Friday, November 4, 2011

Seeing Spots

As you can see, this post doesn't start with the now traditional podium shot. Oh, it will be unveiled, trust me. It's just that it is so unnatural, unnerving, even shocking, that leading with it may well cause your mind to seize up, leaving you to be found drooling under your desk by your flabbergasted co-workers. All you thought you knew will soon be turned on its head. The only humane thing to do is to massage the reader's brains  a bit and ease them into it.

Nine riders made the start yesterday. From the onset they were champing at the bit and clamoring to flog themselves on two climbs like last week. What a monster we have created. It was decided to have one climb at the onset and one in the end to test the mettle of The Grimpeurs. The peleton started the first race at the bottom of Snake Hill. The pressure of the upcoming fight was such the unafflicted wrested banned substances from the needy and desperately sucked them into their lungs.

As usual, Fat Cat (sans le dopage)started off fast in vain hopes of making a show of it. He swore at the pois a rouges who marked the move and later rode The Cat off his draft. A little further on, Diesel made a move to try and catch the jersey he covets so badly. As the Fat Cat saw first and second decided ahead of him, he chanced to look back. There was no need to think of a surge. He was unchallenged and could drift across the line and onto the podium! Do not scoff you non-believers. There is a Santa Claus, Bigfoot is real and The Flanders Fat Cat did make it onto the podium. A shout out goes out to Sandbag without whose absence this moment would have never been possible.
Tallboy, who had been travelling and off-bike for two weeks, took the forth spot. Legs, despite his nefarious actions lost a couple of points to his arch nemesis and came in fifth. Brahma Mama tore up the femme division and finished sixth overall. The fans rose to their feet for the gallant battle for seventh place. It was a photo finish. Being that there is no camera, the nod is given to... Razor, who put in a mighty acceleration to try and beat Trip. Fixie brought a knife to a gunfight again and hauled the lantern rouge up on his cross-bike.

After the ceremonies, everybody regrouped for the Herring Loop. The idea was to get the competitors a little more tired for the second run up a hairy climb way back in the Hatfield's back yard called Mt. Zion. All along the loop The Fat Cat coughed and hacked up pieces of his broken lung, seemingly being made to pay a price for his hubris. He was further punished with a flat tire and a dropped water bottle. By the time the Grimpeurs reached the bottom, The Fat Cat was begging for the order to rescind its decree of a second race. The mob would not acquiesce.

The Cat's legs were nothing more than ground meat held together in a pastry bag. Any form that he may have had was left steaming in the ditch. His upper body bobbed up and down in a violent effort to compensate for quads laced in barbed-wire as the regular suspects made their moves.

 Boyscout tantalizingly waved the polka-dot jersey in front of Diesel only to yank it away like a matador. Further down the hill, Tallboy made his own move, spinning past Fat Cat heading into the steepest part of the climb. He got about seven bike-lengths before the gap settled. The Fat Cat desperately wanted to sit up. All he had to do to relieve his suffering was stop turning the pedals and be engulfed by his pursuers. Legs cried out from behind that he was coming. The Cat pushed a sliver more and inched up on Tallboy. Near the top, The Cat had cut the gap to five lengths but was hurting badly. He had reached the stage of bargaining. The grade rose such that his front tire lifted when he mashed his ham-foot into the poor pedals. He promised that he'd make an attack if he could hold the gap to the rusted dumpster  at the final bend. He secretly prayed that he couldn't.

The dumpster came and the gap held. The Fat Cat rose from his saddle and staggered forth. He squeezed past Tallboy and clawed onto the podium (helped in no small part by the fact that Tallboy did not know the exact location of the finish). Legs came in yammering at The Cats near lifeless form about the location of the finish. The rest is very hazy. We think the remaining finishing order was leg strong Brahma Mama, Trip and Razor. We now Jack was the red lantern because he flatted out and gave us the luxury of lying in the open field, throbbing in the sun.

After the finish it was a simple matter of badgering Legs into descending Snake Hill without braking, which he managed divinely.

The points standings are as such:
1. Boyscout 47 (catch me if you can)
2. Diesel 42 (I think I can-I think I can)
3. Legs  34 (Stay back, you rabble!.)
4. Fat Cat 33 (From hell's heart, I stab at thee!)
5. Brahma Mama 18 (Girls Rule!)
5. Tallboy 18 (What was that yellow blur?)
5. Sandbag 18 (Where are the pants in this house?)
5. Birdman 18 (I'm waiting for the snow.)
9. Trip 7 (Get off my inhaler, dude.)
10. Razor 5 (I wear the pants!)
11. Fixie 5 (Big tires aren't supposed to flat.)

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