Michael Davis

Michael's Resume

Michael is a 59 year old "has-been that never was" on the bicycle.
 He's done some racing and touring but really believes in the bicycle as one of the saviors of our people and planet.
He loves to see cars replaced as commuting vehicles.
Has 35 years experience in retailing bicycles.

Bicycling related:

Holds the record for the most attempts and completions for the "Assault on Mt. Mitchell", 28 consecutive.
He finished with a broken clavicle after spending about 3 hours or so toward or in the emergency room of St. Lukes hospital in Columbus, NC. Almost finished last. Several top ten finishes. Best time: 5 hours 38 minutes. 

Completed the "Bridge to Bridge" century to the top of Grandfather Mountain 10 times. Best time 5 hours 38 minutes. 

Completed the 170 mile "Cross Florida" from Cocoa Beach to Pine Island 9 times.
Several top ten finishes. 

Helped originate the 4th of July Metric Century and rode the event 16 times.

 Completed Boston-Montreal-Boston, 750 mile randonneur ride 1992, 68 hours. 

Completed Paris-Brest-Paris, 750 mile randonneur ride 1995, 66 hours. 

Completed BAM (Bike Across Missouri), a 570 mile randonneur ride 1996. 
Has ridden hundreds of thousands of miles: centuries, metrics, doubles, cross-states. 

Raced USCF. 

Affiliations:
Coastal Cyclists of Charleston, SC

Low Country VW of Charleston, SC

Spartanburg Freewheelers

 Greenville Spinners

Carolina Cyclists of Columbia, SC

Blue Ridge Bicycle Club

International Randonneurs

  Ultra Marathon Cycling Association

League of American Bicyclists

Lonesome Bicycle Club

After a tour of duty in Vietnam with the USMC:

Michael Davis

Employment: 

Orangeburg Bicycle Company: 1st bicycle shop employment. mechanic/sales 

Melton Bicycle Co., Columbia, SC: bicycle frame building 

Sunshine Cycles, Greenville, SC. 

Bicycle Gallery, Spartanburg, SC.

 Professional Bicycles of Asheville, NC (Pro-Bikes), founder & owner, 1983- 1998-
Received the Bianchi Distinguished Dealer Award for years 1984, 1985, 1986 for leading the sales in the state of NC. 

Adventure Cycles, Merritt Island, Fl. Jan.-Feb, 1991. A winter training excursion. 

Other Cycling Experience:

President of the "Land of Sky Racing Team"- a USCF club.  

Tour leader for the "Smokey Mountain Touring Company", a touring club for 16 years, organizing countless casual rides, training rides, centuries, etc.

Former owner of the "Bicycle Inn" of Bakersville, NC, 
an inn for cyclists, hikers, and everyone else.

Continually leading, organizing rides including charity rides,
and adamantly supporting bicycling.
Craggy Gardens Hill Climb of Asheville, NC
Started the Burnsville Metric of Burnsville, NC
Started the Roan Moan of Bakersville, NC

References: John Bryan of the Spartanburg Freewheelers, one of the originators of the Assault on Mt. Mitchell. 

Certified as a "medical responder" with the Bakersville Fire and Rescue. 

Computer literate, webmaster

Has extensive knowledge and experience in bicycle mechanics, bicycle frame manufacturing, tubing, parts, accessories, sales, and buying.
Also has experience in training for each category.

Bicycles owned now: Serotta Legend Road & Gary Fisher Big Sur ATB

Michael Davis
was
 The Bicycle Inn
is now in
Charleston, SC

email Michael at gr8bikn@comcast.net

My Child Is A Terrific Student At Harvard

A prominent psychiatric drug researcher -- the man responsible for pushing pediatric "bipolar disorder" and boosting sales of mind-altering drugs to children -- has just been exposed in a New York Times article for lying about $1.6 million he received from drug companies. An investigation by Sen. Charles Grassley's office caught Dr. Biederman and colleagues lying on conflict-of-interest forms about how much money they had received from drug giants like Eli Lilly, even while they were engaged in medical experiments on children using the exact same drugs sold by those companies.

These doctors work for Harvard Medical School and routinely performed mind-altering medical experiments on four- to six-year old children, dosing them with psychoactive drugs to see what the chemicals will do to childrens' brains. (And you thought experimenting on children was illegal? Think again: It's psychiatry!)

My feature article today exposes the crimes against children that continue to be committed by criminal-minded psychiatric researchers who are on the take from drug companies. It's time to stop the chemical molestation of our children by the psychiatric industry and start arresting, prosecuting and imprisoning these criminals who pretend to be practicing medicine under the label of "psychiatry." Read my feature story below for full details:

Also today: Anti-psychotic drugs found useless | Vitamin studies flawed | Chemical industry partners with EPA to poison America | Fast food destroys your liver | Laughter and yoga | Medicinal plants being wiped out! | and more...

www.NaturalNews.com
Mike Adams 

These pictures were taken on the 13th of October, 2007

    As Rickety was heading to his “home away from home” last night, he wasted time as usual. He doesn’t want to get there too early. He’ll just stay conscious and think. Time will go slowly.
    It is a nice place. His host, Carr Mudgeon, is very gracious. He’s a spiritualist. He’s a cross between the Dali Lama, Ghandi, and the hairy Christnia. He drinks water and eats one grain of oatmeal a day. He does breathe but only when he sprints on his bike.
     Rickety stopped by Big Bucks for an hour of coffee and crossword puzzle, as if he needs one more perplexing thing. Puzzles are everywhere. Trying to make his simpler, He makes it more complicated than anyone can imagine. Everyone he meets is a puzzle. He’s the biggest enigma yet. He hasn’t figured himself out yet.
     So Rickety wasted all the time he could at Big Bucks Coffee and stopped by Waste Mart to check out all the stuff he wasn’t going to buy. He saw tons of stuff he had no interest in.
     He drove toward Slumberville. He reminisces about the small town that was Slumberville decades ago. Now it’s West Gotham. Now it’s all foreign to him. He gets lost.
     Carr is watching a bunch of liars on TV trying to out-lie one another. Rickety refrains from reporting the obvious. Carr and Rickety exchange pleasantries. Carr goes off to lie on his bed of nails. Carr sleeps well on his nails. He only needs a few minutes though. After his minutes of sleep Carr sets off to work. Later he may flog himself with a cat-o-nine-tails, he may also solve complex problems that have plagued man for ages, and he may do all of this while practicing yoga while riding his bike.
     Rickety retreats to his bed of thorns. He also only needs 10 minutes of sleep. He wants to sleep for years though. He solves puzzles until his eyes fail. He puts his glasses and puzzles away, cuts off the light, and is now wide awake. He cuts the light on. He writes. He rues. He solves more puzzles. His eyes grow tired. He puts away his glasses, cuts off the light, and he is now wide awake again.
     He wonders how he could have lived so long, worked so hard, dared so much, braved so much, achieved so much, paid for so much, and now has so little. He’s amazed that after 58 years he no longer has pail to pee in. He’s blessed to be in the company of greatness and generosity. He’s embarrassed that he’s without means. He hasn’t a home that is his. His pride tells him he’s failed. His humility tells him that his plight is way too common. But in North Gotham, there’s an air of despair everywhere.
     He wonders how it all came to be. He saw a better curtain bow. Did he sign up for all of this? He guesses he did. Life is stranger than fiction.
     He considers the homeless, the poverty, and despair in North Gotham. He’d like to alleviate the suffering. He’d like to extinguish a volcano by urinating on it. He has no resources. He doesn’t have control of his own life. He’s running out of time and health.
     He thinks of his plight and of those he sees on Druid Avenue. He sees the winos, the prostitutes, and crack-heads. He and they are kindred spirits. They don’t know it.
     They see a healthy man riding like the wind on a fine racing machine dressed in fast, flashy cycling attire with shoes that snap onto funny pedals and a helmet to match.
     They see a rich kid on an expensive steed, with bread, a lair, a den, a safe place, a sanctuary, a quiet place where the world cannot get to him.
     They don’t see a man wearing all he is, has, and maybe going to have. It’s a bike, some clothes, and some speed.

Take away the clothing, the machine, and the diet
For they are all a bunch of tricks,
Then they will see a broken man tossing and turning
In a bed of thorns with a bunch of pricks.
______________________________
I'm 59 years old now. I was hoping at this stage in my life I'd be smarter.
I'd make fewer mistakes, I'd be revered or revered by more people,
or that I'd be revered by the same people who used to.
It's been decades since my "enlightenment" to my current beliefs.
I thought that bike lanes would be all over America and cycling would have the support of the "masses".
I thought we would have had the "war to end all wars".
I thought at least here in the USA we would see more light.
I thought "we" would learn to live among ourselves.
But alas, life has more twists and turns than Chubby Checker in a blender.
A black couple visit relatives here "Whiteville".
Being God fearing they go to the nearest church which is white.
The pastor welcomes them and adds that they are welcome anytime.
The deacon stands and contradicts the Reverend.
The Reverend reiterates that the couple are welcome.
The deacon avers that they are not. Blacks have been permitted to attend weddings and funerals.
The blacks cannot attend a regular service.
They will be buried with some others if they do.

I grew tired of being white so long ago.
I grew tired of churches that didn't live up to their potential.
I fought alongside blacks in Vietnam.
I was the first to openly date a black girl in my home town.
I was the first to be charged and prosecuted falsely for having grains of Marijuana in my Prince Albert tobacco.
I was the first to be sent to a local "chain-gang" for such a heinous crime.
It was mostly a white conspiracy that brought this about.
However it was a collaboration among agencies and races within those agencies.
I'm reminded all my life how our judicial system is negligent and fraudulent.
The system is "have money, hire lawyers".
Also, don't offend anybody if you're in Whiteville or Blackville.

So I gave up being white long ago.
I can't be black either.
I ride into Gotham and I speak to black or poor passers-by.
I get positive responses and negatives.
Sometimes I say to myself, "they think I'm white".
When I'm in the company of the affluent I say, "they think I'm black".

What makes someone black?
What makes someone non-white?
I'm hit with unknown objects from black and white drivers as I ride my bicycle.
I'm not sure what's worse, getting hit on purpose because of labeling or indiscriminately.