Greetings Team Seagal Loyalistas! In case you hadn't noticed, all the races lately have been rickdeezulously hot. It has been more consistently and oppressively hot and humid than any summer heat that I can remember. So hot in fact, that this heat actually has it's own Wikipedia article. But then, what doesn't have it's own Wikipedia article? Even the cat-piano has an entry. And so does un-comb-able hair syndrome. And after last weekend's race towards the center of the sun, we at Team Seagal HQ were looking up to the sun, middle fingers held high, thinking "Is that all you got?" So we packed our shit up once more, and jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire that is otherwise known as Binder Lake in Jeff City.
We had so much fun last year, that it was only bound to get bigger and moar better. This race also marked a return, with beard, for Forrest Taft to his own personal hallowed ground, for last year at this very race was where he did in fact pop his mountain bike race cherry for the first time. And when you pop that cherry, you generally get a mix of PBR and dirt that oozes out.
Deployment orders were sent out to The Seven Soldiers of the Seagal-ocalypse who were already ready: Masson Storm, Forrest Taft, Casey F. Ryback, Gino Felino, both Mr. and Mrs. Trail Monstor, and Professor Robert Burns. We had quite the showing, though you might not have known it - more on that lator.
We packed up the party wagon early Sunday morning, and even though it was only 80 degrees at like 9AM, we were still already sweating like a gerbil in a gay bar:
Making our way westward, learning the finer points about what Whole Foods customers might do with turkish figs, I was reminiscing about thoughts of tubed meats, and of Borb and Nick in the Octagon. Whew.
Before we knew it, we rolled up lakeside, where Professor, fresh off of his recent walrus-knee implant surgery, came up and offered to help me properly prepare myself for the day in the saddle:
It was also about this time that I was learning that both Masson and Gino both had devious plans to pummel the competition into submission with their pasty and hairy weapons of mass destruction:
Immediately Turbonegro's song "Back in Denim" was launched into my head on a never-ending loop, which is all I would need to get me through the race.
We also found the rumors to be true, that the Mesa contingent was indeed present; including the elusive, no-longer single, and never-before-seen "STLPAF Dave on a 29'r SS." Such a thing was only rumored to exist. Later, I managed to catch a shot of him digging into his carefully measured out nutrition plan - mustard with a side of brat:
We lined up in the field for the le'Mans start once again. I found myself standing in a group of guys who are fast - they even stand faster than I do - Dan "No-Destroyer" Fuhrman, Garrett Steinmeitz, STLPAF Dave, and even Jesus with his SPD compatible sandals. The gun went, and I found myself in the woods less than 10 people back from the front, man-training down the trail at CX speeds. In fact, the start of this race was much like that of a CX race - going from resting HR to vomit-threshold within 15 seconds. Fortunately for me, I'd already seen the movie "The Human Centipede," so I knew exactly where my vomit threshold was.
Slowly settling into a more sustainable pace, I made sure to always be sipping the water and the super-potent, sludge-like Gatorade brew that I'd mixed up for myself. My thoughts eventually shifted slightly from Turbonegro to thinking that Masson and Gino were probably wanting that Chamois-Butt'r-filled Never Reach that we'd discussed on the way over, with the tube inserted directly into their denim shorts right about now.
The temperature seemed to only inch it's way upwards, unlike last year which was mild and had a nice breeze coming off the lake. It must have been impeding people's better judgment, as I witnessed a plurality of wrecks, including one where two people attempted to go off the same jump at the same time. OMGWTFBBQ.
Feeling my gloves getting more and more saturated with sweat, I continued to pedal through the start/finish on my way out on lap two. For motivation on those really tough spots, I thought to myself, "At least I'm not in denim cut-offs!" Then, as if I had been summoning him, Gino appeared from behind, and coming in Joe-Houston-style. I made sure not to impede the Chafe-Express on his way towards glory. Coming through to start out my 3rd lap, I received the gift of a cold, insulated water bottle from Professor, who had finished up his lecture early that day. Cold water caused my mind to start dripping out of my ears, which was gross because it got all over my top tube. Brian Busken was rocketing up behind me on the start of lap 3, and explained that he had a lucky lady with him that day watching from the sidelines, and had to make sure he was putting in an impressive performance for her. No doubt. However, once we heard the Greg Ott's creaky pain train not too far behind, Brian hit the gas and was out like the gout. Survival mode was in full swing, as I thought of nothing but cold water, PBR, and the possibility of a Nick/Bob re-match. My speed was becoming glacier-like. Climbing up the last grassy climb of the day, I looked back to see Peat Henry bearing down. It was at this very moment that Energor reached down, and in all his glory, saw fit to bestow life to my legs, which allowed me to stay ahead of Peat for at least one race this year. Energor Be Praised.
All color had left my face,but was soon restored with water, PBR, and tube steaks. Teh winnars were announced in the women's class, the not-so-fast class, and the fast class (respectively):
Out of respect for the not-present Borb Jenkems, we did partake in his favorite swill - Four Loko. Please don't drink this stuff:
It is obvious that Matt, Chris and DaveyB have great respect for the movie "Predator," more specifically the handshake scene:
Team Seagal, The New Generation:
Unfortunately, my worthless camera's battery shot craps before being able to immortalize The epic return of Mr. Jenkems, on a mission to consume Four Loko, and enter into some sort of "Bloodsport-esque" Kumite, with one Nick Smith. Though not as lengthy and drawn-out as last year, the words "Would someone please get my pants off" did in fact come from Mr. Jenkem's mouth, as he was on the ground, in an attempt to put Nick into submission. I wondered what could be more gay than this, but then I remembered the the magician Criss Angel... and how momumentally gayz0rz he is.
The time came for us to pull out like a human botfly, so we left Binder and headed for home, once again with a comatose Masson. He slept the whole way home, and as we rolled up to his house, he awoke, speaking in tongues. And by speaking in tongues, I mean he was actually singing Seal's song "Kiss From a Rose."
What a fucking day. It's always fun with you've got the TRW Party Co. guiding the fun, and there's always room PBR. As you can clearly see, the mountain bike racing season is not over by a long shot.
In other news, why did it take this long for this to be invented?
-Casey "The Crotch" Ryback, Regular Guy