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

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“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.

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“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