267: Different Damn Bike

Join us each week as we discuss gravel bikes, adventure biking, bikepacking, bike camping, or just playing bikes.

Something a little different - Enjoy!

Lyrics....

Yeah.

From the Mason-Dixon down to the Shenandoah.

Red clay. Limestone.

Fog on the rolling hills.

We out here grinding.

And yo... where’s Joey?

There he is.

Yo, welcome to the Mid-Atlantic, humidity thick

Where the gravel climbs up and it makes you feel sick

We got potholes in PA deep enough to hide a body

Riding B-roads in Virginia, feeling loose, feeling rowdy.

It’s that chunky limestone, cutting sidewalls on the daily

Descend at forty-five, praying that the brakes don’t fail me.

Through the Amish country, dodging buggies and the horse apples

Sunday morning worship, this dirt road is my chapel.

Got dust in my teeth, got mud on the shins

Elevation gain spiking where the mountain begins.

But look to the left, emerging from the tree line

It’s a silhouette, a shadow, riding straight through the slime.

It’s the gravel grind, yeah we leave it all behind

Chasing endless yellow lines through the state of mind.

Pedal stroke heavy, heart beating like a spike

And here comes Joey, on a different damn bike.

Yeah, here comes Joey, eating trash on the hike.

Let me tell you ‘bout Joey, the man is a glitch

He’s got "New Bike Syndrome," yeah, a frantic itch.

Last Tuesday on the group ride? He was riding a Trek

Carbon fiber, aero bars, stiffness up to the neck.

Wednesday? He showed up on a vintage steel frame

Down tube shifters, eighty-five was the game.

Today? I swear to god, he’s on a titanium rig

With monster cross tires looking heavy and big.

Next week it’s a single-speed, gearing ratio mash

Then a recumbent? Nah, he wouldn’t be that brash.

N+1 is the formula, his garage is a maze

He swaps frames like a playlist, just a blur and a daze.

"Yo Joey, is that 650b?"

He just nods and shifts gears, flying past the debris.

We hit the aid station, or the local Wawa stop

I’m grabbing energy bars, electrolytes, and pop.

But Joey’s round the back, by the dumpster diving deep

Searching for the calories that other people sleep.

He pulls out a half-eaten burger from the bin

Wipes off a little coffee grounds, and gives me a grin.

"It’s just carbs, bro," he says, taking a massive bite

Washing it down with a soda that’s been sitting all night.

He’s a raccoon in Lycra, a possum on wheels

Fueling PRs on banana peels and Happy Meals.

I saw him eat a gummy bear found on the road

Then drop five hundred watts and explode up the node.

Iron stomach, iron legs, alloy rims

Eating garbage like a king while the daylight dims.

It’s the gravel grind, yeah we leave it all behind

Chasing endless yellow lines through the state of mind.

Pedal stroke heavy, heart beating like a spike

And here comes Joey, on a different damn bike.

Yeah, here comes Joey, eating trash on the hike.

Maryland clay sticking to the downtube

Joey’s chain screaming out for a little bit of lube.

He’s riding a unicycle now? No, wait, just a trick of the light

He’s back on a fat bike, pushing through the night.

Whatever he rides, and whatever he eats

The man is a legend on these gravel streets.

Yeah.

Pass the hot dog wrapper.

Keep spinning.

See you at the next junction, Joey.

Assuming you didn't buy a new bike mid-ride.

Mid-Atlantic Stand Up.

Peace.

AI by Suno