Guads abandoned me today
08-07-12 | 02:10 PM
#1
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Banned
Joined: Jul 2012
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From: in the foothills
Guads abandoned me today
Halfway up the final climb on the way home today my guads abandoned me. I pleaded with them - "My guads, my guads - why have thee forsaken me?". They responded, simply "It is accomplished". "Hell no, it isn't accomplished" says I, "we aren't home yet". Alas, there was no response, for they had given up their spirits, leaving me to push my ride home in full view of many drivers. 
Last edited by SCochiller; 08-07-12 at 02:27 PM.
08-07-12 | 03:33 PM
#13
Senior Member
Joined: Oct 2005
Posts: 2,815
Likes: 44
From: Southwestern Ontario
Good thing he'd forgotten to calibrate the cyto-titanium motion receptors back on Zarcon where he'd stopped for a material digitalization freshening up and a milkshake made from black hole dust. It turns out that instead of having just fifteen seconds of Earth time left as measured during the current 746th Oxlough Continuum Phase, or OCP (containing all of the time the earth has ever known, including what earth people liked to call 2010, or even 2012), by his very relieved calculations he actually had fifteen seconds x fifteen seconds x fifteen seconds x infinity seconds - 7 seconds left before his current iteration would disintegrate into something altogether too horrible to contemplate. He could even rise above the annoyance of not having those extra 7 seconds.
One could do a lifetime's worth of work in 7 of these earth seconds, he sniffed. But never mind. The Zornax was safe, after all. The Zornax had time. The Zornax had all the time in the world. Literally. Which was more than enough time to get to Veneto and pay homage to Tullio Campagnolo, as had been his mission since time immemorial back on his home planet of Lanceanus.
But now the question was, as a sentient being invisible to all save for the recently deceased Ashleigh, how was he going to travel from her closet in Toronto to Italy? The Continuum-Fabulator was useless, working only between worlds, not in them. He had no money. He had no credit cards. But worse: he had no physical dimensions or borders to his being as understood on this planet, and he couldn't speak any of the languages on earth, much less Italian or the snooty Canadianese of rich young pseudo-professional women slumming it in bought-and-paid-for condos along the lakeshore before being paired off with the industrial scions of their choosing.
Eh? So communication would be difficult. Movement would be difficult. Establishing a geographical position would be difficult. What would Mr. Campagnolo have done in a situation like this? How would he have solved the problem of efficient movement along inhospitable terrain?
The Zornax sat down (as much as such a being can be said to sit down) and thought. Hard. He thought so hard that the communication receptors embedded on the tips of his tactile engagers (as much as such a being, unfathomable by humans in space and time, can be said to have tactile engagers) began to quiver (as much as...okay, you get the picture).
And that was when something astonishing happened.
One could do a lifetime's worth of work in 7 of these earth seconds, he sniffed. But never mind. The Zornax was safe, after all. The Zornax had time. The Zornax had all the time in the world. Literally. Which was more than enough time to get to Veneto and pay homage to Tullio Campagnolo, as had been his mission since time immemorial back on his home planet of Lanceanus.
But now the question was, as a sentient being invisible to all save for the recently deceased Ashleigh, how was he going to travel from her closet in Toronto to Italy? The Continuum-Fabulator was useless, working only between worlds, not in them. He had no money. He had no credit cards. But worse: he had no physical dimensions or borders to his being as understood on this planet, and he couldn't speak any of the languages on earth, much less Italian or the snooty Canadianese of rich young pseudo-professional women slumming it in bought-and-paid-for condos along the lakeshore before being paired off with the industrial scions of their choosing.
Eh? So communication would be difficult. Movement would be difficult. Establishing a geographical position would be difficult. What would Mr. Campagnolo have done in a situation like this? How would he have solved the problem of efficient movement along inhospitable terrain?
The Zornax sat down (as much as such a being can be said to sit down) and thought. Hard. He thought so hard that the communication receptors embedded on the tips of his tactile engagers (as much as such a being, unfathomable by humans in space and time, can be said to have tactile engagers) began to quiver (as much as...okay, you get the picture).
And that was when something astonishing happened.
08-07-12 | 04:19 PM
#14
Thread Starter
Banned
Joined: Jul 2012
Posts: 420
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From: in the foothills
Good thing he'd forgotten to calibrate the cyto-titanium motion receptors back on Zarcon where he'd stopped for a material digitalization freshening up and a milkshake made from black hole dust. It turns out that instead of having just fifteen seconds of Earth time left as measured during the current 746th Oxlough Continuum Phase, or OCP (containing all of the time the earth has ever known, including what earth people liked to call 2010, or even 2012), by his very relieved calculations he actually had fifteen seconds x fifteen seconds x fifteen seconds x infinity seconds - 7 seconds left before his current iteration would disintegrate into something altogether too horrible to contemplate. He could even rise above the annoyance of not having those extra 7 seconds.
One could do a lifetime's worth of work in 7 of these earth seconds, he sniffed. But never mind. The Zornax was safe, after all. The Zornax had time. The Zornax had all the time in the world. Literally. Which was more than enough time to get to Veneto and pay homage to Tullio Campagnolo, as had been his mission since time immemorial back on his home planet of Lanceanus.
But now the question was, as a sentient being invisible to all save for the recently deceased Ashleigh, how was he going to travel from her closet in Toronto to Italy? The Continuum-Fabulator was useless, working only between worlds, not in them. He had no money. He had no credit cards. But worse: he had no physical dimensions or borders to his being as understood on this planet, and he couldn't speak any of the languages on earth, much less Italian or the snooty Canadianese of rich young pseudo-professional women slumming it in bought-and-paid-for condos along the lakeshore before being paired off with the industrial scions of their choosing.
Eh? So communication would be difficult. Movement would be difficult. Establishing a geographical position would be difficult. What would Mr. Campagnolo have done in a situation like this? How would he have solved the problem of efficient movement along inhospitable terrain?
The Zornax sat down (as much as such a being can be said to sit down) and thought. Hard. He thought so hard that the communication receptors embedded on the tips of his tactile engagers (as much as such a being, unfathomable by humans in space and time, can be said to have tactile engagers) began to quiver (as much as...okay, you get the picture).
And that was when something astonishing happened.
One could do a lifetime's worth of work in 7 of these earth seconds, he sniffed. But never mind. The Zornax was safe, after all. The Zornax had time. The Zornax had all the time in the world. Literally. Which was more than enough time to get to Veneto and pay homage to Tullio Campagnolo, as had been his mission since time immemorial back on his home planet of Lanceanus.
But now the question was, as a sentient being invisible to all save for the recently deceased Ashleigh, how was he going to travel from her closet in Toronto to Italy? The Continuum-Fabulator was useless, working only between worlds, not in them. He had no money. He had no credit cards. But worse: he had no physical dimensions or borders to his being as understood on this planet, and he couldn't speak any of the languages on earth, much less Italian or the snooty Canadianese of rich young pseudo-professional women slumming it in bought-and-paid-for condos along the lakeshore before being paired off with the industrial scions of their choosing.
Eh? So communication would be difficult. Movement would be difficult. Establishing a geographical position would be difficult. What would Mr. Campagnolo have done in a situation like this? How would he have solved the problem of efficient movement along inhospitable terrain?
The Zornax sat down (as much as such a being can be said to sit down) and thought. Hard. He thought so hard that the communication receptors embedded on the tips of his tactile engagers (as much as such a being, unfathomable by humans in space and time, can be said to have tactile engagers) began to quiver (as much as...okay, you get the picture).
And that was when something astonishing happened.
08-07-12 | 07:18 PM
#15
Senior Member
Joined: Oct 2008
Posts: 1,739
Likes: 3
From: Miami, FL
Bikes: 2009 BMC SLX01/2016 Santa Cruz Bronson
Good thing he'd forgotten to calibrate the cyto-titanium motion receptors back on Zarcon where he'd stopped for a material digitalization freshening up and a milkshake made from black hole dust. It turns out that instead of having just fifteen seconds of Earth time left as measured during the current 746th Oxlough Continuum Phase, or OCP (containing all of the time the earth has ever known, including what earth people liked to call 2010, or even 2012), by his very relieved calculations he actually had fifteen seconds x fifteen seconds x fifteen seconds x infinity seconds - 7 seconds left before his current iteration would disintegrate into something altogether too horrible to contemplate. He could even rise above the annoyance of not having those extra 7 seconds.
One could do a lifetime's worth of work in 7 of these earth seconds, he sniffed. But never mind. The Zornax was safe, after all. The Zornax had time. The Zornax had all the time in the world. Literally. Which was more than enough time to get to Veneto and pay homage to Tullio Campagnolo, as had been his mission since time immemorial back on his home planet of Lanceanus.
But now the question was, as a sentient being invisible to all save for the recently deceased Ashleigh, how was he going to travel from her closet in Toronto to Italy? The Continuum-Fabulator was useless, working only between worlds, not in them. He had no money. He had no credit cards. But worse: he had no physical dimensions or borders to his being as understood on this planet, and he couldn't speak any of the languages on earth, much less Italian or the snooty Canadianese of rich young pseudo-professional women slumming it in bought-and-paid-for condos along the lakeshore before being paired off with the industrial scions of their choosing.
Eh? So communication would be difficult. Movement would be difficult. Establishing a geographical position would be difficult. What would Mr. Campagnolo have done in a situation like this? How would he have solved the problem of efficient movement along inhospitable terrain?
The Zornax sat down (as much as such a being can be said to sit down) and thought. Hard. He thought so hard that the communication receptors embedded on the tips of his tactile engagers (as much as such a being, unfathomable by humans in space and time, can be said to have tactile engagers) began to quiver (as much as...okay, you get the picture).
And that was when something astonishing happened.
One could do a lifetime's worth of work in 7 of these earth seconds, he sniffed. But never mind. The Zornax was safe, after all. The Zornax had time. The Zornax had all the time in the world. Literally. Which was more than enough time to get to Veneto and pay homage to Tullio Campagnolo, as had been his mission since time immemorial back on his home planet of Lanceanus.
But now the question was, as a sentient being invisible to all save for the recently deceased Ashleigh, how was he going to travel from her closet in Toronto to Italy? The Continuum-Fabulator was useless, working only between worlds, not in them. He had no money. He had no credit cards. But worse: he had no physical dimensions or borders to his being as understood on this planet, and he couldn't speak any of the languages on earth, much less Italian or the snooty Canadianese of rich young pseudo-professional women slumming it in bought-and-paid-for condos along the lakeshore before being paired off with the industrial scions of their choosing.
Eh? So communication would be difficult. Movement would be difficult. Establishing a geographical position would be difficult. What would Mr. Campagnolo have done in a situation like this? How would he have solved the problem of efficient movement along inhospitable terrain?
The Zornax sat down (as much as such a being can be said to sit down) and thought. Hard. He thought so hard that the communication receptors embedded on the tips of his tactile engagers (as much as such a being, unfathomable by humans in space and time, can be said to have tactile engagers) began to quiver (as much as...okay, you get the picture).
And that was when something astonishing happened.
08-08-12 | 06:23 AM
#17
Great post!
Yeah, to be forsaken by one's guads is a sad event and one that happens to me far too frequently (though not to the stage where I'm pushing home - that is some bad forsaking!)
Yeah, to be forsaken by one's guads is a sad event and one that happens to me far too frequently (though not to the stage where I'm pushing home - that is some bad forsaking!)
08-08-12 | 08:29 AM
#19
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Joined: Nov 2010
Posts: 225
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From: Dallas, TX
Bikes: Sott Scale 29er, Specialized SL3 Roubaix, Colnago C59
Good thing he'd forgotten to calibrate the cyto-titanium motion receptors back on Zarcon where he'd stopped for a material digitalization freshening up and a milkshake made from black hole dust. It turns out that instead of having just fifteen seconds of Earth time left as measured during the current 746th Oxlough Continuum Phase, or OCP (containing all of the time the earth has ever known, including what earth people liked to call 2010, or even 2012), by his very relieved calculations he actually had fifteen seconds x fifteen seconds x fifteen seconds x infinity seconds - 7 seconds left before his current iteration would disintegrate into something altogether too horrible to contemplate. He could even rise above the annoyance of not having those extra 7 seconds.
One could do a lifetime's worth of work in 7 of these earth seconds, he sniffed. But never mind. The Zornax was safe, after all. The Zornax had time. The Zornax had all the time in the world. Literally. Which was more than enough time to get to Veneto and pay homage to Tullio Campagnolo, as had been his mission since time immemorial back on his home planet of Lanceanus.
But now the question was, as a sentient being invisible to all save for the recently deceased Ashleigh, how was he going to travel from her closet in Toronto to Italy? The Continuum-Fabulator was useless, working only between worlds, not in them. He had no money. He had no credit cards. But worse: he had no physical dimensions or borders to his being as understood on this planet, and he couldn't speak any of the languages on earth, much less Italian or the snooty Canadianese of rich young pseudo-professional women slumming it in bought-and-paid-for condos along the lakeshore before being paired off with the industrial scions of their choosing.
Eh? So communication would be difficult. Movement would be difficult. Establishing a geographical position would be difficult. What would Mr. Campagnolo have done in a situation like this? How would he have solved the problem of efficient movement along inhospitable terrain?
The Zornax sat down (as much as such a being can be said to sit down) and thought. Hard. He thought so hard that the communication receptors embedded on the tips of his tactile engagers (as much as such a being, unfathomable by humans in space and time, can be said to have tactile engagers) began to quiver (as much as...okay, you get the picture).
And that was when something astonishing happened.
One could do a lifetime's worth of work in 7 of these earth seconds, he sniffed. But never mind. The Zornax was safe, after all. The Zornax had time. The Zornax had all the time in the world. Literally. Which was more than enough time to get to Veneto and pay homage to Tullio Campagnolo, as had been his mission since time immemorial back on his home planet of Lanceanus.
But now the question was, as a sentient being invisible to all save for the recently deceased Ashleigh, how was he going to travel from her closet in Toronto to Italy? The Continuum-Fabulator was useless, working only between worlds, not in them. He had no money. He had no credit cards. But worse: he had no physical dimensions or borders to his being as understood on this planet, and he couldn't speak any of the languages on earth, much less Italian or the snooty Canadianese of rich young pseudo-professional women slumming it in bought-and-paid-for condos along the lakeshore before being paired off with the industrial scions of their choosing.
Eh? So communication would be difficult. Movement would be difficult. Establishing a geographical position would be difficult. What would Mr. Campagnolo have done in a situation like this? How would he have solved the problem of efficient movement along inhospitable terrain?
The Zornax sat down (as much as such a being can be said to sit down) and thought. Hard. He thought so hard that the communication receptors embedded on the tips of his tactile engagers (as much as such a being, unfathomable by humans in space and time, can be said to have tactile engagers) began to quiver (as much as...okay, you get the picture).
And that was when something astonishing happened.
08-08-12 | 08:37 AM
#21
Descends like a rock
Joined: Oct 2010
Posts: 4,034
Likes: 16
From: Fort Worth, TX
Bikes: Scott Foil, Surly Pacer
Good thing he'd forgotten to calibrate the cyto-titanium motion receptors back on Zarcon where he'd stopped for a material digitalization freshening up and a milkshake made from black hole dust. It turns out that instead of having just fifteen seconds of Earth time left as measured during the current 746th Oxlough Continuum Phase, or OCP (containing all of the time the earth has ever known, including what earth people liked to call 2010, or even 2012), by his very relieved calculations he actually had fifteen seconds x fifteen seconds x fifteen seconds x infinity seconds - 7 seconds left before his current iteration would disintegrate into something altogether too horrible to contemplate. He could even rise above the annoyance of not having those extra 7 seconds.
One could do a lifetime's worth of work in 7 of these earth seconds, he sniffed. But never mind. The Zornax was safe, after all. The Zornax had time. The Zornax had all the time in the world. Literally. Which was more than enough time to get to Veneto and pay homage to Tullio Campagnolo, as had been his mission since time immemorial back on his home planet of Lanceanus.
But now the question was, as a sentient being invisible to all save for the recently deceased Ashleigh, how was he going to travel from her closet in Toronto to Italy? The Continuum-Fabulator was useless, working only between worlds, not in them. He had no money. He had no credit cards. But worse: he had no physical dimensions or borders to his being as understood on this planet, and he couldn't speak any of the languages on earth, much less Italian or the snooty Canadianese of rich young pseudo-professional women slumming it in bought-and-paid-for condos along the lakeshore before being paired off with the industrial scions of their choosing.
Eh? So communication would be difficult. Movement would be difficult. Establishing a geographical position would be difficult. What would Mr. Campagnolo have done in a situation like this? How would he have solved the problem of efficient movement along inhospitable terrain?
The Zornax sat down (as much as such a being can be said to sit down) and thought. Hard. He thought so hard that the communication receptors embedded on the tips of his tactile engagers (as much as such a being, unfathomable by humans in space and time, can be said to have tactile engagers) began to quiver (as much as...okay, you get the picture).
And that was when something astonishing happened.
One could do a lifetime's worth of work in 7 of these earth seconds, he sniffed. But never mind. The Zornax was safe, after all. The Zornax had time. The Zornax had all the time in the world. Literally. Which was more than enough time to get to Veneto and pay homage to Tullio Campagnolo, as had been his mission since time immemorial back on his home planet of Lanceanus.
But now the question was, as a sentient being invisible to all save for the recently deceased Ashleigh, how was he going to travel from her closet in Toronto to Italy? The Continuum-Fabulator was useless, working only between worlds, not in them. He had no money. He had no credit cards. But worse: he had no physical dimensions or borders to his being as understood on this planet, and he couldn't speak any of the languages on earth, much less Italian or the snooty Canadianese of rich young pseudo-professional women slumming it in bought-and-paid-for condos along the lakeshore before being paired off with the industrial scions of their choosing.
Eh? So communication would be difficult. Movement would be difficult. Establishing a geographical position would be difficult. What would Mr. Campagnolo have done in a situation like this? How would he have solved the problem of efficient movement along inhospitable terrain?
The Zornax sat down (as much as such a being can be said to sit down) and thought. Hard. He thought so hard that the communication receptors embedded on the tips of his tactile engagers (as much as such a being, unfathomable by humans in space and time, can be said to have tactile engagers) began to quiver (as much as...okay, you get the picture).
And that was when something astonishing happened.
08-08-12 | 08:52 AM
#23
I got 99 problems....
Joined: Aug 2008
Posts: 2,087
Likes: 3
From: Does anyone know where the love of God goes, when the waves turn the minutes to hours?
Halfway up the final climb on the way home today my guads abandoned me. I pleaded with them - "My guads, my guads - why have thee forsaken me?". They responded, simply "It is accomplished". "Hell no, it isn't accomplished" says I, "we aren't home yet". Alas, there was no response, for they had given up their spirits, leaving me to push my ride home in full view of many drivers.
So you could still walk? Sissy.
Sincerely,
Sian Welch and Wendy Ingraham
08-08-12 | 09:11 AM
#25
Senior Member
Joined: Mar 2011
Posts: 663
Likes: 0
From: Floriduh
Bikes: 2011 Neuvation FC100, 2013 Mercier Kilo TT Pro, 1984 Peugeot SV-L
Happens to me all the time...
It's like someone rides up behind you and just flips your power switch off.
It's also a good indicator that you overworked yourself for your given time/distance goal... or that your workout intensity was awesome... depending on your outlook.
P.S. Every time I go to one of the cyclo-trainer classes at the LBS, he manages to get me to shut down right before the end... every time...
It's like someone rides up behind you and just flips your power switch off.
It's also a good indicator that you overworked yourself for your given time/distance goal... or that your workout intensity was awesome... depending on your outlook.
P.S. Every time I go to one of the cyclo-trainer classes at the LBS, he manages to get me to shut down right before the end... every time...