Now ever since I was a lower case "g" all I wanted to was to go do badass rides all day, every day. But now that I'm a big "G" I can take on fat rides like the Hairy Hundred that starts in Rocheport. So having set my alarm for "early as fuck in the morning" I woke up to find the she cooked the breakfast with no hog - it was gonna be a good day. Packin' up, packin' up, packin' up, packin', I cruised to Drewballz house - not a jacker in sight. Hitting the highway, got the three-wheel motion all the way for the drive westward. However, the closer we got to our destination, the weather went south faster than a West County Retiree in December.
Arriving at the Rocheport exist, the Dynamic Duo of Crotch and Drewballz had a waning resolve, so we placed a call to the home boy. We posed the question to Jerkward, "is it gonna get worse before it gets better?" to which he said "It's already gotten worse!" So our jerk asses paused for a quick vein drain, at which point our boy Snurby-town (Not to be confused with the Pizza Town) attached a fine linen present to the Crotch mobile (A.K.A. the rusty Nissan.) With the proper encouragement from the Jerk and the Nad, we shook our heads, apologized to our t'aints, and pressed on down the road to the start/finish, where we found a large group of like-minded riders, ready to rock it till the wheels fall off, hold up - and sacrifice their general t'aint health for greater glory.
Still running on some overpriced breakfast donuts from Strange Donuts (my bad, they prefer them to be called "dones" there) we were ready to toe up to the line, rain drops falling, getting the saddle pre-moistened. Before I can look around to check my fender alignment, who screeches to a halt right next to me, flowing locks and all, but the fastest dude on two knobby tires in the state, G-Town St0rnm0rtz., who had planned on doing the State MTB Race at Creve Coeur Lake, but came to ride with us on dirt roads in Rocheport upon learning that the race was cancelled. Unfamiliar with the concept of "drop bars," he isn't sure what is reasonable, as exemplified by his hard-man gearing choice:
After some more heartfelt words, we were off in a flurry of restrained excitement, in a very neutral form, for a few miles down the Katy. Your boy, Coach, was somehow at the front of this choo-choo train, not that it is some impressive feat, as we were all at a chill talking pace. But once we made the right turn onto the first climb, all those cute hardbody racerboi's were all jockeying for position to latch onto the lead group before it was too late. It was at this point when I saw our very own Snurb for the last time, as he passed me just in time for me to look down and check myself out in his polished silver rims.
For the next few miles, there were so many rollers, that I thought I was a tasty Quicktrip Taquito:
We were all crushing along, the roads not being as wet as we had expected. That being said, I'm glad I installed the clip-on fenders today, fo' sho. It wasn't long before I came across Hunt0r H0rnry, on a nice little recovery ride from his excursion at the Vino Fondo the previous day. Fortunately, his legs weren't as fresh as they would normally be, which allowed us to cruise along for a while, discussing many things, and coordinate our piss breaks.
I mentioned this totally sweet full suspension bike that I am borrowing from a friend, and that had me thinking about all the annoying phrases that people use when referring to a full suspension bike. Kinda like calling your fixed-gear bicycle your "fixie," moutain bikers often attempt cute phrases, such as:
-full/dual "susser" or "suss"
-full/dual "squish" or "squisher"
Used in context:
"Dude-bro, what kind of full-susser did you get? Your boy Richard Chinnuts told me you got a new dual boinger - is that true?
"Totally bro! In fact, I fully squished my dual boingers into ole' Dick Chinnuts' full suss-hole last night! It was a sloppy mess!"
Anyway, so HH and I had a grand ole' time crusing up and down hills, enjoying lovely Mid-Missouri scenery:
Of course, there were three little towns that we got to go through - Fayette, Glasgow, and New Franklin, all of which allowed us access to Casey's pizza. By the time we reached the 50 mile mark in Glasgow, I was ready to smash me some Casey's pizza squares, and then wash them down with Red Bull, and of course, the second course of pizza/Red Bull burps. Ooooweee. Destroyed, and fueled. Just around the Corner, I was able to borrow a bottle of chain lube at the checkpoint from Michelle, which really helped my ears. At this point in the ride, my chain was getting super loud, and more devoid of lubricant than Criss Angel's "Dungeon of Dreams." I also offered my "services" to this nice lady who couldn't get her front shifter to work. So I whipped out my tool, twisted a few nuts, and before long, her clam was happy. Or is that happy as a clam? Either way, they found out that it is always ladies night when Coach is in the club.
About 2 more paved hills, and we dropped down to the river bottoms, where we would have a headwind that was blowing harder than a juggalo at the Gathering trying to score some meth and a corn-dogs. As we rounded the long, gradual bend in the course, the headwind changed to a partial cross-wind of the type that had me leaning my bike into it. Of course though, This is one of the only times in the whole ride that I was fully solo, with no one to work with. At least once I got to the pavement stretch towards New Franklin, I had the big ring available to me, which was something I did not have at the Tour of Hermann.
I probably didn't need to stop in New Franklin for donuts, but I did anyway, just to spite them donut haterz out there. Well, actually, it was because I thought there were m0ar hills to ride, when in actuality, the course-re-route-due-to-flooding was here - we were directed down the hill to the Katy Trail for the home stretch back to town. It was here that N0rte G0ff and I formed a two-man man-train for the cruise back. We had to stop to distribute inner tubes to an unfortunate soul, at which point we saw Super-Kate crush past us on a mission to find
NG and I went for the finishing sprint, where I handed victory over to him, which seemed like the right thing to do. I mean, I don't want to cut anyone down too bad when they see my rippled, bulging quads blast past them in full sprint nearing 50mph. So I reigned in my horses.
It actually turned out to be a very sunny, enjoyable day - made even more enjoyable with some adult beverages and nearly instant pizza as we sat and watched the riders roll in, and got down on a little trash talking with Dano F. of Route 66 fame. Only, he wasn't there to share in it. Poor guy - maybe his ears were burning.
Around the table, we also spread the words of the Memorial Day Melee to be held next weekend at Council Bluff campgrounds, where our boy C-Dorbs will be gracing us with his presence for a few days, of shred-tastic gnar-time. It will, for a couple days, be the second coming of Little Chinatown, where our center for translations will be temporarily based. Watch for random Chinamen down there, because the campsite is booked.
This weekend I also learned about a little show called Pacific Blue - how did I not know about this before? With ridiculous bike shorts and chase scenes like this, how did I miss it? Spot the Trek Y-frame and the Spinergy Rev-X's:
And let's not forget this one:
...taken out by the bollards! Every cyclists knows to watch out for those! Anyway, I see a series of viewing parties/drinking games coming up...
Speaking of drinking, upon arriving home after a long day of riding and avoiding traffic jam-jobs of epic proportions on I-70, I felt that a delicious shower beer was in order:
Stay tuned, because next weekend is doing to rock the dick off your t'aint's nuts.
-Casey F. Ryback