I knew that my immediate obligation was to dream. I wanted to dream a man; I wanted to dream him in minute entirety and impose him on reality. After nine or ten nights of furrowed attempts at dreaming, I emerged from my sleep as if from some sort of viscous desert and realized that I had not dreamed. I understood then that modeling the incoherent and vertiginous matter of which dreams are composed was the most difficult task that a man could undertake; much more difficult than weaving a rope out of sand or coining the faceless wind. I sought another method of work. I spent a month recovering my powers - I simply slept. If I dreamed, I paid no attention to it. Before resuming my task, I waited until the moon was a perfect disc. Then, in the afternoon, I purified myself in the waters of the river, worshiped the planetary gods, pronounced the prescribed syllables of a fearsome name, and went to sleep. I dreamed almost immediately. I dreamt that it was warm, secret, about the size of a clenched fist, and of a garnet color within the penumbra of a human body as yet without a face or sex; during fourteen lucid nights I dreamt of it with meticulous love. I did not touch it; I only permitted myself to witness it, and occasionally to rectify it with a glance. I perceived it and lived it from all angles and distances. On the 23rd night I lightly touched the pulmonary artery with my index finger, then the whole heart, inside and outside. I was satisfied with my examination. Within a year I had come to the skeleton and eyelids. The innumerable hair - now that was perhaps the most daunting! In the Gnostic cosmogonies, demiurges fashion a red Adam who cannot stand; as clumsy, crude and elemental as this Adam of dust was the Adam of dreams forged by my nights. Yet I persisted. And in the dream of the one that dreamed (me), the dreamed one awoke. Eventually I instructed him in the mysteries of the universe and the cult of fire. And finally, reluctantly (I must admit) I began accustoming him to reality. Once I ordered him to place a flag on a faraway peak. The next day, there was the flag, fluttering in the majestic morning light, atop the jagged physicality of the very peak. He was ready to be born. First, after a long drought, a remote cloud, as light as a bird, appeared on a hill; then, toward the South, the sky took on the rose color of leopard's gums; then came clouds of smoke which rusted the metal of the nights; afterwards came the panic-stricken flight of wild animals. I walked toward the sheets of flame. They did not bite my flesh, they caressed me and flooded me without heat or combustion. With relief, with humiliation, with terror, I understood that I also was an illusion, that someone else was dreaming me.

I may be in the running for the Team member with the furthest ride to AB. I live in Beaumont.  I grew up in the farmlands of North Dakota but am too much of a wimp for the cold weather so I moved to TX after high school.  I have had a thing for bikes my entire life, growing up living at the BMX tracks.  I spend more time than most in Tanning salons & am a master over-eater.  I have become alergic to my job the last few years & bike racing has been my prefered medication, dont tell my Boss he thinks im in rehab.  My first love is road racing although i am often packfill in cyclocross, moutainbike races and Xterra tri's.  When im not cycling I am flying my plane as a Volunteer pilot for Angel flight (transporting Cancer patients) Coaching special olympics or building for habitat for humanity, I enjoy Volunteer work of any kind. Aside from bike's Im a wannabe Scuba diver & Moutaineer, although after a 3 week summit trip on Denali Im on the fence with big moutains.

By day, he is a real estate investor. By night, he pedals the Peloton of Freedom on his Stork Fenomalist. He is a son, a brother, and a lover.(Easy Ladies) His love for his bike is only out ranked by his love for his family, friends and art.(Tattoos particularly) Raised in Dallas, Josh moved to his favorite city to finish college and stayed like the rest. Josh is a true Austinite by heart. His two obsessions, fitness and fun, dominate every aspect of his life. Now a member of AB, he truly Lives the Dream!

I was born on the tender date of 06/27/1983, at which point I commenced my extended Austin stay. Those many years ago, my parents could have never predicted my long, hot, and sweaty days spent slaving over high performance german sports cars in un-air-conditioned auto-hangars. For if they had only known, surely they would have whisked me off and I would instead be a tender footed west-coast boy who loved Sonoma wines and Califiornia raisins. But cruel and perfect as event have transpired, I'm a badass Texas boy who HATES raisins and opossums. On stressful days at work I toggle between using my gingham blue bandana to wipe my sweaty motorex coated brow and daydreaming about accelerating around my top-fuel lead-out man to ludicrous speed just in time to raise both hands high overhead in a triumphant victor's salute.

My staunchly supportive wife, Stacy has her own feelings on raisins and opossums but she'd never tell you. She prefers to listen, she's a great listener! and a great mom to our two longish, brownish dogs: Gladys and Gus.

My name is Tyler. I enjoy sprinting, climbing, attacking, and crushing souls. Nothing makes me happier than seeing pain and suffering among my competition. My biggest weakness' are women and delicious pastries! I will do almost anything for a pastry. When I'm not conquering the pave' I enjoy spending time with friends and drinking beer. I like anything fun and am always up for a good challenge. To put it in a nutshell. It's not about where I'm going in life, it's all about my adventures along the way, and the people I spend it with.

CMFE was not so much born as he took form out of the early morning mist on a temperate southern California day in May 1971. If you believe the lore, and you should because not believing the lore is for crybabies and losers, CMFE has been chased by bears, climbed mountains on multiple continents, sold grilled-cheese sandwiches at Grateful Dead shows, and survived nine separate encounters with the Texas state troopers, various county sheriffs, and federal customs agents in a single day. All these character-building adventures have made him into the most feared one-lunged bike racer in the state. Other things you may not know about CMFE that he's willing to tell: 1) two parts Flemish (beer and bikes), one part French (food and love), and one part Welsh (bad attitude); 2) forced to take macrame lessons two summers in a row; 3) worked as a welder's assistant on a paper mill shut-down in DeRidder, Louisiana; 4) took a two-month road trip with five guys in a 1965 Volkswagen bus dubbed the NCC-1701E; 5) paid for college in part by playing keyboards for a hotel bar band that covered "Wishing Well" by Terence Trent D'Arby and "C'est La Vie" by Robbie Nevil - quit when the other members insisted he purchase a keytar.

Sam is not only the sibling of co-owner Sol and a master wheelbuilder, he's also the former service manager at AB, and as equally adept at fixing anything on your bike as he is at tearing off your legs.

In case you care to read more than his bio on the "About Us" page, here are a few more tidbits about this modern day renaissance man. Sol likes oranges, his fab-5-freddy family, cutting loose, cutting up, and all his buddies (many featured on this very webpage). He doesn't have any time for grumpy pantses. If you're alive, healthy and living in Austin then you probably don't have much to complain about. Don't bring him beer if he does you an alcohol-worthy turn. He prefers Mexican Martinis or Cab/Pinot Noir. If he half wheels you, don't worry. He means to do it. He wants you to do it right back.

His absolute favorite favorite thing in the world is having his family and kids out to watch him race.

***this just in****

Sol's mother, Khaki, recently told him of a story:

When Sol was an infant, he would only fall asleep while being pushed at top speed in a stroller through the neighborhood. This lasted right up until the wheels literally fell off. At which point, his older sisters sought after a new manner of conveyance to launch him off to sleep. In came the RadioFlyer wagon with pillow laid down within. Second verse same as the first......till the wheels came off.

Grew up in Bloomington In and went to Indiana University but never got to race in the Little 500 so I quit and went on the road with a rock band. 15 years later I went back to school at Ohio State and graduated in 1990 with a business degree and immediately continued with my music career and forgot about my degree.

I moved to Texas the following year and later to Austin. I began racing bikes 10 years later for no apparent reason other than it was the hardest thing I could find to do.

Somewhere in there I got married and rescued a bunch of dogs which is interesting. So now I currently do both things I like to do best, play my drums and ride my bike. I am sending the photo which may give more insight than my bio.

The most difficult obstacle concerning Patrick Harkins' races are figuring out which town he's racing in.  An on-again-off-again Austin resident, Patrick makes the team collectively smile when his travels and tribulations bring his silly grin back to the Texas Peleton.  Austinbikes ONLY reason for EVER opening up a second location would be to serve the sole purpose of offering this nice guy a permanent job to keep him stationary.

Give him an inch & he'll come around you...on the trail, inside the yellow line, in the cereal aisle at HEB. Further biographical information promised.

SAT Question: How does a guy who weighs 180 pounds outclimb a former semi-pro cyclist weighing 170 lbs?  Your name is Jonathan Hughes and you just don't give a *%#@.  Jonathan has been racing for the Ab/Rev squad for the past 2 years.  In two short years he has progressed from a crazy-eyed, hard-wired, long-haired ex-powerlifter to a well rounded, fit, trim, upwardly mobile, tactician.  This dude can, without pride or prejudice, enter Pro/1/2 crit and impose his will and domain on 10 year veterans of the sport; truly a sight to behold.  

A low sullen moan escapes his throat as he mashes on the pedals. In a sea of lycra clad bodies he alone stands out, thick-shouldered and massive-thighed he clutches the handlebars with his ham-sized fists and attempts to transfer all of his power through the carbon fiber frame. As the skinny legs around him spin deliberately he mashes with an unknown fury. Sweat saturates his white costume and showers the poor people behind him. With teeth gritted and a steely-eyed glare his already lactic acid-soaked legs churn way past the point of failure, for he's not out there to win the race -- only to ensure the proper amount of suffering that all those who try to defy him must endure.

Shaman, dream catcher, Matthew Mahon is The Total Package. Winning local pie eating contests in Midland, Matthew was able to earn a small sum of money, and bought his first bicycle. He cycled his way to Austin, Texas, where he found a job as a construction worker, and perfected his infamous cat-calls. Craving artistic release, he became a talented etch-a-sketcher, doing portraits for 5 bucks a pop, which he spent foolishly on bootleg armadillo meat and moonshine. While working, Matthew discovered his next passion, the camera. Exhilarated, Matthew grabbed his bicycle and took off cycling with camera slung about his neck, and never looked back. After 27 days, he suddenly stopped when a young girl with jet black hair stood in his path, and pointed at him ominously. Aware that this little girl was causing him to experience an artistic epiphany, Matthew let out a rawkus yell, threw off his clothes, and collapsed on the ground losing consciousness. From that moment on, Matthew Mahon was determined to become the nation's most famous cycling photographer.

Regularly functioning as mechanical race support and cheerleader for the Austinbikes Squad, Satoshi delights in supplying all the "Metal" moments in and around a race situation.  He will very likely amaze each team member with his celebrity impersonations while simultaneously truing their crashed-out wheel with a professional grade truing stand that he'll nonchalantly pull from the back of his SUV.  Don't get too close or brush up against this man, he bites.  Nah....he's harmless????

A warm summer night, 1971 Marc Ramsey Mayo blessed this world at 5 o'clock in the morning. A long strange trip it has been. Born in Birmingham, Alabama the oldest of 2 siblings. I've been running ever since. True passion was sports where I would finish little league games and then head right to swim meets. Anything to wear a Speedo. Throughout the 1980's I lived in Virginia, Illinois, then settling in San Antonio, Texas. After a short stint at Texas Tech University I transferred to Texas A&M University where I graduated in December 1994, Gig'em ( What ever that means I have no frigin clue ) After College I moved as fast as I could to Austin, settling into a position in the cyclical tech market. For the first time in my life, I knew what I didn't want to do! After 2 years of slowing dying on the vine at the hands of corporate America, I packed up and moved to Mexico City where I taught English and traveled. After coming to the conclusion that I do not like to teach, I returned to Austin. About this time, Separately, I ran into 2 chaps, Eric Hess and Solomon Frost. From there our common interests lead us down the same paths. Many years later I still hang with those two. It has been great seeing them evolve into what we all are today. AB.

The crusher of bones, the wearer of women's glasses. We know there's more to him than that, but this is all we have to go on...

Behind every champion is man who wants to win. Behind that man is a guy who wants to ride fast. Behind that guy is a guy who loves to ride his bike. Behind that guy is me. Transplanted from the southeast of Louisiana, I moved to Austin and found home. I love my dogs, my wife, brewing beer and riding my bike fast. Whether its dirt or road, I’m all over it. I’ve also always loved being competitive. Growing up, all you needed to do get me to do something was to say I couldn’t do it. Whether it was in peewee football, racing other kids across the playground, or playing cards with friends, I’ve always wanted to bury my competition, behind a wide smile and some cordial banter of course. So when you see me in the peloton, don’t let the boyish smile fool you. I’m out for your wheel. Then I’m looking to get out in front of you. Only words of wisdom I have are, “Eat big, drink hard, and ride fast!”

Casey hales from Portland Oregon, but somehow managed to escape all the cliches of Portlandia, no skinny jeans, no fixie, and no tat's. However, what's inescapable is pasty white skin and coffee addiction. When he's not dishing out chili rainbows or training he acts like a bike messenger delivering coffee between Medici and AB. He expects to wear big boy pants sometime soon and start racing in big boy races. Does my jersey look right to you?

Born of Arctic snow bears. He was raised in the blistering chill of the Tropics. He learned quickly the abilities of the fruit fly as well as the killer whale. Well versed in both sword fighting and poetry writing. As capable with a paint brush as with a grenade launcher. More fleet footed than an orangatang more stout than your mother. He is a lover AND a fighter. Legs faster than the Detroit Pistons. When he wants to be stealthy you would barely hear him. Nearly invisible in pitch black night. Capable of making a peanut butter and jelly foldy midsprint with a butter knife and finishing it before crossing the line face smeared in peanut butter and jelly. Watch out for this one.

I'm talking about radio blasting early
Choking down dry grain
I smell the bean and have to blow up the john
Check the time
Two bottles in the cage
Check the pressure
John is calling again! Shit!
Check the time
Rubber down and the light is gorgeous
Time!
Legs still dreaming, but of sould to crush
Made it
More bean but this time wrapped in bread with yolks
Where to go?I don't give a fuck but DRILL IT!

Sometimes a brotha's just gotsta race!

Although somewhat new to racing, and even newer to road racing, Jeremy Ridge has been on two wheels for most of his life. Since high school, he'sbeen actively involved in a handful of outdoor activities including kayaking, climbing, riding motorcycles, bouldering, mountain biking, and riding the road. He's since left a few of these behind in favor of two-wheeled transports. Jeremy tries to split his time evenly between his new Orca and the trusty Titus RX 29er (and his wife Stephanie, also a rider). He's been racing in the dirt for three years, and plans on having a great Spring 2010 season -- only this year, his plan is to actually train for the races instead of just showing up and hoping his legs came to play. Look for Jeremy at the Driveway crits on Thursday nights, and the Dirt Derby on Tuesdays during the fall (and in between, on beloved trails like South Boundary in Taos and Strand Hill in Crested Butte). Jeremy will join the ranks of road racing in 2010, in hopes of upgrading from his current Cat 9 status. That way, he can race without training wheels. Jeremy resides seven floors above 5th and Red River Streets with Stephanie, her dog Summit, his cat Buffy (yes, the cat is his), and way too many bicycles.

After being thrown off the set of "The Royal Tenanbaums" for starting a fight with Gwenyth Paltrow, Ali decisively concluded his acting aspirations.....but not before quickly snapping the bio photo seen here. Supported by his amazing partner, Nikki and his plush accounting gig at Whole Foods INC. he makes his plan. What next? Paris, Milan, New Braunfels? A true renaissance man that will tell you that your (ugly) necktie is blue though he knows damn well (as do you) that it is in fact green. He does this not to be contrary but simply to inject a neutral moment with noise; cuz noise is loud and loud is good! How good? check out his custom-built day-glow Oakleys...any of them. If you can't see them that's because they're carefully interwoven in the back of his gold-plated, olympic-striped helmet. Don't mock this type of behavior around him or he'll boot you square in the neck with his neon orange carbon soled kicks. Recently voted by Austinbikes as most likely to be eulogized in a skinsuit.

Kevin Schaefer will bring you a big ole box of buttery sweet cookies, lull you into complacency, then hammer the dogsnot out of you. But he's so nice he'll make you like it while he is doing it. His day job you ask? He does something related to video cameras and the state government. We are a bit scared of asking him, so we live our lives assuming he makes snuff films of the summer poli-sci interns who screw up writing speeches. He and his evil twin brother Cord Offerman are coming to a town near you to be nice to you....to death!

AKA Michael Carey, don't let the boyish good looks fool you. Try and put this tall-boy into a paper bag and he'll unleash all his 75-plus inches on you like a wrecking ball through a Chuck E Cheese.

If Brendan ever built a velodrome it would be for the sole purpose of burning it down.  I'm not talking literally here.  He sets fire to it like Adele sets "Fire to the Rain" (and if Brendan sent in his bio on time he would very likely not have an Adele reference herein)  Out on the open road, B. is a cyclist in the classical sense of the word.  He lives and breathes by the credo that the bike is HIS pulpit.  He disseminates his will on the categorical masses.  Cycling may not be his day job, but chasing him thru the turns at the Driveway Series weekly criteriums might very well become yours if you allow him a bike-length.  

Having cut weight from 440 all the way down to a svelte 5'8"/180 after his embarrassing performance on La Mánie in 2007, Nate is now equally adept at the suicidal early attack, a bit of unintentional cyclocross, or driving to the front right before that one steep hill on the circuit so he can sit on the front of the pack and pray they don't come around. He's been accused of training too much, doing too much work on (or off) the front, and crashing dudes into trucks, but never of winning too many damn races. With his slow-twitch tree trunks he could easily outsprint your grandma, though he might need a dedicated leadout to come around your mom. Specialty: hill-descent time trials.

Richard "Baretta" Swords. Cagey, steely, and apparently too busy to submit a bio.

Things you must know about Gideon:

He has two sons: Noah and Joshua

He is really fast on his new Alchemy Bicycle.

His wife Karen puts up with this silly time-sink called: bike.

He is very likely THE nicest guy on this or any other racing team.

oh. and he's from Canada. I don't know how that factors in, but it bears mentioning.

I love cycling. I tried my hand at BMX racing in high school because I dated a dude who airbrushed (yup, I really said that) helmets. I couldn't balance on the gate and I underestimated the "air potential" on the first jump. I think they wanted to cut my pants off because my knee was swollen so badly. I moved on to some road riding until I got "doored". Yup. Just said that too. That was a blessing in disguise since I traded my mountain bike for a Davidson 'cross bike. At the time I thought I was pretty cool sporting my road bike on dirt. I moved to Austin from California and became a full-fledged 'cross racer 10 years later. And by full-fledged I mean that I finally learned what a kit was and acquiesced to wearing one and just last week I bought a really cool helmet (not the same helmet as shown in pic, in case you were wondering). Just wish it wouldn't have taken me so long. Looking forward to the 2012-13 Texas 'cross season.

Noah Wright was raised in the wild forests of Tasmania. With only his wit and cunning skill did he survive this apple state of Australia, moving to the US in later years only to learn that people here don't eat vegemite or grow up watching Agro on the tele. Noah enjoys every food item known to man and yes, Men at Work, may be the best band ever. His custom-painted Ridley Noah is a darn sexy machine. His credo: Enjoy life, play hard and love family.