Granted, most of those series are road, but there isn't anything wrong with that. The road will make you strong, and the Dirt Crits will make you a badass. You don't even need a mountain bike to get dirty.
I think everyone was looking forward to much cooler (read: not AS hot) temperatures for this week's go-'round. Specifically, a numbor of us jerks here at TS HQ. We were all buttered up and ready to go for this week. Lining up for the A Race, we fielded a strike force consisting of Torrez, Gino Phallus-ino, Sam Axel and (making his first 2013 Dirt Crit appearance) Dr. Roland Sallinger, who was PAF as usual.
They were lined up, waiting for the gun:
It was a chaotic race, which saw Torrez tail-gunnin' pretty early thanks to some kind of foolishness. The ole' point 'n shoot managed to get a couple of shots for the A's:
|Mayor McFrozen- Pizza|
|BAF Torrez (BAF = Blurry As Fuck)|
Samuel "Fuck You" Axel wasn't fucking around when he spit in front of the camera:
Unfortunately, Digiorno had an untimely end with the ground, snapping the wrist of a spoke and brake levor, after having a bit of a tussle with a fellow racer. I met with him after he had to pull out, and his side was more dirty than an East StL hooker. Supremely frustrating. Fortunately, his superior attitude and superior state of mind kept him from unleashing too much fury.
Last week, I must have taken a spill in the sand pit and gotten more sand into my nasty V, which resulted in me cat-ing down to the B's, where I would at least be able to race in a group, rather than be the eternal tail-gunner off the back, sticking my thumb up my ass, riding a one-man man-train into oblivion. It went pretty well, despite all the spills in the B class that was FUCKING HUGE. It was seriously one of the largest mountain bike race classes I've ever seen in this town. The combined weight of both my pasty white ass and my 25 year old bike is approaching a metric ton, so I was sure to be some solid pack fodder.
Off the gun, it was a jam-job of expected proportions into the woods, where shit eventually sorted itself out. It hurt lots, with passing only truly possible in a few spots. I made it through nearly two full laps, enjoying the back-and-forth more than I had the week before:
Unfortunately, 2/3rds of the way through the 2nd lap, I broke my shit. In it's defense, that derailleur had lasted just fine for like 25 years. But it wedged itself so tight against the rings that the crank was immovable, and since I was packing light for a short race, I had no tool with which to maguyver that thing:
in this pill that you ingest to make your dookie sparkle.
Not much else to mention about this race, other than that it was cool to see people coming to do their first mountain bike race.
Alright, pop quiz:
You're trapped in an elevator with Sammy Hagar, Buddy, and Criss Angel. You find in your briefcase, a pistol with 2 bullets. Who do you shoot, and who do you let live? See below for answer.
-Casey F.U. Ryback
Answer to today's pop quiz: Shoot yourself twice - once in your butthole, that way Criss Angel can't do much to you after you have shot yourself the second time, but this time in the head to put yourself out of your misery. May your final breath be a sigh of relief.