France Cycling Trip 2011, Part Fifteen

The previous nights sleep was horrendous as my roommate had a major league case of sleep apnea (snoring/coughing/gagging) and it was about eleven thousand degrees in my hotel room. But the bells chimed 57 o'clock (they never seemed to stop ringing) and it was time to get a bit of breakfast and hit the road.

Even though I got little sleep the first night in Arreau, it was nice to be there. The town actually had a few things to see and do such as shopping and it had a few bars and wireless internet so I could send my family an email. Vicdessos was nice, but pretty bare unless you were there to bike, or ski in the winter.

Just outside of Arreau is the Horquette D'Ancizan, another climb they did on this years tour. That was our first challenge of the day. The climb actually starts in town and heads up from there.

The day started out hot and got hotter from here. I started noticing that I was getting stronger as we went and others were getting a bit weaker. I was hitting the tops of the climbs in the top three in our group every time. We went up through the clouds and ended up at the top of the D'Anzican and were treated to an incredible view.

Of course there were cows up there. They seemed to be everywhere.

The descent of the D'Anzican was pretty scary, as when descending through clouds your glasses fog up and it gets darned cold. But no real problems.

After cycling a bit in the valleys we were led up the "easy" side of the Col d'Aspin. Just before we ascended it, we came upon a few cafes between the Aspin and the Tourmalet. I loved the Depot de Pain signs. Pain is bread in France, but we were all feeling the "pain" after these climbs.

After a short break we ascended the Aspin and it was a good climb. It was damned hot again though. I don't know how those Tour guys do it in July - it was scorching when we were on it. The Aspin is heavily wooded so that made it a bit easier with shade on the roads. There were a few other tour groups at the top. We all got a chuckle when a tourist went to pet a cow and got charged and bucked.

This scene was surreal - the clouds were in motion and seemed to be "pouring" down the side of the mountain. I will never forget it.

On the descent I finally got to see some of the donkeys I had heard of. They are up there to protect the cattle. They were curious, but not too concerned about the bikers. I think they wanted treats/food more than anything. This is probably my favorite photo of the whole trip of my friend Ken biking through the relatively interested donkeys.

I almost broke my golden rule of descending which is "not to die". We were coming through the clouds down the Aspin and vision was poor and I didn't see a switchback - I was moving very fast with a two foot wall in front of me. I skidded a bit but recovered and made it the rest of the way. This little mishap along with one on the "reservoir" descent were my two closest calls to crashing. If I wouldn't have pulled this one out I would have gone careening down the mountain, so good thing I was alert.

We were done riding for the day and everyone was able to walk around Arreau for a bit and get some souvenirs. I made a beeline to the grocery store and got this pile of food. I needed it. I was eating as much as possible without puking and still losing a lot of weight. It felt good to sit in the outdoors with a decent breeze and just eat and hydrate.

Dinner time finally rolled around. Salad was a bit of the crudite again with some potato salad this time. I didn't like this as much as the salad from the day before. That ain't your gramma's potato salad in there.

Entree was beef with beans and mushrooms on the side with a very nice peppercorn sauce. They used peppercorns a lot at this particular restaurant. Of course the ever present balsamic on the side.

They asked how we wanted our steaks and I said RARE. And BOY was it. Pretty raw, but oh well, it was still pretty good. Just good though. I have had a lot of better beef, but this hit the spot. It was the first beef I had eaten on the trip. I am not sure why, but I think it is a cost thing and there was an issue with e coli in the beef from Spain if I recall correctly while I was over there.

Cheese course was stinky and creamy and wonderful. It was called Tomme de Savoie.

Dessert was rice in milk with strawberries and (you guessed it) balsamic. It was a wonderful dessert and I never thought those things would work together but they did.

Todays riding:
Distance: 27 miles
Feet of rise: 4200
Total saddle time: 3 hrs. 26 minutes

Monday Morning Blues

Berettas And Air Biscuits

By now you have probably heard about orders from the Pentagon that heretofore forbid releasing any audible human methane gas in the Afghan battle zone by any U.S. Marine. An audible fart, if you will, may be cause for court marshal.



I suggest the Pentagon revise their existing high fiber and carbohydrate infused battlefield rations to be laced with Beano, or better yet provide alternative and nutritious fart-free food to all troops on the ground.

Seems the high brass believes that infantry farts offend natives who refuse to bathe after spending weeks in 100+ degree heat and hoard dried goat and camel dung to use as cooking fuel for their falafels and shawarmas, which happen to generate copious amounts of human methane as well.

If I were in a battle zone the last thing that would be of concern me is to crop dust the enemy downwind, court marshal be damned.



Bullets good, farts bad.

This brings to mind some of my most memorable farts. The first is embarrassing.

When I was promoted to Senior Vice President I inherited a smokin’ hot young tart secretary named Mary. She was all of 5’1” tall with very long hair and built like a brick shithouse. I mean, home wrecker hot! Mary sure knew how to dress. Whenever we walked down Wacker or Madison together I would see men across the street stop and stare in full attention with amazement. It was fun to see approaching men stare at her, ummm, yumminess.

We had a good relationship. I often acted as her big brother and when she told me about her boyfriends she asked my advice. Mary would take care of my office details, schedule and arranged the best travel accommodations I could ask for. She was a top-notch secretary.

One day I was going up in an empty elevator. I let one go, I had to. When my floor came the door opened and there was Mary. She entered to go three floors up. Then I realized I dusted her. Poor thing was encased in a moving, putrid canister.

When she came back down all she could say was, how COULD YOU?” I apologized.

My best fart ever happened in my boss’s office. He was not only my boss as Executive VP Creative Director, he was my very close friend.

One morning I left my office (we all had doors and windows back then, few cubicles) to ask him a question in his corner office next to mine. A meeting was taking place at his conference table. At the time most in the department were men (something H.R. criticized him for).

As I looked in and saw the meeting I turned away when he said, “c’mon in, were through. In the room were six other men, many of them our subordinates. As I entered one rather rotund young gent leaned over in his chair and let one audibly loud fart. Not unusual or rude at the time because we were men. It was a badge of honor to dust a meeting room but to allow one’s self to be identified was not the class I was accustomed to.

At that very moment I dropped a silent, but very deadly air biscuit. As it wafted over the conference table and hit the poor bastard’s olfactory senses they all looked at Paulie, yelled Jayzyz Krise and bolted out of Larry’s office to avoid the aroma of my Chanel #2.


From that day on, young Paulie became a legend in the office for having let go of the most gawdawful gas, an honor I had gladly handed off to a young exec.

Carry on.

Making My Peace With The Hilly Century

A few weeks ago I did the Centurion events here in Middleton, just outside of Madison. On the Friday night there was a time trial, on Saturday I did a 25 mile race, and on Sunday I did a 100 mile race.

I had never done a time trial before and it was really fun. It was a closed course through an industrial park. I did about how well I thought I would. Almost last in my age group. But, I have never done a time trial before and did not have the equipment. Most had aero bars, skin suits, and dedicated time trial bikes. I just dropped as low as I could in my Serotta road bike and hammered. It was fun as I had never been involved in a dedicated time trial. We started on a ramp even like the big time.

Saturday was a 25 mile race that actually went right by my farm. I really enjoyed that and was able to destroy it. I really enjoy this type of racing as you can get into a nice pace line and let others do work for you if you can keep their pace. I saw several people wipeout going too fast around corners and not paying attention to gravel on the roads. My pace was very fast and it was very exciting for me. I even got involved in a sprint finish, my first ever. What a thrill. I absolutely loved it.

If not for a real mess at the finish I would have finished in the top 25% of all competitors. As it ended, I finished in the top 30%. Long story - hit me up sometime and I will tell you all about it.

The 100 mile race on Sunday morning was delayed for two hours due to a massive thunderstorm. We started at 9am. I accomplished all of my goals and then some in this race. BUT I almost had a heat stroke. I kept pushing my pace the whole way, and due to the later start we had to all suffer in the afternoon heat. The ride had over six thousand feet of rise and was the typical what I call "Wisconsin Hilly Century"...constant up and down, up and down, never a flat spot to help you get a pace going.

I have done practically all of these hilly centuries in the area (there are a bunch of them now) and have been asking myself what the heck I am doing. This last one really took the cake. Yes, I acccomplished all of my goals time wise, but really had a tough time recovering. My wife and I agreed that I had the onset of heat stroke going on. I had nausea, my body temp was wildly fluctuating from hot to cold, and I felt like crap in general.

Even in cooler weather these hilly centuries are a bitch. After this last one I felt like I didn't want to ever do one again. I decided to give those feelings a couple of weeks to see if they stuck. I still feel the same. My wheelhouse rides are fifty or so miles, give or take and that is the distance I am going to concentrate on. I can actually race at those distances rather than try to survive.

I don't have anything left to prove in this category. By my last count I have done eight of these hilly centuries. I don't need any more.

Army Men

I have been following the situation in Libya ever since the revolution to oust the insane dictator Gaddafi began. There is little footage of the government troops (probably because journalists are not embedded with them) but I do see frequent videos of the rebels.

I am struck by the complete absence of the "typical" military outfit amongst these troops. There are no uniforms or helmets.

Instead of the typical military vehicles, including tanks, armored personnel carriers, and trucks, you see the "specialist" vehicles made famous in our engagement in Somalia, which consist of machine guns mounted on the back of pick up trucks.

Perhaps instead of the "standard" army soldier set they need to move with the times and include rebels with AK-47's, rocket launchers, and pick up trucks with machine guns mounted on the back. No uniforms or helmets, and a variety of off-the-rack clothes.

It isn't the norm for two typically equipped armies to take on each other any more. Maybe there will be a Syrian "special edition" with one set of standard soldiers and one set of unarmed civilians.

UFC Action Figurines

I was recently at a local Walgreens and I noted the two UFC action figurines that they had on display. Dan has forgotten 1 million times more about MMA then I will ever know and even I know that combining these two guys is hilarious.

Manliness

Manliness is a most debatable topic. Every man who is not gay (not that there’s anything wrong with that) bones up (so to speak) on his own method of projecting his chosen brand of manliness. I would say there are categories of manliness. There's worldly manliness, cosmopolitan manliness, fake urban manliness, ghetto manliness, barrio manliness, suburban manliness, country gentleman manliness and backwoods redneck manliness just to name a few. The lowest form of fake urban manliness is the Metrosexual. That's a guy who uses epidermal skin scrub, wears slight makeup and mascara, dye their gray hair dark, go to spas, gets their forearms and legs tattooed and has their spikey tips bleached ala Guy Fierri.

Manliness is generally the domain of younger men trying to establish virility and older guys who missed the opportunity because they were immature dorks who trembled when looking for their zipper when they were of age, and that is true across all the aforementioned categories. For some of us older guys, we been there and done that. We’re comfortable in our own skin and fart in the general direction of those young turks and dorks, especially the ones wearing those awful "hipster hats".


Maybe that’s why I enjoy the Dos Equis (which is one damn good beer BTW) ads featuring The Most Interesting Man In The World.

Working in the ad business in Chicago for well over three decades I have met a few of the classic worldly manly man types. They were men of wealth, age and financial success. They were men full of past adventure and current myth. They were usually found in top shelf watering holes on Rush St. and were usually good pals with my boss. It was a pleasure to be in their presence and hear their stories, and just like that Dos Equis guy, had some fine young arm candy nearby. Humbling, really, but most of all they very impressive when they spoke. They never bragged, they just spoke and when they did, I listened. I hung on each and every word. It was once called having respect (today's snarky, immature young men have no idea what respect and honor for older gentlemen means).

But I never desired to be one of those worldly Most Interesting Men. I was a family man, dedicated to raising a traditional family just as I was raised. It was never about me, it was about my family, it was always about them. I made sacrifices for them because I loved them. No regrets. Those worldly doods had no family to love. All they did was travel and spend and play and screw.

But I sure did have a ball being a part of the latter day Madmen era in downtown Chicago enjoying three martini lunches when they were fashionable, listening to The Most Interesting Men In The world.

If you want to see these types of very classy manly men the place to go in Chicago is Gene & Georgetti’s for a prime steak lunch. This is where the real life Most Interesting Men In The World still enjoy a prime steak lunch. Before you enter you’ll see their Bentley’s, Jaguars and Masaratti’s parked out front in reserved parking spots secured by the valets. They have reserved tables on the main floor near the bar. You will usually find Illinois democrat politicians mingling amongst them looking to cut a deal. It’s a true throwback to the classic Chicago-style chop house. Go, experience and absorb what true manly class looks and sounds like.

What inspired me to write this was stumbling upon this blog.

It jarred my brain and I remembered manly men as portrayed in advertising during the 50’s and 60’. I saw most of these ads as a kid waiting for my turn in a six-chair barbershop. Don’s Barber Shop was where we got our hair trimmed every other week on a Saturday morning. There were “those” magazines stacked on the end tables of the waiting area.

No Playboys. No screw books. But there were tattered copies and back issues of Esquire, Argosy, Field & Stream and Outdoor Life just begging to be read. As a ten-year old kid who just learned how to read it was definitely the photos and ads that drew my attention.

How could I miss the fact that The Most Interesting Man In The World campaign is nothing but a very clever and entertaining spoof on the old manly man ads of that era. And does it ever work for a generation of young men that have no idea of who these famous bygone ad characters were. It’s the sharp humor, casting, situations and announcer’s quips that make the contemporary Dos Equis Most Interesting Man In The World ad spots work regardless of the true inspiration most time poor young moderns are completely unaware of.

My favorites manly man ad campaigns of old were:

The Hathaway Shirt Man.


The Marlboro Man.


The Schwepps Man.


I was never sold on The Arrow Shirt Dood. He looked a bit too urban gay for me. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.


That Arrow Shirt thingie probably worked best in certain Manhattan enclaves.

And that's about all I have to say about that.

France Cycling Trip 2011, Part Fourteen

Monday was moving day. Time to say so long to Vicdessos and say hello to Arreau. The drives in this area are always long and hard - not much you can do as far as speed goes when you are traveling over mountains. I liked the way we moved. We drove halfway, unloaded all of the bikes and people and rode the rest of the way to the hotel in Arreau - or at least that was the plan. More on that later. Along the way for our ride were two climbs, the Col de Portet d'Aspet and the Col de Mente.

The climb up the "easy" side of the Aspet was still difficult, and is rated a cat 2. I didn't find this cat two as challenging as they used to be - I was getting into climbing shape, and had lost approximately five percent of my body weight since I started the trip, which helped my climbing. There was a modern sign at the top of the Aspet, but I wanted my photo in front of this old school one.

It was fricking hot this day. Everyone submerged their helmets into the closest pool of water to cool the cranium down. Don't drink - remember the animal (and human) waste.

The descent of the other side of the Aspet was pretty scary. Some of the gradients were seventeen percent (!). I can see how someone could die on this stretch of road. Like poor Fabio Cassartelli did on the Tour de France back in 1995. This is a memorial set up in his honor.

And this is the actual place he died. I could easily imagine someone dying here right on the wall on the way down. The speeds you could generate on this part of the Aspet are intense.

Many of the tour gave up after this descent from the heat and decided to take the ride over the next mountain and into Arreau in the vans. Not me, I was here to ride my bike and to hell with the heat.

Next up was the Col de Mente. This climb is long and hard, like all the rest. But we had the added pleasure of doing this one in one hundred degree heat. You know, the trip taught me something. All these years I had wondered why the Tour guys would dump water on their heads while climbing mountains at times. Now I know. I started this habit during the race a few days ago, and really needed to do it as I was ascending the Col de Mente. The heat was completely off the charts and I think I dumped more water on my head than down the hatch. The guides had cars going up and down the mountain to make sure nobody was in difficulty. They would get out and dump cold water on our heads on occasion, which felt awesome and refreshing.

Eventually I made it to the top. Everyone was hurting at the end of that climb (not my bike).

As always though, we were rewarded with a wonderful vista.

The tour guides made what I think was a smart call and packed everyone into the vans at the top of the Col de Mente. We had been on the bikes for over 2.5 hours in scorching heat, just one day after the long race. I felt fine, but in hindsight packing it in was the right choice. We loaded up and headed to Arreau.

When I got to the hotel, I was assigned a room with one of the guides. Third floor. Little did I know that the hotel did not have air conditioning and it was hot as a forest fire up there. I took a shower and was instantly sweaty again. I said "screw it" and went to the hotel bar. 1664 was a brand that was around everywhere. I am sure Carl will like the glass synchronicity. Just under $4.50 per bottle. Not exactly the deal of the century, but it was cold and wet, just what I needed to get me through the early evening.

Dinner was a bit more formal here than at Dave's place. You see below the best damned crudites you will ever have. It was seasoned just right, and the oil and fresh vegetables were delicious. I know, it is just raw veggies, but it really hit the spot.

Entree was a skewer of monkfish wraped in bacon, along with some fancy cheesy potatoes. Delish. Note the balsamic vinegar - it was a staple on dishes both here and at Dave's place.

We also were treated now to the more formal cheese course, which I am all over. I order this in fancier restaurants in place of dessert when I see that places here in the states offer it. Tonight's choice was a huge pile of roquefort - bleu cheese for all of us 'mercuns. It was fantastic.

Dessert was an apple tart with armagnac, and mango custard cream. Absolutely knock your socks off wonderful.

As I mentioned it was hot as hell in my room, and that was compounded by a roommate that snored like an elephant with a sinus infection. It was a brutal night of no sleep, just what the doctor did not order. No matter, more riding was to come.

Riding totals:
Time: 2 hours, 35 minutes
Feet of rise: 4250
Total distance: 26 miles

Monday Morning Blues

France Cycling Trip 2011, Part Thirteen

Sunday was the last day in Vicdessos, before we moved on to Arreau. After the race on Saturday, there was an option of a ride or a hike. All of the people who chose the long version of the race did the hike and all of the folks who chose the shorter version did more riding. My body just said "no f*cking way" to more riding without some rest after the race yesterday. It was a great hike.

We were dropped off about halfway up a mountain atop Vicdessos and walked all along a ridge up there. It felt good to work some of the sludge out of my legs. It was hot though. But the views were quite rewarding. To say the least. Below is Vicdessos.

There were a lot of beautiful flowers up there. More than I imagined. I took a lot of photos.


After the hike we had a bit of free time, so I did some laundry (we did ours by hand and hung it on a line to dry) and packed up for the move to Arreau. For dinner, it was our last night at Dave's. Salad had some of those wonderful pickled beets along with some potato salad and fresh tomatoes.

Entree was a duck kabob with fries and beans.

They asked us how we liked our duck and of course I said RARE. We had a food safety person on the trip and she voiced her displeasure with my selection. I showed her exactly how rare it was before I consumed each and every bite with much satisfaction.

Dessert was a flan/cheese type of cake, more on the flan side. Very nice.

Here is Dave and his wife. He served, she cooked. Wonderful people who got a standing ovation from everyone on our last night.

Later on to celebrate our last night in the cabins, there was a wine and cheese party, to get rid of stuff before the move. A lot was drank and this stinky cheese was awesome. We had a huge wheel of the stuff. I saved the label from the wheel, it will make a good addition to the small memory book I plan on putting together someday.

We were rewarded with a simply awesome sunset. Vicdessos was good to me.

But I was glad to be leaving. I had been rooming with two other guys for six nights now and the cabins were tiny and I was getting intimately familiar with their sleep patterns and other - sounds - that were being made. I had been told that the hotel we were going to in Arreau was better and it was a little more like being in civilization.

Honestly I thought I would miss all the mountains around Vicdessos that I had climbed. Nothing could have been further from the truth. There were a LOT more mountains to climb. With the big race day behind us, I was excited to see and do more. And more I did.

France Cycling Trip 2011, Part Twelve

It was now Saturday, race day. We all competed in the Cyclesport L'Ariegoise. The Ariegoise is what is commonly called a "Grand Fondo" style race. In English, that means a sh1tload of people starting all at once.

There were three options. 180k (the one I did), 113k and 77k. About half of our group did the 180k and the other half did the 113k.

Before the race, we did a warmup ride from Vicdessos to the starting town of Tarascon. I described this short eight mile ride in a previous part. It is mostly downhill, but knowing what was ahead of me, I wasn't exactly thrilled about having more milage piled on top of what I had to do. But I did it.

In France, everyone pisses everywhere. You can see the starting area in this photo. Of course I did the same, why not. Piss on France in public? Works for me.

The longest race started first, and I am guessing that there were maybe a thousand or so riders in this one. I was nervous but ready. I literally couldn't have trained more for this day. Twelve thousand feet of climbing waited for me. Four cat two climbs and a cat one.

The start was pretty intense. This was a semi-pro/pro/amateur race and there was money to be won and points to score. The race is used by lower ranking pros to gain the attention of pro teams so a lot of these people were very serious. It was my job to stay to the right and let the speedy guys go by, never to be seen by me again until the finish. On top of this, they had scooters and motos riding right alongside of us. It was pretty wild. I felt like I was in the tour de France.

There were very few non French people in the race. I did talk to a lot of guys along the way and everyone was extremely friendly. With their broken English most of the French could understand that I was from Chicago. Chicago is always easier for people to understand than Wisco so that is what I was running with. I talked to one guy for about 20 minutes and we got along pretty well. Good company while being tortured on a hill. Eventually I pulled away from my froggie friend and said so long to him with an "Allez la France" to which he responded "Allez L'Amerique!". Pretty cool.

I have done lots of century rides before, but this was a murderous 112 miles. I was trying my best to drink as much water and eat as much food as I could, but I knew when I approached the last mountain (the side of the Port de Lers that I had not climbed yet) I was in trouble. That climb is 16k and a real beast. It was getting hot. Real hot.

I had a minor mechanical halfway up that last climb. My front wheel started making a grinding sound. I stopped to check it out and couldn't figure out what was wrong. I finally popped the wheel off and there was a rock between the fork and the wheel itself. I cleared that out and went on my way. In the meantime I realized that I was completely soaked with sweat with no end in sight. I was dumping water on my head to keep my internal temp down along with trying to drink as much as I could without getting water logged.

Eventually, finally, I got over the Port de Lers and was rewarded with a super fast descent to the end town, Auzat. I finished the race. One of the guides met me at the finish and asked me something, I don't remember what. All I wanted to do was to get off the bike and into the shade. I was one hurting, hurting unit. Including the warmup I had biked over a hundred twenty miles over mountains.

I got back to the cabin in Vicdessos and just sat down in a chair. And cried.

That sounds weird, but here is a story. Back about six or seven years ago I finished the Wright Stuff Century here in Wisconsin. Before that I was a total lardass. I had never accomplished anything of athletic significance before that moment. I trained (what I thought was) hard for that ride and it was my first century. I sobbed at the end. I think I cried from exhaustion, and a sense of accomplishment - pride, I guess. It was pretty emotional to think of how far I had come and what I did.

The same sort of feeling came over me at the end of the Ariegoise. I was completely and totally exhausted like I had never been, and I had trained over six months for that race and completed it. After I got my sh1t together I had a glass of wine and toasted myself for a job well done.

I then had to take a leak and thought about something. I hadn't taken a leak all day. That is weird for the amount of water I had been drinking, and not a good thing. So I pissed and it was about like pissing butterscotch. For those not in the know, I was severely dehydrated. I decided that it was in my best interest to skip the wine and start pounding water, immediately. Within a few hours things returned to a relatively normal state.

The Ariegoise was intensely difficult and I will probably never do it again - I will most likely opt for the middle length option. The others on my tour who came the previous year all said that it was much more difficult this year.

But I thank all the French who came out and cheered everyone. People were spending their whole days sitting in front of their houses cheering the riders.

It was amazing to watch the pro and semi pro riders. They are so fast it made my head spin. You see, I got caught by the medium length race - they left a half hour after we did in the long race and those guys went by me like I was standing still.

We all took a few hours off and I even dozed for a bit and then the guides made us dinner at the cabins. Pasta with 'shrooms and stuff.

I wasn't the only one who was hurting. Some others looked worse than me. One guy was almost falling asleep in his dinner. We were all just trashed and completely worked over from the heat, distance and difficulty.

Oh well, I did it. I am proud of that accomplishment. I will never do it again. It was nuts. I will never forget it.

Monday Morning Blues

This Can’t Be True

Moo & Oink may go out of business.

The place should be declared a historic landmark.


It will be a sad day if it happens.



While it is too far away to be my local grocery I have stopped in many times on my way in and out of Chicago. My favorite Moo And Oink product is the Hot Links.

Hot links are nothing but cheap sausage links loaded with intense heat. Damn good stuff.


The store on South Stoney Island may look intimidating to most corn fed hoogies like me but I never felt threatened. Being the only white person usually got me thumbs up from employees and security folks.

When I visited their south suburban Hazel Crest store it was much different. The customers really did give me an evil eye as if to say, what’s whitey doin’ in heah. Some looked and pointed as if we were from another planet. Now I know how Al Sharpton must feel like. The wife wanted out immediately, but not until I got my packages of hot links.


Still have not tried their famous Moo And Oink signature hand cleaned chitterlings. Probably never will.