It's late September and I really should be back in school

It's late September and I really should be back in school

My good and long-time (since 1987) friend and co-worker, Masayoshi Kamoshita, died on Sept 23/4. He worked with me at Bridgestone, four years in San Leandro, CA, and 6 years in Japan. He spoke the best English of anybody at Bstone, so most of my communication, on everything, was through him--either in person in meetings, or written and faxed. 

Masa was 13 years younger than me, so he was 26 or 27 when I met him in 1984. I liked him instantly and automatically, because we had parallel views on bicycles  and bureacracy and bullshit. We had a similar sense of humor, too.

I knew he was not happy, and I tried to reach out, I encouraged him to seek help in a country that discourages the seeking of help. I didn't do enough myself. I know it wasn't up to me, but considering how long I knew Masa, how well I knew him--maybe as well as anybody, really--I feel like I blew it. 

Will and James had the good luck to be escorted around Japan, to Blue Lug and Nitto, by Masa. He was our trading agent for NITTO, and anything we needed from Japan, Masa would get us...or me. A hat I wanted, some wood carvings, stuff like that.

Masa seems in good spirits in Japan when Will and James were there last month. Mr.Yoshikawa, the owner of NITTO, sent me the news that Masa had died, and noted that he'd been into NITTO, working on our stuff, two days earlier.

Masa was a big deal in my life, and was tremendously helpful to Rivendell, and I know for sure that NITTO and Rivendell were good parts of his life.


Here's that derailer again. It's been changed imperceptibly but importantly.


Here's what's wrong with mainstream marketing:




Carbon fiber makes great golf shafts, too.


I was sniffing around and came on to this. It will be especially interesting if you're a farrier, and at least one of you is. Rivendell Reader #26, from 2002. It doesn't seem that long ago until I realize that Will was 14 then.




Immediately below, in bold type, are some early poems I wrote about A. Homer Hilson. They are intentionally sappy. The first copies the rhythm and style of The Song of Hiawatha, which is NOT sappy. I start off with a short bit of that (it is book-length) to get you in the groove for fluid reading. Each line has eight syllables, and "the thinking goes" that you can read three eight-syllable lines in one breath. When you read silently it doesn't matter. If you're not up for this, skip down past all the bold stuff. Understandable...this drags on and isn't fascinating.

 Straight he took his bow of ash-tree,

With his knee he pressed the middle,

Stretched the faithful bow-string tighter,

Took an arrow, jasper-headed,

Shot it at the shining Wigwam,

Sent it singing, as a herald,

As a bearer of his message,

Of his challenge loud and lofty:

"Come forth from your lodge, Pearl-Feather!

Hiawatha waits your coming!"


 Now, The Song of A. Homer Hilsen:


On the high bluffs of Ben Nevis

On that highest mount in Scotland

Which o’erlooks grand fields of bluebells

Blazing in the verdant meadows

See the shining ribbon eastward—

Aberdeen, the silver river!

And the sea beyond its south cliffs

Though to be there, you’d not know it

For the thick and constant clouds there

Are, save for a week in August

When the winds blow hard and northward

Like a blanket you can’t see through.


In an unmapped cave no guide knows

On those high bluffs on Ben Nevis

Huddled near a bean-can lantern

In which, flickering, a candle

Is the only light for miles

For an old A. Homer Hilsen.

And, though outside now the snow swirls

In this Highlands winter night-time

Shivers not A. Homer Hilsen

Au contraire, he’s warm, he’s cozy

Clad from head to toe in sheep’s wool

Thick and grey, boiled, and felted

But sleep’s not yet coming to him

Truth be told, he’s rather restless

As he thinks back upon his long life

Recollections clear, yet dreamlike

Block out all of his distractions

In that desolate cave high up there,

In that hole-cave on Ben Nevis.


Known to all Scots as The Great One

For his selfless way toward others

For his “ ’nificent donations ”

To the poor and sick and needy

Often grownups, mostly children

Now and then an institution.

For the gifts of woollen sweaters

He himself knit from wool gathered

From his flock of hardy black-face

Roaming wild on ol’ Ben Nevis.

Sweaters tightly knit, then boiled

So the children of the miners

Kids whose folks cannot afford wool

Living in the Border Country

In the north of Minnesota

Where the iron ore mines have shut down

And there is no other business

Where the schools are two hours walking

From their cabins in the country

And the mercury it rarely

Climbs above the single digits

So these children would be cozy

In the bitterest of winters!


Thankful are these children to him

And much more so are their parents

Who, despite their independence

Who, despite their pride, so ingrained

Humbly thank A. Homer Hilsen

For his wool gifts, warmly given!


But the Border Country children

Tho in poem, they’re recollected

Are the tip top of an iceberg

Two, three brush strokes in a mural

Drops of brine in oaken barrel

Holding pickles in a deli!


For the kind A. Homer Hilsen

Now sequestered in the Highlands

Now an old man, poor and homeless

Near bereft of all possessions

Having sold them, gave the proceeds

To the orphan boys and girls who

Till the dry, cracked land in Malta;

To survivors of disasters

Whether earthquake, flood, or fires;

To the doctors and the nurse-staff

Who need gauze and pills and ointments

And occasionally, a poultice

To be laid on wounds that fester

These he sends, by helicopter

To the hospitals in Ghana


I could tell these tales forever

Those in need, who are forgotten;

Those whose plights don’t make the papers

Certain not a soul knows of them—

Never heard of this man Hilsen

Never met him, still don’t know him

Don’t know where to send their Thank You’s

Most assume “God smiles upon us!

Sends us help down from his heaven!”

But in this case, “God” is Homer

And his “heaven,” chilly cave-hole

No Saint Peter; no white angels.


Down to only three possessions

Is the old A. Homer Hilsen

In the cave, just six by eight feet

With a rock roof barely four feet

Lies on flattened tufts from thistles

Plucked by hand. A. Homer found it

Tween the nooks and crannies up there

Plucked from Scotland’s purple flower

Sheltered from the Highlands’ high winds

Lucky was he just to find it

And to bring it back in fistfuls

So to make his final rest-home

Somewhat softer on his old bones,

Gave the boiled wool to others!


I’ll now speak of his possessions

First of them, his pinhole camera

Like his lantern, made of bean-can

He was rarely seen without it

Like a surgeon with a scalpel

Like a farmer with a pitchfork

Like a sea capt. and his sextant

Like Dave Crockett and his coon-cap

Like young mother with her baby

Or that baby with her blanket

Was A. Hilsen and his camera

Oh, so constant was its presence

Oh, so naked, him without it!


And though always well-intentioned

Were the gifts of modern cameras

Gifts from heads-of-state, and family

Bought online with cards of plastic,

Up to forty megapixels

Fancy with the largest sensors

To give him in his old age

Technological advantage;

Light brushed gold or silver finish,

Sometimes blackened paint, like Leica;

Now and then sized like an ax-head

Housed in plastic, made in China

Every year in weight they dwindle,

Said to simplify life greatly.

Said to relegate his darkroom

To a room, that, with a lantern

Like the bean-can one he loves so

Would be useful as a guest-room

For the old A. Homer Hilsen

Replaced by scanner, software, printer

For a virtual desktop darkroom!


None of this he learned to master

Never understood the options

Even after hours of study

In six languages he knew well

Not enraptured by the manuals,

Ne’er deciphered the instructions

Never figured out the options

Never pushed the proper buttons

Never understood the plug-ins

So although the cameras promised

Instantly gratification

It was all lost on the old man

Progressed passed A. Homer Hilsen

As they piled up in the corner

e-waste in the Scottish Highlands

In his cave on ol’ Ben Nevis.


Aye, despite these gifts of wonder

He was faster with his pinhole

Faster with his humble pinhole

Made himself, just like his lantern

Out of dry and empty bean-can!


Indeed, A. could take a snapshot

With that bean-can pin-hole camera

Like Kwai Chang Cain snatching pebble,

Faster was he with that camera

Faster could he take a photo

Than that famous western dandy

Paladin could draw his six-gun.


And the scenes his pin-hole captured!

In his cave’s darkroom, developed

On the plate-glass shipped by clipper

All the way from Nova Scotia

Where his cousin, Roy MacMillan

Owns a shutterbug’s supply house!


Next in line behind the camera

In the hierarchy of possessions

On the totem pole of widgets

Owned by old A. Homer Hilsen

Is a meter-long shillelagh

Made of genuine Irish Blackthorn.

Knotty bumps along its dark shaft

So hard, so sharp, you cannot hold it

Save in one smooth part exception

Where with flint-knapped knife he whittled

Smoothed the knots, to form a handle

‘bout two feet below the knothead!


When he made this old shillelagh

It was in his eighteenth summer

And for many years that followed

‘Twas the only one in Scotland,

Objet d’envie, that shillelagh!


Now and then with his shillelagh

Hooligans he showed them what-for

Swift hard clouts rained down on shin bones,

Cracked too knuckles, knees, and noggins

Sent thugs back to where they came from

Rough rapscallions taught a lesson

By a swift, pitch-black shillelagh

Wielded by its master Hilsen

Left behind, bruises that lingered

Bruises black and blue and purple

Now and then, the skin ‘twas broken

Oozing from it, creeks of scarlet

“Just deserts for young Scot hoodlums!”

Was our hero heard to mutter

(None dare twice harrass A. Homer!)


But like magic, blows delivered

By that fearsome black shillelaugh

Wielded faster than a numchuck

By the Scottish Ninja Hilsen!

To be sure, he taught a lesson

To those ne’re do-wells and scoundrels

And as history has proved it

Each man knocked about by Homer

Changed his life after the whacking

From crime and general mayhem

To philanthropy and giving!


Some, like Schweitzer, became healers

Some, like Milton, men of letters

Some, like Lincoln, glorious statesmen

And at least a dozen: Teachers!

To a man did they attribute

Their chameleon-like transformation

To the “lesson” taught by Hilsen

And his magical shillelaugh!


And the last of his Possessions

Aft the camera, the shillelaugh

Was the finest of his play-tools

And the way he worldly traveled.


It was steel and lugged and lovely

Slender tubes that joined with others

With such swirls and points of lugwork

Even dolled-up ladies viewed them

Wearing monstrous hats with birds nests

Hats with vast bouquets upon them

Ladies snugly laced with corsets

In their dresses ‘dorned with lacework

Hand-sewn with Egyptian cottons

Or French silks and British velvet

With high boots with umpteen laces

Ladies as I’ve just described here

Even these upper-crust ladies

Have commented on its beauty,

On that iron steed of Hilsen’s,

Have felt dizzy in its presence

Woozy, swooning, finally toppling

When with looking glass examind

Strong and beauteous

The fine lugged joints on the bike of

Our fine friend, A. Homer Hilsen.

Smelling salts, they come in handy!


A. Homer Hilsen’s bicycle

Was blue-grey with cream appointments

Silver racks he bolted to it

Silver racks with smooth dull finish

Buckled bags on to them fastened

Made of canvas, wool, and leather

With the aforementioned buckles

Brass that dulled with age, ungleaming.


Fifty years did Homer ride it

Fifty years with no new paint job

Fifty years and endless pleasure

Rides in snow and rain and windstorms

Making camp where there was water

And a place to lay his bedroll

From Alaska to south Chile

From Mongolia to Maui

All these places did he travel

Learned the language spake by natives

Learned the customs, ate the food there

Helped the children, cured diseases

Built fine schools and educated

He left every place he rode through

Better off because he’d been there!


And at long last, here he huddled

By that lantern made of bean-can

With his camera and shillelagh

With his bicycle for company

And his heart now beating slower

Than it beat in his long lifetime

Slower even than when sleeping

Ever slower by the hour

Fifty forty thirty twenty

In that cave up on Ben Nevis

In that hole in rock, in mountain

Simultaneously the candle

That one in his bean-can lantern

Stopped the instant that his heart did,

Homer's final noise, a soft burp.



This next one is much shorter and has an AABBC rhyme pattern. It's about a Scottish guy who ride his Homer all over the place. Super sappy, but it's not that long, and you've been warned. Say it to yourself with a Scottish accent:



‘Tho travel wide and far, do I

O’er stoney paths, ‘tween fields-o-rye

Past foggy crags, where the lost sheep bleat

I tell you mate, ‘tis no grand feat—

I ride A. Homer Hilsen!


Aye, my bike do take me far

To lands I couldna’ see by car

Beyond the reach of mail or phone

But ne’er do I feel alone—

I’m with A. Homer Hilsen!


At times it is m’ campin’ bike

When out to far-off lands I strike

With a pocketfull of grub and a bedroll small

I’m gleeful a-pedalin’ through the squall

Cause I ride A. Homer Hilsen!


Ahhh... the siren’s call o’- the race-man’s steed

Tempts me not—it’s a fragile breed.

‘Twas steel and lugs, joined strong with fire

And room for mudguards, and manly tire

Steered me to A. H. Hilsen!


Sure, now and then I get the urge

For speed; and I be known to surge

On up the road, so fierce me pace

The geese above concede the race

To me on A. H. Hilsen


So, day by day and week by week

There is no other mount I seek

My stalwart pal in cream and blue

The sites I’ll see—you’ll see ‘em, too—

Come with, A. Homer Hilsen!


Alas, years hence when I’m rid’ out

My joints so stiff; so bad’s my gout

That I canna’ push the pedals ‘round,

An’ I stay at home all armchair-bound

I’ll bequeath A. Homer Hilsen…


To a lad I know, his character strong

His smile as wide as a June day’s long

Who’ll ride her on adventures new

Of the sort I canna’ longer do

R-r-r-r-r-roam on, A. Homer Hilsen!


And if that plucky lad has time

Mayhap he’ll regale, in song or rhyme

Me, after dinner one fine night

(A long shot, sure—but still, he might!)

—With tales of A. H. Hilsen!


Oy, when I’m long gone and that lad’s grown old

His rides no longer swift, nor bold

His joints, like mine, all stiffened up

Then soon ‘twill be his own grandpup

Who rides A. Homer Hilsen!


For a bike like this can ne’er be kept still

It longs for the trail disappear’n o’er hill

It calls you to pedal, to pack, to explore

An’ e’en when you stagger, it begs y’ for more—

It’s the lugged steel A. Homer Hilsen!


HOMER HAIKU. Just a few of them. 

In a test ‘tween pals

Homer outdrew Paladin

Don’t worry—squirt guns!


Elvis sick tonite?

Mad throng wants refunds? Relax—

“Hips” Hilsen’ll wow ‘em.


Bottom of the ninth

Down by one, Koufax pitching

No sweat; Hilsen’s up.


Tot sick but doc gone?

Medicine cabinet bare?

Ring A-double H!


Headline said just this"

“In test of nerves, reflexes

Homer bests Kwai Cain.”


Having just learned chess

Unknown A. Homer Hlsen

Stops Spasky in ten.


Marquee actor sick

Stand-in Hilsen knocks ‘em dead

God save the Homer!


------ugh, enough...but the Homer is a really, really good bicycle

Here's a rare feel-good story about drones and ocean come-backs.

I heartily urge you to click on that link, unless you hate whales.


Many of you by now know that Shimano is recalling up to (so far) 2.8 million cranks. The Hollow-tech models. Details here.

Bicycling magazine pointed out that all bike parts break, or can break, something like that, and I think that's a fair thing to say, good to say, but all else equal, brittle things like carbon fiber and many non-metal substitutes tend to be brittle ("brittle" and "strong" are in different categories. 

UTS is the force required to pull the material apart. It matters, but often not as much as fatigue resistance (the material's ability to flex repeatedly without breaking--think of rubber vs thin aluminum wire); or toughness (a materials ability to get knicked or scratched and still survive stresses and opposed to growing cracks).

The strongest aluminum alloys have about 80 percent of the UTS of chrome-moly. No steel crank would ever break, unless it's just too skinny. But high-strength aluminum (A 7075 T6) is a better material for cranks, because it allows sufficient strength without being too heavy. Unmarketably heavy, I mean. 

But material itself doesn't make a strong crank. In developing the Silver cranks (both 1 and upcoming 2), we had to shift material around, and cut material away from where it wasn't needed, and repeated testing (computer modeling AND actual physical laboratory stresses) told us (well, the crank maker) where we could add and take away, and what the results of that were. We'll never have a crank as light as Shimano's Hollowtech cranks, or any carbon cranks, but WHO in the WORLD actually needs to trim three to four ounces off a crank that's already plenty light but appropriately heavy for the stresses of riding? 


Shimano is the smartest and most competent bicycle parts maker in the world. Unfortunately (from OUR perspective) they feel they must be the lightest at everything, and that's where things go bad. 

Somebody in the Big Media  pointed out that the CPSC didn't give Shimano enough time to deal with this, but that's not true. It is the mfr's responsibility to report known concerns to the CPSC as soon as they come to light. The kind of concern is: Even if no failures have occurred yet, if a known problem that COULD lead to a failure that COULD injure a person exists, then it must be reported.

Nobody does that. 

So when the problem surfaces, the CPSC allows a window for "voluntary recalls," which allows a mfr to pretend to be taking the high road. But there are standards for the procedures for a voluntary recall. It may have changed, but in the '90s at least, you had to have a record of who bought the part, and a way to contact them. That's obviously impossible in most cases. And if you couldn't do that, you were required to spend as much advertising the recall as you'd spent promoting the product. That's unlikely. Shimano's going to spend a few million saying "Oops!"?? 

So that's when CPSC mandates a recall. It doesn't happen all-of-a-sudden. 

The crank isn't Shimano's fault. It was inevitable in a system (bicycle manufacturer-customers, bicycle riders looking to "upgrade," the media that accepts the advertising dollars and applauds new lightweight barriers broken and convinces readers that it matters. People who buy it.  If SRAM has a crank that weighs 600g, Shimano's not going to be happy, and Shimano's customers won't be happy, with a crank that weighs 650g. The first thing a magazine staffer reviewer will do is weigh the crank.

A SILVER crank, 170mm, with a chainguard and 42 x 28  rings weighs 30.1oz.

I'm doing imperial units, assuming most of you are more familiar with them.

That 30.1oz includes a chainguard and a steel 28t. Without the chainguard, it's down to 27.5oz. Take it off if you like, but it's nice to have. We ordinarily use steel below 32t, for better wear. But substitute aluminum, save 2.8oz and wear it out 4x faster...and it's down to 24.7oz.

So, about 1.5lb for a crank that passes the harshest ISO MTB crank tests, one that is extremely unlikely to ever break, and if it does it'll probably give you warning. Good enough. You could sub aluminum or titanium chainring bolts, but what kinds of games are we playing here? Take the steel inner, take the chainguard, take that 5.4 ounces, and just ride your bike...with some peace of mind.

Carbon fiber fishing rods break often enough that now mfrs make most of their rods in four sections, rather than just two==so they have a smaller section to replace. Carbon golf clubs break. People keep buying them, because they want the perceived advantage and can't imagine their hero-companies would continue using a material that has these strength "limitations."

 Maybe recalls, injuries, and product failures are inevitable. We've had two issues in the past, both ... ultra suspicious, but we paid dearly for one, and our insurance covered another.  Safety is our No. 1 priority--over comfort, usefulness, all of that. Everybody who works here knows the extent we go to to make our bikes and bike parts safe and long-lasting. We test, retest, pay money, remake..before we sell them. If a crank breaks, or a bar, fork, won't be because we tried to cut a few ounces off of it, or didn't test it. At least that.


Black parts, revisited and re-evaluated

There IS an anti-black bias in bike parts (too), and there used to be an OK reason for it. Black paint neutralizes silver metal that isn't buffed and polished lusciously. Black used to have cache, too, because in 1979 or whenever Campagnolo introduced its Super Record group, the rear derailer had black accents, to distinguish it from its up-to-then-best Nuovo Record. Other highish-end companies hopped on the black bandwagon, and it trickled down to cheap parts. But times have changed and we've changed.  I've changed. I'm not your role model, I'm not saying hey, if I'm OK with black parts you should be, too. Do what you want, but my and our now-acceptance isn't because we've lowered our standards, it's because Iwe realize we have to live in the real world, and we've gotten used to black...kind of everything. And probably it's some underdogging-defending at this point, too.

Beside that, black here and there make a bike look interesting, even better than all silver. Black brakes and pedals, even seat posts can add a little good oomph to an otherwise too faerie-elvish-pastel bicycle. A black stem can look good, too. Black hot-spots here and there, bravo...all for them. 

We know many people don't LIKE black parts, but in some cases, some things are NOW available only in in black. Some Shimano hubs, like Deore fronts. To reject a Deore front hub because it is black is, of COURSE, anybody's prerogative, but these years, it may come down to picking color over value or quality, which is also anybody's prerogative. 

In 2023, it is helpful or useful or practical to look at things like his through different lenses, and even, possibly, be open to liking something you don't automatically like.

The lusciously hand-buffed and clear anodized silver parts of the past, the high-end SunTour, Shimano, and Campagnolo parts, don't get that way inexpensively, and with modern labor rates, they'd add 40 percent to the cost, in some cases.

In Japan in the late '70s and '80s, they got so beautiful through semi-dangerous and slightly dehumanizing (harsh way of putting it) labor. You'd wear a head-to-toe TYVEK jumpsuit and stand in front of a two-to-four foot diameter buffing wheel with buffing compound on it, holding a crank arm or brake arm on the wheel, applying more compound as needed. It was dangerous, because the part could get pulled from your hand and go flying off. You hand could get sucked in. The action of buffing turned the buffing stuff black,and covered your front head to toe. You wore a face shield to top it off and protect your eyes and face, and in the summer it would be roasting. All the time, you're personhood or identity is hidden, and you're just a body in a white-and-black suit. Japanese people wouldn't do it, so Japanese makers used Filipino labor, paying them more than they'd make in the Philippines. 

The finish on our SILVER crank is 90 percent as good, without that weird human labor element. You can see slight, and I mean slight irregulaties in the basically inconsequential finish--but only upon close examination. The SILVER crank, I think, is the best-looking crank currently being made AND it's super strong and light enough for anybody except a gram-counter. We rejected other finishes before settling on this one. 

When you ride a crank enough, it's common for your shoe to rub a rubmark on the arm. That's beausage at its best. Its shows you're using it, and the rubmark is unavoidable, unless you pedal with your foot far from the crank. 



Embracing black. It's time.


More black-and-panda. Boring pics, just making the point that black and silver go together pretty well and are easy to warm up to.

Silver bodies, black lenses = Panda camera. A long-established term we borrow for bike parts.

 Panda wheel: black hub, silver rim


Panda light

Panda bar-stem combo

 Another panda wheel


Inside discussions, things we're talking about, not necessarily fretting about:

The Susie/Wolbis hillibikes (and the Gus Boots-Wilsen) are really a pain to get, and they cost a ton and take away time we could use for other models, but the next run is going to be both lugged and fillet-brazed, which as supposed to help the maker make faster, but apparently that's not happening, so...we are debating doing this upcoming run of 120 or so, then maybe 100 every other year......the rear derailer samples we'd hoped to get from Microshift will be delayed at least two months, and so...whatever, we're just glad they're still iin the game. The original maker, in China (experienced, don't worry, where's your iPhone made?) now has all he needs to make it. We're stacking the deck....Antonio and I have been riding the bejesus out of our demo-RoadUno bikes. His is set up as a one-speed, mine's a 44x34x24 triple with an 18t cog. I ride more and steeper hills, and I'm older, and I need that gear, and if you think 24x18 is a low gear for steep hills, well, it's not....We've been working on our SILVER hubs, and should be getting them soon, in both normal and 7-speed....


The thing below is a gear chart. It's not the British-invented/American-adopted "gear inch chart" based on a high-wheeler (Penny-Farthing) big wheel diameter.  That works when you're in the groove and were groomed on it, but otherwise it means beans. Sheldon Brown's "Gain ratio" was / is a too-late and for many including me, too-complicated improvement on it. "Gain ration" accounted for the leverage differences between crank lengths. It's minimal. 

The non-British Europeans used "Development" charts, which listed meters traveled per pedal revolution. It's hard for Americans to relate to meters. A meter is 39.37 inches, or about 1.2 yards. But distance traveled is a more relatable number than a high-wheeler's wheel diameter. I've used distance traveled in the chart below, caluculated with a practical and common-around-here rear wheel, and instead of meters, good old American yards. Five yards is the distance between line markers on a football field, and you might prefer foosball to football, but the football field gives you an idea.

I've highlighted all 2:1 rations (40x20, 36x18, etc). When I raced, we climbed most hills in a 42x21. For non-racers, forget it. But a 2:1 ration is still a benchmark. Today I'd call it a low-medium gear for slight uphills for most riders.

Is this too techy for a Blahg? Sorry. Most of you are smarter than me, so it won't be out of reach. It can be useful to know whether a 36x19 is harder or easier than a 38x20, though. As luck would have it, they're the same gear which make me wish I'd picked another example.


How to use: Look at your high and low-gear combos. On your bike. If the high is hard enough and the low is easy enough, you're good. You can see the number (of yards traveled) on this chart, and then you know what numbers work for you. It's not important to know that the number is yards travelled, but it's slightly interesting. 


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