Of Glory

GLORY.

Come my friends and followers, gather close, for I wish to tell you a tale, one of glorious men, and even more glorious deeds, days, and dreams.

CYCLOCROSS.

Gathered on a sun soaked Sunday, late in the fine fine month of October, amidst the falling golden leaves of aspen trees, at the base of a mighty mighty mountain, stood a crowd of sixty hearty souls, their nerves rubbed raw by the proximity of their competitors and their competition's proximity. They twitched anxiously on the start line, like hounds before the hunt, eyes nervously scanning each others heads, quads, toes and tires, looking for signs of weakness or superiority, waiting for the opportunity to run, to fly, to dive as a peregrine dives without fear or hesitation, to dive head-long for that first bottle-neck, that first turn, that first test of skill and strength.

GLORY.

Purity, my friends, is what makes a great thing great. All great things are pure, and there is perhaps no greater purity, no more primal, impassioned human struggle than the men's B's cyclocross race. As the first blood was drawn, as the first racers overshot their line and lay writhing on the ground, as the rest of the brave brave wheeled-ones either pushed through the madness, shoulder against panicked shoulder, or dismounted to avoid the same poor poor fate, the dust flew, and the the leaves fell, and the fans--oh how the fans cheered.

CYCLOCROSS.

BUSTED!!!

Well it was about time. After two races in the men's C's, my shameless sandbagging has come to an end. After being publicly outed on the Idaho Cyclocross forums as being a "worse sandbagger than Rambo at a pillow fight," the race organizers refused to score me against the other C's, and instead forged a new category for Greg and I: Men's Douchebag C's, in which we swept the podium. Thus, I've decided my C's days are over. To be fair, I raced C's twice this year, and I got my butt kicked the first time (finishing 4th our of 8), and wanted to see a free Josh Ritter concert at 1:00 PM last weekend, making the only race I could have raced the C's, but at this point, I'm inclined to agree with the rest of the state. Onward and upward the motto goes, and so, onward to the B's I go for this weekend's Idaho Cyclocross State Championships in Ketchum. You can still call me a sandbagger, but at least this week they might put me in the results.

Blog envy, New Mexican oddity

I didn't know it was possible to experience blog envy, but wouldn't you know it, Bike Snob NYC has done it again: another massive hammer blow to the humorous cycling-based blogosphere.

Oh, and look at this E-mail I got from my mom (click on the link to see it full size). It starts out a little grim, but gets much better:

"Today I was cleaning out drawers, and came across this police report from the Espanola paper that I saved several years ago. I don't normally read the Espanola paper so I don't know if police reports are normally this entertaining. If so, then maybe I should start reading them.

The must read highlights are: July 18, July 22, Sept 17, and Sept 24. The rest of the reports involve dogs, bears, or livestock."

More Cyclocross....

Once again, I donned my purple suit and took to the cyclocross course. Once again, I had to squeeze into the C's, using my expired license and a promise "not to win". Greg also sneaked into the C's and they gave him grief about being a cat 3. By the time I registered, they just shrugged when I denied their offer to race A's and instead opted to race C's with Greg. Greg had bad luck and flatted moments before the start. Someone loaned him a spare wheel, a smooth one, with no tread what so ever. He had a great start, but was on his back a few turns later. He crashed a total of 6 times, silly silly man.

I broke my promise and won the C's (no doubt making me the most despised man in all of Idaho), but there was a 45 plus guy who creamed me, and a 12 year old who put up one hell of a fight. I need to race against B's next time.

That win was my first USCF win of 2007.

I love cyclocross....

This post will be done in the style of long time friend, and fellow New Mexican, Dustin Garber.


so i was thinking it would good skills practice to race cyclocross but i'm so awful at hopping on and off. my friends take me in the truck to the only race in idaho at the tamarack resort. side note the tamarack resort is scary scary not unlike the city of las vegas in that it does not belong there. so basically i am so bad at cyclocross i sneak into the c's with an old license and quick smile at pretty check-in lady who i don't think really wanted to have sex with greg. gus and drew love yelling. we start and i go fast but greg goes faster. i bungle re-mount after crossing first barriers on second lap and violate anus and crotch region right in front of gus and drew who laugh while i scream like a man who just menaced his undercarriage with a pointy hard bike seat. this kills all drive to go fast, and makes race a battle to not get last. and this is the c's i must remind you. anyway greg wins and i tore the crotch on my purple skinsuit which i was wearing without chamois because my brain is only 43% active these days and forgets vital bicycle racing equipment like chamois allowing ballsack to peek through gross. i am not this big of a rookie. we drink beer that looks like it is soda. greg gets plastered and makes loud inappropriate comment to small children sipping free coffee. i guess i'm ok with finishing 4th in a tiny c's field because my break was rubbing really bad the whole time but oh dear i am bad at this sport.

The reason for my lethargy of late.

So I haven't posted in a while, and I think I just figured out why. This guy just crammed all the wit and humor that I come up with in a month into a single blog post. I laughed to tears. I laughed until my belly hurt. Granted, it might be funnier to me than to the rest of you, seeing as how I actually did sneak into a C's race, I actually can't afford socks, and I actually do hate getting dirty (eeeeew, dirt!). In fact, you might not find it funny at all, but this is my blog, you hear? MY BlOG!! MY BLOG!!!! MINE MINE MINE MINE!!!!!! Enjoy.

Bloggers little workshop.

My blog posts are prepared by little elves in cute outfits in a small workshop somewhere inside the arctic circle. I pay these elves a wage of 175 gumdrops, and 13 pieces of candy corn per day of service, along with full health and dental insurance (the dental insurance being, in retrospect, a mistake, due to the fact that an elf's diet consists entirely of candy). When the elves are finished crafting a blog post, they take it to me for inspection. If I deem their work satisfactory, I log on to my blogger account and do the actual posting of the blog entries. Unfortunately, thanks to the recent affect of globalization on the world's gumdrop production, I've found it difficult to maintain an acceptable profit margin. Most gumdrops are actually produced in Brazil, and thanks to the industrial revolution (and apparent sweet tooth) in China, the cost of gumdrops has increased by nearly 1,000% since the late 1980's. I've tried increasing the amount of candy corn (up to 30 pieces) I pay my elves as a replacement for the gumdrops -- thanks to the massive subsidies the US government gives to candy corn farmers, this commodity's price has remained fairly stable -- but no dice; the elves' union has threatened to call a strike if I can't maintain the 175 gumdrops per elf, per day, that was agreed upon at our last negotiations (fall 2004). At the same time, the board of directors of my blog is concerned that I'm not acting with the interest of the blog's shareholders in mind, and there has been talk of my "resignation". As you can see, managing a blog is more complicated than it might seem.