Galaxy Cafe on West Lynn has a nice euro-style outdoor seating area where me and the special lady friend were sharing some dinner and a few glasses of wine in what turned out to be a very nice evening.

About halfway through the meal, we were joined on the porch by two older gentleman (a couple I would guess), who rolled up in an older Rolls Royce with their dog (yes, we bring our dogs to eat with us in Austin) that was a mix of poodle, malamute and dust bunny. This thing was walking around with 30 pounds of fur, easily.

We were taking our time with the wine, enjoying some conversation, so they ended up finishing their festivities long before we did. As they were leaving a couple of odd things happened. First, as they are walking toward their car, one of the guys rips an earth-shattering fart. This disturbance of seismic proportions could probably be heard in Houston, caused several homeland security alerts, and temporarily grounded all flights out of the airport. Walls shook, trees snapped from the force of the blast, small children cried. Then he opens the passengers-side door to the Rolls (his partner is already behind the wheel), lets the dust-bunny-slash-dog in, and climbs into the back seat like some freakishly weird version of driving miss daisy, where Morgan Freeman’s part is reprised by Alf.

We took it as a sign to order more wine.

My 30th birthday is next month. Nothing says ‘I care’ like a Design Within Reach Airstream.

Just sayin…

Photos from the inside.

Or rather, salvage specialists, work against the clock to save a capsized cargo freighter off the coast of Alaska.

Starbucks closed on Tuesday, supposedly to teach their employees how to make better espresso (not sure how you do that on the automated machines they use, but whatever). The World decided go to the source and talk to the self-proclaimed best barrista in Italy. How very Italian.

For the first time since Spam was considered a viable and healthy food-stuff, voting in a Texas primary actually means something.

For a take on all the candidates running, the League of Women Voters publishes the most comprehensive, bi-partisan guide, so you can make your own choices, (although it’s a bit of a read). For those with a little less time on their hands, the Austin Chronicle also has a more-than-adequate endorsement section that generally aligns with the mildly liberal types (although not much to say on the Republican side of things). Early voting can be done at any of these locations, anytime before Friday.

Finally, to quote the Chronicle, regardless of who you vote for…

….our strongest endorsement is that you all take seriously your right and responsibility to vote.

Couldn’t we just print stickers with the new logo on everyone’s business cards and not have to reprint [the cards] ?

Could you just get that Illustrator program installed on my computer and I’ll do it myself? How hard is it to use ?

/me sets computer on fire, walks away…

A victory for Obama, is a victory for sans-serif type everywhere.

(All apologies to the fail blog for a little bit of plagiarism)

Following the stunning feat of not dying in Terlingua last weekend, I thought I’d do some light biking around Austin. Riggggggggght.

Sat: Walnut Creek’s BMX loop has some great little jumps on it. Nothing serious, but good for some fun – until you realize that you neglected to throughly tighten the bolts on the stem, causing a sudden shift downward in the spiffy new riser bars. Suddenly I get to switch from mountain biking to hurdles as I try and clear myself from the tumbling chaos that once was my proud bicycle. I would have stuck the landing too, if my feet weren’t so freakishly large. See the picture above for an object lesson in proper torque.

Sun: Given Saturday’s shortcomings, I figured road biking might be a better Sunday option. Flats on a road bike are to be expected. The first one was no big deal, we found some shade, put in a new tube, and moved on. The second one was a little alarming. Standing on the side of 360 with traffic raging by, putting our last spare tube in my bike, we’d pretty much resolved to cut the ride short, given the craptasticness of things so far. On the record breaking third flat, not 20 yards down the road, I just had to sit there and try not to throw my bike down the hill, while Germ called in an Rob-e-vac.

A poster competition on Veerle Pieter’s site. Awesome work.

Microsoft is gearing up to steal what they can’t buy, through a proxy fight. This whole thing is kind of like watching the Aggies play football – you know your team’s going to lose, but…

When we told Tim about the specifics involved in a marathon race his highly appropriate response was something along the lines of, “that sounds like something you should get paid to do, not the other way around.” I’m also pretty sure he prefaced the entire thing with an emphatic and heartfelt “you stupid hippy, why the hell would you do that?”

I can safely say that at mile 10 of the Mas y Menos this weekend in Terlingua, I couldn’t agree more. At mile 12 I was praying for any kind of mechanical failure that would necessitate as short break, and at mile 15 I actually considered selling my bike to a random Mexican dude who was watching the race and walking away forever. Nothing compared though, to mile 20 as we neared the tres cuevas climb. On the approach it went something like this -

me: Dude this is going pretty good.

germ: Yeah, not to shabby.

me: Is that the big climb (motioning to sheer, 13,000,000 ft cliff to our right)?

germ: Nah, I’m sure we’ll go back around that….

me: Oh ok, cool.

germ: Well actually…yeah, I see tiny people up there…

…and by tiny people, it was like the way 18-wheelers look like ants when your on an airplane.

This thing just went on and on. Not having the benefit of a pre-ride I tried to assault it assuming the end was a reasonable distance away. The sunofabitch just kept going up and up. One switchback after the other until, right before I started knocking my head on the International Space Stations’ solar array, there was a bunch of hippies sitting in rocking chairs and wearing oxygen tanks, welcoming us to the top, like some kind of weird patchouli-scented version of Into Thin Air with bikes. Clearly, I exaggerate a bit, but this was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever ridden a bike up.

Big bend is, well, big. It’s aptly named. Medium Bend would not do it justice. And the race fits, nothing about it is tiny, from the course, to the climb to the kickass food and free beer. There was a pancake breakfast at 5a.m. the morning of the race – you know those people had been up since 3 a.m. cooking in the freezing cold desert. The people who put this thing together are incredible – the only thing that’s been close rivaling it was the livestrong ride and that has the freakish, Lance Armstrong cult of personality to back it. This is just a bunch of people, in a tiny hippy town in west Texas putting on a big race. That’s a pretty neat thing to be a part of.

My Pics | Germ’s Pics