race, held at Mt. Pleasant Winery, had only one of those two things - and the weather was nice. It was kind of like entering a hilly thunderdome. It was fun putting up the course, but then actually clipping in and racing this course was about as fun as being backstage at a Nickelback concert. And there's only a few things that happen backstage at a Nickelback concert, and they all involve forcible sodomy.

There were many Team Seagal Soldiers that were deployed to this race, however, only three of them were racing - myself (Crotchmaster Flash), Forrest Taft, and The Professor. The Stovingtons, Jerkward, Team Trail Monstor and Gregward took up residence on the sidelines, making sure that everyone they knew in each of the races heard what they had to say. (The word "jerk" comprised about 40% of all words they spoke today.)

As we approached the line, I looked to my right and saw "Kirby." I looked to my left and saw T-tocs. It was like I was in a jerk sandwich, and I was the meat. "Sometime in the next 30 seconds" the bell went off and we slowly accelerated in our mid-range SS gears. I somehow ended up in 2nd place for almost two laps, which was a really strange position in which to be - off the front of the man-train. It wasn't long before my back muscles shifted my transmission into reverse, at which point I then went from 2nd to 4th or 5th (not totally sure) and also watched numerous gear dudes pass by. I had the misfortune to be able to watch/smell the smelliest rider in the bi-state region, on Team Mack, pass me by once again, much like last week. In an effort to continue part of the Team Seagal Mission, which is to bring you down to our level of humor, I will give you my theory on his repeated stench. My theory is that he must have unloaded a ~3 foot long brown snake while wearing his unwashed bibs, and since they might be the only team bibs that he has, he has to continue wearing them after saying to himself "Ah fuck it, it's too late to make them clean now. I might as well just let it go, maybe it will come full circle and get back to smelling nice again." Not yet.

While entering into my last lap, I was passed by grabb-ass expert and moonshine connoisseur, Nick Smith, who reminded me that I beat him last year. I think the fact that he didn't wait around for me implied that this was payback. There were a lot of TRW's that made the arduous trek over from the Jeff City Metropolitan area to join in our mirth - Stoney, Adam, Corey, and the keeper of many middle fingers, Mr. Jerkins himself. I crossed the finish line glad to be finished with that race, because the "happy place" I had gone to was wearing off, which was just me thinking about I could get away with murdering and hiding the body of Chad Kroeger, lead singer for Nickelback.

Glad to be finished, I set to fixing downed tape, obnoxiously cheering people pre-riding the course, and discussing with Scooter McScooterson his night at Council Bluff with the gang of gay mexican dudes. I cheered on noted beard-dopers Tyler Bick and The Rock putting on their pain faces while riding the Pain Train to Painville. It wasn't long before the main act came on, starring Professor, Devin, Scott O., Jeff, Schottler, Butthead, Scott P., and a large number of other dudes. Last year on this very hillside, we witnessed one of the great battles in all of Missouri CX-dom - Professor and Butthead duking it out for second place. With that still fresh in our minds, it was exciting to see Scott O take the lead for *several* laps, and then to finish in the top 5. Oooooweee. The Power Trio of Professor, Devin and Jeff soon formed their own train which choo-choo'd away from the rest, putting a sizable gap on the rest of the field. Based on their personalities, it may have been the nicest, most cordial three people to be racing at the front. How... nice.

Dan was pulling ahead on the climbs, which soon saw some space develop between them, and allowing space for Schottler to bridge the gap and make it into the top 3. Devin held him off long enough to keep second, with Dan doing what Warren G always wanted to do - have wings and fly - to first fucking place!

Hard to imagine a better way to spend a Sunday in November. It's as hard as Chad Kroeger reading Boy's Life magazine. The weather hasn't fully broken down yet, so enjoy it while you can. One way to do so will be next Sunday, where we will reconvene at Spanish Lake and do it all over again. I mean what else will you be doing, hanging out in bed with your friends?

Just remember - there are two reasons to ride bikes - for a paycheck, and for fun. So if this isn't your job, there is no reason not to enjoy it. Jerk.

-Casey F. Ryback


CX at Suson Park? What a Great idea.

Greetings Team Seagal jerks. Another weekend of racing with beautiful weather is behind us. Instead of vomitous "Belgian" weather, it has been mild, leaving the ground dryer than camel's nut sack. It could be a lot worse. Even though we all dream for nasty conditions where it is cold and rainy, and I (along with the rest of the Bubba crew) wish for softer ground into which I can drive the wooden stakes, it certainly is hard to complain about not having to completely overhaul your mud-caked bike after each race, and not having to change out of cold, wet, shitty clothing and stand in the slop. Perhaps we employed a little too much yak semen earlier this year when doing our secret Team Seagal rain-repelling dance, in hopes of dry mountain bike races. No matter.

This weekend's races were full of stores that sold nothing but Team Seagal jerks. CX at the Sem was once again a truly spectacular course that, much like John Candy, was loved by all. Unfortunately, much like John Candy, that race is over now, with the Dynamic Duo of Butthead and our own Professor punching each other in the face over again the whole time, ultimately leading to the JDE, or Johnson Diesel Engine, reigning supreme. Because after all, "He has the jersey." Professor told me that it was probably the hardest CX race he'd had this year.

Sunday was a new day however, with new challenges, and new jerks. The whole time setting the course up, I was left wondering just how the people at Suson Park managed to get grass to grow out of concrete, because as I hammered in the stakes, they just refused to go into the ground, unlike Criss Angel's butthole, which doesn't refuse anything. That being said, the Sunday course was fast and furious, with many brand new things to try out. I for one, was trying out my newly built and glued set of killer Velocity Major Tom rims to which I have a set of Challenge Fango's attached, all spinning on my favorite hubs in the world, White Industries. This would be my first time ever on tubulars, and to say I was just impressed would be like saying "Criss Angel is just bisexual." I thought I might be the first Team Seagal Soldier to employ tubulars, but alas, Professor beat me to it in a much more pro way - carbon rims with Dugasts.

Also being debuted at Suson was a prototype product from the minds of Anthony Dust and myself, The Crotch, which can only be described as a series of can cozies sewn together to make a somewhat-insulated sleeve, and is then held with a shoulder strap. This allows for easy carrying of beers around a race course, and keeps them relatively cool. Or at least, cooler than they would be if they were in your pocket. 6 cozies equals 5 beers. Spy shots have yet to be found. Expansion plans are already in the works.

We started the race uphill, in gravel, which doesn't bode well for a tubbo-McTubberson such as myself. Nevertheless, I managed to hang onto the man-train involving King Furby himself, noted beard-dopers Robert Mayfield, Mason Storm, and T-tocs. Eric Siever and LaBerta were well gone, despite their lack of beards. As we choo-choo'd around the course, things sorted themselves out and better lines were discovered. The Tropical Storm found himself needing a back-e-atomy, and had trouble hitching himself onto the back of the Crotch-train. I was having troubles of my own keeping Robert in sight. I would start breathing down his neck through the twisty descents and small log barriers, but he would pull away on the straights and the climb up-to and passed the start/finish. I found the grassy climb just after the start/finish to be the hardest part of the course. It was so hard, it was harder than Criss Angel at a Boy Scout Jamboree. This is also the climb where Mr. Shoemaker would start to make up time on me. He was hungry for the Crotch, as usual, but this race, the Crotch would get the better of him, as I finished in 4th place.

I was somewhat surprised how long it took the lead C-Racer, from Team Mack, to catch up, and when he did, I tried to back off and NOT draft him at all, as he smelled worse than the Creve Coeur Fish. (However, his handling skills were lacking, and so I was forced to endure his "musk" at close proximity for a while.) The steep run/ride up was fun, and I actually enjoyed taking out the frustration on that hill, that I had bottled up from hitting my hand multiple times the day before with the hammer while trying to drive wooden stakes into concrete. I would ride to the top, pass the peanut gallery involving Jerkward and the Stovingtons, making sure to stay in front of any geared riders hoping to pass me ahead of time. Following our race, I and the rest of the Team Seagal army spent time heckling Nate Means as he turned the B-Race into his playground.




The A Race seemed just a hair on the sparse side this time, with a handful of familiar faces not present. What WAS present was another showdown between our beloved Professor and Butthead. If I didn't know any better, I would think there might be some sort of rivalry here. The two of them rode with the group for a lap or two, then proceeded to pull a Mad Max on them, and turn on the supercharger. The gap they created was measured with a calendar. Not to say that was the only race going on in the A's - Scott O, Mr. David Stroot, and a handful of others made for some excitement. Anthony Dust created a one-man man-train on which he rode for 3rd place, and as always, Scooter McScootington was much loved by all, and got the most cheering and jeering (behind the Butthead/Professor Express) as he crested "Hooligan Hill," even managing a delicious PBR-Hand-Up. Truly an awe-inspiring feat of superior attitude and perseverance in the face of a year that, well, to call his year rough, would be like calling Criss Angel "just a little more in touch with his feminine side than most." The only thing our Hill of Pain needed was a Metal drummer on the sideline pummeling everyone's eardrums with double base kicks and blast beats. Professor needed this not, as he found his way to 1st place by climbing up the finishing stretch to the promised land by doing what he does best - C-C-C-C-C-CRUSHING HILLS.



(You'll have to bear with me, as this write-up is being composed on an iPad, and it seems to be next to impossible to upload photos for viewing here.)

Anyway, this weekend was another success, and next weekend is sure to continue this tradition of success, in a most glorious way. Yes, we return to Mt. Pleasant next Sunday. You may remember Mt. Pleasant to be the scene, last year, of many broken dreams and much pain. Who would have thought that soft, green grass could have been so painful? I know Mashor remembers Mt. Pleasant vividly, where he was disqualified by Buddy for taking a wine hand-up. (It was his first CX race.) This year there is sure to be more pain, more hate, and more noise, as I have received super secret information that there may be a healthy Red Wheel deployment. If you don't show, we can only assume you are doing one thing: watching a 24 hour Criss Angel Mindfreak marathon. And that is just terrible.

-Casey F. Ryback

p.s. Thanks to Mr. Fickinger and Evil Mike for the photos!


2 Days of CX This weekend?

"But cyclocross is really hard! I'm going to get sore from racing TWO days in a row. And what if I do what I always do and race 2 races each day? Then it'll be EXTRA hard for me! My taint is going to get extra pummeled and will be more sore than usual, which will make it even more tough for me when I go to that dudes-only bathhouse". WWWAAAAAHHHHHH. Greetings, Team Seagal fans. Yes, these are the complaints about having more than once day of racing in a row. We've all heard people around us spouting off this tripe before. At least these will both be day races, so there won't be complaints about the lack of lighting.

These are the same people that, when attending a death metal concert, stand on the edge of the mosh pit holding their beer, and then get super pissed off when the pit-fury, much like the tasmanian devil, sucks him in and he loses his beer all over himself and the floor. He then tries to get the bartender to give him a free beer to which the surly death metal bartender rightfully says "Go suck the shit off of a dead man's ass." Am I right?

Anyway, so we were talking about cyclocross. I have it on good source that Concordia Seminary is going to be turned from a place of God, worship and learning into pure hell come saturday. There has even been talk of a "blood pit" rather than a mud pit. At least blood is water soluble. Key things to watch out for this saturday include unleashing of all hate and hellfire. Tie all of this into a totally fresh course on Sunday at Suson, and you will running around as spastically as Pacman:

-Casey F. Ryback


Queeny Park Foolishness!

Greetings Team Seagal fanboi's! It's been a while since I've been able to bring you a report. But alas, I've been out of the country on sabbatical, working with the street children in Zambia, helping to further the research of that country's main export - lung butter.

That doesn't mean that in the meantime, we here at Team Seagal HQ have been sitting on our hands. CX recon, Chorbb Monday's, riding the OT, and yes - mixing it up at the front of Missouri CX races. It never stops around here. We've been as busy as Criss Angel is gay, and that's pretty damn busy.

Last weekend was the highly anticipated Halloween CX double-header. And we put the "debauchery" in "highly anticipated Halloween CX double header." So there I was, 4 episodes into a lengthy Matlock marathon, when I figured a sure-fire way to get a ridiculous costume. One trip to the St. Vincent dePaul Thrift Store and $15 later, and I was the owner of a pretty wedding dress. Part of the fun with that dress was coming up with stories behind all the different stains. Let's face it though - what kind of gayz0rz jibroney would not dress up for a night race on Halloween weekend?

For the night race, the park rangers allowed the course to cross over the bike path and stretch down to the beach, which is where the real tomfoolery happened. A few dudes figured out that skirting the edge of the water wasn't a bad way to get through, as long as they avoided the fish that stunk like a wooly mammoth's dick stuck in petrified shit.

Two Peat Henry's!

Nice thighs.

Even good buddy Scotty Peipert had his mind on one thing during that race, getting smelly fish bucks and riding the grassy step-up. Nice fucking work. Between him, Ray Mysterio, ET and Elliot, Dawg the Bounty Hunter, all the PBR we were putting down our throat-holes, and of course "Fat Boy" who had to lift his fat boy nuts up and onto the saddle each time he remounted, we were having more fun than Buddy has when DQ'ing riders.

Last week's ridiculousness behind us, I was particularly excited to return to Queeny Park, as the last time we were there, it was a truly "Belgian" experience. There were even Trappist Monks brewing beer that day. This time the weather was going to be as it has been this entire CX season - warm, dry, and dusty. So instead of conditions being the main attraction, it was going to be all about the course, which we (the Bubba crew) had carefully constructed (within the paramaters set by the Park Ranger) to be a welcome change from almost everything that we'd seen so far this year. A course that would favor both mountain bikes and CX bikes. And uphill start that send the man-train down the horse trail, uphill barriers, and then slaloming down the field before entering into the woods where you could really hold off your opponents with finely-honed bike handling. A series of slight bottlenecks, dusty turns, and rooty sections would see to that. Finally, you would dump out onto the pavement and start climbing where your better option would have been to ritualistically kill yourself by disembowelment, rather than face the slight headwind that greated you as you approached the summit. And if you avoided the thorns that were prevalent out there, you had a chance at another lap.

I lined up on the SS start line with a rather large field, though we were missing a couple of Mesa Jerks who were out in Moab being sonsabitches. I found myself next to our own Forrest Taft, Masson Storm, Stoveward P. Stovington, and Ginz0rz. As usual, I was at max heartrate before getting clipped in. As our train of dudes choo-choo'd down the first doubletrack, I quickly found my place as the caboose with Masson and a relative newcomer to the StL scene, Dwayne, who, as it turns out, is what he eats, and he only eats jerky.

The three of us were keeping a very high pace together for maybe two laps, before I decided that I had been demoralized by the Tropical Storm as he hammered passed me on the final straight too many times, and I started to peel off the back like dead skin off of Zombie Elvis. Masson's climbing prowess surprised me, as he is not a beanpole by any means. My theory is from when he regaled me with a tale of his half-hour long morning constitutional that morning, where he nearly achieved liftoff. I believe that he was left nearly hollow inside, thus significantyly reducing his weight and making for an incredible power-to-weight ratio. He and Dwayne rode off without me. Probably for the best, as I was clearly not anywhere near a superior state of mind, exemplified by my endo over the first barrier. I later flatted as I started the next lap, which ended my involvement in that race. At least I wasn't the only one to eat shit during that race.

That was all find and dandy, as I was able to get a headstart on spectator debauchery. After walking the course and fixing some course tape, I joined forces with the rest of the Team Seagal Wrecking Crew, which also included Jerkward and Lawman and we proceeded to give B and A racers the needed motivation to ride the U-Turn at the end of the two-way straightaway in the woods as fast as possible.

We must have made plenty of noise, as we were soon joined by an estrogen-heavy contingent of hecklers including Carrie Cash, Ms. Braddock, and company. With our powers combined, we were the loudest thing in Queeny Park. Former Ray Mysterio managed a ball-buck, or "crotch-preem" from Lawman's pants, and later got my "mouth-buck." Scooter attempted valiantly to snatch the beer from the tree, though it was tight, and ended up in the woods. No matter, Casey Saunders may or may not have got a $5 bill/PBR combo using that same can.

The real excitement came from watching Butthead, Devin and Professor unhitch all other man-cars, and train around the course in a most mind-blowing fashion. Before long, it broke down to just Professor and Josh, which made for an epic battle all the way up until the last uphill finish straight - and since Dan actually breaths helium, he managed to pull away for the win! Shades of last year's experience at Mt. Pleasant Winery, for sure!

We should consider ourselves to be pretty lucky, as we this weather was uh-mazing. The only thing more amazing is this music video, which can't be embedded, so click the link.
Yep, those Village People.

There are many things to look forward to the rest of this season, so stop whining, and be fucking ready.

I've missed you,
-Casey Fucking Ryback

Thanks for the photos, EvilleMike!


Election Day Special-the results are in: Middlefork Still Rules!

Greetings fellow Team Seagal loyalists. Tuesday was a monumental day, for it marked the final day of heinous political ads that seemed to be everywhere--I mean, when you can't plug into Pandora(that one's for you Robort), or log onto a website without seeing the crap, something's got to give. So, when election day rolled around, I needed to vote. What was I, Jack Taggart to do on this day?
-1- Get up early, stand in line at the polls, and be late for work. Or,
-2- Plea for the day off, and go ride singletrack in the morning and early afternoon.
Faster than you can mutter the words 'dangling chad', Decision '10 was made: Thanks to a miracle at the workplace, I was headed to the DD parking lot early Tuesday to meet Nico Toscani, Mason Storm, our good buddy Josh, and whomever else chose to not flip between Wolf Blitzer and the 'What Not to Wear' marathon on Lifetime.
Upon my arrival it was immediately apparent that this ride would be no Tea Party, as John Matthews, along with Steve and his buddy Dave would make this ride a race:
Soon, Nico, Mason and Josh arrived and we began to get our minds, bikes, bodies, and most importantly t'aints ready for the epic journey that awaited. Nico Toscani, of course, was born ready:

Here, Mason goes thru his traditional pre-ride calisthenics routine, much to the amazement of Steve

Shortly thereafter, we were off to taste some of the sweetest singletrack around, at what is arguably the best time of the year to do so. There would be minimal 'mud-slinging', as the creeks were running but the trail was stellar! There were also no pollsters, posters, incumbents, or recumbents. About a mile into the ride my bike started sounding a bit crunchy--a quick chain fix and I was off again--for about a mile. Upon climbing the first significant stretch I realized I had a rear flat and yelled ahead. Steve heard me and waited at the top. That's when I realized I had a cut sidewall, which gave me the opportunity to use my:
Having used these on a customer's bike and knowing that J. Bock has had success with them, I knew they worked, but this was my first time trying them in the field. Steve watched in horror as I performed surgery with my sidewall with a strip of vulcanizing rubber and the world's smallest screwdriver. I prayed to Energor that my rash of mechanical misfortune would not cut my ride short, and a few descents later I was a believer-the tire was holding air and I was back fighting. Now the ride was kicking into full gear:

Steve, Josh and Dave

Steve shredding
Nico and his Lynskey
Dave and his blaze-orange Vassago
Josh Picker
Tropical Storm Mason salutes the camera
Here is where my camera ejected my batteries for the forth time, prompting me to shove them back in and try to catch up. I must have put them in upside down or something for I was not able to later catch the moment at which Mason did a 'slow-speed endo', catching the attention of 'the governors'. Still, this assault on this amazing trail thru Missouri would stay the course, following the route of the MFXC campaign held earlier this year--and though the locals(as well as their dogs) must have all been out at the polls, we still were treated to some magnificent scenery along the fire roads-the leaves on the trees are on fire right now. We forged ahead, past the cemetery and the burned homestead, up the muthafucka gravel climb, and beyond until the last stretch of singletrack was chewed up and spat out and we all emerged victorious. I had to skip the victory party at Dos Primos, but I can only imagine how the car smelled on the ride back--one thing is for sure: this trail is superb right now and I would highly recommend making the trip. Until next time, I leave you with photographic evidence that I did not fake a flat, and that these tire plugs are the shit!! I also will guarantee that it will not be 2 more years until I make this journey. I am Jack Taggart, I am a Jerk, and I approved this blogpost.