081215
almost done with bikes…the Indiana State Fair, or, Hoveround Expo 2015…bike racing little league and the powerful attraction of Patrick Swayze and the Cowboy Cut
So—I guess we are nearly finished with this season of playing bikes. It has been fun. Yeah…I have to admit it’s been fun. I did not win any races but was consistently in the mix and took my pulls and never sat in the bunch and raced for a top ten like a patzer and that’s good enough for me and WHAT? What, indeed. What a bullshit statement. I hate losing. I do not like it when one or two or three people come around me in the last few seconds and I end up on the red or blue step. I have never been satisfied with second or third and I sure as shit never liked just racing for a top ten.
Why do people come out and race if they just want to roll in a third of the way down the start list and be satisfied that they beat some other guy that they had marked as better than them in some other ZIP code crit earlier in the year? A race is, fundamentally, an activity in which the ONLY goal is to win. That is fact. That is definition. It is a competition. If your goal is to finish in the top ten or fifteen then what you are doing is a fast group ride for which you happen to pay money. And that, folks, is why the breakaway is always composed of a mix of the same ten or fifteen people every single time we tow the line. Those people want to win the race. Or…maybe I should amend this philosophy. I really should include those people…those teammates who sacrifice their personal ambitions to help a stronger rider win a race. And they are many. My own team includes at least five guys, including myself, who would give every bit of their own physical energy to help a teammate win a bike race. So I guess the real philosophy should be that a bike racer is a person who races bikes as hard and smart as he or she can so that either they or someone else on their team will win the race. And if said person does not win, everyone who gave their all suffers just a bit of disappointment. I realize that this sentiment may cause some to call me an unsportsmanlike dick but before they do, please read this definition of the word “race” from the Oxford Dictionary:
noun
1
A competition between runners, horses, vehicles, boats, etc., to see which is the fastest in covering a set course:
So…yeah. Anyway teams are a good thing. There are many strong teams in the region. Even the Masters crowd has enough competition to make the season interesting (though, lately, it has seemed a bit repetitive…or maybe it’s just getting to be the end of the season and we are all bored with each other). Apologies to Boggs, Andrzej, Ben, Don, Court, Chris, Tom, Harry, etc… but for feck’s sake I want to race some more interesting courses with some more interesting opponents. So what do you think of the following: (?)
We begin construction on the traditional crit course at Eagle Creek but add in some badass obstacles and interesting Twists and Turns. I know this will be met with much opposition but how about a loop, ala the Vortex at King’s Island? We could build it at the downhill section just after the left/right snakey thing just before that final downhill chute into the left turn before the uphill finish. I think it would add some much-needed excitement to the course and possibly even some carnage. We could install bleachers on either side of said section and sell booze and sausage and people will come, Ray…people will come. It’s only twenty dollars per person. They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it is money they have and peace they lack. And they'll walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. They'll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines (curves in the road), where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes (poor people who race bikes for awful payouts and scabby flanks). And they'll watch the game (race) and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters (Sunking Osiris). The memories (mosquitoes) will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. (F.O.D)
And after the race is over, Fausto Coppi will stride over in his leather shoes and sloppy, pomade-streaked hair and say “Is this heaven?” And I will say “No…it’s a place where middle-aged men come to compare the size of their dicks and where their wives make them cookies and cheer them on and then they have to go home and mow the lawn!” And Coppi will say “whoah dude…at least in Italy I had an eighty year old man to rub down my legs after I did this shit.” And I will reply (with enthusiastic gusto), “We don’t have a cornfield here into which you can disappear so I can drive you to one a couple miles away if you like but you cannot smoke in my truck.” He will decline my offer, steal Harry’s Yamaha, and barrel at full-speed toward the newly-constructed loopy-loop ramp and launch himself toward the western sky where there is a legion of Hell’s Angels waiting to escort him back to whatever afterlife realm from which he came. All he will leave is a burnout mark on the road and a bunch of waxy crud in the bathroom from fixing his hair. We will all look at each other with wry grins and knowing winks, turn around toward the trees, piss rainbows for two full minutes (beet juice), get in our vehicles, and head over to the Clarks for some righteous karaoke and bourbon. And I promise it will be worth it. Harry’s man cave is the bees’ knees and he has Twisted Sister on vinyl and Bri does a mean Dee Snider impression, complete with the blonde wig and clown makeup. Ooooooohhhh the weirdness will be awesome and I will do my best to not turn into a whiskey-soaked singing werewolf but I cannot promise anything. These things happen.
Now where was I? Right…second on the list is the state fair. The state fair is an agglomeration of wayward farmers, curious people from zionsville, carmel, and fishers, and people who cannot walk but who seem to be able to eat mass quantities of corn, kettle corn, corn syrup, sausage and peppers, funnel cakes, and a variety of fried candy, all while weaving around on those silly Hoveround scooters they advertise on television and which YOU TOO CAN GET FOR NEXT TO NOTHING through your medicare or medicaid or one of those other add-on insurance entitlements we get when we turn decrepit and decide we no longer want to use our legs. Vote democrat, right? STRIKE THAT!!!!!
So my beautiful wife and I went to the fair today and had a great time. We walked around and ate a variety of terrible foods (with which I was completely satisfied), saw many miserable animals in cages or pens, waded through the six-thousand hot tubs for sale (why?) and absorbed the smells and the off-putting sights of short-shorts on people who, at best, should be wearing baggy overalls. This is the fair. And I love it. I have always loved it. I actually love all the things about which I just wrote. I love the pervasive stink of the midway. I love the super fine brown dust that irritates my eyes and nose when we walk close to the track. I love eating sausage and peppers and corn and shake-ups and whatever the hell else my stomach mistakenly thinks would be good. It is a nostalgic experience like no other in my life. And it (the fair) is basically the same thing it was thirty years ago. I have been in the Hooks drug store museum at least that many times and the licorice I buy there is, I believe, from the same batch from which I picked back in 1980. But it’s till chewy so I assume it’s good. And one of these days I will steal that bottle of laudanum that’s been sitting behind the counter forever. That will be a fun day!
So…the fair was good. grimy…but good. You should go. Go and ride the Himalaya and listen to them blast Poison at top volume while you spin around a bean-shaped track at 40 MPH while you break a rib or two and just let the joy overcome you. And it will. You will begin to smile after about two minutes and then you will start to scream a war cry from the gut after another couple minutes and then, finally, you will tear off your t-shirt and spontaneously sprout a fully-formed spike-mullet and adolescent-stache and your summer will be complete. (don’t worry, the mullet will fall out after the last day of the fair, when the rooster crows fourteen times…twelve times for midnight and two more to demand two more shots of tequila from the guy who operates the Himalaya—and who also happens to be Chris Gaines…aka Garth Brooks. True story, man.
Okay third topic:
It is transfer season in bike racing. Not just in the pro ranks, but around here also. Patrick Swayze’s legacy is attempting to seduce some of my riders away so that they can become one of approximately thirty five spokes in a wheel that has been pretty true throughout the years but has, recently, begun to realize that there are a couple of other wheels on the market that are <maybe> stronger than theirs. It is possible to bring down Goliath, you know. Shit…that’s two analogies in one paragraph. But the sentiment is true. And it’s also a bit annoying. Patrick Swayze can acquire all the riders he wants but if he gets everyone he wants, who the hell will he race against? Also…why is it that no one can seem to dodge his well-advertised roundhouse kick? He does it in every damned movie he makes (made…may he RIP) starting back at Point Break and maybe even Dirty Dancing. And, Roadhouse! That was one of the most ridiculous fight scenes ever. Two white guys who happen to be Karate experts (according to them) fighting to the death on the banks of a river? HA! Why the Karate? Why not just shoot the bad guy in the knee or something? Silly movie…ROADHOUSE! But let’s think forward here a bit. I don’t mean to downplay the success they’ve had throughout the years but come on, man! Y’all have plenty of firepower and a great system in place. Stop trying to steal people. Or I might just stop eating your delicious cowboy cut sirloin steaks. And, anyway, I hear there are some vacuum cleaner company employees who may be out of a job soon. Go after them. At least they are clean and their wheel decals match their kits. And that says something. I don’t know what it says but probably someone does.
Anyway the point is that everyone is recruiting right now and that includes us. We aim to have a top-notch squad next year, capable and ready to compete at the regional and national level. The team is growing and improving faster than I thought possible two years ago. We have amazing sponsors who share our vision and dedication and I know this is sounding like a pandering sort of screed but it’s true. I’m super excited for the off-season and for next season and preparations are well underway.
That’s all I can muster for now. Let’s go let’s go let’s go, buddy-roo!
