2007/05-Most Recent: Old
"All the New's Too Old to
strong language offends, please leave this site NOW.
Monday the 28th of May was Memorial Day. A single day does not seem
nearly enough, so American Road Cycling will display the
commemoration below for the entire week. During this time,
SlingShot will also show his respect by remaining silent in the
Just bring them the fuck home...NOW!
is the latest photo submitted by Humberto Turtle Boy
It is the perfect example of the results of the fine
work American Road Cycling has been doing providing correct
role models (such as Steve below) for young gentlemen.
Christian showing the results of riding his new bike
and hanging out with Turtle Boy.
There has been some confusion over whether Christian takes after
Humberto or Jen. It depends on whether one sees the glass half empty
or half full. That is to say, does the more interesting aspects of
this photo push up from the belly button or hang down from the
In any case, thank you Steve (below) for providing such a profound
positive influence on the youth of American Road Cycling.
During the Pre-Hump festivities yesterday, Fuji Steve and
Scott Macmillin gave a hair raising account of their harrowing
encounter with the infamous Chuckie Beast.
Apparently their own sighting was just one week prior to the one
recounted here by Zirra
Fuji (pronounced Fudgie for our purposes) began his story by
saying to SlingShot, "I just ran into a friend of yours up
north of here...or so he said."
He continued, "Me and Scott were riding along when some guy goes by
in a Jeep waving and yelling. A little further up the road he pulled
over and was waiting for us."
Then Fuji expanded, "He said he had seen Scott's
club jersey and that he used to live down here a couple years ago
and ride the Hump. He said he was just getting ready to go hiking in
the wilderness for a week or so."
"Hey Mary, listen to this!" shouted SlingShot.
So Fuji repeated the story right up to the punch-line that
SlingShot had anticipated, which was: "He said his name was Tony
The Black Widow peed and began to wax nostalgic about how
Anthony is her favorite person ever, blah, blah, quack, quack.
SlingShot took the opportunity to explain how Chuckie was
teaching at New Paltz and working on his PhD in cancer research
until they closed the department. Then he went up to Cornell for a
new job in stem cell research (cells from horse sternums—don't get
yourself all hepped up in a controversial lather), but he soon found
out about his own cancer
blah, blah, quack, quack.
Catching on to what was being said, several other people said
excitedly, "You saw Anthony?" and numerous little eddies of Chuckie
talk groups swirled away from the main conversation.
Steve finished, "So then you you guys do know him. Man, you sure
wouldn't suspect he was a professor. The way he looked, we were
afraid he was going to ask for spare change."
you have it. Chuckie is alive and well, has been seen by several
local cyclists, and looks just as good as ever.
People might want to reconsider being seen in a %#!$
club jersey when outside this area.
Turns out the whole [rider's name stricken]/Poor Latrine fiasco was merely a
publicity stunt introducing the new Stinkature Silos Competition
Skewers. It is another example of the marketing genius of our
little fat friend, Poor Latrine.
Once again Poor has found a niche in which no product existed
filled a need which was not necessary. Poor has recognized and
responded to another
golden opportunity to exploit the market place.
First Stinkature Silos put together the DKNY Race team and made them
so strong that other riders are desperately looking for some way
to beat them. Then Poor came up with the perfect (many would say
only) technology to do just that.
In effect he established the problem and the solution at the same
moment. He created the market and the product to service that market
in a single fell swoop.
Here is the answer to the dreams of thousands of riders who
have come to loathe the mere mention of DKNY.
The new Stinkature Silos Competition Skewer Set
For your convenience here is a partial reprint from the brochure:
For all of you riders who thought the only way to beat DKNY was
to spend $12,000 on a new pimped out Moe-veeeci, Stinkature Silos is
now offering the perfect alternative. The brand new Professional
Grade Ninja Skewer Set.
Cut the competition off at the wheels.
Only $20,000 per set.
Patent pending, International Trademarks Applied for.
Once used, replacement sets available for a mere $25,000.
Demos available on request. [rider's name stricken] will be glad to show
you how they work.
Couple of mornings ago Palletman dropped by on his way back over
the mountain to Sterling Forest. A little too excited to be on his
bicycle if you ask me. A little too excited to have just come
down Kain Road.
On his way out, you should have seen him humping up through the
grass in our backyard. Skinny ass little mother fucker.
The next morning he was probably wondering why his shoulders and triceps
were so sore, even though we warned him that his 10 minute jolting hand-stand
down Kain, while squeezing his brakes hard enough to
wring every drop of blood out of his finger nails, was going to result in muscle aches
in places he never expected.
In any case, after Pallet left The Black Widow and
I figured our leisurely morning should be capped with a nap. Except, when we went inside the UCI Palma de Mallorca Sprint
Championships were on TV.
If track racing is not the most insipid, stupid, uninspired, and boring
nonsense-competition in the world, then golf is a sport.
The Black Widow could scarcely contain her disgust. Actually,
she did not contain it—in the least—just lots of, "So why
are they doing that? What's the point of that? All of that for a 10
second sprint? You mean to tell me they built a whole stadium just for this crap? Look
at them. Those girls are fat!"
The announcers even discussed a famous track race where the
two participants stood in a track stand for 22 minutes, each waiting for
the other to make the first move.
Looking at typical competitors in the sport, it is surprising they didn't have pizza
delivered out onto the track during their standing competition.
It was the world's record strategic
motionless waiting, and it caused a rule change placing a 3 minute
time limit on jerking off on a bicycle.
I explained to the Widder that this was just standard cycling
procedure, "You know, like the club rides where a few strong riders
call themselves leaders, then run up a couple hills real hard only
to spend the rest of the time riding easy, talking and waiting for
the slower riders to catch up in order to assure there will be a "sprint"
at the end—with every level of rider in one big group and everybody
too tired to keep their wits and safety about them."
"You know, how they make sure the ride never breaks up into smaller
more closely matched rides, with people who know how to pace line
riding with other people who know how to pace line, while the slower
riders are left back in their own more rational situation, so people
don't get stressed past their ability to cope. You know, something
smart like that."
She said, "Oh."
We were so bored with the whole UCI Track Finals we almost
stopped watching, but it was people on bicycles, and it was cyclists trying to kick
each others asses, and they had wheels, handlebars, toe-clips,
high-tech helmets and spandex—everything a person could want to
have, or watch on TV.
Unfortunately, by the time we got through with all the TV race
nonsense (because we couldn't bring ourselves to turn off a cycling
program), the Widder was quite inflamed and ready to kick
somebody's (anybody's) ass over some sort of a reputable distance.
Therefore, the next few weeks with Mary on her bicycle are not
likely to be to my taste.
The only redemption for me might be the result of the Widder
and me being "banned in perpetuity" from all Thursday night rides,
because we fucked up and convinced Poor Latrine to show up.
If only I can manage to get us banned from the Hump as well.
Poor, don't miss the Hump this morning. It is
[rider's name stricken] DEEMED HERO
During yesterday's Trailside Ride, [rider's name
stricken] made an
unselfish and heroic attempt to save Poor Latrine's ass.
[rider's name stricken] was consequently deemed a hero despite the partial
failure of that attempt.
What happened was this: [rider's name stricken] saw that Poor was
on the verge of crashing as his left side brake lever was ready to
scrape the ground. [rider's name stricken] saw this happening but was immediately amazed
to see an incredible save on the part of Poor who recovered
to upright briefly, only to continue over the other side and barely
miss hitting his right hood.
[rider's name stricken] watched Poor travel left and right in the
exact same way several times in a row, until he finally felt
compelled to intervene. Risking his own safety, [rider's name
stricken] came to the aid
of an obviously out of control Latrine.
[rider's name stricken] moved up and invited Poor to lean into
him. Unfortunately, he misjudged the weight of Poor's hind
quarters, because when Poor leaned onto him, it happened with
such force that [rider's name stricken] nuts got caught in
Poor's wheel and snapped off several spokes.
Fortunately, nobody went down, because someone
decided we should save all the really good crashes for Terry Bowden,
The Bull. In any case, [rider's name stricken] gets partial
credit for an "intended act of heroism."
Of course, [rider's name stricken] receives this partial
credit because of his misreading of the situation. He gets only the
credit for the fact that he would have been saving Poor, had
Poor in fact been in any actual danger.
The confusion stems from [rider's name stricken] not
being familiar with Poor's ride. The back and forth handlebar
dragging, staggering side to side, is merely the way Poor
climbs every hill. Also, when Poor shouts, "Going backwards!" it is
not just a euphemism for, "People are going to be passing me now,"
but he does in fact truly mean that he is going backwards.
Look out. Duck!
In any case we got some great pictures out of the
situation, because Dangerous Dan and Turtle Boy were
charged with driving Poor's mini-van out to get him and his broken
Putting those two in charge of Poor's
mini-van was very much like unleashing gremlins on it. We are
surprised there was anything left. We are also surprised Poor
did not just walk home in the time they dilly dallied around in order to
fuck with his van, stop for ice-cream, and cruise for chicks in Monroe,
before they finally moseyed on out to pick him up.
WE'VE GOT PHOTOS
Editor's Note: Thanks to Lynn Meyer for
paying attention and noticing the near crash was actually the result
of [rider's name stricken] getting his nuts caught in Poor's
Of course, on hearing [rider's name stricken] nuts got caught in
Poor's wheel, all the women in the parking lot began tittering,
except of course The Black Widow who, for a very long time
now, has not had herself associated with any word containing: tit.
And thanks to Cranky for reporting the image
of spokes that went spewing all over the place like a deck in a game of 52
A few days ago Nuclear Dan Buckley was engaged in a running
workout near his house, maybe in Wawayanda State Park.
He happened to have his camera with him so took the photo below and
sent it in. He asked that we caution everybody about being careful out in
Dan apologizes for the quality of the photo. He almost stepped on
this and did not want to get too close.
Wayayanda State Park, May 2007
photo by Nuclear Dan Buckley
American Road Cycling hates to rain on Dan's "helpful"
parade, but SlingShot himself is hyper-allergic to poisonous
encounters of this sort and has done a
great deal of research on the
SlingShot is exceptionally careful during all his
outdoor activities, and he would like Dan to be assured that he, for
one, would never be caught unawares by such a "close call," since he
always maintains the highest possible level of awareness of his
SlingShot would also like to admonish Dan to be a little less
neurotic about the natural environment, because, what Dan has
photographed is, in fact, NOT poison ivy.
Those leaves have serrated edges. You might get a little "thistled" if you
brushed by them bare legged, or put your hand down
there. No doubt it would sting for awhile but nothing to worry about.
There would be no long term itching and discomfort. No trips to the
doctor for chamomile. It would be over before you knew it.
Remember Dan, this is quite simple, "Leaves of three: let it be."
Dan, get your shit together and pay closer attention—just like
OUGHTA BE A LAW
Good thing I was lucky enough to have my third flat in three days
yesterday (15th for the year), or I would have missed seeing an
I am not talking about the open fire we saw at an illegal campsite
near the bottom of Tiorati Brook Road. I had every intention of
turning those buttheads in and saving the forest, but by the time we
got to the top, things were threatening to become a bit frisky, so I
forgot all about it—especially after I cut through the circle
backwards and almost got busted by a ranger.
The forest is pretty much on its own when it comes to my distinct
need to stay in a ride.
The problem that I am talking about relates to what I saw on the way
down 106 at the end of the ride. A little before I saw it, I had
noticed a little too much wiggle in the curves, so I decided to back
off the pace and coast down slowly. Mary went by me and slowed when
I told her that I thought my tire was too low and iffy for a safe
Good thing I slowed down, or I would have missed it just like
Nuclear Dan, BLASTER and Frankypanky. Dan said
afterwards, "I didn't see anything. We were going so fast when we
went by, I was only barely aware of a blur (maybe it was riders on
the way up) and we were gone."
As for me, I was going slow enough to get the full picture. We came
around a left hand curve and saw a group of five other riders coming
up the other direction. In the front of that group was [rider's
name stricken], or
as all of you like to yell, "[rider's name stricken]!"
Well, that [rider's name stricken] had the look of absolute bliss on his
face. He was smiling, animated, and obviously enjoying the climb.
I am sure you will agree. Nobody should ever, never, ever enjoy a
climb up 106. The riders behind Tom were obviously not enjoying it.
I have never enjoyed it. You have never enjoyed it. Nobody should be
allowed to enjoy it. Like all altered states of euphoria, it should
be illegal. What the hell is wrong with that [rider's name
There oughta be a law!
Other Laws: While reviewing ARC usage logs after I finished
writing the above, I half listened to Charlie Rose interviewing
Jimmy Wales of Wikipedia.
Actually, I started out by fully listening until I realized I was
witnessing the longest-running steady-stream of self-serving
outright lies about technology that there has ever been.
If this sort of nonsense catches on again, "Here we go again." Hold
on to your checkbooks.
The basic thesis of this shit stream of lies was, "If open-source
had only caught on, we would now be living in a technological
Utopia. Please invest in my next project."
An old quote from John Mitchell (my nephew and former open-source
guru) puts this crap in perspective best it can be, "Linux is
free...if your time is worthless."
Poor Charlie obviously had not a clue about the depth of deceit he
was aiding and abetting. There oughta be a law!
Yesterday me and The Widder did the High Point loop from the
Big-V parking lot. Since this was a Monday (not a Saturday, Sunday,
or Holiday) we learned some things that might not be common
The plan was to go out Pumpkin Swamp in order to avoid being on the
Hump as much as possible—which is standard protocol for me. Unless
it is the Hump, no need to even think about the Hump, certainly
don't look at the Hump, and never ever ride on the Hump.
My rear tire spit spitted to flat just before Mt. Eve on Pulaski and
shifted our time frame by an hour, because after the tube change we
realized we were close enough to Big-V to go back, grab another
tube, and use the floor pump to make sure my tire was back to full
Of course, we looped around the Mt. Eve Time Trial backwards to
further avoid being on the Hump. That wasted hour allowed a special
One has not lived until having sailed down Rte. 6 toward Port Jervis
at just over 40 mph while being buffeted by blustery side winds
thrusting over your right shoulder and being crushed against the
ridge on your left to be thrown back in your face at the same moment
eighteen wheeler after eighteen wheeler shakes the road beneath you
and roars past at 60 mph just an inch from your rosy cheek.
Of course, maybe it was rather a case that one has not died until
doing exactly the same thing but making a single slight unfortunate
error. Your choice.
In any case, the panoramic view down a few of the right side
embankments is absolutely breath taking, especially when your
squiggly bike gets pushed stuttering over close enough to the guard
rail to open your eyes so you can really enjoy it.
Maybe it was because a jam on 84 had diverted vehicles onto side
roads, but the traffic was horrible. It was so bad that the
Widder exclaimed, "This is almost as bad as Floriduh!" [State]
If it was due to a detour, that only begs the question, "Why was
traffic more or less the same a couple hours later coming back into
Florida on Rte. 1.?" [NY]
Probably the answer is "rush hour," so next time we will take extra
steps to avoid being on those roads at that time. We should factor
in a tire change with an extra 10 miles just to be safe.
Be that as it may, our 50 mile loop became 63 and left us a little
dopey, so we hit the couches to watch a movie afterwards and
received another object lesson.
The movie was "The Curse of the Golden Flower." To call it a martial
arts movie would be to toss it off in an empty and easy comment.
In fact, this movie made the referential nature of Tarantino's work
far too apparent, and even went so far as to reveal the works of
Shakespeare for the trite mawkishly sentimental water cooler
chit-chat they are.
Talk about your final scene of littered corpses and broken dreams...jeesh.
And the convoluted circuitous route to get there? Holy moly! Plus
the incredible beauty of the whole thing that kept us watching it?
Great gawber balls of horse snot! Fuck!
Production values, scene design and framing, and the costumes,
not to mention the costuming of scenes and the digital compositing,
all left no doubt about a narrow range of possible futures.
Given that all movies invariably portray an impossible view of the
world existing beyond their own prescribed confines, one only knows
for certain that absolutely everything shown in this movie would
not, could not, and should not actually exist in China. However, one
can look at the level of excellence of the film itself and draw a
pretty clear conclusion.
That conclusion is one I have drawn after viewing numerous films
from China over the past few years. Now, I don't want to scare the
shit out of anybody, but here it is.
If the Chinese ever decided to put their full efforts into waging a
war against us, it should take them about a week (and a half tops)
to virtually obliterate everything in this hemisphere. They probably
wouldn't even have to dance into their nuke pile to do it.
And there ain't jack shit you, or I, or anyone else can do about it.
Whatever genie it is that you wish could be returned back to its jar
on the beach, you can just forget about it. The jar is crushed, the
beach is gone, there ain't even a wish remaining that we could split
among us. It's probably why we focus so ferociously on the nonsense
we focus on.
I am left thinking merely this: if only one of those eighteen
wheelers had sucked my tire just a little harder, I wouldn't have to
be the one to break the bad news to you.
Here are the follow-up photos promised by Zirra in the
article below titled: THE BEST DAY EVER.
Unfortunately, the Chuckie sighting happened so quickly Zirra
didn't get a photo. Fortunately, we had file footage.
You can read about this exciting Chuckie sighting in the
article immediately below.
THE BEST DAY EVER
Today's 35.6 mile ride with BLASTER in the warm and windy sun
after the %#!$ club ride was cancelled due to rain was only the
start of it.
The bright open fields and long view over the three mountain ranges
to the shining prison while a massive tail-wind pushed us down
Mountain Road into Otisville during completion of our makeup ride
from the General's Desertion Outing of last Tuesday was only
the start of it.
The lovely mountain wench who smiled and cooed her way across the
road before us, marshalling a 10 year old and an 8 year old boy, all carrying green
leafy tree branches for dumping down the embankment on the other
side, was only the start of it.
At least I had the good sense to mention to BLASTER, "This is
it. It doesn't get any better. Don't forget to enjoy this," and he
assured me he already was, but that was only the start of it.
Finding what was in the evening e-mail was what really got things
going. Here it is from Zirra:
So I am sitting in my DKNY kit in Lake Placid and getting ready
to go out on the course when someone yells out, "ZIRRA!!!!."
I look over and this gnarly guy says, "Hey... I am a member of
the OCBC or whatever. I recognize you from the American Road Cycling
home page. You have that picture that looks like you are choking
someone. I am Chuckie.
I can't help but say, "OH, you're the guy with cancer!!!"
He says, "Well, not anymore. I am fighting back and have spent
the last few days hiking in the high peaks around Placid and came to
town for supplies and a bed for tonight."
So Chuckie says hello and that he is working on some base training
with hopes to be back at the Hump soon.
He looked great: fit, lean, and pretty happy— although I was
looking at him after 5 days in the woods.
More action photos to follow.
There you have it. The best day ever. And that is only the start of
it. It isn't clear if photos were supposed to be in the e-mail, but
Therefore, while we are waiting for Zirra's Lake Placid action
photos we are republishing his photo that was mentioned by Anthony "Chuckie"
Defeo above. Here it is:
It's only a quarter mile back to the highway. I'll just let go of
your neck, and you make a run for it. Ready, set...
The text of the rollover pop-up to Zirra's photo has been repeated
below it. Somebody mentioned that their Netscape browser doesn't
show the pop-ups, and this is one that nobody should miss.
In any case, if this isn't the best day in SlingShot's life,
he can't imagine what day that would be.
For all you newbies, here are links to the two original stories that
made these two people famous:
Eagle's Nest was great today but of lowly heights compared to
receiving this e-mail.
Thank you BLASTER, Zirra, Chuckie, and
especially The Black Widow for getting all excited and
reading the mail to me.
Editor's Note: This is really tomorrow's article (05/21/07),
but SlingShot couldn't wait. Besides, FG would kill
him if he did.
RACE TACTICS REVIEW
Please review the chapter titled
Explicit v Implicit in the Team Tactics section of the
SlingShot's Secret Race Secrets page. Apparently some of you
missed its importance.
Here's the link.
Yesterday at the Hump, during the pre-ride meeting, Dangerous Dan
Sullivan pulled out from between two parked cars directly in front
of The Black Widow who was busy spinning around the
outside of the meeting and reviewing her game plan by thinking such
things as, "Did I leave the bathroom light on? I wonder if the back
door is locked? My IBS is acting up. Should I take my arm
warmers off? I think I have to pee again. Do I have Gu with me? I
better check the car door once more. I wonder what my puppy is
doing? Did I bring tubes? Did Cranky just look at me funny? Am I
still a moron?"
Her last question was answered almost immediately as she collided with Dangerous, and they both went down in a
A mere 20 yards away, SlingShot did not even take a sideways
glance on hearing the crash but merely asked, "What happened? Did
The Black Widow go down again?"
Everybody else only remembers hearing the rousing chorus of, "Left."
"Right." "No, go left." "Right." "NO... your other left." "Right."
Then the crash.
Later, after the Hump, SlingShot could only wince in horror
as The Black Widow reviewed the crash for a group of
"AA" riders and ended by saying, "The next thing I knew,
Dangerous was on top of me moaning."
SlingShot winced, not because of the blood and guts details,
but because he knew it was merely a matter of a few small fractions
of a moment before somebody chimed in, "So?!... Who in this parking
lot has NOT been found on top of you moaning?"
Turns out this particular chorus was performed in unison by the
choir even more precisely than was the entire "Left. Right. No,
left." operatic duet previous.
People: work on the specificity of your signaling.
Here's the link.
(follow-up and retraction for the
Non Sequitur article further below)
This sure never happened before. Now SlingShot is all
confused, because the Times Herald Record actually sent
over an athlete to do the article.
The reporter also had a brain and a sense of humor. Looks
like a break in tradition for The Record.
SlingShot found only one flaw in her character, which
was proven by the fact that she sold her bicycle on eBay after
having her ass smacked around by Mike The Spin Guy
Finnegan in recent spin classes.
Generally, people leave the country after a couple encounters
Good news: the article will still be filtered through some
fat-ass loser desk-jockey's idea of correctness at the paper
Non Sequitur article below will still ring true.
Editor's Note: The reporter's name is being withheld
because she obviously has talent, taste, and a future. It won't
be long before she will wish no document whatsoever remains
her name to that of the Times Herald Record.
Most of you kids do not remember, but long before the Internet
the Times Herald Record actually had a slight degree of
relevance. It is still a place where young young writers can get
their feet wet. Many of them eventually move on to become
journalists, so we do not wish to hinder this person's prospects
by putting her name on a resume she will live to regret.
More photos from today's hump.
Get ready for it. This morning's Hump is to be visited by a reporter
from the Times Herald Record. Therefore, just in case an
article ever does see the light of day, you are probably going to be
amused at the result.
More than likely the Record will follow their standard
process, which is to send a per-word for-hire hack knowing little or
nothing about cycling who will try to make sense out of something
that is well beyond their own understanding as well as that of their
The chopped up and edited version of whatever they finally submit
for publication will serve only to reinforce misunderstanding about
cycling in general and about the state of cycling in Orange County
and surrounds in particular.
Many of you will remember the last article that spoke of how spring
had finally arrived, because cyclists were seen gathering at the Big
V parking lot in Florida. In fact, most of the cyclists there had
been riding all winter. Spring had little or nothing to do with
their showing up for the Hump.
Also, you may remember the article about a young cycling hopeful
who, to the reporter, appeared to be so frail and delicate. Funny
that we all know that cyclist as Iron Mike. Would you expect
a new installment of clever text to be any closer to the truth of
cycling, when it originates from a position that regards lean and
strong as weak and frail?
It is unlikely a reporter sent to investigate cycling sport will
have ever attempted a slow grind up Kain Road, nor a rugged spin up
to High Point.
Also, the hundreds of miles of quiet low-traffic rolling-hilled
cycling-perfect world-class roads that are chock full of three to
four mile climbs and liberally sprinkled with quarter mile power
climbs and sprint flats to die for will be totally invisible to an
In fact, Orange County and surrounds currently represents the best
cycling environment in the world. Merely ask anybody who has been to
Spain, France, Brazil, Italy and other parts of the U.S. for cycling
vacations and who gladly return to the daily group rides of 30 to
100 miles over roads and terrain equal to, or better than, anything
they have seen anywhere else.
From the Belgium like climbs of Big Pond Road, to the broad vistas
past Cornwall and West Point, then down into Harriman and onto a
nationally ranked race course, to... well, there are just too many
to name. One could easily ride here for an entire year, never repeat
the same course twice, and enjoy routes of all skill levels equal to
any in the world.
Any reporter who is not already close to the vibrant local cycling
scene is not very likely to realize what a large number of
passionate cyclists can be found riding on the roads of Orange County
every day of the week, all year round. Not to mention, these
cyclists include a large number of riders who compete locally,
regionally, nationally, and internationally—successfully.
Of course, our local (and not so local) cyclists with all their
bugaboos, successes and cycling dreams are already chronicled right
here on this website, so it makes little difference whether the
Record gets it or not.
Also, it is not an aside to mention that cyclists are not merely
degenerate reprobates who have nothing better to do with their time
than clog up the public roadways.
They are more often than not members in good standing of the legal,
medical, business, education, and trades professions providing
indispensable services to the communities around them. Their cycling
is a regenerative recreation that keeps them healthy and returning
to their careers refreshed with extra energy to enable greater
Happily, the bullshit stops about halfway up most local hills, so
politicians and people from the news media are never found among the
It has been correctly said that cycling is the new golf, and the
public roads are the new country clubs, with the same level of
valuable networking found now in side-by-side bicycle riding.
Therefore, it would be nice if a little educational content was
included in the article in order to remind motorists that cyclists
do in fact have the right to be on the local roads, and that a
cyclist on the road constitutes not an illegitimate encroachment on
a public right-of-way but an equally allowed vehicle of the road.
In any case, get ready for another hatchet job, but be heartened by
the fact that this very article you are almost finished reading will
reach many more people than anything in the Record.
American Road Cycling is hard put to find a single person who
will admit to wasting time reading the pages of the Times Herald
Wreck-turd on any regular basis. And why should they?
There are roads out there to ride on.
SLINGSHOT'S SECRET RACING SECRETS
The number of people who arrive at American Road
Cycling via Google searches looking for generalized cycling
information is on the increase. SlingShot has decided it
might be important to avoid disappointing such people by having some
useful information published here for them.
Due to the large percentage of these new arrivals
who are searching for race related information, SlingShot is
now compiling a page of racing tactics based on common search
criteria found in the website usage logs.
Short articles will be published on the home page
and then included on a cycling race tactics compendium page.
The first article is titled: Explicit v Implicit.
Thus the article dovetails into a practical cycling example of a
linguistics concept complementing recent discussions regarding
the manner in which American Road Cycling strives for correct
grammar and syntax in articles.
In this way, we can move the underlying technical linguistics goals of American Road Cycling into
the background while providing a practical example that embodies
those stated goals in a real world application—illustrating by
example rather than by discourse.
In any event, here's the first article in a long
Explicit v Implicit:
The distinction between explicit and implicit communications may be the most
important concept for any race team to understand and observe.
Every possible effort should be leveraged toward increasing the percentage of
explicit communications, and decreasing the percentage of those that are
implicit. A clearly articulated "signaling" vocabulary should be established
performed to refine and enhance the use of that vocabulary in as close to race
conditions as possible.
Here is an example of team communications gone terribly wrong, illustrating the
absolute need for explicitness.
A big time road race included a relatively new team in the ranks of the
competitors. One of the individuals on the team was naturally selected for
nurture and protection in order to secure the win.
Unfortunately, this team member was a novice racer, even though he had the basic
strength, character, and stamina to complete the win, a single miscue put him
(and thus the entire team) out of contention.
In fact, somebody mentioned afterwards, "He was going back so fast, I was
surprised he even finished the race."
There were several veteran racers among the team members, and they had done a
terrific job of moderating the entire peloton's tempo in order to assure that possible
contenders were being used up, spent, and shelled out the back. It was a perfect game
These experienced team members knew most of the riders in the race and were
carefully watching them. Therefore, they knew for certain when a breakaway was
significant, and when a move was pure puffery without substance and with no
chance of sticking.
Sadly, our (projected) hero in the story never got the memo, and long before it
was time for him to leave his cushy seat of drafting privilege to go up to the
front, take over, and finish off the few riders who had managed to survive the
onslaught of steadfast blocking and mocking leaders of his team, our
intrepid racer chased, to his detriment, a totally bullshit breakaway, and one that
was later callously termed, "Two Bobs, a Black Widow, and a
Later the race newbie reported, "I thought it was a serious move. I thought my
teammates had pulled me to the front in order for me to attack and go with the
Lesson learned: Teams must require well practiced explicit signals for
such maneuvers. Believing that a signal is implied can never be
acceptable. An unmistakable hand sign, a phrase, or a secret word would have
avoided this error in judgment and possibly saved the win.
This article is first to be included as part of:
SlingShot's Secret Racing Secrets
(Competitive Cycling Race Tactics)
Early readers of the GREAT RIDE
article below, be advised that their has been a slight change since
you read it.
Actually, Catskill John caught the Sunday "front group" not
merely the "front poursuivant." SlingShot mistakenly left in
the term from the description of Catskill's move taken from
his original first draft at which time he thought he was describing
the Saturday Hump.
On Saturday that group would have been merely a poursuivant to
Iron Mike's Hump decimation. On Sunday (sans Iron Mike)
that group was way the fuck off the front.
Palletman in his street clothes looking
unlike he does when suited up for a ride such
as in the photo above this one.
Yesterday, Palletman came over for an impromptu ride. Fortunately
it rained before the start, and Palletman went on to make the best of a bad
Actually, by the time he left, we are
pretty sure he thought that the ride did in fact happen and that he
stopped over at the bar for a little post ride chattery.
We used the opportunity to weasel some information out of
First off, he reported that a mere few hours after our
Two For Tuesday encounter with Iron Mike Norton, Mike
showed up for Sussex and LAPPED THE "A" (1, 2, 3's) RACE!
Also, Palletman added an addendum to our
addendum for last Saturday's Hump. Turns out Pretty Boy
Glen Babikian followed Iron Mike off the front during the first
breakaway... and stayed with him to the finish.
Also, also, Palletman reports that during last Sunday's ride,
on Rte. 88 after the turn off of Oil City, Catskill John made
an incredible successful solo bridging attempt and caught the front
group—and that was after they had already put the hammer down for serious and for good.
At that point, if they had given Catskill a mere 10 seconds
for recovery, instead of only 4, he would have stayed with them to
the end. [Editor's Note: It won't be long, my friends, not
long at all.]
Also, also, also, Palletman turned in an application for the
Deep Lungs position. We just laughed at him and refused to
reveal the identity of our current Lungs-er.
On leaving, Palletman remarked, "Great ride! One of the
Editor's Note: Any similarities found in the photo of
Palletman above to the appearance of Woody Allen are purely
comical in nature and should not be mentioned in Palletman's
TWO FOR TUESDAYS
It was a bluff gone horribly wrong; and, unfortunately, it may be
the start of a horrid tradition. Last time this happened was a
couple weeks ago when SlingShot doubled up on the Harriman
ride by going right back out with the %#!$ club ride. That time it
was somewhat expected, but this time it was a total surprise all
around—due to the second ride's humble beginnings as a highly laughable bluff.
Of course, the morning ride was planned and went more or less as
Chester Peetie Pete, Peetie Kaka and Dr. Artie Art, Artie Art
Donohue showed up in Sugar Loaf for a scheduled 40 mile tempo ride
with SlingShot and The Black Widow.
Dr. Artie Art, Artie Art Donohue
Chester Petie Pete, Petie Kaka Cotsis
The morning ride was organized by Chester Pete.
SlingShot was dearly
hoping Artie Art was in as bad a shape as he claimed, so he could
stay back with him while Pete and the Widder went off up the
long hills to play by
Surprisingly, the pace was not so cruel on the Shot, even though
Artie Art was far from the pitiful condition he claimed, and Petie
had just enjoyed a major success in the High Point Hill Climb
in which he beat his stated goal by about 7 minutes (for a 5.5 mile time trial)
and kicked the asses of a shitload of Cat 5 racers in the process.
Actually, things remained tame only until the group spotted Iron Mike
Norton going the opposite direction in downtown Goshen. Mike was
still on the wheel of that
thief on a motorcycle recently reported to have stolen
something from Mike in order to sell it on eBay.
The group of four seemed to know immediately what the result of
running into Iron Mike was likely to be, so the pace picked up
considerable in anticipation of Mike going 5 or so miles in the
opposite direction and grabbing his stuff from the motorcyclist, before being unable to stop himself
from turning around to come back with a little pain to add to their pressure.
Turns out the group did much better than expected, because by the
time Iron Mike turned around and finished his ten mile chase,
they had gone almost a full mile.
Things might still have gotten pretty ugly, but Petie Kaka had the
good sense to blow out his rear tire (real loud), so everybody could
bore Iron Mike enough for him to leave the ride, go home, and
take a nap.
SlingShot was pretty glad to get home from the ride and have
a whole day ahead of him without cramps, screaming lung fits, etc.
He was also basking in the glory of having finally understood the
difference between a sentence and a clause. It had only taken him a
month of research to figure it out.
Just when Shotster was thinking his quandary about sentence
vs. clause sounded like a joke, that fuckhead Poor Latrine
returned the Widder's phone call which she had made during
the flat repair. She had placed coyly on his answering machine,
"Iron Mike is killing me!" and hung up. Poor says, "Too bad
you've already gone out. I'm going to ride at 5:00."
The Black Widow is incapable of showing weakness so merely
replied, "That's not a problem. We can go back out."
She was fully counting on Poor canceling just as soon as he
got his senses about him later in the day, and he would have, if he
hadn't gotten busy with a fitting and not noticed the time
until it was only 10 minutes before the ride—too late to cancel.
Since SlingShot merely does what he's told, riding a metric
century (where there's a hand-off to fresh riding partners at the
half way point) is something to be endured without comment, much
like the new tradition of the Two For Tuesday's.
Editor's Note: During the preparations for the second ride
from Poor's house, SlingShot noticed another ride leaving a
neighbor's house. Nothing can be reported regarding that ride,
because it was a Super Duper Pooper Scooper Top Secret Training
Ride for a famous racing team. Who knows what that's
about? In any case, we wouldn't be able to say anything about it
even if we knew. You had to have decoder rings and know secret
handshakes and shit to go on it.
HUMP PHOTO ADDENDUM
Place your pointer over the photo
then let go of it for a moment.
Yesterday SlingShot received what appeared to be an official
letter through the U.S. Postal Service snail-mail. It looked like a bill for domain name registration,
something of the sort he always gets when web names are coming near
to their expiration. He always gets one from his registrar, but also
several from other companies who are trying to become his registrar.
They all try to pretend to be his current registrar (if not the ONLY
registrar), but this one even went a step further.
It appeared to be a bill for registration, but it was an offer for
"search engine listing submittals," which means they'll submit your
web domain name to the various engines and get you a "high ranking."
The truth is that a real search engine is designed to actually
"search" the web for content. One does NOT have to SUBMIT to them.
Their job is to find. That is why they are called search engines.
The idea that they are called search engines because people can
"search" for stuff on them is a tweaking of the term as a marketing
Here is a ranking that SlingShot managed all on his own,
without submitting nothing to nobody, without paying shit for
shinola, by merely phrasing the content on the web page correctly.
Look at this Google search for:
Here is another one. Remember the article exposing the bigotry of
The Hudson River Museum & Gallery Guide? How do you imagine those
people are enjoying their ranking these days?
While we are at it, you don't even have to put quotes around
American Road Cycling anymore. Just putting in the words "american,"
"road," and "cycling"
gets you this.
Well, after all, we are the top name in American road cycling. In
fact, we pretty much define American road cycling such as it is;
and, in a very true sense, American Road Cycling did not even
exist until SlingShot created it.
In any case, there is no need to give specific information about the
particular company that sent SlingShot the most recent
nonsense offer disguised as a bill/slash/offer. It will arrive under
a different name next time anyway.
If you are using the Internet, just go a little out of your way to
learn something about it. Be careful and skeptical.
Editor's Note: The three Google search criteria linked above
appeared in our usage logs thanks to recent viewers who found their
way to the American Road Cycling website by using them.
HUMP RESULTS ADDENDUM
We recently spoke with another person who was somewhat nearer to the
actual front (than was our Field Correspondent) at the end of
From what we hear, at the front front, in front of the front group,
Iron Mike Norton took the final sprint.
However, since Mike was riding without a team (and since he was most
certainly everybody's primary target besides), we cannot report on
his win, because it might appear to lay waste to Deep Lungs'
previous story about the importance of team work.
In truth, Iron Mike merely represents the exception that
proves the teamwork rule. Therefore, the less said the better.
Also, if we reported on his win (a blowout really), we'd have to
list a few pages of disclaimers and caveats due to the number of
solid excuses we would receive such as, "It doesn't count. He's a
Pro!" coming from all sorts of people dearly wishing to have the
incident hidden without documentation.
In a related (and unfortunate) story, there seems to have been an
incident of theft in the Big-V parking lot. At least that's our
The story is related to today's Hump Addendum (this very
article), because Iron Mike appears to have been the victim
of the theft, and he would not have been the one to get clipped had
he not laid waste to the main group, the splinter groups, and the
hammered groups, plus any and all of the other people strung out all
along Pulaski Highway who were dropped and riding alone.
As it happened, Mike beat everybody by a such a terribly long
distance that he found himself in the parking lot alone.
That's when somebody swiped his trip computer, or water bottle, or
dew rag, or hair comb, or something like that, in order to sell it
on eBay as a prime example of collector's edition memorabilia.
When last seen (just when the first stragglers were finishing the
Hump) the thief was observed on a motorcycle going back out towards
the "S" turn with Iron Mike in hot pursuit and just about to
catch him. In fact, Mike was so close to catching the guy, it looked
like motor pacing.
We'll check into to it, and see how things turned out. Obviously our
motorcyclist thief was not very bright, because anybody who thinks
they can use a motorcycle to outrun Mike Norton on a bicycle is just
[rider's name and photo stricken]
[rider's name stricken]
Thanks to a tip from:
Mike "The Spin Guy" Finnegan
BUT ENOUGH OF THAT
HERE'S SOMETHING ELSE
Hump Report: Today's report on the action of yesterday's
Hump was sent in by our new Field Correspondent whom we will
call Deep Lungs for lack of a better nom.
In any case, you will understand this person's need for anonymity.
In a sport where each of us is horrified if another rider even hears
us breathing hard, or catches a slight whiff of stress during a
simple conversation, it is unlikely this rider would ever wish to
divulge his (or her) identity. We must protect our sources.
Therefore, if any of you wish to lodge a complaint regarding the
veracity of what is reported below, you may make up your own
imaginary friend to lodge it with.
Here's the report.
We were all impressed with DKNY's well disciplined use of team
tactics today—which were apparently orchestrated by Dangerous Dan
Halfway to Ridgebury (that is to say, once we reached Rt 12 North),
Pretty Boy Glenn Babikian broke away, and Dangerous
blocked the group to help widen the gap for him.
Five minutes later Iron Mike Norton gave chase alone, burning
rubber as he jetted away from the pack.
Five minutes after that Kevin Haley sprinted away. When it became
apparent that Kevin would not be slowing to rejoin the pack, Joe
Straub sprinted off alone to catch him.
In hindsight, Kevin's early attack and breakaway was smart,
especially since he lured Joe into coming up to work with him in an
attempt to catch Glenn and Mike Norton.
After Ridgebury, only Tom and Mike Donnelly remained with the DKNY
team. For the next 10 miles DKNY sent a steady stream of attackers
off the front roughly every minute at the mid-point of the ride.
Finally, Humberto broke away solo, and never bothered to drop back
for even a quick check-in with the pack.
Soon afterward, Dangerous broke away solo for a few miles and
was joined by General G Douglas Allen for five miles thru
Pine Island. His little break lasted until [rider's name
stricken], Palletman Dan McNeilly, and Mike Donnelly rejoined him
on the long gradual hill north of Pine Island.
Eventually, Dan McNeilly broke away solo, with just a few miles left
to the finish. He never got reeled back in.
Doug led what was left of the pack into the final stretch, where Dan
Sullivan took the sprint in a scathing defeat over [rider's name
stricken]. A dastardly deed, no doubt, but one which was not without
If one ever had a doubt about the value of teamwork, today's events
on the Hump would certainly lay them to rest. Riding in this
sort of race without numbers with so many strong cyclists
brings certainty about the value of teamwork.
On your own, without bold moves, you drop to the back. However, even
with bold moves, you can drop to the back even faster—if you
misjudge the group's response, plus your ability to sustain an
The early attackers had balls today! And they held on to them to the
Editor's Note: Before anyone gets very far into speculation,
"No, we did not send a helicopter out to follow the ride." And yes,
"We know this kind of reporting is just exactly what you have all
been waiting for." And yes, "We would have provided it previously
were it not for SlingShot being such a slow-ass loser." And
yes, "We will try to bring you more reports just like this."
On the other hand, this whole affair has SlingShot all the
fuck pissed off.
Not because of the reporting (that was stellar), but because
SlingShot holds the firm belief that nobody should ever be
required to endure the insult of looking down at a trip computer,
noticing that they are pacing along the flat at just over 33 mph,
then look up again only to find they are still being dropped.
SlingShot is also pretty upset because moments after that
The Black Widow herself looked down at her own computer, saw
that it read 35.6 mph, and thought, "What?! I can't go this fast"
only to look up and realize her momentary lapse in concentration had
gotten her own ass dropped.
Not to mention, the story about the momentary lapse in concentration
is one that SlingShot is likely to hear oft repeated for some
time to come.
SlingShot believes that Twin Lynn said it best: "You'd
think that at 30 mph, you'd be granted automatic clemency from any
and all droppings."
SlingShot was even too tired to get going on a good crack.
Today's Hump photos
NO GOD BUT GOD
And on the 8th day God created Ridgebury.
XTREE, XTREE, XTREE...
READ ALL ABOUT IT
NEW ROAD RASH COMICS
A THREE PARTER
(Please read all three, and in order)
there's a little navigation bar above each
title that links
REST DAY FOR THE WIDOW NOIRE
You don't get stronger while you are working.
You get stronger while you are resting.
THURSDAY TRAIL SIDE 05/10/07
(and the deserters)
If I had known it was just going to be a ride full of losers, I
might not have bothered going. Of course, one can never be certain
that people are total losers until they prove it.
These losers proved it.
The Widder and I had planned an easy ride up Ski Run Road and
Pickles with BLASTER, but The General G Douglas Allen
e-mailed about a ride from his house. From the description of the
ride (40 miles, Eagle's Nest, Guymard, etc.) and the looks of his CC
list, the General's ride was going to be quite severe, but
what the hey.
BLASTER was easy to convince, and the Widder had hopes
Twin George and Humberto might show up. Plus Palletman
had been invited, so at least we could count on him being there.
Therefore, despite the promise of Eagle's Nest, Guymard Turnpike,
Mountain Road, and 209/211, it appeared to me that I could easily
get lost in the crowd, dropped and forgotten.
I did not stop to consider that George, Humberto, and even Palletman
would not bother to show up. After all, this was a ride from The
General's house. I expected the Bicycle Doctor, and
Dangerous Dan Sullivan would make an appearance too. Who knew it would end up being a ride for
Actually, things weren't going too bad at first. We were just over
20 mph after Doug pulled all the way to Bloomingburg. A quick spin later, out to the
turn onto Roosa Gap, and we began the 5 mile climb which would end
at the top of Mountain Road.
Of course, my move to stay on the wheel of G Douglas at the bottom
of Roosa Gap
was ill advised, but then again, I had no idea I was riding
with such pitiful losers. If they had just left my blown ass on the
side of the road and gone on about their ride, maybe I would not
have found out.
I only found out what losers they all are, long after Eagle's Nest
was complete, and we were pulling up to the stop sign in Otisville.
That's where those weak willed gutless wonders showed their true
I thought that Doug said we were going up Guymard, down to 209, then
up 211 back into Otisville and on to Middletown. Coming into
Otisville he told Mary that only two more climbs were left, so a big
Guymard climb, topped off with a giant slice of 209/211 pie made
perfect sense...that is, unless I thought of it as being me who would
be making those climbs with the trek back to Middletown afterwards.
If I thought of it that way it made no sense at all. Forget:
No way. No how. Time for me to bail out, start spinning back, and
let them catch me near Doug's house.
At the Otisville stop sign, I came up beside Doug and said, "That's
it for me. I'm going home." Doug just stared at me and smiled in
disbelief as I turned onto 211.
At the exact same moment I heard whimpering calls of desperation
coming from the Widder and BLASTER.
"I'm coming with you." and, "Me too."
Thus General Douglas was left to finish his ride on his
own, and we
finished with a mere 31+ to Doug's 40.
Can you believe the Widder and BLASTER went back with me,
and BLASTER pulled the
whole way...without complaint? What weenies!
Plus, our pitiful 17 average can't even be swept away with forlorn
statements like, "But there was Eagle's nest," seeing as how The
General pulled into his driveway with an extra 9 miles, and
before we could cut the bullshit and scoot outa Dodge to avoid his
At least we got to see Doug's wife Amy (strong Tri competitor) greet
him with, "I can't believe you got dropped...and on your own ride!"
Otherwise, what a sorry-assed pack of namby pamby, weak kneed, sissy
skirted LOSERS. Following me away from a ride like that. Why, I
never! I don't know why I even bother riding with them.
YOU CAN'T BUY YOUTH
- Dan McNeilly (Palletman)
With $700.00 in cash prizes available to dole out between the top
ten finishers, many riders were already cashing their checks before
The Ride Up Sunrise Mountain even began last night.
The weather conditions were near perfect for this 4.6 mile uphill
climb to the top of Sunrise Mountain, so it looked liked a piece of
cake for the regulars to walk away with something in their pockets.
The turnout was light, perhaps because of the High Point Climb
race just last Saturday, May 5, 2007.
The format was this: a qualifier race for the Cat 4/5 first, then a
qualifier race for the Cat 1,2,3's, after that the race for the
The mass start on a narrow one lane road at the base of the climb
made for a hairy beginning.
The Cat 4/5 had representation from Skylands, DKNY, Army, and
Colavita, as well as a number of un-attached riders. This rider
(your cub reporter, SlingShot's Pal Palletman) was
feeling pretty cocky at the outset, because I had recently faired
well in some uphill duels with fellow riders. [see:
BOBBY CRACK CORN]
The climb started with a fairly gradual incline. The pace was brisk,
but not overly so. The peloton stayed tightly together on the narrow
road. I was surprised—thought the group would be spread out more due
to the challenge of the climb.
No talking, no banter, everyone working. Several attacks, but
nothing serious. This race should still be over in less than twenty
minutes even at the rate we are going.
Joe Straub attacks and forms a gap. I am just starting to settle in
and feeling good. We reach a flat area. I make my move. There's a
hard right turn coming up just ahead and one mile remaining.
We turn right. The peloton surges to close the gap to Straub.
At that instant my legs give out. I implode. I have nothing. I feel
like Landis must have felt on Stage 16 in last year's Tour.
I watch the peloton pull away, not understanding how they could all
be so fresh. The next half mile to the finish is agony. Where did it
all go? What happened to my months of training? Why the frickitty
freakin' frick am I out here? Screw the money race coming up, I'll
be lucky to even qualify! What the horse hair halters am I doing
riding with these twenty-somethings?
I finish, God knows where in the qualifier, but I make the cut to
the money race. "Oh great, I get to do it again!" I tell myself,
"Treat it as a training run, don't even think about trying to cash
I ride back down the Mountain with the 4/5's and wait for the Cat
123's to come back down for the money race.
We start up again. I ride within myself. Feeling better. We reach
the point of my implosion in the last race, and the field surges.
I drop a chain. I am done.
Thanks to Dangerous teaching me how to fix a dropped chain in
motion, I touch my lever, rotate the chain back on, and resume pace.
But by then I realize that I already feel like crap so probably
would not have been in the hunt anyhow. I finish 15th.
The twenty somethings are having a feeding frenzy at the top, when I
look at them and think to myself, "They have something I can't buy."
TP Straub - 5th, Pretty Boy Glen Babikian - 14th, The
General (G Douglas Allen) - 18th.
Editor's Note: Ah...I'm not sure that I agree with you 100%
on your police work there, Dan. Yah?
Or at least you can by bliss! The Widder'll bring you a
sample to the Thursday Trail Side Ride.
Editor's Note: Before you begin reading the following
article, make an entry into your diary that (in another story),
Zirra is now on SlingShot's shit list for kicking his ass
on the next to the last hill of Tiorati Brook Road on the Harriman
race course yesterday. That is an aside, but do it anyway.
BOBBY CRACK CORN
As you may know, there are two separate uses for the term "crack" in
the world of cycling.
Most widely used is the sense that Phil Liggett uses during play by
play for bicycle races such as the Tour De France.
In that sense it means going over the edge of performance, past the
point of no return, where the will and/or physical ability has
topped out. The cyclist falters into failure.
In that sense "cracking" is pretty much the same as "blowing up."
However, "cracking" retains a degree or two of more subtle connotation.
It is somewhat less than a total rout, but it is not a minor
event in any way so nowhere near the dreaded "bonk" which requires a
entirely different set of circumstances.
Somebody who "blows up" on a climb, is not likely to finish the
climb any stronger than survival mode, though they may recover after
the climb. Somebody who "bonks" will not recover for an entire ride,
maybe not for a few days and/or rides after. A "crack," on the other
hand, may not mean the ride is over, nor even the full mountain. Of
course, during strong competition, the win is likely lost (for the
top and/or for the finish), but a strong level of performance might
still be maintained.
Let us say you are at your breaking point, and the person beside you
finally drops back a few inches and slowly begins to fall behind,
their "crack" is that very first instant of those first few failing
inches. Very rewarding.
Most fast rides (in particular The Hump and all other races),
are finely tuned performances of evenly matched strong riders who
are each doing their very best to lure everybody else into
overextending themselves—just enough to crack, then fall off the
pace, and be gone from the ride, at least until a regrouping, where
the cracking begins all over again.
The big hills are generally where this happens, and usually it can
only be accomplished through guile, knowledge of the abilities of
the other riders, some luck, and (if you are really lucky, of
The more sophisticated a group is, the more difficult it is to get
someone in the group to crack. Therefore, the tactics in such groups
become more and more subtle.
In the second sense of the term (used only by strong riders in
Orange County, New York and surrounds), a "crack" means that
somebody has "lost it" and explodes into a verbal rage.
A "crack" in the second sense is a true prize among winners, so the
amount of energy that is put into trying to get somebody (anybody)
to crack on any given ride is considerable.
This past Sunday, it was revealed to SlingShot that the local
use of the term is even more subtle than he had believed.
At an intersection after a major hill near the end of the ride,
Poor Latrine and The Black Widow were waiting for him and
yelled that SlingShot should stop, because the ride would be
However, Shot saw clearly that the ride had gone on straight
ahead, and he could see overt attacks were in progress just out of
reach. Plus, only one single smallish hill remained before the
parking lot and ride's end.
The Shotster thought, "Right...those two are bailing out of
the ride while nobody is paying attention, and they are going to
blame it on me later." He is quite accustomed to being everybody's
best excuse whenever needed.
Therefore, he blew past the intersection, and stood in a last ditch
effort to catch the group. At the same time he yelled, "Fuck that!
I'm going home!"
Back in the parking lot somebody named Widow yelled, "Bob
cracked back there and started yelling fuck this and fuck that. A
real crack. His first ever."
Then began the circumstances through which Bob came to realize the
true essence of a crack is not the gaping catastrophic
disembowelment of virtue coupled with a cascading loss of self
control (such as the legendary standards set by Kevin Douchebag
Haley) but that a crack can be truly subtle.
A crack can be the merest sliver of a break in the skin which allows
the tiniest whiff of blood to escape and provide the piranhas a
focal point for their fevered post ride frenzy.
He tried in vain to raise the point that he had not, in fact,
cracked; but that he had merely stated a simple fact about his
intent toward homeward bound, and that was only due to his rational
The Widow and Poor were up to their old tricks of
taking a shortcut.
SlingShot could only wince as the verbal pummeling he was
enduring crescendo'd again and again, spiraling out of control.
He soon realized he had chosen the absolute worst way to handle this
paper cut by trying to point out its status as "minor." Not that
there was any good way, nor likely any way of any kind, to get out
of this. His every attempt to diffuse the situation was only
inviting greater verbal abuse, so finally
SlingShot went down in a hail of (no, a perfect storm of)
At the end of it, his only recourse was to crumple over in a fit of
stuttering laughter, or was that a pile of weeping sobs? Depends on
who you ask.
The onslaught had been so severe as to rival that of a pack of Jack
Russells tearing apart their dying grandmother.
[The paragraph above is a reference to an actual true life local
horse industry story in which a bunch of dog's killed and ate their
own sick grandmother. Jack Russells are like that. Just like
In any case, it wasn't until a couple days later that SlingShot
found out the true story behind his supposed crack. In the meantime,
he merely basked himself in the glory of having finally finished
close enough to the group to be accused of cracking.
What had actually happened was this: Just before that last hill,
SlingShot found himself finally on a course he knew...instead of
the constant bullshit, "Let's turn here," and "Let's turn there,"
crap-fest that was being fed to him in the lead-up to every fucking
horrible-ass hill in the Warwick area for all the live long fucking
day by that fucking
Dangerous fucking Dan ass-wipe shit-hole.
That last hill was on SlingShot's very own Triple Loop
which he does a few times a week, weather permitting. Therefore, he
knew just exactly how he was going to handle the hill.
Unfortunately, just at the base of the it, he thought he saw a
friend at a farm house on the left, yelled a greeting, lost his
focus, was backed off the pace just far enough to realize there was
no way that he was going to be able to hook back on, so he started
spinning, hoping to survive the hill and stay within range.
Soon afterwards he noticed that Poor Latrine (fifty yards or
so ahead) had been dropped. And not so very long after that, he saw
The Black Widow drop. SlingShot figured she was only
waiting for Poor, to make sure he wouldn't shoot himself in
the head before ordering her next saddle...which would this time be,
"Not too hard. Not too soft. Just right."
As soon as SlingShot saw the Widder and Poor
waiting for him after the hill, he decided, "Ok. They've given up.
But I'm going to chase those motherfuckers to the end."
He only screamed goodbye to make sure he was heard.
The rest of the story about that hill had taken place beyond
SlingShot's focus, which was alternating between his small ring
and his cassette.
The Widow wasn't waiting for Poor Latrine, she had
maxed and blown. Soon after that, Dangerous Dan got
dropped. General G Douglas Allen got dropped. Twin George
The only riders who were left toward the top were Palletman
and Humberto (Turtle Boy) Cavalheiro. These two had gone off
by themselves to fight their own little war.
It is not even now clear whether or not
Palletman had stayed all day near the back of the ride due to
The Widow having bluffed him into submission before the start,
or whether he was actually lying in wait for this last hill, and his
perfect moment to make a final statement.
In any case, whoever it was that actually took the hill remains a
matter of conjecture, because everybody but the two involved were
way the fuck dropped.
However, Humberto has remained mute on the subject for lo these
several days, and that alone gives us a certain belief.
Palletman's recent surge to the top of all the leader boards, it
is only logical that American Road Cycling must declare a
winner. We have a certain responsibility.
We have gathered all the relevant data and attached special
significance to recent cycling events, and also to Humberto's
silence on the matter. Still it is a tough decision to make, but due
to Palletman's strong showing in all recent races, we have but one
Therefore, without any further hesitation, resoundingly and
immediately and without prejudice, the hill is forthwith awarded to:
Congratulations, Humberto. Another great ride.
As for the Bobby crack corn? SlingShot is in a constant state
of cracked. It is just that he's never gotten close enough to the
end of a ride for anybody to notice.
21st CENTURY SCHIZOID MAN
The image of a
pants-ed Kevin Haley was more than I could endure
Self portrait unthinkingly passed on to SlingShot
for further development.
Entry #1 from: Jean-Claude Smmoot
PAY YOUR MOTHER-FUCKING BILL, OR ELSE I'LL SNAP YOUR NECK LIKE THE
TWIG THAT IT IS!!
Entry #2 from: Princess Cranky Pea
Upon adjusting his C5, Slingshot's jersey decayed beneath
Artie Art's hands, and all that was left was Bobby's Bones!
While we are at it: Most of the time, an image that does not
harbor a rollover will still have "trash text" attached. People have
been missing some, because in order to view them you have to leave
your pointer over the image and not move it (in the slightest) for
about 4 seconds. You might even like to take your hand off your mouse,
till you get the hang of it. In order to practice, take a look at
the most recent ride photo pages linked from the
Things continue to rage out of control at American Road Cycling.
More and more people are showing up every day, and we are up to
UV104 with a more solid and regular usage.
Now SlingShot has begun to feel pangs of responsibility.
Although the reasons people are coming back is pretty clear, all
this attention is beginning to attract hapless wanderers who arrive
innocently and get clobbered by what they find.
In casual conversation, SlingShot has noticed that it is not
uncommon for people to be flabbergasted by what they read here, and
he has begun to worry about entrapment of good people who otherwise
harbor good intentions.
Study the photo below of a long ago family gathering. That is
SlingShot on the right. Do you see what is happening?
No really...look at SlingShot's face, and think about this.
The photo above is Thanksgiving Dinner at SlingShot's and
The Black Widow's. On the left is SlingShot's niece with
her boyfriend Ted.
Can you guess how SlingShot feels about that guy? Pretty
obvious, wouldn't you say?
In fact, Ted is someone whom SlingShot thinks is one of the
most interesting and entertaining people on the planet. Ted has a
Willem Dafoe air about him, plus a self carriage and presentation
very close to Johnny Dep and/or Dali.
At the time of the photo, Ted was fronting a really excellent band
in Boston. He was also working as a bike messenger.
He and SlingShot had just been rousted out of the recording
studio, where they had been playing music and talking about art
until somebody's sister forced them to show up for dinner.
In the photo SlingShot is thinking, "Man, this is great. Look
at Ted mugging it up for the camera. I'll help out and play the part
of the enraged 'father of the bride'. This picture is going to be
Weeks later when the pictures finally came back from the lab,
SlingShot opened them up thinking excitedly, "I can't wait to
show these to Ted. He is gonna' poop!"
One look at the photo and, "Shit. This isn't funny. I just look
pissed off. I really must remember that my acting skills are a bit
too evolved for my own good. Well, at least Ted still looks great."
I didn't learn my lesson. Here's a recent photo that people tend to
"Man! Look how uncomfortable SlingShot is. He must be worried
about The Black Widow finding out...or maybe she's the one
taking the photo."
So how do we handle people who get here for the first time, see the
American Road Cycling brand name, take it literally, believe
it is a real organization (not just a figment of Shot's
crumpled brain pan) and then take time out of their day to fill out
forms, figure out the rules and regulations, etc.?
There is even a little cadre of people who are horrified at the
content but keep coming back for more.
I asked our friend, Marie, about it and she explained, "It's like a
car wreck. People are disgusted, but they just have to look."
Pretty much sums up this website, doesn't it? A real car wreck, or
even better: a slow motion train wreck in progress.
In any case, how do we avoid totally misleading the public at large?
How do we make it clear to everybody who gets here that this ain't
nowhere near something to be taken as anything more than, well...?
Marie suggested disclaimers—not like they aren't already all over
It is not always easy to make a distinction between what's serious
and what's not. We used to rely on people using their common sense.
Now we probably have to go a little farther.
The photos above are fiction.
The story titled:
HUDSON RIVER MUSEUM & GALLERY GUIDE: an exposé of bigotry and political
correctness in the arts? That is just a plain statement of fact.
The stuff about the Chester Town Board and
Planning Board is merely the horror story of local carpet bagger
mentality. It is true, as is the stuff about the local Taliban bike
Otherwise, there's nothing much here that makes any sense at all,
once it is stripped a few centimeters off a funny bone.
Of course there is also:
Little Book on Writing, which some people missed, while
others missed only the photo payoff at the bottom. SlingShot
forgot to upload it, but that's been fixed.
You have to see the photo right after reading the last few lines,
and it is probably only really good if you've just finished reading
the whole thing for the first time.
For now, it appears our only choice is to try harder to make the
distinction between fact and bullshit a little more explicit.
The two photos above are bullshit. The photo immediately below (TP
Joe Straub being instructed in ride etiquette by SlingShot
himself) is totally real.
Joe is not that good of an actor, even if he had Gene Simmon's
BTW: Does anybody give a shit about how Joe has been winning
his races like nobody's business, but the powers that be are still
refusing to upgrade his Category? Somebody must be shittin' big
silver bullets over the impending doom of a bunch of soon-to-be,
American Road Cycling should boycott the motherfuckers.
When the group turned into the parking lot at the end of the
Farmland Century, the shock on everyone's face was rather
pronounced. Although it wasn't the strangest thing that had ever
happened, it was quite unexpected. Plus nobody thought they would
ever see it in their own lifetime. But there it was, plain as day,
undeniable, and odd.
SlingShot had finished with the group.
Nobody wants to hear about the whole Century, least of all
those who endured it, but there were a lots of transcendent moments
for the Shot. Here is one of them which might summarize all
This little tale happened sort of late in the ride (at about 73
miles), well past a number of benchmark hills, even those big
triple-rollers that gave SlingShot nightmares all year as he
prepared for the ride, because he had never gotten past them (for
four years) without being dropped and left to ride alone with only
strong cyclists (who had started late) sporadically passing him all
the way to the finish.
This hill is very similar to the Lakes Road section of the Harriman
race course, the part coming off the 106 circle and going toward
Tuxedo. The hill on the Century has slightly more slope and is made
up of three smoothly connected sections.
The ARC group had been drafting a tandem from Skylands for
lots and lots of miles before it, and Nuclear Dan seemed
toned down a bit as a result.
SlingShot's theory is that Dan saw the tandem guys as part of
his tribe because of the Skylands logos, and because
SlingShot had trashed them by asking where Heather and Kevin
Probably the mention of Kevin Haley also helped tame Mr. Buckley
down. He may have felt, "It's Skylands, therefore it's Kevin,
so it's ok to stay behind them. No need to attack."
However, at the beginning of this longish hill the two on the tandem
were backing off a bit, and another strong rider in our group (a
stranger) couldn't take the slower pace so pulled around them...with
Nuclear Dan on his wheel!
When SlingShot saw that, he immediately moved to get on Dan's
wheel, but found BLASTER already there, then Brand New
tacked on to BLASTER'S while Frankpanky had himself
tucked firmly under Brand New's shadow.
Shot's sick feeling (from recognizing the hill) changed over
to resolve. "Ok, this is going to be a long one, but so long as Dan
stays on that guy's wheel things should be alright. That guy's
plenty strong but not so frisky."
A few moments later SlingShot broke out of a zone induced
trance when he noticed the wheel he was on had been dropped. He
thought in a blurt, "I've got to get around and up to Brand New.
Soon as that guy pulls off the front, Dan is going to surge, and
I'll be gone."
Then just as the panting Shotster finally got up to his next
wheel, he realized Brand New had also been dropped.
He had to get around Bruce and up to Jim, and do it soon, or there
was going to be a major blow-up. As he slipped up beside Bruce, he
noticed the front guy falter just slightly and then resume. "Watch
out Bruce, that guy's about to pull off and Dan is going to be set
It did not feel like a full hour had passed, just most of one, when
SlingShot finally reached Jim, only to realize that Jim was,
by then, also dropped. There were 10 yards to go to Dan's wheel and
the front guy was starting to crack and pull off.
Digging very close to six feet deep, SlingShot bridged the
last bit of a gap and grabbed Dan's wheel to let it carry him to the
top as they finally dropped Mr. Front Guy.
But the damage was already done.
Nuclear Dan had been triggered and was spinning down the
rifled barrel of no return. Mr. Front Guy also quickly got
his hill legs back, so a half hour or so of king of this part of
the mountain ensued. SlingShot hung on to whatever shred
of a tire there was to be grabbed.
At last on a longish downhill SlingShot got up beside Mr.
Front Guy and asked, "What is your name?"
"I'm Bob. Is your first language English?"
Louder, "English! Is English your first language!"
"Then you probably know the word 'uncle.'" Could you please yell it
out as loud as you can toward that guy on the yellow Calfee, so we
can be done with this shit?"
He did it in a laugh, and the loss of a personal best for
SlingShot was averted...just.
SlingShot would never have been able to hang on to the hill
that started it, if not for the schooling in quintuple attack he
received last week from Cranky on Demarest. Not to mention
the double ass whorping strength-workout she handed him the next day
on Bank Street.
Thank you Cranky and Louie Prince of Pain. If
SlingShot ever gets hold of the two of you...
FARMLANDS CENTURY PHOTOS
Bob, since you weren't there to report it first hand, I thought you
would like to hear how yesterday's Hump went.
With a good amount of the really good riders doing either the
Farmlands Century or the High Point Time Trial, the large numbers of
riders one would expect on such a beautiful day was down.
In any event, the ride started out pretty good until about a mile
out when Poor Latrine had the entire group hold up, so he could
tighten his handle bars.
This request came at the most opportune time to screw up everyone's
trip computers and make sure nobody could get an accurate mph for
the Hump, so you know right there that it was fast yesterday.
Exactly how fast? We'll never know.
There was a Verge guy with a Black Widow clone [Jen] with him
pushing the early pace. Our DKNY team had a strong showing in
Twin George Meyer, Dangerous Dan Sullivan, and myself.
Oh, as mentioned earlier Poor Latrine was there for awhile, but he
must have suffered a further mechanical.
Dangerous Dan attacked Ridgebury which is normally understood
as his M.O. for staying with the field at the top of the hill.
Sullivan Bob attempts to bridge up. Twin George and I
realize that if we don't bridge up, Dangerous will be out
there all alone, and by himself.
George moves up. I'm stuck and boxed in by the Verge rider and the
Black Widow clone [Jen]. I wait until the roadway on the right side
opens up forming a drainage ditch and pass them on the right.
They've got about fifty yards on me at this point. I realize this is
DKNY's [Donkey Kong Neutered Youth's] opportunity to make a
statement, so I dig deeper.
I pass Sullivan Bob with twenty yards still left to get back
to Dangerous and Twin George. I close the gap just at
the top of Ridgebury.
Sullivan Bob catches my wheel, so it's the four of us off to the
races. I was humming My Old Kentucky Home during the ride,
thus the "off to the races" metafore (sp?). [Exactly. Also
it was Kentucky Derby day.]
It's three DKNY riders with Sullivan Bob. We're riding very smooth
and smart. The pace is crisp, with short pulls. I sense Sullivan
Bob is suffering. His pulls are getting shorter and shorter.
On the hill just before the camel farm a dog runs out into the road
and chases us. This was a BIG dog! Apparently, Sullivan Bob
lost his fight to the dog, because Dangerous, Twin and
I never saw Bob again after that.
From there on in, it was all DKNY, working together like a well
oiled machine. We all crossed the finish line holding hands
together. It was beautiful and gay.
Dangerous was heard to say that we had thrown Sullivan Bob to
the dogs...he might just be right.
File footage of some other DKNY team member
during better times.
Editor's Note: It appears the publication (below) of The
Little Book on Writing has already paid dividends.
** Otherwise, ARC Staff feels it is incumbent upon us to point out
that the truth of the matter is this: The Black Widow only
wishes that she herself could be a clone of Jen, who is in fact the
real deal. But Palletman is just doing his best to
THE LITTLE BOOK ON WRITING
For the past few weeks I have been working on an extended writing
project, and this is your lucky day. It is ready for
It was written specifically for somebody I am helping with some of
their own writing. However, one of my standard goals is to
always work in a way which allows greater use of whatever final
product I complete, other than merely making it useful for the
specific task that required it.
This one is called: The Little Book on Writing.
It will not only be helpful with my current project, I will reuse it
for similar projects from now on.
It is simply a few practical tips for use in the writing process. It
is meant for sophisticated readers, so it jumps quickly to the guts
of the matter. It is non-technical, but it is not stupid.
Here is a sample chapter:
Fly in above the radar
Often, new topic headings with their associated thematic
occur to you only after much of the internal structure of whatever you are
writing is already worked
out. This happens because you are using your own writing as a tool
to fly in over the terrain progressively higher thus gaining an increasingly
broader view of the big picture.
Each time you reread self-edited work, your newly completed
edits help you move to a higher level of abstraction. As your writing is
tightened up, it begins to read back with more ease and clarity. Since you
get less hung up on grammar and syntax problems, you tick through the
ideas faster and faster. Eventually, just like a flip-book, indistinct
concepts begin to resolve into movement and meaning. There comes a
smoothness to the flow which allows you to see the overall motion of
your articulated ideas, thus you can follow their trajectories to
unexpected distant ends. This moving picture of your writing prompts
you to discover, then enhance and expand, ever more interesting connections.
After all, writing is a primary tool for thought. If one
could do the same quality creative thought without writing down ideas,
then writing would never have evolved. Or to put it another way, if God
did not want us to think, she would not have given us pencils.
Having read that chapter, you can make an informed decision whether
you want to read the rest. Also, the section above contains my
favorite paragraph, so at least you have seen that.
You probably want to read at least the first few paragraphs of the
booklet itself. It basically summarizes and explains the reasons
that American Road Cycling has been so successful.
It took me a long time to understand why this website is working,
and I am sure you will agree with my conclusions.
The booklet is published on another one of my websites. That one is
hidden from search engines, so people can only find it when I send
them to it myself.
We will all be better off if nobody considers the other things on
that site as anything more than notes to myself for passing along to
people who need of them. Please just ignore the rest.
I have placed links at the top and bottom of the booklet so you can
get back here easily. With this booklet published, I will not have
to put anything else on American Road Cycling for the next
couple days. You will have plenty to read.
Here's the link:
THE LITTLE BOOK ON WRITING
How lucky you are to be one of the first to hear it said about
SlingShot, "Yeah, that's right. He wrote the book on writing."
Now I am going to bed, because I have to get up at 4:00 am to ride a
Century with Nuclear Dan, Brand New Bruce, Franky
Panky, and BLASTER. We are all pretty distressed that
Zirra will not be there to pull us this year. We still may try
to finish under 5 hours. I already explained to Zirra how
unfortunate it is that he will not be there, because this is the
year I was going to kick is ass.
Otherwise, if all goes well, I might show up for the Wallkill ride
Good night, and get fucked.
The Hump starts at 8:30 am tomorrow!
CLICK HERE FOR A FEW MORE
For Thursday's Trailside Ride, Twin George sent over a gift for Cranky Mary Beth
Henderson. Mary Fugett was rather jealous at first (livid), but she overcame
her anger to do the right thing and get a photo of Cranky
with her new gift mug.
Here it is:
Cranky with Mug from Twin George
We aren't sure why Mrs. Fugett had such a turn of heart, but we do
appreciate all the extra work she did preparing this photo for
publication. We also can't figure out why it took her so long to get
the photo prepped.
Tutorial: To whom it may concern, all articles on this
website are archived after publication. They go immediately onto the
Old New's pages. That stands for the old things that were
highlighted by the "New" logo, like the one in the column at left.
Therefore it means the (plural) "New's" which are
not always merely the old news. You'll probably want to think that
through a few times.
The plan is to always change the home page right around midnight.
That way people who check in late get to see the day's articles, and
SlingShot doesn't have to get up at 4:00 am just so
Palletman, Paul Latrine, Zirra, UV71/44, sometimes Cranky (shown
above) and FG don't get disappointed by having nothing new to read
in the morning.
Sometimes SlingShot gets too fucking tired to wait for
midnight, so he posts the new pages, moves the older articles back
to the archives, and goes to bed.
It is unfortunate that some people then arrive a little too late and
might be confused to see tomorrow's offerings already published.
That is what has happened tonight, because SlingShot is seeing
double after the ride. Especially the way the ride ended with him
and Cranky doing two loops up Bank Street just for fun.
Actually, SlingShot is pretty pleased with himself, because
Cranky only beat him up Bank Street twice, plus he has now confirmed that he really
is starting to hate her. Before today he only surmised he was starting
to hate her.
In any case, people, who show up here after articles have changed
over, can always check the older ones by clicking on the Old New's
button at the top of the "Today in American Road Cycling" section,
or the "Old New's" near the bottom of the section. Also the "Old
New's" button is now part of the repeated header buttons that are found below this section.
Good night, and good luck.
EAT YOUR HEART OUT
(They will claw your eyes out for you.)
If you didn't know better,
you might think this was fun.
SlingShot under the mistaken belief
that he has finally found an ally.
Only an idiot like Palletman would think the photo at top
shows anything but trouble.
At least we get to clear up once and for all the confusion over
witch is witch. Actually we don't think they look at all
alike. Twin looks mean, and Cranky looks nasty. That's Twin Lynn on
the left, Cranky on the right.
The bottom photo shows SlingShot with Scott who is quietly
packing his parachute.
Editor's Note: Please, please, please get some more people to
show up for
the Wednesday ride, so SlingShot may hide under cloak of
NOW THE SLINGSHOT EMAIL BOX
I want it noted for the record that I called Latrine to see if he
was doing Harriman on Tuesday.
He said he was going to check his schedule, make changes, and
call me back to let me know.
NO call back, and he goes anyway. I think he is afraid of getting
dropped by some flatlander from Jersey.
I am calling punk.
And punk it is Kevin. You also probably thought you were getting a
window seat just because you called dibs. I have two words for you:
Wake up and smell the Moe-vicis.
As an aside: Thank you for the e-mail from the UV87 IP#. That
moves another unknown over to known. I may survive this yet.
BTW: So far, it is just me, Nuclear Dan, Franky
Panky, BLASTER, and maybe Brand New Bruce for the
Farmlands Flat Tour Century. See you for the start at 7:30.
Here is a pre-translation in case you speak to Paul to see if he'll
be coming with us. When he says, "I'd love to," that is Paulie Speak
for, "No fucking way, dude! How 'bout a Moe-vici?"
Otherwise: We are keeping your photo on the home page for
maybe the next couple months. I can't stop looking at it, and I keep
rolling my mouse over it in order to see the pop-up text.
It might be my favorite photo ever.
I had a long discussion with The Black Widow this afternoon
about the perfect composition. The gnarled and weathered tree
flowing into the frame from the left, counterbalanced by the cold
and empty blue sky on the right. The wind swept trees inviting your
imagination into the poignant and desolate background. The Van Gogh
hills on the right. Your Zen-like lack of expression which might be
a yawn or a deeply disturbed pallor of rage. And that singular lone
The Widder was at the computer looking at it, and I stepped
her through it from memory.
Just perfect. I knew it couldn't have been taken by Latrine. There's
an honesty to it.
Finale: You know...there's no reason you need to have Latrine
come hold your hand in Harriman. I believe I recall him phoning, and
we told him that you would have contacted us if you were coming, so
maybe that pulled him off the case. Also, I think I recall something
about a last minute fitting cancellation.
Give the poor boy a break. Do you have any idea what it did to him
to find that you beat him onto American Road Cycling the
morning of the 1st, and that you will therefore be above him in the
listings for the entire month?
Just relax and quit screaming.
NIGHTMARE: Last night I wrote the
article below (Super Tuesday) quickly and in a haze due to the ride(s) it describes.
This morning I woke up remembering a bad dream. In the dream I was
climbing a long cold hill, and couldn't get my bike to work
correctly. I was creeping along and couldn't understand why.
Then I remembered where the dream came from. Yesterday, Super
Tuesday, I took a short cut onto Lake Welsh during the first
loop in hopes of surviving the ride. Paul, Mary and Dan were long
out of sight, because I had hooked onto Humberto's wheel off the
circle on 106, and the others refused to play on the Lakes Road
At the next bottom, Humberto wouldn't follow me on my shortcut (up
the wrong side of the road), and when I turned onto Lake Welsh my
glance back revealed that Dan had finally left Latrine and the
Widder, so he saw my cheat.
About three quarters of the way up Bob's Favorite Hill (as we
call the first hill on Lake Welsh), Humberto came spinning by me.
I was still fresh, because I was smartly playing my cheat card to the
max. However, when Humberto flashed past I could only pretend to
latch on. I thought, "That was certainly not a 'use my forward momentum before
this guy can respond' move. He just spun up the hill from a quarter
mile back...and I couldn't even stay with him as the hill broke. No
way! My brakes are stuck, or my rear axle is hung up, or my chain is
all grungy. What the fuck is wrong with my bike?"
Later when Dan caught me before the top of Lake Welsh, and the
beginning of the fast downhill, I wasn't much surprised. I knew I
was going to be his target the moment I saw him snap his head toward
my cheating. Afterwards, the triad of near-max heart rate moments he
hammered into my chest while
repeatedly dropping and waiting for me going up Tiorati only reinforced the
subconscious horror that later became my nightmare.
Of course, my second Eat Shit and Die Hill ass kicking of the
day, which that
little shit Arctic Paul gave me during the
second loop, did not
help things either.
Still, it was strange how eerily exact that feeling of helpless
cycling inaction in my nightmare tracked so perfectly the actual feeling of
having Humberto pass me on a hill like he was in his car.
SUPER TUESDAY: Did you know that
there are four separate rides going out on Tuesdays? I feel like I
did them all, but I only did two.
I did the Harriman Ride with Nuclear Dan. It was
billed as an easy ride, because Franky Panky was going to be making
his Harriman debut for the year, so we expected a lot of side by
side riding, with talk about Franky's races.
Then Paul Latrine got involved. He decided, what with his ongoing
cough and all, that it would be better to show up for Harriman
rather than his scheduled ride with Humberto.
Then there was a big traffic jam on 17 because of traffic spillover
due to a truck crash on the highway. That meant Franky Panky was not
going to make it to the start of the ride.
The prospects for a slow ride dropped several levels. If Franky
didn't show up with talking points, things might hinge on something
else, like maybe, "Are we sure Paul knows Nuclear is no sap?"
and, "Are we sure Nuclear knows Paul is no sap?"
You know, the sort of crap which can only be answered in a way that
includes the ass whipping of SlingShot.
Whether the stone hits the vase, or the vase hits the stone, it's
not going to be pretty for SlingShot.
So Paul pulls up in his mini-van, and just when things look like
they couldn't get any worse, somebody shouts (very quietly), "Fuck.
Humberto's with Paul."
The (very quiet) shout was followed immediately by excited smiling
chatter all around, because it is very special to have
Humberto show up for a ride, so everybody's initial
excitement overshadowed the approaching hell that Humberto's arrival
Suffice it to say, the Paul v. Buckley smack-down was waylaid when
The Black Widow (quietly to herself) came up with her very
own, "Are we sure Humberto knows The Black Widow is no sap?"
Just a little while later, SlingShot found himself nearing
the top of 106 on a year's best pace, while The Black Widow
half-wheeled Humberto, and Paul tried to break the Widder's
concentration with outbursts of his new favorite game (May-weeee...cough,
cough, cough, May-weee...cough, cough, cough), and Dan Buckley sat
on the back trying to figure out why this was a day for a fucking
record pace. After all, he had planned hill sprints for later in the
ride, and a warm-up first might have been nice.
SlingShot was in the roll of innocent bystander, breathing
very hard, taking the full brunt.
Oh yeah, Humberto was in full giggle mode. That is to say, the
tougher it got for everybody around him the more humorous he was
finding it, and the more that god-awful laughter mega-phoned from
his horrid rat stained putrid motherfucking mouth, the more that
self perpetuating laughter increased the pain of the mortals around
him. Or at least, that's the way SlingShot saw it.
In any case, Humberto's standard laughing at mortals is spot on, but
the part about the horrid rat stained putrid mouth is probably just
SlingShot's view of it.
SlingShot was still smarting from Sunday's ride which ended
with Humberto's laughter getting louder and louder as more pain was
applied to the gasping SlingShot by the thumbs of Humberto's
little demon friends, Twin George, General G Douglas Allen,
and that fucker Latrine.
Therefore, you would have thought SlingShot would not run off
after the ride in order to go try out the
Tuesday Sterling Forest
ride, which ride is lead by
this Motherfucker who merely proceeded, with help from his own
little friends, to continue where Humberto, Dan, Paul and the
Widder had left off—with similar result.
Now, think about it: this was only two of four rides available every
Tuesday. It has truly become Super Tuesday.
Editor's Note: The motherfucker mentioned above,
whose photo is linked, must not be confused with
[rider's name stricken]
by those who are not very circumspect with their pronunciation, even
though [rider's name stricken] treatment of SlingShot is
generally much the same.
Editor's Suggestion: SlingShot, why don't you take it
easy next week and go over to the
The Bicycle Doctor's
ride in Middletown. Or phone up Brian at
Joe Fix It's
in Goshen to see if enough people are bored with kicking Brian's ass
to be willing to gang up on you and slap you senseless like you are
Heard on Yesterday's Second Harriman Loop: "I've heard about
the Bicycle Doctor ride. You do not want to show up to that
ride unless you are in really good shape." To which SlingShot
mumbled under his breath, "And if I ever did get in good enough
shape, I still wouldn't want to show up for that ride. Come to think
of it: I don't want to be on this fucking ride, right the fuck now
Best Exchange from Yesterday's Second Harriman: "That's the
same truck following us again! They must be waiting for someone." To
which SlingShot responded, "That's my wife. By your tone, I
guess you know her."
RELAX AND QUIT SCREAMING: Yesterday, we set a new
single day attendance record with 23 readers showing up. SlingShot
has decided somebody is messin' with his head.
Maybe this photo of Zirra will scare them away -
Submitted by guest photographer: Paul Latrine
We don't know if Paul took it. We just know he submitted it.
Guess he made it to the highway.
American Road Cycling Archives
this page last updated:
07/25/2007 07:28:42 AM