Truebelievers, the P-Hen has some sad news.

Those credit card checks that the P-Hen received in the mail? It turns out the credit card company is only loaning me the money for a full-body he-epilation.

Also, the P-Hen got dropped in the Jeff Cup.


Now, you may be saying to yourselves: damn, even if he did get dropped, I may just need to have his baby.

But you couldn't.

You see, Truebelievers, even if the P-Hen were on the market (which the P-Hen is not. Sorry, Beyonce!), the P-Hen would be taking himself off the market on principle alone. Because, Truebelievers, the P-Hen found himself on Sunday in the lowest, saddest ring of Cat 3 Hell, the OTBCG (Off the Back Chase Group). In my OTBCG, there were the following:

• a guy with his cycling cap flipped up under his helmet; I mean, it's okay when Basso does it, but otherwise, you end up looking like Spike Lee
• the requisite boner who blasts by at 28 mph and shouts "if we work together, we can do it!" Thanks, Cesar Chavez, but the P-Hen's rolling back to the parking lot...
• the world's only 300-pound Cat 3
• a guy who I'm pretty sure was wearing sweatpants
• also, this guy:

It's pretty hard being the P-Hen right now. But, Truebelievers, if a class 3 misdemeanor can't break me, you can be sure that trading pulls with Erkel for a half-lap won't either.

---

So went the encore call to one of the best shows I have seen in a very long time. Last night I met up with a long lost friend from 1st year at UVA, Chris O, and headed over to Bottom of the Hill, a San Fran club famous for reeling in top underground Brit acts before the average chump hears about it.

Openers were the Crystal Skulls. They were decent, nothing to write home about that I recall. After some shuffling following the set, we found ourselves directly on the side of the stage with the 2nd band, Gil Mantera's Party Dream, warming up. At that point I don't think anyone in the audience knew what was about to hit them upside the head.....sausages!

GMPD is two guys from Ohio who look like metal heads and play guitar like metal heads. But they also have a synth/drum/bass machine that pumps out cheesy techno trash that would make the Blue Man Group blush. So the next thing we know, there is a pair of dudes in very tight clothing, blowing out power riffs over casiotone-house-whatever while the bassist sings through a synth-microphone and does ear-high leg kicks.

They brought a gift pack of smoked sausages on stage. After the first song, they both bit into one, fellated it, dipped into some type of sauce, and threw them at people. One landed by my beer. Another hit a girl in the head.

As the set went on, the clothes came off. Ha-What?

Finally, Art Brut! Staccato rhythms, angry British guys, and a drummer that plays standing up (a la Buzzcocks). We were still directly beside the stage, so much so that the lead guitarist nearly kicked over my High Life while working the pedal. Pretty much one of the most lively, amazing acts ever. At one point a rowdy fan at the front wrestled the lead singer off the stage and down into the crowd. Dude kept singing while attempting to CHASE THE GUY through the crowd and kicked his ass with a free hand. It was SICK!


And finally, when I was getting in my car at 1am in a very dark neighborhood, a homeless guy tried to sell me a PAIR OF SKIS (with bag!).

"Hey man, excuse me...do you ski?"
"Ummmm, no. I snowboard, but I really gotta go now."
"Oh, well, umm, do you want some skis for cheap? Maybe you got some friends that ski."
"Not really, I kinda don't need them. Sorry"
"Shit man, nobody wants my skis today."

(I gave him $2 for bus fare)

---

It hurts me to see that the Notorious P-Hen is currently trying to out-blog me. This aggression will not stand, Dude. This aggression will not stand.

Anyway, I just finished laying the wood to my 3rd week in the corporate world. Time flies when you're not sitting on your ass trying to find a job. Things have been going pretty well in that I haven't caused any satellites to burn up in the atmosphere (yet) and they even paid me! I'm rich, bitches!! Also, I haven't gotten stuck in the security door since my first week, which is great. I bet Bjork would totally get her swan ass stuck in there.

I moved out of my temporary apt last weekend. My new digs are much closer to 'the scene' as it were, in Menlo Park. Oddly enough, I'm only about a quarter mile from D-Gal's joint. I can't get enough of that guy. Too bad the only time I see him is when he cons me into taking him to or picking him up from SFO. Oh well. The new place is dope. I have a great roommate, Andrea, who has both a law degree and MBA from Stanford and runs her own consulting company. Thus if I ever get into an argument, I will 1) lose and 2) probably end up signing my car over to her without even knowing it.

One side effect of the corporate world is how much daylight savings time sucks when it's turned off during the winter. Getting home in time to ride outside is super hard, so I have adopted a Noakesian philosophy: why ride easy for 2hrs when you can destroy yourself for 35 minutes? Indeed.

Last weekend I went on a 'long' ride to jump start the salvage effort for my lackluster fitness. I made the BIG mistake of heading out in questionable weather conditions with a lack of rain/cold weather gear (this IS california, right?). Wrong. By the bottom of Old La Honda, a famed 25 minute, single lane mountain climb just west of Palo Alto, the rain was a-coming. At the top of the range, things were going downhill fast...dense fog, more rain, and high crosswinds. I rode north on Skyline (not unlike Skyline Drive in VA) along the ridge, mostly uphill, for 10 miles and it kept getting worse, worser, and then worstest. Very wet and cold, just trying to make it to the next road down to the valley.

That's about the time the sleet storm started. Man that stuff hurts the face. I descended Kings Mtn road, which is about 5 miles of switchbacks and hairpins, all with numb hands and worthless brakes. By the bottom I couldn't hear my iPod due to the teeth chatter. I stopped at the next place that was open. This happened to be an old general store that is now a museum. As I saunter in soaked and shivering, the curators look up at me and say "Hi there, are you here for a tour?". Too bad they weren't joking. 20 minutes later I had the full history of the Tripp family store and was a few degrees warmer. I tracked water ALL over the place and they didn't blink. Very strange.

The whole episode reminded me of my least favorite cycling experience (that doesn't involve a crash, at least). Last April there was an ACC collegiate road race down in Boone, NC, home of Appalachian State. The night before the race no one could sleep because of the amazingly strong winds threatening to blow the hotel over. The men's A race was at noon, and by then the winds were still there, the rain was starting, and snow was rumored to be on the way.

Naturally, UVA rider Mark Hardman sat in the VT team van (who he no longer races for, jackass) until people were literally on the start line and ended up having to chase after he got left behind. One lap in, all hell broke loose. At the top of the main climb, rain became sleet and snow. People were off the road on the descent left and right. At the bottom, I found myself going all out on the flats in my 39x16 due to the winds that would cause several solo crashes. Trusty race official Ruth made the call to end the race early thank goodness. Some Lees McCrap rider won in a break that should have been harmless had the race not been shortened by 50 miles. On the way back down to the cars, I was so soaked and cold, even with 4 layers on, that I flipped over in the grass while reaching down to grab my discarded water bottle. And all I could do was sit there. Cold like that hurts the soul.

Tomorrow it's supposed to be sunny and 65 here. Funny how people in CA always ride with full winter clothing on, no matter what. I'm going to head out for a group ride with the Alto Velo squad, rumored to be the CRC of Palo Alto, and we all know what THAT means. I love chatting with cat 5's who ride a DA10 SRM. It really makes you think....about killing yourself. I swear to god if I get bumped by a guy in a neon goretex rainsuit he's getting hit with a 2x4.

---

I don't think the many pros out there reading this site really understand just how difficult it is to be a Cat 3. I mean, unlike you guys, we don't get to spend our days out riding at max watts and our nights receiving rubdowns from Laotian houseboys. Instead, we've got to balance riding with commitments like work, family, internet dogfighting, and crunkdancing. Take me, for example: in addition to being a Cat 3, the P-Hen is a student, a teacher, a small businessman, a baller and also a shot-caller. (I also devote a significant amount of time to maintaining the 20-inch blades on the P-Hen Impala.) So when the P-Hen gets dropped in a Pro-1-2-3 crit, who understands? Not the Pros, not the Cat 1's, not the Cat 2's.

I'll tell you who understands: Bjork.



Bjork gets it. Bjork knows what it's like to have other commitments. I mean, Bjork is obviously an amazing Icelandic pop-dance-whalesong musician, and she's got the press and awards and record sales to back it up. But did you know that she's also an amazing actress? Check out Lars von Trier's Dancer in the Dark.
Did she totally convince you that she's a blind Icelandic pop-dance-whalesong musician or what?

And in addition to her singing and acting, Bjork also works the swing shift at one of Iceland's many geothermal energy facilities. You didn't know that, did you? Did you realize that her nights and weekends are often spent bitchslapping the members of Sigur Ros? (Pimpin' ain't easy, even if you're Bjork)

Bjork, you are the light of Cat 3s everywhere. And the P-Hen will always honor you:




(Please note: though the P-Hen was dropped approximately 12 minutes after this photo was taken, be assured that the swan created a lot of aerodynamic drag.)

---

Heather was here for a few days for a job interview in Menlo Park! YAY! It went really well and we're hoping to hear back soon. We had a great time hanging out in Palo Alto on Friday. Saturday we went down to Santa Cruz to meet up with my sis, Jennifer (Lil' Boss) and her boyfriend Justin. We kicked it downtown, bought some records (KMD yo!) and got a dope meal at Clouds. Santa Cruz is def a great place. There was no shortage of freaks out on the streets, though. At one point I had to sidestep a grown man dressed head to toe in neon pink only to collide with a Chaplin impersonator pushing a full size piano down the sidewalk. Unfortunately Heather had to fly back early Sunday morning, so her visit was way too short.

It's official, I am officially an official resident of CA, officially speaking. I received my drivers license in the mail today. Yes, the DMV here is so overslammed that they have to mail you a license 2 weeks after you pass the test and take the picture. They also take appointments by booking over the internet. I am not kidding. I guess less well-off people without internet just gotta wait in line. There's something not so fair about that.


Here's the new license, with what I must say is my best ID pic in history. I think they add liquid tan to the developer or something. I am white as a sheet normally. The pic is out of focus for obvious reasons: personal security and a lack of macro focus on the Razr.

While we're at it, here's my corporate security badge:


The place where I work is this huge campus of buildings featuring interesting minimalist 1950's atomic age architecture, or lack thereof. They build all of our satellites on site in enormous high bays and conduct research and mission planning in the surrounding offices and labs. With all of this going on, security is very high. In order to get in (or out) of any building, I have to swipe my computer-chipped badge. I've already been shot twice!

The funny thing was last Tuesday, I was bringing in a box of goodies to stock up the ol' office...pictures, food, porn, etc. I also had my travel coffee mug (full). The main door to my building is an electronic revolving door, requiring a badge swipe and a quick step into the swing. I balanced my piping hot french presssed Italian Roast on top of the box I was holding while I struggled to reach the lanyard-suspended badge to the sensor. Made it! Reached up, grabbed the coffee, reshuffled and proceeded into the moving door. BUT too bad, I had taken too long to get in and the damn thing stopped with me stuck inside. Realizing my fate, I looked around and quickly understood that there was no way out. After a little bit someone came along and busted me out with a courtesy swipe. I felt dumb, because I am.

And in 24 news, I cannot believe they let Victor die. Assholes.

---

Truebelievers, some bad news. The P-Hen received something in the mail a few weeks ago that changed my life: these amazing little checks that I can write to anyone, up to $5000, and the money gets charged to my credit card! Is that fucking awesome or what?! Hello, full body he-epilation!

Oh, and the P-Hen also got selected for jury duty.

Now, I know what you're thinking. But let me just say, that whole "shivving incident" ultimately played out as a misdemeanor, not a felony. So, yes, the P-Hen is, in fact, still eligible for jury duty.

The P-Hen also knows that you're worried about my season and what this means for the future of Cat 3 cap-peeling on the Eastern Seaboard. I mean, I've got the Jeff Cup at the end of the month, and then a whole series of events in April and May. Who will dominate them if the P-Hen's got to spend his spring stuck up in some courtroom? I mean, who cares if it's Man 1 or Murder 2? The P-Hen's got some 39 x 27 sprints (emphasis on form) to do!

The judge was not sympathetic to my request that my jury duty be deferred until the off-season. I suspect that may have also had something to do with my request that my off-season jury duty not conflict with my off-season regimen of weight-lifting, fixed-gear riding, end-of-season eBaying, internet-based dogfighting, and Pilates.

Truebelievers, the P-Hen will check back in shortly with updates on this whole crisis. Between now and then, with any luck, I'll get out of this by getting arrested.

Relax. The P-Hen only commits victimless crimes.

Like stabbing.

Just kidding!

Or am I?

---

A bunch of you have expressed interest in hearing about the relocation to sunny CA. Leave me alone, I gotta go to work bitches!

I flew out last Monday and got settled quickly in a fairly posh corporate apartment. The company that I'm working for, Space Systems Loral, is def hooking it up. I made the most of the week to get set up in the area, taking care of dumb stuff like getting a new phone (I got a Razr too, Ian!), banking, and all that boring crap. I also picked up my dope new car, the future Cat 3 Mobile, a Subaru WRX wagon that's quite fresh. I spent the first few days driving around the area, dusting Porsches and then slowing down to remind them that yes, in fact, they had been taken to the rack by a station wagon.

D-Gal and I got together for a dope ride up Old La Honda and the like, after which I took his fine ass to the airport to race with Christoph in the Dominican Republic Tour.

Many of you may had followed the Tour of California last week as well. I shot down to Monterey to see my sis, Jennifer, as well as the start for stage 4. Jenn works for the Hyatt in town, and that's where they were hosting the public meet-up the night before the stage. I had guessed any pro worth their salt during a long stage race wouldn't go anywhere near a bar between stages. I would be proved wrong, of course, by the majority of the Gerolsteiner team downing pints and shooting pool in their Adidas warmups and terrible german faux-hawks. Congrats, you guys get the official Cat 3 Corner Seal of Approval! In other news, the Kodak-Sierra Nevada guys are the biggest dorks I have ever seen.


I went for a sick ride after the start on Thursday, over to Pebble Beach and 17 Mile Drive. Super dopetron. I also saw this guy:


Once I returned from Monterey I quickly found out that I had a nice head/chest cold going, prob from the flight. Needless to say, facing the first day of corporate life this Monday with 20 pounds of congestion all up in my piece was not ideal. Luckily, it was just a bunch of orientation junk and they even gave me a free lunch!



So far it's going pretty well. I'm working on...oh wait, I'd have to kill you. ha! It looks like one of my first projects will be the Japanese meteorological satellite that SS/L launched about a year ago. All the more interesting is my lack of knowledge in meteorology or Japanese, but what can you do.

Sheff's California travels by the numbers:

45: minutes it took to drive the 9 mile commute on Tuesday
101: worst freeway ever
28: # people flipped off per month (based on extrapolation of early data)
1: # homeless men that called me a 'racist cracka', unprovoked, while I was waiting at a traffic light in an affluent neighborhood
1: # homeless men I have flipped off, ever
9,000: number of new acronyms, abbreviations and lingo terms I have to learn in order to competently communicate at work (it's sat-speak yo!)
0.3: current watts/kg at AT, thanks to moving, being sick and general slackerdom

---