It is on a t-shirt little buddy, roughly 2 million of them printed every year totalling 45million dollars in sales annually. That is not including hats, bumper stickers, key chains, spare tire covers for SUV's and any other merchandise that they can buy emblazed with the quintessential statement of the American dream brought forward to the now.
This is the only image I made on the day of the race, just this:
So now it is day 4 of transfer and the race is about to go down. Some folks who came without entry had to foot race for the open spots, Curt thought they did so well, he let them all in. 400 human entities are ready for the 10am start that went off at 10:17 with a shout of go for the horse corale and around about fashion no matter which way you went even if that meant right or left. Left in the pack running towards my bike around the corale realizing two things, one; I should not have put my bike near Dejay's like i had done in Stockholm with reward from a dream and two; you bastards that ran a third of the way around the right and then blended in like all was good better not have gotten a bottle opener with a number before mine and if you did I guess oh well the SSWC spirit is what it is. On the bike up the first climb somewhere next to a lot of people kicking up dust. Sharp burning pain in my right forearm where I had a scab forming from yesterday's high speed crash chasing Sean. I lift my arm up in spin and see a bee with his ass sunk in my wound, yikes hold the bar reach with other gloved hand and flick that little bastard off. Then Capt Morgan passes with tidy whiteys on and a peculiar sight indeed, shaved legs, thick hairy cheeks, how bizarre a sight to anyone could that have possibly been?/Go NC! Climb with Jackie P, reproposal(yea I know Swayze reproposal is not a word but I care not for it applies) and laughter. Over climb and steep descent, tons of folks watching and cheering those with one gear over the downward rocky slope. 1st lap down through venue, spirit is good, climb on again. Make right turn just before tree house and some crazy guy lets me have a mouthful of beer while I'm climbing simply by me tipping my head back and him pouring the can from above, running along side me like he was a waiter in a fancy restaurant that I had been to once, pouring water to the oohs and ahhhhs of the crowd with a two foot gap from pitcher to glass or in this case can to mouth. Yum, freezing cold beer in the high desert, more climb on. Inside this lap 2 near the lake on the last up hill before the descent just before the Chaprel trail Carl Decker the winner(I did not realize at the time) came by me on the uphill with Mark 'hell ride and helluva guy' Weir in tow. Speed, stand up the hill, black cape and the fan fare. Down low on the Chaprel through the rocks looking for the nastiest lines so that people would cheer because that is all I've got at that time and they did. Right hand line was bumpy and knocked a foot off into the air that made happiness felt from the sides. On the double track up the meadowy hill before descending into the start finish I too took the red twizzler hand up thinking: how strange beer at the beginning of this lap and red licorice at the end. Through the venue and on to the last climb I recognize John from the UK and our ride 2 years ago in Stockholm, smiles and continuance of pedal march forward up and over. Out of water in the pocket, it was a little hot and dry. Back around again up on the high part of the Chaprel I came up behind a man who was as he put it, "fricked mate, I am completely locked up", locked up he was like an erect skeleton completely frozen upright and vertical with muscles twitching apparent in his straightened almost hyper straightened legs. I rolled by asking if he was okay and even his face muscles appeared to be cramped. Poor mustardless fellow needed some shade asap. Down the hill and in and it was over. Someone asked me if I had seen the lake twice or three times, of course three times what do you think I came here for. He then handed me the bottle opener that was red which confused others other than me with a number of 189 on it. Where is the burrito?
It is on a t-shirt little buddy, roughly 2 million of them printed every year totalling 45million dollars in sales annually. That is not including hats, bumper stickers, key chains, spare tire covers for SUV's and any other merchandise that they can buy emblazed with the quintessential statement of the American dream brought forward to the now. This is the only image I made on the day of the race, just this:
So now it is day 4 of transfer and the race is about to go down. Some folks who came without entry had to foot race for the open spots, Curt thought they did so well, he let them all in. 400 human entities are ready for the 10am start that went off at 10:17 with a shout of go for the horse corale and around about fashion no matter which way you went even if that meant right or left. Left in the pack running towards my bike around the corale realizing two things, one; I should not have put my bike near Dejay's like i had done in Stockholm with reward from a dream and two; you bastards that ran a third of the way around the right and then blended in like all was good better not have gotten a bottle opener with a number before mine and if you did I guess oh well the SSWC spirit is what it is. On the bike up the first climb somewhere next to a lot of people kicking up dust. Sharp burning pain in my right forearm where I had a scab forming from yesterday's high speed crash chasing Sean. I lift my arm up in spin and see a bee with his ass sunk in my wound, yikes hold the bar reach with other gloved hand and flick that little bastard off. Then Capt Morgan passes with tidy whiteys on and a peculiar sight indeed, shaved legs, thick hairy cheeks, how bizarre a sight to anyone could that have possibly been?/Go NC! Climb with Jackie P, reproposal(yea I know Swayze reproposal is not a word but I care not for it applies) and laughter. Over climb and steep descent, tons of folks watching and cheering those with one gear over the downward rocky slope. 1st lap down through venue, spirit is good, climb on again. Make right turn just before tree house and some crazy guy lets me have a mouthful of beer while I'm climbing simply by me tipping my head back and him pouring the can from above, running along side me like he was a waiter in a fancy restaurant that I had been to once, pouring water to the oohs and ahhhhs of the crowd with a two foot gap from pitcher to glass or in this case can to mouth. Yum, freezing cold beer in the high desert, more climb on. Inside this lap 2 near the lake on the last up hill before the descent just before the Chaprel trail Carl Decker the winner(I did not realize at the time) came by me on the uphill with Mark 'hell ride and helluva guy' Weir in tow. Speed, stand up the hill, black cape and the fan fare. Down low on the Chaprel through the rocks looking for the nastiest lines so that people would cheer because that is all I've got at that time and they did. Right hand line was bumpy and knocked a foot off into the air that made happiness felt from the sides. On the double track up the meadowy hill before descending into the start finish I too took the red twizzler hand up thinking: how strange beer at the beginning of this lap and red licorice at the end. Through the venue and on to the last climb I recognize John from the UK and our ride 2 years ago in Stockholm, smiles and continuance of pedal march forward up and over. Out of water in the pocket, it was a little hot and dry. Back around again up on the high part of the Chaprel I came up behind a man who was as he put it, "fricked mate, I am completely locked up", locked up he was like an erect skeleton completely frozen upright and vertical with muscles twitching apparent in his straightened almost hyper straightened legs. I rolled by asking if he was okay and even his face muscles appeared to be cramped. Poor mustardless fellow needed some shade asap. Down the hill and in and it was over. Someone asked me if I had seen the lake twice or three times, of course three times what do you think I came here for. He then handed me the bottle opener that was red which confused others other than me with a number of 189 on it. Where is the burrito? 
No comments:
Post a Comment