The Crew was well represented at Saturday’s Root 66 Bunny Hop Brook Dam Race. You may have heard the news of Andrew’s mighty impressive win over Tim Johnson and Foley’s top five finish. I’m here to tell you the behind the imaginary scenes story of a Super-Domestique who made it all possible in a totally made up way…Upon seeing 29er Crew teammates Andrew and John on the line I began formulating a plan to assist them in their potential respective great successes. I knew from the pre-ride that I was incredibly over-geared with my 34 X 17, my legs were crap, and my head was full of oatmeal and pointy things from a week’s worth of sleep deprivation.
First off I began spreading dis-information on the line about the number of laps we were doing. “Three. Uh…no, four. Definitely five, ya five…or twelve”.
Then I gave people around me bad advice about tire pressure. “Ya, on the pre-ride I found that the mud wasn’t really a factor, it’s actually pretty dry out there. Run 65 Psi., scurry back to the car and grab a semi-slick if you can”.
I tried to fill Third place finisher Matt O’Keefe’s head with a muddled hodge podge of facts about gear inches and ratios, hoping it would distract him from the task at hand. He decided that the task at hand was using his foot to kick me in the Netherlands so I would shut up and leave him alone.
I attempted the “Hold my bike while I pee” ruse with eventual fourth place finisher Mike Mooradian just as the whistle was about to blow. He wasn’t going for it.
I told Mike Montalbano, who normally rides a single speed that his body would probably react poorly to riding gears and that he would suck a big fat egg during the race. He still finished 6th.
When the whistle did blow, I rode in the opposite direction, hoping I could act as a sort of Pied Piper. That didn’t work either and I had to chase back to the group, winding up in 20th place as we entered the singletrack.
I applied the power of suggestion, trying to get the riders around me to feel as tired as I was. “Man, aren’t you sooo tired? I don’t know about you, but I could use a nap right about now! We should just bag it, go get a Pizza and watch Paris -Roubaix, I’m buyin’”.
As I saw Second place finisher Tim Johnson heading in the opposite direction about five minutes ahead of me on the course, I called out to him “YOU-WILL-FAIL!”.
In the final minutes of the race I realized Johnson was still leading Freye so I had to pull out all the stops. I rode off course, grabbed my Gramma’s old Sasquatch costume and a 2 X 4 out of the trunk of the car and dashed over to set an ambush for Mr. Johnson .
As he came down the final descent I leapt out, smacking him squarely in the forehead with the 2 X 4, then proceeded to wrestle him to the ground. We rolled off course, struggling in the mud and the blood and the discarded Gel packets. I’m a slightly bigger guy than Timmy, but I mis-under-estimated his super-bike-ninja strength. He latched his bar gripping vise-grip hands to my ears and began to kick me like a cornered Wallaby, pulverizing my abdominal organs into mush.
I was horribly maimed and bleeding internally but I bought Freye-Daddy the time he needed. He blew by, pipping Johnson at the line for the big W.
After I picked myself up off the side of the trail I hobbled to the line, dragging viscera behind me for a not too shabby 7th place.
And that is how team tactics can be employed in a mountain race…if you have enough imagination.
Thom…….. You DA Man!