aahhhrrggg. Climbed into the hurt box last night, shut the lid and still haven't found my way out. The Rapha gallery was at full capacity not 10 minutes after opening for the roller-deth-o-rama. People 6 deep, racers, builders, enthusiasts, messengers, pearl dwellers; all screaming bloody murder at 4 riders on stage. Stupid loud, two inches of beer on the floor, 140 degrees, 4 kegs of beer and the English version of a kick-ass soundtrack. Bian, Dirty Dave and I represented the glorious Laurelwood brewery in the winner take all rounds. Up for grabs on the night: Custom Ira Ryan frame, Krietler rollers and some sweet Rapha shwag.
Long story short, the racing was effing hard. 20 Seconds of max effort at 200rpm. For 5 rounds. By the 4th round, it was looking like the fastest times were being put up by myself, Beardsley, Captain Underpants (SanFran messenger guy) and one of the young River Cityers. I guess in the interest of having a Portland Racers Vs. San Fran messenger final, SuperStevie and I met in the semis. The crowd was charged on rocket fuel at this point. You could barely hear Jon Walrod and Brian Witty's hilarious commentary. I ended up beating the Gentlest of Lovers and on to the Portland VS. SanFrancisco superfinal.
The Gentle Lovers stuffed unicorn mascot found it's way to my handlebars, and I knew I'd need some Unicorn Power when they announced the final would be double the distance. At this point, I'm not walking so good. I lost my dinner hours ago. I can't hear anything and I'm seeing wierd stuff. Bets are being made. Suddenly I have 60 bucks in wet twentys stuffed into my waistband. And we go. I get out to a good lead, hold it, fade hard, the volume in the room triples, so much screaming, so many cameras, and I win by a tenth of a second. Boo-ya. Captain underpants and I congradulate each other, I spray a bunch of champagne around, fall off the stage and go collapse in the corner and think about my new Ira Ryan.
You know how when you're about to hurl, and you start hearing your breath in your ears? You feel cold sweat all over your forhead? You panic? All that was happening when Walrod announced the re-ride. I don't remember much after that. I remember Zak and the Team Beer guys (and eventually the rest of the Portland crew) chanting "Bullsh!t" in unison. I remember Slaven freaking out. Everyone was freaking out. The Rapha guys looked none too happy. But hey, if the big cheese wants a re-match, he gets a rematch. Which I lost. I could barely stand under my own power before we started, let alone do another race. Either way, they announced us both as winners. Looks like Ira's building two bikes. I wonder when they'll tell him?
Pro-est looking team of the evening: Bike Gallery. Between Ping Pong's aero helmet and Shannon's white sheepskin gloves, there really was no team pro-er. Ping Pong even brought the wood and sent the Dirtiest of Daves back to the peanut gallery twice in a row.
The Sweetest Move award goes to Tony Kic. No big surprise there. Three words, one hyphen: Tear-away suit.
Super Steveo gets the Smile For Me Baby award for being the most serious man of the night. Dude took the gameface to a new level.
The Metal-est Move award goes to ZAK. See Tony Kic's suit was built with Velcro. Zak just straight up tore the shirt right off his back. Hulk Style. Mad points.
Pictures later. Maybe.
3 years ago