(Note: Though this is the inaugural posting I'm not real big on introductions and I am pretty big on just writing stuff so I'm just going to jump right in and let you figure it out.)
One more Interbike down and I am freakin' worn out. There's nothing like standing on concrete all day talking to people then staying up all night socializing only to wake up at the butt crack of dawn to do it all over again. This year my lack of sleep was severly exascerbated by a back alley courtyard, some heavily tattooed women and a veritable herd of skinny-leg jeans. And unfortunately the skinny-leg jeans were not confined to the aforementioned tattooed women.
Of course I'm talking about the mega-succesful West Coast Roller Racing Gold Sprints (presented by Cane Creek (woot!)).
The gig was super sweet and I'm really glad that I was peer-pressured into going. By the end of show-day-two I was pretty happy sitting at the hotel bar chatting-up our super cute waitress (Katie...yeah, that's right) and nursing a tasty Hefeweisen and the prospect of trekking across town to excercise (gasp) was none too inviting. So here's to my illustrious co-workers who would have called me a bitch for not going.
(Editorial note: While I was not wanting to go at the bar, but went anyway, F'n-G was not wanting to go, face-down asleep in his room, and remained that way. Oh snap.)
For those of you unfamiliar with Roller Racing the entire sporting event consists of bikes mounted on rollers with fork stands and hooked-up via magic to a computer. Amist the drinking and smoking of a typical dive bar, four poor souls mount their steeds on stage and sprint for a virtual 500m. If you've never seen anyone spin at 160 RPM while not moving and in the middle of a bar let me tell you, it's quite entertaining. They make weird faces, turn all red, and look silly when they nearly keel over in the middle of the bar after having their heart rate go from rest to 230 BPM in half a second.
Speaking of keeling over, I would be remiss if I didn't give a huge pat on the back to big JC for his performance in the qualifiers (I'm speaking of engineer JC...not messiah JC...just to be clear). Though I've heard war stories of Josh puttin' the hurt on the collegiate race scene in CA, his recent Daddy-Duties have left him little time to ride so his impressive performance on the Gold Sprint stage is even more...well, impressive.
Overall Cane Creek was well represented during qualifying by myself and both Joshes on stage at one time. In fact, while most of the sponsors delegated their racing responsibilities to team riders who race for a living (lame), Cane Creek's three office-boys turned in blazing fast times all within 1 second of each other...and things only got better for the CC boys as the night wore on.
As time passed and my lack of sleep began to get to me the qualifying heats came to an end and the real racing began in earnest. Reddoch and I qualified for the first elimination heat and I was somewhat relieved to see him go down right off the bat. Reddoch's a masters track racer, general badass, and beat me in the qualifier so when he was eliminated in the first heat I knew that I too would get spanked and would soon be asleep in bed a la F'n-G. (remember F'n-G?...stay with me)
But I didn't lose, I got second, and that meant I advanced in the bracket. To my surprise and amazement this continued to happen. Napping between heats, I continued to hear my name, go on stage, sprint for all I was worth, and beat the pants off all comers. This despite my drowsiness and my sandals...did I mention I was wearing sandals?
See, sandals....oooh...mean face.
When it came down to the final round it was me, Double Barrel Jim in cargo shorts and sandals vs MashSF's Garrett (the ringer) in his WrenchScience team kit. This guy had laid down the best times of the night consistently and judging by his immaculate tan lines he rides quite a bit. Certain defeat was at hand.
Garret, pre-Lycra...scary
Pleasantries were exchanged, hands were shook, and I was sure that I was going down. Pudgy engineers in sandals do not win bike races against bike racers...it doesn't happen. But I had made it this far and in the hopes of not being completely humiliated I had to give my all. The final was a 1000m sprint, double the distance of the previous heats. Pacing be damned I knew my only chance was to spin my ass off right from go 'til I hit 1000m... or my eyeballs exploded, whichever came first. So I did, and though I thought my eyeballs might explode... they did not; and though I was sure that I had lost...I had not.
I'm not really one to toot my own horn, but I don't usually win stuff either so... toot toot!
By the way, the Ringer was less happy...it seems he paced himself in the beginning and couldn't make up the difference. I'm sure it will haunt him forever.
Sorry dude.
After a long night it all paid off and I think that CC got some good street cred. So to all six of you who may read this blog, buy Cane Creek track wheels, they make you faster/sexier/regrow hair/solve world hunger. I know because I'm not only a Cane Creek employee, I'm also a client.
Tune in next time for details on the sweet Marin Ignacio fixie I won...
