It’s the Saturday shuffle; the weekend group ride. A cornucopia of salt stained jerseys and overpriced bikes are being assembled for their flogging.

Some dudes are dressed to the nines in their Quickstep kits, balls deep in Assos cream, 808 Zipps and no clue how to attach their front wheel. Other guys are wearing sleeveless jerseys with arm warmers (WTF?) a TT bike with enough spacers in the stem that he can ride upright while laying down ….yeah, it’s a rolling contradiction. Also frequenting the group ride is the Silverback. Like Tom Selleck in a Speedo, the hair on his body can’t be confined by his kit and by the end of the ride his appearance resembles Teen Wolf awaking from a violent wet dream.

The one that troubles me the most is the fashion victim. Nothing is more distracting than cruising in a pace line and the dude in front of you is sporting a white kit. When did ass hair become vogue? If I wanted to view some dude’s butt crack all day I would buy a fixie, hang out with the douche bags in girl pants and do some bitchin skids!

White = PRO and you are not one.

RUSTY CHAIN

I usually only celebrate the standard holidays of Thanksgiving, Christmas and some second tier holidays like Valentines Day and Tour of Flanders, but today is “All Fools Day”! I knew I didn’t have the time to top my elaborate “April Fools of 07” scheme which was to force the economy into a downward spiral of fear and poverty; so I half-assed a top 5 list of “Fools for April”.

1. Mountain Bikers – Have you seen these contraptions they’re riding? It’s like my beach cruiser got all coked up and had a three way with a car jack and an Erector Set. These dudes are wearing full blown motorcycle protection but ironically no shoe laces, sleeveless shirts and entirely exposed beer guts. Think Chris Farley freebasing Red Bull on a pogo stick.
2. Fixie Freaks – There is not enough space to write the disdain I have for these Andy Warhol ass clowns. I do believe there is a direct correlation or ratio of stupidity to coolness. If your pants are tight enough to sever your scrotum and your bike is missing parts like it was assembled at Costco you will be worshiped by others who don’t shower and are testicular phobic.
3. Recumbent – Imagine if Stephen Hawking found out you was cruising around in a motorized wheel chair because you’re lazy?! If you can stand up you should ride a bike not a recliner. Think Chris Farley coming down from freebasing Red Bull in a wheel-barrow with a helmet mirror.
4. Tandems – I thought two guys on a tandem was self explanatory, but if a red flag doesn’t comes to mind you probably live in Tempe and you’re waiting for the sparkle paint to dry on your fixies’ stem/rims/pedals and axle bolts.
5. Roadies – Matching spandex, shaved legs, waif thin athletes. If you got your ass kicked in high school you are potentially a pro cyclist. If you just recently got your ass kicked by someone in high school then you’re a shoe-in for the pro tour.

RUSTY CHAIN

My friends warned me. My competitors scared me. The scale exposed me. My subconscious lied to me.

I don’t know why I’ve ever listened to that voice in my head. It’s the same voice in college that said “Of course you can handle your liquor!” It was also the voice that said “You should wear your jean jacket on your date tonight…lady-killer.” Again, that voice manipulated me to the start line of the Superior Road Race.

I have participated in a few races in my time with some fairly resilient competition, but nothing prepared me for the relentless “Great Wall of Superior”. As I watched the truly talented riders glide away that little voice in my head ironically turned on me….

Before the race I was “an explosive force of cycling strength prepared to shatter my competition into tiny pieces of shame and humiliation”. As I ascended the “Great Wall of Superior” the only explosive force I was feeling was 3 water bottles in my bladder and my lungs trying to escape through my throat.

Now that little voice was not so little. It’s screaming; berating me like the drill instructor from Full Metal Jacket: “You are such a F&$k^#G IDIOT! What made you think you could do this you fat bastard! Do you see those guys riding effortlessly away from you! No you don’t, because you’re breathing so hard you’re cross-eyed and quite possibly have crapped in your bibs.”

Pathetic? Maybe, but I have a whole new perspective of our local PRO’s!

If you have attempted this race then you have my utmost admiration.

If you haven’t competed in this race then I don’t respect you. You are not a “road racer” so please sell your DeRosa for some neon rollerblades with corresponding wrist guards or take up fixie bike polo poseur.

Rusty Chain

The art of expletive interpretation on race day.

Your first Cat 5 race was probably not your introduction to mindless obscenities. It could have been your first group ride, a psychotic ex, or more likely your 9^th grade tape of NWA’s “Straight Outta Compton”. If you are under the impression that there is a correlation between category and chastising frequency you are correct. If you are under the impression that the PRO 1/2 field is filled with alter boys you are mistaken.

As a Cat V you come across what I refer to as: “The Corporate World”; let me explain. You have a large assembly of coworkers (riders) just counting the minutes until the end. Within that group you have a self-appointed collection of idiots which want to command how things should be done. Unfortunately, no one takes initiative and the term “bail out” has a much different connotation. And just as in business, in the end everyone is standing around the water cooler gossiping about what should have been done and how everyone else is awful.

Cat IV is slightly different. Have you ever heard the term “a little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing”? This proverb came directly from a Cat IV educating the rest of the group on how to form an echelon after reciting the latest article from Outside magazine. They expound on how much work they had done and usually finish last.

You don’t hear “hold your line” as much in Cat III, but altercations become less generalized and much more personal. This is called: “Coaching Syndrome”. During a race they will let you know how bad or good your pedal stroke is, how diving the corners is frowned upon and why rider X will never accomplish a solo breakaway. This can be some useful info but usually this is coming from the guy who is the perpetual Cat III. Think disgruntled rider who is more concerned about others than themselves.

In PRO 1/2 everything is considered intentional and there may or may not be some truth to that. Everyone has a competitive understanding so the “Coaching Syndrome” is minimized. Everyone has slogged in the wind and recognize that there are no useful articles in Outside magazine. Most of the gossip is not about how awful someone is but rather how incredible a rider has become. So when the F-bombs start flying they are direct and to the point.

Hungry Dog was an event like any other and the lack of a break in the 1-2-3 field caused some tension in the final 10 laps. Some parties exchanged words, but it’s how you interperate those words that matter. I interpreted it as a “Claustrophobic Cluster F_ _ _”.

Rule #47: Always show up late to your race.

My parents instilled an unhealthy sense of urgency to arrive to any occasion early. If my flight is at 10 I’m at the airport at 6; I’ll have had 3 Venti coffees and studied the Wall Street Journal (strictly to give the impression of intelligence). If my dentist appointment is at 3, I’ll arrive at 1:45; I’ll have read two National Geographic magazines, one InTouch and one Sports Illustrated (strictly to compensate for reading InTouch).

As you can imagine the same holds true for race day. I’m usually early watching the Cat V’s and the delicate balance between chaos and mass chaos. I’m punctual because I like to be prepared. I want everything organized and out of the way: I’ve pissed in the port-o-sauna 12 times, trainer is set, race wheels are aired, numbers are pinned and my iPod playlist is music children should never be exposed to or they will inevitably serve hard time.

So nothing rusts my chain more than when an acquaintance/friend/teammate decides to show up 20 minutes before the start. They haven’t signed up for the race yet. All their crap is in the back of their car like a spandex/ass grenade exploded with safety pin shrapnel and some type of Cytomax agent orange. Your buddy asks politely if you could “help him get his equipment set up?” Translated means: You assemble everything and they will go sign-in after their 10min port-o-sauna.

Now I’m tiptoeing around in my cleats trying to set up a trainer, fill water bottles and get their wheels to the pit. I tend to lose patience when requested to pin on their number. I find nothing more tedious than clumsily fumbling with pins and Lycra all the while trying not to keep from stabbing said buddy intentionally!

I’ve come to the conclusion that the only real difference of racing as a PRO and racing as an armature is your arrival time. Category difficulty is relative; but show up early and you’re slogging your own paraphernalia back and forth. Show up behind schedule and you’ve got a team of assistants managing every minor detail.

Go PRO this weekend!