The year is 1988, and neon was GOOD...
I was reppin' my set at the Bicycle Outfitter Cat 4 Sectionals (my last race as a 4). I was a dumbass, young buck with the legs to rip the field to shreds and the emotional stability of a piece of wet one-ply toilet paper. If things didn't go just right, I folded. Ah, the foolishness of youth...
Which leads me to my next admission...
What the hell was I thinking with this outfit?
That's me at a fiesty 128 lbs. Note the bad mustache and pulled up sweats. GHET-TO
This was taken back when 7 speeds ruled the road, you could climb anything in a 42X21 and Wheelsmith trued my wheels every Monday.
And I'll end with this....
What the hell is going on here?!?!?
How in the hell am I cool standing there with a CAMEL TOE?
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