Shit dAmN!  Palm Springs Century 2012: some kinda jack’d-over, jack’d-out ride with the wind blowing right up your sphincter contracted, puckered out, intrusion-hole.

you were there. you know what i’m talking about. the wind came  from every direction, all over the place at the same time, simultaneously.  there was only one section, about 11 miles down hill, with a tail wind.  other than that it came at you from every direction, all over the place at the same time, simultaneously.  did i already say that? well, that’s what the damn ride was like; every turn, the same shit over and over again. no respite from the comedy.

coming out of town the crosswind was blowing so hard, you had to ride pitched over at 30 degrees or get blown off the road.  i shit you not.  every few pedal strokes you could see riders’ resolve jack-pop’n like ignited pus swollen pimples.  they didn’t give no shit about the 65$ entry fee; they’d be happy to pay twice the price just to get a dream pass to find themselves waking up in the coziness of their soft warm beds as if the thought of palm springs never crossed their minds.  it was the closest thing you can imagine to a panicked escape from a nasty urban disaster where people are crawling over each other to get out of town.  then it settled down.  a calm respite entered the psyche of the survivors.

but I loved it.  loved it like i never would have imagined.  it was only in the final stretch, the last 25 miles, when i mentally equated the same distance from laguna city limit to home, i felt a little tinge of  “ohh fuck this!” but it didn’t last too long.

il duce (il signore wehrlissimo) flew the manhattan beach contingent to the event and added a little extra testosterone to the peloton of talent.  a couple of his riders added to the power pool and kept our echelon commandant, herr uber,  in check.

i rode like a dumb-shit the first half of the ride and paid for it on the second.  first, i got separated on the stroll out of town, through the cross wind corridor, dodging the explosion debris of riders, all in a cataclysm of panic.  i climbed the slight pitch, shielding myself at the slightest hint of an opportunity to block the wind, behind the detritus of century enthusiasts, inching themselves along, pulling it all out to keep their sense of humor, fashioned in their performance, mellow-johnny, radio-shack, discovery, church of cycling kits and gear;  it was something out of a twilight zone marathon or mad magazine with a crowd of alfred e. neumans pedaling along with that shit eating grin plastered across their faces.

herr uber regrouped the boys at the top of the grade. it was good to see their faces.  a few miles later, passing the first rest stop {we weren’t stopping – too early to stop – gotta keep it goosed-up to demonstrate our rule-v resolve}, there was another explosion in the echelon dodging the confusion of the crowd slowing for a respite and others wandering back onto the road.  blamo! off the back again.  i found myself with the wehrlissimo and the mighty pumbaa, separated from the group, concentrating to close the distance.  il duce pulled for a while, all in character, and then let me come around to take up the task {all in character}; it was too early to put out all that effort but i couldn’t help myself.  i climbed into the pressure cooker and used it all up; stryker wasn’t about to help (he knew i was just being plain stôöpid cuz it was early yet; mile 35) and i knew i was jacking myself up too, but i couldn’t help it (had to show them we could get back on – honey badger don’t give a shit) .  when the unknown freddie came motoring by (he’d been sitting on all along – i remembered him – i had already passed him when i was closing it up to il duce) il duce and i sat on and closed the final distance. il duce and i had been on the gas and  i was done.  all the juice was gone and i knew it; 60 miles to go. shit. what an idiot.

levi (moose jaw) fresh off the couch was quietly suffering; i don’t think he’s ridden more than 100 miles in the last 3 months.  he was putting in a mighty effort.  there was a regrouping at the final rest stop , but after, levi just didn’t have any more.  the boys were drilling up the momemtun.  i cracked under the pressure; my jacked squat’d legs were blown; i couldn’t sit-on anymore.  when i came off, i thought “i can wait for levi or i can let levi catch me {because he will at the pace i’m going}.”   i asked myself “which option gives me a nobler appearance?”   i stopped and waited for levi and rode the final 20 miles with him. chatting it up, keeping myself entertained.

and keeping in high-goose-step style with il duce generosity, il wehrlissimo treated everyone to lunch and beverages at PS-Wine.  it was a damn good ride and a great day of camaraderie. a day that will live in infamy; one for the books.

look at the simile on that boy’s face {levi}.  he’s gonna crawl back into the cock-pit and fly the freddies home.  he’s the real honey-badger.

Blow it out Animaux!