What did we do today?

The Silver City Tour of the Gila Criterium, which means racing in circles until the USAC decides we look tired enough.

What was it like?

First, recruit 100 other people that like dressing up like dorks.

Waiting carefully until the hottest part of the day, ride around a kilometer, so loop in your neighborhood at 29 mph for 90 minutes, making sure to pick a road surface with massive potholes, cracks, and steep little climbs.

For extra fun, ride in such a way that you work 1000x harder because you’re sitting at the back, so any slight acceleration at the front turns into a football field size gap by the time it reaches you.

How did I do?

Dude, I finished with the pack-in-the-bunch sprint!


Quotes of the day

“What up, dorks!”
~James, to any cyclists he sees riding by.

“Attack Matti! ATTACK!”
~Tyrel Fuchs, my old teammate and fellow crit tail-gunner, had driven six hours with his girlfriend to hollar at the boys ❤️!

“I got up toward the front and just had the dog in me today.”
~James, who got 7th in the crit, is powered by dogs.

“Rowe isn’t looking comfortable back there.”
Dave Towle, the race announcer, called me out at the back of the pack when things got stretched.

“Your aunt lives in Wisconsin?”
“Yeah, I don’t know why.”
“Maybe she wants to be happy.”
~Me, making small chat before the start of the crit to other races.

“F**k off, that’s my line.”
“If you were actually fast, you wouldn’t be here.”
~A friendly exchange between me and someone else in the crit that perfectly captures why road racing sucks.

“Do you want brisket before the crit?”
“Ma’am, if I have brisket before the crit, there’s a good chance I’ll return it to you on your front lawn.”
~The neighbors are friendly

What I hated about today

I went into an antique Emporium the size of a small Costco and spent 45 minutes looking for chaps, found them, but they weren’t my size.

Mediocre power reveal/inner race commentary.

Crits ain’t about power; it’s all about boooooooooliln’!!!!

What I loved about today?

While the entire team sat on the front porch chirping, a random guy opened our front gate, set his cooler down, and placed three of the world’s finest pilsners on the ground.

“They’re not much, but they’re all yours!” he said.

The rest of the boyz didn’t seem to care; I almost had a stroke.

Tony Olson, our DS, cleaned EVERYTHING in the house, cleaned and filled all the water bottles for the next day, and shuttled the van to the end of the stage while rocking the finest mustache in southern New Mexico AND skipping dinner!

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