Reverse Road Rage

It's confirmed. Northern Virginia blows for cycling. After living in Blacksburg for almost 4 years, I've become spoiled by our low traffic, rural roads. So after riding 65 miles on shit traffic, a-hole clogged NoVa roads, the Captain is ready to rage and snatch & grab the douchenozzles who think they own the road.

In SW Va you can usually chock up all the "biker fag" comments to some uneducated redneck in a dually pickup, but in NoVa, the spectrum of assholeness knows no bounds. So to the rich business man in his Mercedes SUV, to the Redneck with the 4th grade education in your big ass pick-um-up truck, I give you a hearty FUCK YOU.

I warned you I was ready to rage. Maybe its years of supressed anger from my time in the Marines, the andrenaline I feel while stomping the pedals, or years of sexual tension, but yesterday I was praying someone would have the balls to stop & exchange words. The only words I would have uttered would be:

HAMMER FIST BITCH!

Swingers, Martini's, & Dogs...oh my!

5 days later & I think the remnants of my weekend in NoVa have finally subsided. What was orginally meant to be a getaway weekend at my sisters house for my 6 year old nieces birthday party turned into the same old scenario when I hang out with my sister too much. Instead of 5 days of the bike training, I only mananged 3 rides, & I can barely call any of them training. I'll chalk that up as a rest week & move on.

The real story is, people in NoVa are weird. Yeah, thats coming from me who believes everyday should be a weird day. It seemed like a normal family get together, playing with my niece, drinking an adult beverage or two while the little kiddie birthday party raged on, throwing kids across the room onto the couch, and doing the fun stuff that uncles are meant to do. All is well, until my sister gets the notion of taking uncle Dan out on the town.

And here is where I see the trend. Everytime I've gone out with my sister to a big city I:

1. Get royally shitfaced (lost count of the beers & Martini's)
2. Have a run in with security or some "authority" figure at some point or another
3. Get royally shitfaced
4. Talk shit to guys 5 times my size, well at least in height or width
5. Get royally shitfaced
6. Learn about suburban married life
7. Get royally shitfaced.
8. Wake up the next day, vowing to never do that again.
9. Have to research Statute of Limitations before I cross back into county lines again

So, Yes, I'll admit somewhere therein lies a problem. And I believe I found the root cause. My sister broke out a picture of times long gone & it all became clear.

She has never forgiven me for being the cuter baby and now it has become her life goal to secretly, or actually not so secretly, help me (though not much help is needed) make an ass of myself whenever we hang out. I'm sorry Jen, I had no say in the matter of baby batter. I received the Collinsworth genes, you got the brains & the money, I got the looks & self destructive behaviors. Seems like a fair trade-0ff.

What I did take home is some valuable lessons in suburban survival. For one, I learned that white rocks in your front yard signify your house is a Swinger house. Not one to miss such an opportunity I promptly went out & purchased a white rock for my house that hopefully conveys the message.

No sooner did I put it in front of my house, and this lovely lady showed up.

I also learned that I need to "accesorize" my house more, so I am off today to Bed, Bath, & Beyond to pick out some lovely curtains, maybe some paintings, and some decorative spear tips that I seem to have a liking to after some drinks. I feel my man bits shrinking at the thought. Never would I dream I would have to analyze, "hmm what color curtains go with my carpet." <--- Not Code, either.

Tis a sad day. The only saving grace was, "hmmm I wonder what color curtains signify a swinger house?"

Owen Cup B Race

This past weekend, Blacksburg once again held the Owen Cup race ride. After a good Rogues Racing training camp, I felt ready for the distance & intensity this ride would bring. We had a huge turn out for the 10:00 a.m. start that meets at the local coffee house Bollo's. The race ride is broken down into two groups, the A group made up of Pro, Cat 1-3 riders, and the B group made up Cat 4-5 & old fat guys. After Cow Tail talked some shit to me, I did what I normally do not do & just bit my lip & kept quite. Its called keeping your cards close to your chest. Knowing that the form is coming around after training camp, a good night of eating lots of good food, and plenty of rest, I felt prepared to put it all together come Saturday.

And come together it did. The long hilly course coupled with a headwind on Blacksburg road saw earlier groups all come back together on Harding Rd. & with the A group intermingling with the B's, everything was blown open. Coming back on Blacksburg Rd into the headwind I knew I needed to soften up @RyanHarne since on most days he will blast me on the climbs. Several feeler attacks showed that my legs were ready, his were failing, & come the base of Harding I gave it full gas, opened up the gap, & willed my fat ass up the climb to take the B race*

* (It has been determined that if you are a former all American runner & previous Cat 2 racer, you should be racing in the A race Steve , sorry you've been relegated by the commisare, but thanks for the sweet bike)

So 2009 is looking to be good as long as the back holds out, the zole fits into the saddle cutout, and I keep the post race vomiting to a minimum. I can feel relieved that for the 2009 Owen Cup, I was the fastest of the fat, old men!

On another depressing note, I received my USA Cycling race license. Racing age for 2009: 32. Fuck, I wish I was dyslexic, & it read 23. Don't let the old people fool you, getting old blows goat nuts.

Rearviewmirror Rogues Racing Training Camp

Back in Bburg after a great weekend of riding for 3 days down in Georgia with Rogues Racing. We mananged to ride nearly 200 miles in 3 days, ate some good food, got plenty of rest, and managed to shake a lot of the cobwebs out of the legs from a long cold winter in southwest Virginia. It was great to spend time with friends and devote all aspects of life to bike racing. If we weren't riding, we were talking bikes, fixing bikes, or watching Belgian Classic bike races. Pure heaven.

Matt L. is looking fit & trim & was riding well for such a big bubba, look out come this spring. John W. earned the title of camp hard-man by taking the Brasstown Bald climb. John the Hippie has got the diesel engine fired back up after recovering from last years run in with a car; race & weekend ride climbs now will be a lot harder. Matt P. is looking ok, I think he needs to lay off the veges & come to the Dark Side for real power. Carlson is well, Carlson. I felt better as the days progressed, and My Legs are starting to look ready for the upcoming spring races.

Overall, I was impressed by the Georgia residents on the road. Never got the "F-U" for being on the road and for the most part got a good 3 feet or more of room on the side of the road. I wish the same could be said for the local rednecks around this area at times.


Oh and maybe I am a little redneck cause Mtn. Dew is the best soda ever. 70 miles into a ride, chug a 12 ounce can of Mtn. Dew & you will be flying up the Georgia Climbs.