Greetings, loyal Team Seagal Fan. Good things come to those who wait, and today, we deliver the goods. That is, a fantastic voyage through the minds of those who experienced the 2nd race in the MWFTS - Rim Wrecker, on March 29th. Photos courtesy of the lovely Lori, who is like the Ansel Adams of photography. (Read to the end, and you'll find a link to the full album, sucka!)
Leading up to this race, I'll be honest, few of us in the Team Seagal War Room were what you would call "excited" to go through with it. Seeing as how there was nothing but rain for the previous 36 hours, and then we awoke that morning to MOAR than just a "dusting" of snow - we knew what that meant. That meant riding for 2-3 hours in miserable, cold, wet, gritty conditions, and then having to completely overhaul our bikes before being able to ride them again. Kind of like last year.
So we may not have been bursting at the seems with joy to be able to ride through the shit, but we all showed up because we were all showing up. Make sense? We showed up just as much to meet up with other badass mother fuckers as we showed up to race. If your going to be miserable, it is always better if there are people there to share in the misery. It makes it moar fun.
And so it was, we landed on the beaches of Council Bluff in full force:
Marathon Class - The Doctor, myself (Casey F. Ryback)
Singlespeed Class (AKA Seagal Class) - Gino, Tropical Storm Mason, Nico, Cockpuncher
Also in attendance were two our our protege's in the Beginnor class - Tate and Young Steve (or more affectionately named, "Storve.") We've been "farming" them on our development team.
We arrived and were all kind of hoping that it was going to get canceled, in which case we'd bust open the party fuel a little early and just have an enjoyable day with whomever wanted to hang out. Then it would have been off to Dos Primos a little earlier than planned. So either way, it would NOT have been a wasted trip. Ya dig?
The first class to set sail was the Marathon class, and Doctor and I were poised upon our steeds, destined for glory. In this photo, you can see that Doctor's bladder was not *quite* ready to start a (potentially) 4.5 hour race and left me holding his bike:
As we spun up the road, the top geared guys jumped off the front, and the rest of us got confused and somehow circled around back the way we came. How the shit do you get lost in the Council Bluff campgrounds? I still don't know how we got turned around like we did - there has to have been some sort of rift in the space-time-continuum. It's the only logical explanation. Either way, Doctor and I found our way to the singletrack:
Starting like a minute or two lator, Tate and Young Steve (no to be confused with Steve Young) were ready for action, this being their first time riding this trail.
Tate on the most hardcore, pie-plated bike in town:
Steve, callously not caring about the rules of fashion by wearing the SAME THING that Tate was wearing:
All this excitement had Nico all hyped up while watching the Marathoners/Beginnors start, so he had to start beat-boxing while waiting to take a fat 'n smelly dump:
This is the entire Singlespeed Class henceforth known as the "Team Seagal Class" - Gino, Cockpuncher, Nico, and Tropical Storm Masorn (how badass is this?):
Jerk Store leads out the Team Seagal Class, and some sport riders (they won't be that clean for long!):
Now traditionally, the first person to reach the singletrack after the initial roll-out gets what is called the "hole shot." (Insert inappropriate pornography joke here.) With this year's edition of Rim Wrecker, it would have been more appropriately named the "Bowl Shot." As in disgusting, poo-filled, toilet bowl.
Between those clean, pre-glory photos and the next photos showing those of us who have achieved total muddy enlightenment, let's take a moment to understand that which brings us to said enlightenment:
-going faster through creeks so that the huge onslaught of water will wash off splattered bottles
-grit and dirt in our teeth, worse after every sip from a bottle
-less of two evils: sunglasses lenses 96% covered in mud, which is better than mud in the eyeball
-"surfing" more than riding through many spots
-wondering "how deep is that one?"
-the sun finally coming out, drying the mud higher up on the body
-"willing" your bike to slow down, despite having no brake pads left
-not fucking stopping, ever
Yours truly, Casey F. Ryback, experiencing ecstasy in agony:
Tropical Storm Mason, figuring that he's already covered in shit, so why not sqeeze a little more into his shorts:
Gino is all smiles, having taken 1st place in the Team Seagal Class:
Puncher of Cocks, punchin' it up, after his 3rd place in Team Seagal Class:
Young Steve, thoroughly snapping a number of wrists so great, that it is not conceivable by human brains - in other words, he won his Beginnor class in perfect Pro-As-Fuck Form:
This is Tate at the exact moment in which all weakness exited his body:
Nico is all smiles now that his race is finished, taking 2nd place in the Team Seagal Class:
The Doctor, who actually finished the race more clean than when he started:
Mini-Steven also tasted the filth of Victory:
Nico and I share a glorious post-race man-hug; in the words of Marshall "No Ankles, MC Stankles" Lawson, "We're not gay!"
Post Race, the beer flowed like wine, and beautiful women swarmed like salmon at Capistrano - Furby even made good on his promise of six packs! Evidence of his presence, despite being relatively clean. He should have EP'd a Next bike from his place of employment, raced the Rim Wrecker, then returned it:
After helping to rehydrate the rest of the thirsty racers (with the help of our super-awesome Pabst Rep, Dave) we packed our shit up and attempted to heal our wrists at the a local gourmet eatery, otherwise known as Dos Pri-Mos, where we were joined by 1x1Head, Furby, some DRJ'rs, and others. It was truly a meal that nearly equaled the race we had just completed in its gloriousness. Overheard at Dos Primos: (paraphrased) "Hey guys, those Team Seagal sonsabitches are always yakkin' about this place, we should eat here. Then we'll be even MORE cool."
Uncovered secret from Dos Primos: they get their A-1 Sauce from Burger King:
Marathon Class - I took 7th out of 17, and the Doctor took 14th due the utter snapping of his brake's wrists midway through his first lap.
Team Seagal Class - 1) Gino 2) Nico 3) Cockpuncher 4) Mason
We need to extend a HUGE thanks to all those who spent all that time in the suck putting on this race. I also want to extend a big thanks to Lori, who takes photos that make mine look like something that Wesley Willis painted (may he rest in peace.) The rest of her photos can be found here - LINK - There are a TON of good photos, chances are you are in one of them. Seriously, it isn't *just* Team Seagal stuff.
Stay tuned for an amazing trilogy of race reports from this year's Ouachita Challenge, which was this past Sunday, coming to you in installments from each of the three soldiers that happened to be there. You'll laugh, you'll cry (but only if you're a bitch) you'll wish you had been there.
The Verdict - you should have raced. If you're one of those people who doesn't want to wreck your shit because of what you'll have to do to your bike in the future, remember this:
- Casey F. Ryback
P.S. Congrat's to Cockpuncher who is now a proud father of Mini-Puncher! (Seriously, he's a dad now.)