That is, in Friday’s estimation that I wouldn’t have a post ready for today.
Eventually we’ll get into all the dirty details regarding the Soulrun party;
and scrambling around in the mile high elevations, and discovering dirty hippie hobo camps and stuff, but for now (and since I’m in the middle of the trip), the short version is that I have been properly sullying the absolute hell out of the Front Range, and have probably impregnated like, a bunch of people with my sheer mountain man-ness.
I was also able to make it to a cyclocross race in Boulderwheretheytakecyclocrossserioulsy, and I was finally able to see first hand that that particular statement is no lie;
Shall we revisit the saga that lead to my consistent ribbing of Boulder?
To set the scene, there I was at the second year of Cross Vegas. I’d plugged myself into the furthest, darkened corner of the course all by myself, with a stack of dollar bills and by best loving heckles, when I was approached by the promoter and the following scene played out;
“During a heated exchange with a ruggedly handsome and well dressed, albeit slack-jawed fan (me, duh), race promoter *retracted* wildly lashed out at the sight of dollar premes being given declaring that “real pros do not take handups”, based on Nat Ross’s world class beer feed the first year which ultimately led him to being banned from this year’s competition.
(Though he never acknowledged the fact that over the years Gina Hall, Travis Brown, Barry Wicks, Molly Cameron, Ian Brown, Barb Howe and even Adam Craig have in fact taken handups- the final four of which took them at this particular event last year, (but then again, as far as Adam is concerned, I guess racing in the Olympics doesnt necessarily define one as a ‘real pro’.)
He ultimately cleared up the misconception that Las Vegas and Belgium were not in fact two separate locations, that “I dont know how you do it in California in your ‘fun races’, but in Boulder we take racing seriously”, and that any interaction with the bike racers short of mild appreciation is absolutely unacceptable, thereby spawning his new nickname of ‘Golf Clap’.
When presenting the offender his business card so that a post race debate could ensue, the ne’er-do-well stated “ohh… you’re *retracted*?!”
“Yeah, who the fuck did you think I was?” Golf Clap blurted..
“Uh.. I dont know.. Some douchebag security guard I guess” was the response, which led to the early heart attack candidate having to walk away and take a time out, sitting alone on the hillside to collect his bearings.
Regardless of last year’s (the third year the race happened) beer feed zone being turned into an off-limits VIP area, there were still highjinx that abounded, some of which resulted in police intervention, and even for a few, rides home in the backs of cop cars. (Yeah, yeah. There were some total amateurs, who, as it turns out totally blew it. I am not including those fools in our ranks.)
So, the lesson here I guess is that Cross Vegas is just like Belgium (with the exception of the fan’s interaction with the participants, and the small matter of geographic location), that this race is every bit as important as the Worlds (regardless of the antagonist’s claim that its just a B.S. exhibition race, and then offering this comparison-“if you stick a corsage in a pile of crap, it still doesn’t make it a tuxedo”), and that cross racing is the world’s most serious athletic pursuit which if tainted by the fervor of its most passionate fans will assuredly result in the earth spinning off of its axis.”
So since I was a stranger in a strange land at this weekend’s events, I most certainly offered little more than a few barely audible rounds of ‘hup hup’, and with the exception of booing Barry Wicks, just a couple rounds my most sincere golf claps.