DBH and Teh Fec-Ker

Greetings, Team Seagal Aficionados. It happened again - no, not the moist bed thing, I'm talkin' about The Death By Hills ride. Despite the biggest snowstorm in two years happening just a few days prior, we were able to complete a most heinous route, from which we will build copious amounts of muscle and endurance capacity. Holy shit.

The route was the same, and as usual, only a few knew where they were going. Many people showed up, despite the morning temperatures being just like I like my women: in the teens. That didn't stop a ton of wrist-snapping experts to saddle up early and actually ride TO the ride, a la Pete Goode, who also was there, having rode there. I mean, you wanna talk about iron t'aints, anyone who rode to the ride with the intentions of doing the whole thing has a t'aint that is so hardened, it must have been forged in Satan's red hot b-hole. Hell, perhaps their t'aints were made of titanium. T'aintanium, if you will.

The rest of us mere mortals showed up in our vehicles carrying our bikes. Justin White, in a classic move, showed up after something like a 12 hour all-night shift. He doesn't give a fuck. Another such mortal was good ole' Jimmy Bacon, who had the balls to show up to a Seagal ride on a tri-bike. I know I know, such an egregious infraction of badassery risks severe berating and belittling, the likes of which they've nevar heard bef0re. But, much like wearing pink boxing shorts, if you can back it up, it's cool - and back it up he did. When I learned of his front chainring combo of a 42/56, I felt something in my wrist that may have developed a small crack. Then, Later on, when he pulled away from my bloated ass up each climb, that cracked wrist turned fully-snapped. I'll admit it.

Shall I mention the rest of us, who, in continuing the tradition set by Matt Keeven in the first install ment of DBH by riding his fucking SS 29'r with road tires. Fuck! This year, included in the SS class were Jerkward Nicscani, Baby J (who quadrupled his single-ride climbing on this ride and also snapped the fuck out of my wrist), Snurby-McSnurberson, Stroveward Frodeman, and let us not forget Peat Henry who rode out to the ride with Dwayne and Brett, only to ride back home for over 120 miles on the day. All of them showed me their legs, cast from the purest Quantanium.

How much more badassery could be exhibited today?

Well I'll give you another example - Mike Bobelak, on the final stretch coming DOWN the gnarly steep Bartizan Hill, received the dreaded front-tire-blowout. I was witness to this, and witness a superior state of mind as his kept the mother fucker upright, ever-slo-slightly correcting when needed, until he was able to bring his bucking bronco to a halt. Wrists of the tube-flatting demons: snapped. Speaking of demons, hey Damon, of Principia, when you gonna come back 'round?

Today as we ascended onto the ethereal planes of existence on the way up each classic Missouri hill, our earthen bodies were left behind while our attitudes, minds, and spirits reach new levels of euphoria, despite the lack of jenkem on route. We all found new ways to come to terms with the pain that tries to get us to dismount and walk our sorry asses to the top, rather than using our trusty steeds. This, despite each time I had my head down, staring at my cassette (which happened a lot) I had a constant thought, "man, my derailleur sho' is close to my spokes..."

Hill by hill, we destroyed everything. Some dropped off, while others continued onto glory. I was amused by the lady with whom I reach the top of Bartizan, as I said "Alright, 1 down!" And she exasperatingly said something to the effect of, "Geez, how many more are there gonna be like that one?!" I kind of chuckled while saying, "only a few like this one..." I wonder how she ended up. With stronger legs, no doubt.

Strove came through in spades, providing the kegger around mile 10 or something, and that was awesome - almost as awesome as his parents standing out in the cold providing us hungry cyclists with delicious PBJs! Doesn't get much more Superior. Upon seeing that sammich table, I was more relieved than Criss Angel after a few hours in the boy scout camp shower house.

Don't be a pussy! DO IT
Even though Cremin's Green was all snowed over, as was Starwoods and Scenic Loop, we were still mighty hungry. No big deal.

As Schlomo ingeniously put it, perhaps all the people were scared away from the ice that wasn't on the roads, and decided to go do the Live For Flats ride instead of our Death By Hills ride. The least they could do is the Scraping By on Rollers ride. Geez.

Gregward and Tittay showed up in rare form today, atop geared bikes. No matter, their status is already cemented in the Halls of Badassery, on account of their repeated skull-crushing performances. Gino especially, since he has concocted a most challenging of rides, surpassing anything any of our minds has yet to come up with. If you've been perusing this internet gimp room of a blog that we have, you may have read about it already, his 100% self-supported gravel ride, the Fec-Kar, which will turn your nuts into large rocks, the kind of which you'll find in the bottom of the streams that will be providing your drinking water.

I'm a little overwhelmed at the level of badassery displayed today, so I'm going to eat another dinner.

In the meantime, this dog is awesome.

Why would he do that? Because fuck you, that's why!

Stankfully yours,
-Casey F. Ryback


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