But to really know what makes the flavor you have to taste the danger. And we definitely had our share. Halfway through the seventh bag of squid Killian went down. Hard. His NJS MSG inhibitor exploded without warning. None of us expected it, because that thing totally looked the shit. But sometimes you have to roll with them what brought you. So we did. We pumped him up with a pecan roll I stashed in my dance belt for just such an occasion. This wasn’t my first rodeo. He came through, and insisted on finishing the bag. And that’s what it’s all about. It’s the love of the squid that brings us together in the end. And when all you’re left with is the salty residue on your fingers, and the memories, you know it was worth it.

At one point, one of the tires in our group seemed to lose air and we thought all was lost. But we replaced the tube and endured, stronger for having suffered so. There will hills that went up. And others that went down. We’re almost unable to comprehend how difficult and miserable and challenging riding a bike though the glorious countryside can be. Those who have not been through it can possibly know what we’ve been though. How could they?

We don’t understand how the people at Velodirt are able to not organize this event for free and without winners. I can only assume this is part of a brand strategy, synthesizing their synergies on impactful profiteering in the luxury goods demographic.

Perhaps we should collabo.

It’s true that his greatest cycling may now be in the past, it’s also true that he brings out the joy in everyone he graces. It was an honor to have ridden with him, an experience that made may of our normal Super Serious black and white photos turn Instagram-vintage color and full of whimsy.

Riding in the company of greatness, indeed.

Drivel. When one feels the need to keep talking, even when everything that needs to be said has already been said. This is where we find ourselves today. But rather than say nothing, we’ve chosen to give you a bunch of words that mean nothing. Formatted nicely. To appear as art.

“When one seeks complete lack of saturation, that is when the soul becomes fully saturated with lack of color. For it is when man (or women, whatever, I guess they ride too) becomes both all and nothing at once, it’s when something whence into the nothing or something else.”

The above sentence is nonsense. But if we string enough words together in a nice script font with some grainy photos, we’re hoping that you’ll think it’s classy. Really fucking classy.

Have they ever looked into the confused eyes of a rural barista when asked if these beans were single origin, and if so, from where? Have they ever had to give up their last ultralight tube, only to flat themselves and be forced to use Performance brand standard tubes? Have they ever found photos of themselves online, taken at mile 87, in color, with saturation and contract left completely unadjusted?

Overly dry cappuccinos. Duvel served in pint glasses. Blended Scotch. Cannondale jerseys. Yea, we’ve seen some terrible things. We’ve suffered. Hard.

But these are the experiences that make use who we are. These are the hardships that make us different – perhaps better – than you. We know true misery. We desaturate it every day.

A lot of people will tell you that the key to looking haggard is the lazy eye, but the details can be lost when we convert the photos to black and white and max out the contrast and simulated film grain. That’s why we always go with the slack jaw.

Also, show some chest. Nothing says exhausted like showing some chest.

* It should be noted that people in the 30′s didn’t have smartphones or Strava or $300 jerseys or 16lb bikes either. But whatever.

** This ride was actually fucking amazing. But whatever.

But more that that. It’s that we did it together… without you. Because that’s what building our luxury brand is all about. Us doing things without you. And then asking you to buy the things that make you look like you did it with us.

Now we’re gonna go put it up in a gallery, but with all of the words spelled weird. As if we were French.

(Editor’s note: I actually fostered this cat. So I feel like I get to take some credit if he becomes an internet celebrity.)