St. Vincent

Greetings und salutations. The last time I, The Crotch, had the chance to participate in a CX race at St. Vincent, it was one of those inspiring moments where the course was unlike anything anyone had seen in our microcosm of amateur bike racing. It offered features and an environment that had everyone super excited and re-invigorated to race, especially those of us who come from a mountain bike background who hate gravel-crit style courses. Not to mention the t'aint-destroying mud bog that offered a like-minded, fun-filled group of us to lay down the heckles.

This time however, was different. It was very much in line with how this whole season has been - uninspiring. Despite a very technical course that used more features of the park than last time, I was about as excited as Criss Angel at Ram's Cheerleader Tryouts. (I don't blame him though - NFL cheerleaders are about as useless as an grammar testing at an ICP Gathering of the Juggalos.) That being said, it isn't like I crushed the course - in fact, I got my wrists snapped handily. My purpose in this race was to provide another oversized-rung on the bloated ladder of sadness for the C racers as they climbed their way past me, despite having started like a minute behind.

This sign was not needed, as there was no one cheering.

As I cried my way along the course, the only two guys behind me flatted on the first lap, which immediately had me riding by myself - this focused all the attention from the handful of people at the start/finish on me as I tripped and fell over the barriers.  All of my tears flowing down my skin made the sand from the volleyball pit stick to me, and make its way deep into my cavernous va-guy-na, effectively creating pristine beach-front property - a veritable tropical island paradise in between my legs. Fortunately, the fun ended for me when I flatted my worn-out tubie on the last lap, leaving me to unbuckle my helmet strap and finish my laps on foot. Don't worry though, I re-buckled it as I passed the start-finish so Buddy wouldn't DQ me for not wearing a helmet. (That's actually not a joke.) To sum up my race, it was like a hit of jenkem before the fermentation has started - just tasting like plain shit without any euphoria.

After cleaning up and eating a PBJ, I went back down and blew the horn in the face of a few people alongside Justin White, eliciting varied responses from people:

You're welcome, Torrez!

We then headed to the woods to watch the man-train chugalug its way up the staircase:

It wasn't long before this train became unhitched from the Professor/Butthead engine, which quickly separated themselved from sight of everyone else. Justin and I were fortunate to be at the top of those stairs as Professor really was trying to drive home the point of his lecture, and just put several seconds of hurt on Butthead and climbed to the top like a Sprint missle. This move stuck, and he went on to take home another convincing win. Notable was that Brett Heuring came in 3rd, just a few seconds behind Butthea. Nice work.

By the end of the race so many people had left that I thought it was bedtime - but since I forgot my new pillow, I couldn't get any sleep:
How could I not buy a pillow from this guy?
Since I couldn't sleep, I helped break down. In the process, I dropped one of my leather work gloves without knowing it. For about an hour, my only hope that it would be found was that Nico, who manages to zero in on every single glove left on the side of the road, would find it and bring it to me. However, I beat him to it by finding it by chance before leaving. That was close - a single glove is as pointless as a D.A.R.E Officer at a Gathering of the Juggalos.

I'm not sure what it is, but the local races this year seem to be populated by a different crowd than there was 2 years ago. For example, most of the people in the photos from our previous account from St. Vincent no longer come out. Perhaps this is because, as Mr. Farinella pointed out to me, CX is, according to Alive Magazine, "... the latest two-wheeled fitness trend to hit St. Louis." Kind of funny that it is a trend, yet there seems to be fewer people - despite very organized races and course lay-outs that have been as good, if not better, than ever.

There is hope. Next weekend, the State race in Jeff City, brought to us by our Brothers in Booze - Team Red Wheel, should provide ample opportunity to get a little crazy. JUST REMEMBER NOT TO OFFEND ANYONE - PURELY ENCOURAGING HECKLES ONLY. I mean, cross should be a strictly positive experience.

Heckling and Cross go together like off-road recumbents and speed metal:

-Casey Fryback

One good turn deserves another - watch this stupid fucker eat shit:


Skeet Skeet said...

Those star mags are sick!!!

Anonymous said...
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New East Coast Syndicate said...

Clearly the troubles on that log can be attributed to the egging on from helmetless roadies riding on single track and of course the uneven weight distribution due to the single pannier.

CockPunchOr said...

Scooter, it's fucking amazors that you now travel with your very own mariachi band. Baller, my friend. Baller indeed.

Orin Boyd said...

straight up gangsta skeet

T. Scott said...


Great Post! After reviewing many photos from this past CX season in STL, I've come to a conclusion that a zombie apocalypse has moved its way across the cx scene and the only superior ones left standing are those with superior state of mind! Y'all get fucked now and have fun in J City

scott backwards

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papa frito said...
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papa frito said...

cx is now undead. crossocolypse was the last race of the "living". those with superior state of mind are simply crushing the zombie skulls. ride for your life, my friends.