Bedlam in Bedford...

"We have to create culture. Don't watch TV, don't read magazines, don't even listen to NPR. Create your own roadshow. The nexus of space and time where you are now is the most immediate sector of your universe, and if you're worrying about Michael Jackson or Bill Clinton or somebody else, then you are disempowered, your giving it all away to icons, icons which are maintained by an electronic media so that you want to dress like X or have lips like Y...this is shit-brained, this kind of thinking. That is all cultural diversion, and what is real is you and your friends and your associations, your highs, your orgasms, your hopes, your plans, your fears. And we are told 'no', we're unimportant, we're peripheral. 'Get a degree, get a job, get a this, get a that.' And then you're a player—you don't want to even play in that game. You want to reclaim your mind and get it out of the hands of the cultural engineers who want to turn you into a half-baked moron consuming all this trash that's being manufactured out of the bones of a dying world."
—Terence McKenna, Writer, Social Critic , Psychonaut, and Ethnobotanist

Yeah.

That's right.

It's on, baby.

Two words: 1) Spring, and 2) Bliss.

The snow is receding around these parts, and 70+ degree temps are in the line-up for the next couple of days. The euphoria of warmer weather will soon come on strong, hitting the unprepared with all the power of a Brompton cocktail. So, what better way to forestall...er, herald the coming spring weather than with a little trip northeast to partake in a gathering that combines mountain biking, homebrew, and beautiful scenery—along with the synesthesia that arises from this potent mixture—into one tidy little package of hepatotoxic chaos? Hmm...let me think...

...damn, um...

...hang on...

...all right, I got nothing.

Seems DmofoT—co-creator with yours truly of the original, beloved Bootlegger's Bliss event—has roused himself from a deep, ursine hibernation just long enough to dig down through a thick blanket of New England snow to the hard permafrost beneath to discover—lo and behold!—some wonderful dirt trails worthy of this supernal piss-drunk pedalfest. So get your brew on, pool your funds in preparation for the petrol fill-ups, and start thinking good thoughts about bikes and beer and Bedford.

The magical date? Satyrday, April 25th.

Location? A nebulous little term that goes like this: Boston's Metro West area (read: Bedford, Massachusetts, and surrounds).

I'll announce more detailed information here soon, as will the Fatboy himself. In the meantime, those of you in the Bedford area may want to read this for some background data. Stay tuned.

Photo credits in order of appearance: Me, D. Ross, J. Divinagracia