There were two races, in fact - one, Capital City CX was on Saturday and poorly attended. Weak. The second, the actual State Championships, was better attended by both racer and spectator. I was unable to attend the Saturday festivities on account of having bills (i.e. snuff films, a ravenous jenkem habit, and the study that I am funding to find a urine-resistant coating for triathlon bicycle applications) to pay, however I quickly made my way over for the Pub Crawl which was well underway by the time I got there. Bob Jenkins, The Mitch, Nick, Peat, Stoney, our own Lawman, and many others were already about 10 inches deep into a game of Jamaican Curling, as I procured delicious beers. The camaraderie (read: homo-eroticism) ensued, and continued as we brought our party wagon over to a local Irish pub, though Furhmann thought it was a Euro discotheque:
All good things must come to an end, and thus, my seal had to be broken. I ventured to the restroom to find the wall completely covered in about 2.5 million words of wisdom, this being the one that I snapped a photo of:
|good to know.|
Waking up the next day, I felt the way your average Juggalo wakes up every day - a little dazed, and with a headache. Fortunately for me though, unlike most Juggalos, I'm not addicted to meth, nor do I drive a '95 Neon with one working headlight and the spare donut in permanent use.
Where was I? Oh yeah - the morning of the Big Race. Matt and I arrived in the Party Wagon to a bleak sky, and rain. I was optimistic, as my worn-out Fangos were still holding air. However, with the wet ground, my brakes honked louder than the red clown-nose that Criss Angel uses when sneaking into little boys' birthday parties dressed as a clown. Surveying the course, I could tell that it was going to be a painful ride. But then, when has anyone, other than Sven Nys, ever looked at any cyclocross course and thought to themselves "No problem?" Never, that's fucking when. In fact, due to the grease factor, while pre-scouting, I was noticing a number of racers switching to their "pit" bike, which happened to be mountain bikes. hmmm.
Lining up, we learned that the Juniors would be started 15 minutes into our race. Off the gun, I watched the rest of the field (Peat, Doug, Justin, Samuel Axel, Seav0r, Jacob and some other dude )take off like Criss Angel upon seeing Chris Hansen. It wasn't long before I realized I was running from Stoney. In fact, he was pretty much my only motivation. It had me wondering what it would be like to compete in the SS class up in Wisconsin or Oregon, where they have about 83,000 people sign up. Either way, I was mostly in no-man's land until the Juniors started, at which point I passed those juniors LIKE A BOSS. Peat and Joe Fox duked it out with Joe nabbing it from Peat at the last second. Seav0r was just off the podium in 4th and Samuel in 6th.
Of course, there was only one thing left to do, once crossing the line:
Reprising my role as 2nd chair trumpet in high school concert band, I put my DSL's to good use by blowing that horn right in the ears and faces of those who were unlucky enough to have their race scheduled after mine. But that doesn't compare to the devastating heckles unleashed by none other than the Euro-techno-pop master from the night before, Dan Fuhrmann. One after another, we watched as racer after racer passed by with tears flowing from their eyes, thus making the mud pit deeper and more slimy. And with dudes showing skin like this without a tramp stamp ready, what would they expect:
No one was safe - pie plates on carbon bikes, mis-matched wheels, sunglasses that matched the shoes... the tears were surely flowing - flowing like the 'shine that seems to show up at every Jeff City event I go to:
Another competition arose within the race, to beat the little kid with dalmatian galoshes up the stair run-up:
Congratulations to Professor, who, in glorious wheelie-fashion, convincingly won the State Jersey! Proving, once again, that he is fast as fuck. Travis Donn, though no wear near Professor, was well ahead of everyone else for 2nd, proving that he is also supremely fast. However he was only one of 3 or 4 dudes from the KC side to bother showing up. The real excitement came in the fight for 3rd place between pavement-slayer Devin and Brett Heuring, where they were never more than 5 seconds apart, culminating in a sprint for the line. Unfortunately for Brett, Devin will most likely win in that situation each time, despite Brett showing some of his best form ever, while Devin was showing the worst brake-shudder EVER. Dr. Roland "Scooter" Sallinger rode in a most "engorged" manner to a painful 7th place finish, looking pro as fuck the whole time.
You probably wish I had more photos, I know. I wish I had more motivation to train for races like this. We can't always get what we want. What we CAN get, however, is another super hard-core recumbent video:
p.s. dont forget about cxmas.