The Evil Empire
Head down, drooling, and grinding into the wind along the highway, I was finishing up an interval as I came to the weigh station. For those of you who don't know what an interval is, it's basically pointlessly flailing around as hard as you for a specified amount of time. This is followed by Recovery, which involves trying to stuff lungs and other internal organs back down your throat. Then you repeat the process, with the intended goal being to improve your gut swallowing capacity. At least, that's how it works for me.
I veered unsteadily as I completed the interval, quite certain nobody would be affected by my sketchy, oxygen-depleted riding. After all, I had just unleashed a sustained burst of nearly a hundred watts into the face of a howling wind, so there isn't anyone short of the Pro Tour that could come around that display of power.
That's when I heard a "hey!" and a rider swerved around me. I didn't recognize the rider's face through my sweat and snot-encrusted sunglasses, but I certainly recognized the kit. He was one of them, and I was bound by honor and canine instincts to give chase.
By them, I mean a Kaladi-Subway rider. There was a time a few years back that there were two teams in town. OK, three if you include PiP, but I wasn't a fan of their kit and that's always a primary concern when selecting a team. The first is my team, Speedway, and the other was Kaladi-Subway. As I mentioned in a previous post, I attempted to prostitute myself to both teams, and Speedway was the only one willing to hold their noses. I can't blame Kaladi for their decision, since they were primarily comprised of the fastest road racers in town and I didn't exactly fit that description. I didn't care who I rode for, because riding for a team and wearing their kit in our backwater racing league set you apart from the other overweight Walter Mittys. You were wearing stuff other people picked out for you. You had a cycling kit stylist.
Speedway is the name of one of the "serious enthusiast-level" bike shops in town, and was sponsored at the time by a local bar and a micro-brewery. Since then our title sponsor has changed to another micro-brewery/pizza joint. Kaladi-Subway was backed by a competing shop, Chain Reaction, and sponsored by a local coffee roaster and the sandwich chain. In retrospect, given my own preferences, my choice should have been a no-brainer. I spent and continue to spend money at every place that sells bike parts in town, so I have no prejudices there. I just like beer and pizza, and my matronly curves reflect that bias.
In the next couple years, the Chain Reaction guys opened a Trek store, which sponsored their own team. Eventually the fastest guys on Kaladi merged with PiP, resulting in the eye-scarring green and blue fish-scale kit of PiP-Chain Reaction. The development and less-dominant riders stayed with Kaladi-Subway. With three teams under essentially the same bike shop structure, the evil empire had risen and began to assert its authority.
Other teams, like Revolution Racing and Backcountry started popping up around this time, and soon my special underwear wasn't so unique anymore. However, on the road there wasn't a team in town that could match PiP-Chain Reaction. Speedway has always had a dirt bias once the trails dry out, so the evil empire pretty much cleans up in the higher-level road classes.
This year the Kaladi-Subway and Trek teams are merging, slightly contracting the empire. Since I'm not in the same time zone as any of the PiP-Chain Reaction riders, I focus all of my seething competitive hate on Kaladi-Subway.
Actually, some of the nicest guys racing are around here are storm troopers. All-around stand up guy Johnny Kay rides for them. One of the co-Dark Lords of the Sith, Bill Fleming is one of my favorite people to race with and one of the most positive advocates of cycling in all of its forms I've ever met. I also like that once in a while I can beat Bill across the line. Anyone that's at my level or slower is an asset to amateur racing, and everyone faster than me is a damn dirty doper. It's with that infallible logic firmly in hand that I stand by my characterization of the Empire as pure evil. It's science.
So, while other teams laugh at my single-minded determination to right imaginary wrongs, I continue to chase down those that once spurned my advances. My Kaladi-Subway shrine in the basement, papered with race result clippings and discarded Gu packets, is not a sign of an imbalanced mind but that of a healthy competitive spirit. While I haven't gotten the voodoo dolls' kit quite right so they will have the desired effect, I'm beginning to see marginal gains there. It's only a matter of time...
Beats actual training.
I veered unsteadily as I completed the interval, quite certain nobody would be affected by my sketchy, oxygen-depleted riding. After all, I had just unleashed a sustained burst of nearly a hundred watts into the face of a howling wind, so there isn't anyone short of the Pro Tour that could come around that display of power.
That's when I heard a "hey!" and a rider swerved around me. I didn't recognize the rider's face through my sweat and snot-encrusted sunglasses, but I certainly recognized the kit. He was one of them, and I was bound by honor and canine instincts to give chase.
By them, I mean a Kaladi-Subway rider. There was a time a few years back that there were two teams in town. OK, three if you include PiP, but I wasn't a fan of their kit and that's always a primary concern when selecting a team. The first is my team, Speedway, and the other was Kaladi-Subway. As I mentioned in a previous post, I attempted to prostitute myself to both teams, and Speedway was the only one willing to hold their noses. I can't blame Kaladi for their decision, since they were primarily comprised of the fastest road racers in town and I didn't exactly fit that description. I didn't care who I rode for, because riding for a team and wearing their kit in our backwater racing league set you apart from the other overweight Walter Mittys. You were wearing stuff other people picked out for you. You had a cycling kit stylist.
Speedway is the name of one of the "serious enthusiast-level" bike shops in town, and was sponsored at the time by a local bar and a micro-brewery. Since then our title sponsor has changed to another micro-brewery/pizza joint. Kaladi-Subway was backed by a competing shop, Chain Reaction, and sponsored by a local coffee roaster and the sandwich chain. In retrospect, given my own preferences, my choice should have been a no-brainer. I spent and continue to spend money at every place that sells bike parts in town, so I have no prejudices there. I just like beer and pizza, and my matronly curves reflect that bias.
In the next couple years, the Chain Reaction guys opened a Trek store, which sponsored their own team. Eventually the fastest guys on Kaladi merged with PiP, resulting in the eye-scarring green and blue fish-scale kit of PiP-Chain Reaction. The development and less-dominant riders stayed with Kaladi-Subway. With three teams under essentially the same bike shop structure, the evil empire had risen and began to assert its authority.
Other teams, like Revolution Racing and Backcountry started popping up around this time, and soon my special underwear wasn't so unique anymore. However, on the road there wasn't a team in town that could match PiP-Chain Reaction. Speedway has always had a dirt bias once the trails dry out, so the evil empire pretty much cleans up in the higher-level road classes.
This year the Kaladi-Subway and Trek teams are merging, slightly contracting the empire. Since I'm not in the same time zone as any of the PiP-Chain Reaction riders, I focus all of my seething competitive hate on Kaladi-Subway.
Actually, some of the nicest guys racing are around here are storm troopers. All-around stand up guy Johnny Kay rides for them. One of the co-Dark Lords of the Sith, Bill Fleming is one of my favorite people to race with and one of the most positive advocates of cycling in all of its forms I've ever met. I also like that once in a while I can beat Bill across the line. Anyone that's at my level or slower is an asset to amateur racing, and everyone faster than me is a damn dirty doper. It's with that infallible logic firmly in hand that I stand by my characterization of the Empire as pure evil. It's science.
So, while other teams laugh at my single-minded determination to right imaginary wrongs, I continue to chase down those that once spurned my advances. My Kaladi-Subway shrine in the basement, papered with race result clippings and discarded Gu packets, is not a sign of an imbalanced mind but that of a healthy competitive spirit. While I haven't gotten the voodoo dolls' kit quite right so they will have the desired effect, I'm beginning to see marginal gains there. It's only a matter of time...
Beats actual training.
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