September 14, 2016 § 13 Comments
I had been absent from the NPR for a long time. Thursdays was the Flog Ride, and Tuesdays was Telo. Plus, the handful of times I’d shown up to sample the NPR it had been nothing but a sad collection of preeners, the glorious days of “Go to the front!” having shamefully been replaced by “Cower and sprunt!”
David Miller, where art thou?
Now that I’d enjoyed my five-day rest from cycling and could return fully energized, ready to attack the off-season faux racing and fitness destruction period that runs from September to the New Year, and now that Telo had been euthanized, and now that the Flog Ride had been castrated and left to wander harmlessly about, rechristened the Friendly Fucking Flog until December, it was time to return and see if the NPR had changed for the better.
Last Tuesday confirmed the rumors. A happy, friendly, well-adjusted herd of baby seals gladly pedaled around the Parkway for four laps, enjoying friendly conversation, slurping new flavors of energy drink from their sippy cups, and then roaring to the imaginary finish line at the beginning of the third traffic island before the stop light that precedes the final stop light at Pershing.
I reflected on how miserable this once-proud ride had become. Gone were the days of bloodthirsty, antisocial misfits hurling themselves into the bleating throng of soft seal pups, bludgeoning the helpless and shattering the field within minutes of the Pershing launch. Gone were the days of grim, miserable, self-loathing outcasts whose sole goal at the NPR was to leave the pups in bloody tatters.
All that remained were happy people out enjoying healthy exercise before going to work. I’ve never been so sad. What had happened to the feared NPR, now reduced to a hand-holding love-in among friends who respected one another? What was next? Condoms and commitment?
Fortunately, on Monday I had received a brand new aero Wend Waxworks kit in the mail, crafted by StageOne Sports, tailored to my size and sporting the patented StageOne Pooch Hider, a slim, unobtrusive elastic band along the bottom of the jersey that pushes your tummy pooch back up towards your rib cage so that it is either hidden or that it sort of looks like muscle meat, a-la tofurkey.
My chain had a fresh application of Wend chain wax, the miracle, no-mess lube that doubles as a chick magnet, underarm deodorant, surfboard wax, bikini-line purifier, and aromatic candle that you can use for romantic evenings with that special Mr./Ms. Dudechick. [Pro Tip: To get the most out of your stick, put the lid back on after each use and return the container to a zip-lock baggie. This keeps the wax moist and soft, and ensures that your chain will continue to glide noiselessly along the cogs of destruction.]
My excitement level was pretty much like this awesome video clip. And with my chain purring, my tummy tucked, and my hi-tech kit sporting the following awesome features, I was ready to hit the NPR full club ahead since I knew I was wearing:
- Lighweight Italian fabric aero front and arm panels
- 7cm lycra compression sleeve band with comfort silicone
- Dragonfly mesh back panel offers breathability and SPF 50 protection
- EB waist band for comfort and fit
- 3 vertical drop rear cargo pockets
- Elasticized waist and rear silicone gripper
- YKK Camlock full length front zipper with StageOne Zipper Garage
- Body sculpted race cut
- Technical anatomic fit bib short for superior comfort
- 240g performance Power Lycra outer leg panels
- Thunderbike Coldblack outer leg panels reflect UV rays and keep the rider up to 30% cooler than standard lycra
- CyTech Elastic Interface 7hr Endurance 2.5 Super Air chamois
- Fully sublimated mesh stretch back panel for ventilation and breathability
- SOne Pro flat bib straps for maximum comfort
- 7cm lycra compression leg band with comfort silicone
Ray Colquhoun and I set a casual 28 mph pace out Vista del Mar, and by the time we hit Pershing there were baby seal pelts everywhere. Ray jammed it up Pershing then swung over and let Uncle Eric Anderson drive for a while, and the stone cold bleating pups waiting atop Pershing because they were too weak to join up on VdM were forced to accelerate from zero to thirty in a few seconds.
Many didn’t make it, and their NPR ended the way that all NPRs used to end: In disappointment and failure. Others were unlucky enough to latch on, and Eric’s nasty effort at the front was replaced by a chainsaw-leafblower-meathook multi-tool wielded by Evens Stievenart. More baby seal pups were ground into a reddish paste and left to drain down through the curbside sewer gratings.
By the eastbound turnaround on Lap One half of the baby seals had been relieved of the onerous weight of their skins, and the detritus up and down the Parkway was fearsome to see. Once-proud sit-and-sprunters had been mercilessly gaffed in the neck, only to catch their breath and play the Hop In Wanker Game as they cut across the Parkway and attempted to latch back on before they choked on their own blood. Each Hop In Wanker was given a spanking, sent to his room without any supper, and forced to write 200 times in his notebook “I will throw away my power meter and learn to suffer like the worthless seal pup I am.”
EA Sports, Inc., Jean Girard, and Dawg kept the knives slicing, and each time we hit a turnaround it was a full-on acceleration as another handful of sad sack seal pups was dropped headfirst into the stump grinder. The screaming complaints at each stop light were lovely and musical: “It’s the off season!” “You fuckers are ruining the ride!” “This isn’t a race!” “Fuck you, Davidson, you dick!” and many more etceteras expressed the sadness of once-happy baby seals who had been forced to pedal their bicycles at unhappy speeds in order to avoid the swinging scythes.
By Lap Four the small surviving group of hunters was too worn out to sprint, while Ray and Attila the Hun made a last ditch bid for glory. The Hun rolled across the line for an amazing imaginary victory.
Afterwards we sat around at CotKU, stripped skins from the carcasses of the pups and cracked their bones to suck out the raw marrow,which was still warm. I think pretty much everyone spent the workday drooling at the computer or twitching helplessly as mid-day cramps set in.
For the sad-faced seal pups who survived the slaughter, we regaled them with tales of slaughter from the days of yore and promised that from now until January each Tuesday morning would involve gaffing, knifing, skinning, and throat-slitting of the very worst kind. Why? Because NPR.
For $2.99 per month you can subscribe to this blog and it may make you want to come do the NPR with us. Or not. Click here and select the “subscribe” link in the upper right-hand corner. Thank you!
September 13, 2016 § 9 Comments
The nomination process for the 4th Annual South Bay Cycling Awards™ a/k/a The Wankies™ has ended, and a rigorous selection that involved random people sending in names of friends, enemies, themselves, and their pets has resulted in the most impressive list of nominees since the beginning of this amazing event, which, admittedly, is a pretty low bar since our original nominees in 2012 included Brad House and we had to randomly give away several awards because no one showed up to claim them.
How times have changed, because nowadays Everybody Wants a Wanky™ and the lobbying has gotten shameless, insidious, bribe-filled, and intense. In addition to becoming a star-studded event that boasts Olympic medalists, Euro Pro Tour icons, and every ragtag wanker on a carbon bike in the South Bay, the Wankies™ continue to attract people who have absolutely no idea what we’re doing.
We’re proud to partner this year with the Southern California and Nevada Cycling Association, our USA Cycling District that administers amateur racing and that has recently elected a new board, dedicated to the proposition that bike racing should be fun. They’ll be handing out awards to the best racers of the year as well as a plethora of other escutcheons signifying greatness, near-greatness, or soon-to-be-greatness.
The nominees are below. Next week we’ll be posting the finalists, who will have been subjected to an excruciating analysis by a high-level board of razor-sharp cyclists whose choices cannot be swayed by anything besides careful, rational analysis, raging emotion, and bribery. There will be some butthurtedness after reading the list below. I for one am outraged that no one saw fit to nominate me for best female rider or best cycling club.
List of Nominees
- 2016 Greatest Advocate: Ted Rogers, Don Ward, Gary Cziko, Michael Barraclough, Seth Davidson, Gil Dodson, Al Crawford, Helen’s, David Kramer, Delia Park, Jaycee Cary, Brian Co, Sarah Barraclough for BMUFL/Master Safety Plan advocates
- 2016 Best Bike Shop: Safety Cycle, Sprocket Cycles, Bike Palace, Penuel Bikes, Shift Mobile, Bike Improve, Surf City Cyclery, Shift Mobile Bike Shop, Helen’s, Performance Bicycle, Peyton Cooke, The Old Bike Shop
- 2016Best Young Rider: Bader Aqil, Sam Boardman, Ryder Phillips, Makayla Macpherson, Zoe Ta Perez, Diego Binatena, Ari Elkins, Brandon McNulty, Jules Gilliam, Alex Wulfgang Lochmiller, Ivy Koester, Sean Quinn, Stanley Sez, Julian Rosenbloom
- 2016 Best Old Rider: George Pommel, Wendy Watson, Joe Yule, Jim Heise, Tim Gillibrand, Kurt Sato, Gil Dodson, Andrew Nuckles, Rich Manzella, Jan Palchikoff, Michael Hines, Thurlow Rogers, David Holland, Seth Davidson, Kevin Phillips, Pete Richardson, Rich Mull, Jimmy Huizar, Stanley Sez
- 2016 Most Improved: Kristie Fox, Kevin Nix, Ramon Ramos, Zoe Ta-Perez,
Alex Flores, David Holland, Chad Moston, David Wells, Rob Dollar, Makayla Macpherson, Bader Aqil, Josh Alverson, Alex Flores, Steve Shriver, Patricia Murray, Stanley Sez, Kevin Nix
- 2016 Best Club: Long Beach Freddies, BCCC, Big Orange, SBW, Manhattan Beach GP, PV Bike Chicks, Velo Club La Grange, Surf City Cyclery
- 2016 Best Event: Rock Cobbler, Wankies, Dogtown Ride, SoCal Cross Gravel Grinder Series, Cycling Savvy, Dana Point Grand Prix, San Dimas Stage Race, Levi’s Grand Fondue, Manhattan Beach Grand Prix, Yellow Vase Ride, BWR, Barrio Logan Grand Prix, Amgen TOC, Flog Ride, NPR
- 2016 Wanker of the Year:Heath Evans, Newport Surfer Dude, Lunada Bay Boys on Mom’s Couch, Mason Katz, Peter Smith, Jenny Vrentas, Dan Cobley, Seth Davidson, Dan Bilzerian, Denis Faye, Roberto Hegeler, James Doyle, Chuck Huang, Stathis Sakellariadis, James Cowan, David Kim, Frank Ponce, Dan Kroboth, Dan Kroboth, Stanley Sez
- 2016 Belgian Award: James Cowan, Robert Frank, Michael Hines, Ryan Steers, Pablo Maida, Jules Gilliam, Derek Brauch, Shirtless Keith, Evens Stievenart, Stanley Sez, Marilyne Deckman
- 2016 Group Ride Champion: Josh Alverson, Joann Zwagermann, Trevor Dowd, Matt Cuttler, Aaron Wimberley, Tony Manzella, Evens Stievenart, Elijah Shabazz, Matt Miller, Drew Kogan, Katie Donovan, Pablo Maida, Stanley Sez
- 2016 Best Sponsor: Beachbody, StageOne, Chevron, Santa Monica BMW, GQ6, Seth Davidson, Herbalife, Helen’s Cycles, RAAM, Back on Track Productions (lol)
- 2016 Best Male Racer: Evens Stievenart, Charon Smith, Derek Brauch, Josh Alverson, Jeff Konsmo, Justin Williams, Alistair Miller, Brandon McNulty, Thomas Rennier, Sam Boardman, Chad Moston, Stanley Sez, Matt Wikstrom
- 2016 Best Female Racer: Marilyne Deckman, Makayla Macpherson, Zoe Ta Perez, Katie Donovan, Lauren Mulwitz, Holly Breck, Kristabel Doebel-Hickock, Lizabeth Armas, Joy Duerkson-McCulloch, Jo Celso, Katey Wymbs, Olive Sez, Holly Breck, Heidi Volpe,
- 2016 GC Award: Joe Yule, Derek Brauch, Matt Wikstrom, David Holland, David Jaeger, Sam Boardman, Derek Brauch, Kayle Leogrande, Thomas Rennier, James Cowan, Tony Manzella, SBW Masters Worlds Track Team, Joe Yule, Stanley Sez
- 2016 Crashtacular Fred:Michael Hines, Marvin Campbell, Steve Shriver, Andrew Nuckles, Shon Holderbaum, Matt Wikstrom, Patrick Barrett, Seth Davidson, Tom Duong, Tom Buescher, Ray Dillman
- 2016 Strava KOM: Chris Tregillis, Tony Manzella, Michael Marckx, Brian Perkins, Lane Reid, Joann Zwagermann, Ryan Steers, William Evan Thomas, Thomas Rennier, Stanley Sez
- 2016 Most Happy to Help others:Joann Zwagermann, Yves-Marc, David Kramer, Chris Gregory, Patrick Barrett, William Aligue, John McNulty, Lloyd Bandonillo, Big Orange, Bob Spalding, Greg Leibert, Jeff Shein, Erickson Marques, Thomas Rennier, Erickson Marques, Seth Davidson, Michael Barraclough, Stanley Sez, Big Orange
- 2016 Most Fun: Robert Frank, David Wells, Sochin Lee, Peta Takai, Patrick Barrett, Donnie Marquez, Seth Davidson, Joann Zwagermann, Matt Miller, Drew Kogan, Gus Bayle, Patricia Murray, Stanley Sez
- 2016 Best Spouse/SO: Jeanette Seyranian, Yasuko Davidson, Jennifer Hirsch, Gabriella Szegedi Loughnot, Jami Brauch, Lisa Miller, Jena Rennier, Debbie Hoang, Elizabeth Alpert, Ray Landes, Robert Efthimos
- 2016 Ian Davidson South Bay Rider of the Year:Evens Stievenart, Robert Efthimos, Seth Davidson, Tony Manzella, Kristabel Doebel-Hickock, Makayla Macpherson, Derek Brauch, James Cowan, Michael Barraclough, Brian Koester, Stanley Sez
For $2.99 per month you can subscribe to this blog. Hope you can the event. Click here and select the “subscribe” link in the upper right-hand corner. Thank you!
September 12, 2016 § 14 Comments
If you have been cycling for a long time, then you have a lot of cycling clothes. And if you ride four or five times a week, laundry tends to come in clumps. Suddenly you’re staring at a big mound of bike stuff that has to be sorted, put away in drawers, or hung. It’s kind of a pain, but you do it.
After decades of this I’ve got a routine. As soon as the clean laundry lump magically appears from Mrs. WM’s hamper, then mysteriously migrates over to the couch in a giant mound, I take out the pieces, match them somewhat, and put them on hangers. Then it’s all out of sight, out of mind.
I wish Mrs. WM would exercise the same discipline with her underwear because for years now the preferred place for clean panties is hanging on the doorknob to the bedroom. I know what you’re thinking. “Wow! That ol’ WM is a one-man action movie! Things get hot and heavy and pretty soon there’s underwear flying all over the room, hanging from the rafters and even from the doorknobs! Stud! Go get ’em, WM!”
But no. Wanky is a worn out old shoe who has the vigor of a flat tire with multiple blowouts in the sidewall. You’re not looking at the remains of a wild night, but simply a convenient hanging place for undies.
Why there? What is it about the doorknob that makes any person want to put their underwear there? “Well, I have an armful of panties, might as well hang them on the door.” Really?
Or are they a hint? Is it like waving a red flag in front of a bull, this waving of green cotton granny shorts with daffodils that is supposed to awake the slumbering old shoe? If that’s the goal, lemme tellya. That ship hasn’t sailed, it’s sunk. The only thing that rouses the WM from a deep sleep is his prostate, and the only thing that delays him from sleep once his head hits the pillow is NOTHING.
Or maybe there’s a rotation system that I haven’t figured out yet, like the closet rotation system of my bike clothes, which is this: Far left for long-sleeved stuff, then newest clean stuff, with the next-in-line-to-wear things on the far right. If Mrs. WM has a panty rotation system, maybe the doorknob is for the undies that are about to be retired as old bike chain rags, or as canvas for stretching across a barn door.
Plus, the doorknob doesn’t seem that sanitary. That’s where you put your hand after changing a grandbaby diaper, or picking your nose, or scratching your sack. If you’ve gone to the trouble to clean those spinnakers, mightn’t it be a good idea to put them in a drawer? I’m just brainstorming here.
At least nowadays she hangs them on the doorknob inside the bedroom. They used to be on the outside, until one time a guest came over for dinner and remarked, “Interesting doorknob covers.”
I suppose it could be worse. I’m just not sure how.
September 11, 2016 § 25 Comments
My first cycling gaol was to get cycling legs and that’s going to take a while.
My second gaol came as a sort of happenstance, thanks to my Chinese teacher who lives in Shanghai. Her name is Merry Song.
I had been hanging out at Wikipedia the night before my lesson, hoping to come up with some idle chatter I could kill the time with and thereby avoid having to do the lesson I hadn’t studied for and review the kanji I hadn’t memorized.
“Do you speak Shanghai dialect?” I asked.
“No, but I understand it. My husband is from Shanghai.”
“Is it hard to learn?”
“No harder than Mandarin,” she said, meaning, “I’m Chinese and have lived in Shanghai for twenty years and my husband is from here and I still can’t speak it so, for you, impossible times a billion.”
“Oh. Do you speak any other dialects?”
“I can understand and speak Yunnan because that’s where my mother is from and that’s where I grew up.”
“Wow. That’s a long way from Shanghai, isn’t it.”
“Yes, it’s very far.”
“Do you still have family there?”
“Yes, I go back every year.”
I looked at the map. “How long does that take?”
“By plane it’s only a few hours. But by train it’s two days, about.”
“So you always fly?”
“No, I never fly. I always go by train.”
“Gambling. You sit in the train and meet many new people and chat and each time you go through a different area the food is different and play cards and gamble. Also there are different flavors of cigarettes in each region and you can smell them richly in the train compartment. Do you like to gamble?”
“No,” I said. “I’m extremely risk-averse.”
“You should take the train from Shanghai to Kunming some day. It’s very fun.”
“Yes. It’s a little expensive, slightly cheaper if you take the regular train.”
“How much is that?”
“About fifty US dollars.”
“For a two-day train trip across China?”
“Yes. But high prices can’t be avoided nowadays. I had a student who once came here and did this.”
“Did he like it?”
“It was wonderful. He learned so much about Chinese culture.”
“About gambling. He learned gambling and hospitals. They had to take him off the train one day because he ate bad food and got very sick. The taxi driver took him to the hospital and stole his suitcase and wallet and passport. It was very amusing to hear him tell the story about trying to get help in a rural village high in the mountains of Szechuan.”
“Oh yes, he had many funny stories. He had studied Chinese like you, but like you he really couldn’t speak or read or understand anything, like a small baby, very helpless. And they gave him some traditional medicine in the hospital and he got much sicker so they suggested cutting a hole in his skull to relieve the pressure and drain the fluid, but at the last minute there was an earthquake and all the power in the hospital went out. Many people died, but he did not.”
“He was taken back to Beijing and arrested because he had no passport in a disaster zone. Soon it was all straightened out.”
“Let’s see. He arrived in March and was back home by October.”
“Then what happened?”
“I’m not sure. I think he lost his job and the illness was bad for a while but eventually he recovered and can walk again.”
“Sounds like a great trip.”
“Yes, it was very memorable. I tell all my students about how exciting it can be when you are off the normal path and adventurous things happen.”
“What’s the best time to do this trip?”
“I would recommend March.”
“Are there bicycle rentals in Kunming?”
“I don’t know.”
So that’s my 2017 cycling gaol: Find out if there are rental bikes in Kunming after I arrive there from Shanghai by train.
September 10, 2016 § 15 Comments
Since the off-season week is finished I went out on the Donut Ride today and got dropped. Then I quit, and after that I bonked.
As I was crawling on my hands and knees to the wine-and-liquor mart across from the Miraleste fire station (great location for booze), Destroyer helped me buy some Pop-Tarts Cycling Recovery Nutrition and a bottle of Starbucks Frappucino Milk and Coffee Cycling Recovery Nutrition Drink Supplement.
“Have you ever considered putting anything in your water bottle besides water for 55-mile, race-intensity beatdowns?” he asked.
“Nah,” I said. “Science is overrated.”
He sighed. “So what are your cycling goals for 2017?” he asked as I tore through the Pop-Tarts wrapper and wolfed down the precious recovery nutrition items including the crumbs.
“I have three cycling gaols this year,” I said. “Gaol Number One is to get legs.”
“Yeah. Cycling legs.”
“What do you mean?”
I showed him a picture. “These are my legs. The are muscle-free and have the definition of an old black-and-white t.v.”
He nodded glumly. “Yeah. I know.”
“And they don’t work worth a damn. So in 2017 I’m going to get some cycling legs. Like Michael’s.” I showed him this picture.
“That’s my gaol.”
For $2.99 per month you can subscribe to this blog and set some very excellent cycling gaols for next year. Click here and select the “subscribe” link in the upper right-hand corner. Thank you!
September 9, 2016 § 50 Comments
Something that bothers me about cyclists also bothers a lot of cagers, but it bothers us for different reasons. Because this is a family blog, and in addition to false dichotomies, vulgarity is also eschewed here, I will politely refer to this problems as “biker dicks.”
What is a biker dick? To certain cagers, a biker dick is someone on a bicycle. Simply riding makes you a candidate for punishment. To these folks, a biker dick is someone who takes the lane, slows them down, wears colorful underwear, imagines that each pedal stroke saves a baby whale, and of course threatens our American Way of Life and Making Donald Drumpf Again by running stop signs.
I’m not concerned about those biker dicks, because they’re not dicks. They’re moms, dads, prison releasees, kids, hipsters, bums, employed people, and other ordinary humans going about their business, just going about it on a bike. Carry on, you angels of awesomeness.
The biker dicks that bother me don’t really happen much in traffic, although plenty of cyclists get irate and do things that you won’t find approved of here, and use language and gestures that you won’t find approved of here. They also salmon, don’t wear helmets, and blah blah blah. Hey, if you’re dumb enough to seek death like that, seek away.
The biker dicks that bother me are much worse than those who go off on cagers or who scofflaw through traffic control devices at 6:00 AM with no one present.
I’m talking about the biker dicks who are abusive, threatening, and, yes, even injurious to vulnerable road users. When bikes are the vulnerable road user, the cagers who have the ability to crush them get zero slack in my book. Your car is bigger, heavier, deadlier, and your risk is close to zero. So slow the fuck down and show some respect for human life. If you can’t chuckle when some tweezly wanker shows you the middle finger and calls you something you normally giggle at when Bill Maher says it, take a breath or a bong hit or whatever.
But what about when the shoe’s on the other foot or, more aptly, when the wheels are on the bike path? I’ll tell you what. There is a whole slew of assholes on bikes who treats vulnerable road users, and by that I mean pedestrian meatbags, moms with strollers, old people taking a walk, kids on skateboards, and small people learning to ride tiny bikes with training wheels, with the same contempt and disregard for safety that many cagers treat us with when we’re cycling in the roadway.
How many walkers, hugging the right side of the bike path, going in a straight line, not bothering one single human being, have been accosted at the last second by some screaming, snot-blowing, wannabe jerk on a bike with the immortal shriek, “On your left!”
I wish I had a nickel for every skidmark that’s been created by these biker dick war hollers.
What’s worse, some nasty, aggressive, and potentially violent cyclists seem to have an affinity for being especially abusive to women. A friend who is a cyclist and a runner (we forgive you your jogging transgressions, DP), was on the bike path a few days ago with a cop friend. Cop had big quads and looked coppish as they jogged. Bikes gave them room and said squat even though they were two abreast. This reminds me exactly of how cagers behave when there’s a pack of cyclists. STFU and keep moving.
As soon as the cop jogged off, though, my friend, an Asian woman now jogging alone, became the target of endless last minute “On your left!” screams and even of a vile racist insult by one passing biker dick.
What is wrong with you assholes? When you are on the bike path it isn’t the autobahn, and every fool with tri-bars or a TT rig who’s trying to set the land speed record on a multi-use path with pedestrian meatbags is by definition an asshole. The same thing that cars have to do when there’s nothing but your underwear between you and two tons of steel is the same thing you have to do when you’ve got 200 lbs. of mass going 23 mph hurtling towards a 120 lb., slow moving meatbag: SLOW THE FUCK DOWN.
And don’t tell me that the meatbags don’t belong on the bike path or that they’re unpredictable or kicking a ball or walking a dog. Who cares? They’re there and you know they’re there and if you hit them you’re going to do horrible damage. SLOW THE FUCK DOWN. And once you’ve gotten off your Strava pace you won’t have to shriek at the last second, scaring the crap out of the walker and possibly causing them to veer into you.
At bottom, the irrational hate and disrespectful treatment shown by cagers to bikers on the streets is the same narcissistic, selfish nastiness that lurks at the bottom of the cycling psychopathletes who terrorize helpless bike path meatbags. Meatbags are people too, so SLOW THE FUCK DOWN, and don’t get me started on “Why are you even on the bike path to begin with, especially on the weekend or at other high-use times?” The bike path is sandy (bad for carbon), packed with erratic meatbags (causes carbon to break when slammed into), slow (takes away the millisecond benefits of carbon), badly paved (makes carbon ride uncomfy), and no more safe than the surface streets.
Empathy doesn’t grow in a vacuum or, apparently, when you’re racing along the bike path to get to work, make a group ride, or set some stupid PR on some stupid Strava segment. Put yourself in the meatbag’s shoes, even though they’re jogging shoes and even though your colorful underwear is way sexier. Get out of your rush mode, quit yelling like a jerk, and treat the vulnerable meatbags the same way that you want to be treated when they finish their jog, hop into their SUV, and, boiling with rage at your bad manners and dangerous habits, see you again when you’re off the path and pedaling down the street.
Because the victim you abused a few minutes ago is now a cager with a grudge and you’re the biker dick in the crosshairs. Is that really what you want?
For $2.99 per month you can subscribe to this blog. And please, don’t be a dick. Click here and select the “subscribe” link in the upper right-hand corner. Thank you!
September 8, 2016 § 41 Comments
Before the race we all pinned on each others’ numbers, which looked like this:
The ref blew the whistle but before we could get going they had to neutralize the race. A gaggle of ancient retirees, all of whom had lived in Palos Verdes Estates since 1978 and were still wearing the same shoes, did a parade lap around the course.
Each angry resident did a mini-ragesprunt, where they harangued about parking. Elbows were thrown, headbutts lodged into ribcages, and one old codger whipped out GoPro footage of *CARS RUNNING STOP SIGNS* and *GASPY GASP GASP* a white vehicle that REGULARLY PARKS TOO CLOSE TO THE STOP SIGN NEAR THE INTERSECTION ON THE STREET THAT GETS 183 WHOLE CARS A DAY.
Fortunately, the parking club riders were not as fit as the SoCal Allstar Race Team, so after they ran out of electrolytes and Depends, the parking club riders shunted off to the side and wrote nasty emails to each other on NextDoor.
The whistle blew and the race was on. Dashing into the first corner was Jay “BMUFL” Yoshizumi, who attacked hard up the gutter, battering into the wind while pointing out that safety was paramount. He swung over just in time for G3 “Data Boy” Seyranian, who unleashed a flurry of softening-up punches over the short cobbled section, stringing out the peloton, making the watt meters crackle, and pointing out to statistical data points that validated the BMUFL signage.
One of the riders on Team Lunada Bay Boys on Mom’s Couch, Doper McWanksalot, got caught up against the curb, threw a chain, and dropped his fake petition with 83 bogus signatures just as Michael “Call Me Claw” Barraclough came up hot and inside to set a course record for the first lap. Claw also let the refs know that if the Allstars didn’t sweep the podium with BMUFL signage, they would continue to show up to every subsequent race and stack the field until justice was done.
Shrimpy McShrinksabunch, team leader and designated sprunter for Team Lunada Bay Boys on Mom’s Couch, roared briefly to the front and sputtered on about delaying BMUFL signage until the year 2082, when all of the ramifications and data and GPS coordinates could be algorithmized, logarithmized, digitized, and mesmerized, but was quickly chopped hard by Kristie “All Aces” Fox, who blew him up against the barriers with a hard-charging citation to traffic counts related to Terranea and The Donald Drumpf Golf Club.
Now the Allstars were warmed up and a series of brutal attacks began, headed up by Pete “Older Than Dirt” Richardson and followed by Jon “Same Shit Sounds Smarter In British English” Phillips, who hit it hard at the bottom of the small cobbled climb that had been slickened by the snot, spittle, and Internet ugliness dribbled out by the NextDoor Wankers On The Bay Boys’ Moms’ Couches.
One Lunada Bay Boy on Mom’s Couch slid out in the turn and caught his monosyllables on his poor syntax, making a fool out of himself and going hard into the hay bales, where he was forced to pay rent and get a job sacking groceries at Von’s.
Suddenly the weather turned nasty and a foul gale blew in. Our heroes, who had been driving it at the front with relentless accelerations by Victor “Don’t Fuck With Me” Cooper, Delia “These Are The Facts And They Will Hurt You” Park, Doug “The Motor” Toland, and a vicious move that split the field by Tom “One-Handed” Duong, the peloton began to crumble.
A breakaway formed with Claw, Park, Fox, G3, “Gizzards” Jim Hannon, and “Bronx Bomber” Julian Katz, as the Allstars back in the field sat up to block the weak, ineffectual, incoherent, and disorganized attempts to bridge by Team Lunada Bay Boys on Mom’s Couch Who Mostly Complain on the Internet but Don’t Have the Balls to Show Up.
Just when it looked like the break would go clear, Norm “Video Production” Zarifsky of Team LBBOMCWMCOTIBDHTBTSU made a daring move out of the field and, stuck in no man’s land, seemed set to bridge. However, he began to huff and puff as he spouted anger at cyclists, reviled bikers who ran stop signs, and declared that all PVE stop signs should be removed, buried, and shot as his FTP of 12.2 watts was immediately exceeded now that he was out in the wind and unable to suck anonymous Internet wheel.
Moreover, he had failed to notice that Dave “Video Allthetime” Brinton had latched onto his wheel, and as Norm began flicking his elbow, drooling in desperation, and begging everyone to condemn that terrible pro bono lawyer blogger dude who is in cahoots with the cops and judges to get bikers out of citations, Brinton came around, dropped Norm like a big turd from a tall horse, and bridged to the break.
One by one the tired, unfit, tactically incompetent, and strategically defective members of Team LBBOMCWMCOTIBDHTBTSU came off the back while, back in the peloton, the shrewd, handsome, beautiful, fit, happy, and cagey members of the Allstars took turns pounding the BMUFL haters into paste. John Cayon, Joann Zwagermann, Larry Lem, Dave Terrell, Joey Cooney, Don Wolfe, Jaycee Carey, Wendy Watson, John Wike, Mark Maxson, Michelle Landes, Brent Davis, Allison Vought, Les Borean, Gary Cziko, Andrew Nuckles, Craig Eggers, Sam Gengo, Tara Unversagt, Sherri Foxworthy, Kevin Salk, and Brian Gee set a blistering pace that Team LBBOMCWMCOTIBDHTBTSU couldn’t begin to follow until, at the bell lap, there was no one left but the Allstars and five BMUFL signs which will be co-located with existing “3-Feet It’s The Law” signage.
The traffic safety committee voted 4-0 in favor of the Allstars when, post-race, a challenge was made due to alleged irregular sprinting by Wike, but the commissars concluded that not only had Wike won the field sprint clean, but that the complaining wankers who lodged the protest would, as punishment, be grounded until next Thursday and limited to $150 in gas charges on mom’s credit card for the rest of September.
After the race, the Allstars modeled their sexy BMUFL signage and prepared for the final race of the season. The next race in the series is the finale, the PVE City Council BMUFL Grand Prix. Be there!
For $2.99 per month you can subscribe to this blog. Hope you can make the next race. We’ve even got a “Butts in Council Chambers” Strava segment. Click here and select the “subscribe” link in the upper right-hand corner. Thank you!