Greetings, Team Seagal Fans! Whenever you get such a varied group of jerks in one place, all competing against each other, it truly becomes a jerk-off. And such was the case this weekend at Binder Lake, where there was an excellent showing from Missouri's most talented racers. The Duo class was stacked this year, with at least 4 teams with having a shot at the win. And let us not forget the Mario Van Peebles class, which also wasn't fucking around. Your heroes (us) sent a solid showing of soldiers into battle, all of which came out unscathed and completely victorious.
This is one of the races that is highly anticipated every year, because it is superbly run, there is plenty of food available, the trails are very rewarding and well-maintained, and despite the lake, there isn't a triathlete anywhere in sight. I know that I was heavily distraught when it looked to me as though I would not be able to attend this year, the first time in like four years. Fortunately, my world got "flip-turned upside down," and with a quick power-business phone call, I was back on track. No problem, brah.
And so it was, our lineup was to be Professor, Gino Felino and Orin Boyd going Mario Van Peebles style, and myself (Casey F. Ryback) teaming up with my co-worker, Marc, in the Duo/Man-Train class.
In the Crotch-Express was of course myself, Boyd, and Marc, and we were cutting our travel time pretty tight, but thankfully we did manage to make a quick stop at a gas station that has the greatest hand-dryer on the market:
Whenever you see one of those, you know that your hands will be at least as dry as Criss Angel's throat after a week in Vegas.
Not long after that stop though, we had an unplanned stop, but one of Missouri's Finest, who wasn't too pleased at my chosen speed. However, he had apparently pulled over plenty of other racers on their way to Jeff City, as he knew about the race. He was also interested to hear more about Team Seagal, so I took a minute to give him the abridged summary of our team's storied history, and a brief summarization of our constitution and by-laws. At that point, he was understandably intimidated, so he let me off with a much smaller ticket that can be taken care of over the phone. But since we hadn't planned on a second stop, we were now unsure as to whether we'd make it to the start line on time.
No problem, bing bang boom, and I'm filling my water bottle up as the Nick's Dad's antique rifle was shot off, signaling the start of the race. So we were off on the rolling start through the woods, with the typical first-lap man-trains developing. Unfortunately, I was the caboose of one man-train in particular, wherein the guy directly in front of me was definitely not wearing his best shorts - there was a thin spot in the lycra just above his chamois, and it allowed a nearly unimpeded view of his "unblinking eye." Too late now, as at this point I can't "un-see" it, so at the final grassy climb, I jumped tracks, hit the afterburners, and choo-chooed past the group of dudes that I was tailing. None were able to hang onto the Crotch-train, and so before long I was handing over the baton to my co-hort, who set some blazin' fast times.
Most of the day I was unable to keep track of Mayor McPizza-Town, as he was off riding all the trails, non-race loops included, in the area. Orin and Professor were taking no prisoners, although unfortunately Professor had to make like a Catholic and pull out due to some unexplained pains.
The duo class was getting lit up by the top three teams who were going so fast that they were at risk of being accused of beard-doping, despite a lack of facial hair. Case in point, the knock-down drag-out man-brawl did spill Devin's blood:
The trail was in excellent shape, with many signs of recent and significant trail work having been completed. Many spots had been re-routed to make for smoother, more sustainable turns, and as usual, no problems with erosion. In fact, it was so dry that it was dusty, as evidenced by my sock-line:
This is the kind of trail that rewards you for taking a better line and not using your brakes. You never really get the opportunity to go so fast that you run out of gear, and so you are often in the sweet spot, and you are able to keep your effort level relatively steady. One word comes to mind: flossing. Well, that and jenkem.
Over the course of the day there were many encounters on the trail, and everyone seemed to be in a good mood, and allowed passing quite well. I learn many things while on my bike, for example, I learned that Women's class superstar Gabby was using this race to train for her planned ascension onto the high euphoric plains of glory, the heights from which she will look down upon the rest of us mere mortal racers and smirk, knowing her greatness. This will all be achieved by completing her first 12 Hour Solo mission around the hallowed grounds of Council Bluff Lake on October 8th.
Of course, a good chunk of the reason to go to this races is to hang out with other truly euphoric individuals.
And what race at Binder Lake would be complete without a little authentic, mid-Missouri moonshine?
"I wouldn't pay for it, but hey..."
With the sight of moonshine, there was one thing that was next on the weekend's itinerary, and that would be the 2011 Binder Brawl, a re-match between Mr. Jenkins and Nick, the result of which would be a peak in the day's homo-eroticism. And while that was very enticing to stick around for, food was more important, so we were off. However, as we pulled onto the grass, we got stopped by an old man in a minivan who wanted to see our permits to park on the grass, claiming that his family had donated the land and they had never issued grass-parking permits. Fortunately, I wielded a large Sword of Logic, which I promptly used to snap his mind's wrist. Wasn't even really a fair fight.
We were given directions to the mexican restaurant of choice, El Jimador. The food was excellent, however the walls resembled what I believe the inside of Criss Angel's window-less van looks like:
The inside of that van looks like that after he watches this Barney and Friends video clip on his phone:
The wall-decor wasn't the only thing on display at El Jimador, however. We had an excellent conversation regarding the gentleman in the corner whose style can only be described as a mix between Kid Rock and Gary Fischer, we called him Kid Fischer. No photographic evidence was acquired of him, or of the "heavyset" gentleman behind us wearing a shirt proclaiming that "This is what awesome looks like." Well, if his shirt is true, then awesome looks like a life of increasing health problems, constant heavy breathing, and a resting heart rate of 103.
Before we leave, we must conduct a little business. If you are missing this CXmas spoke card, send us an email (see the email address at the very bottom of our page.) Tell us what number is on the back and we'll see that you are re-united:
Another amazing race in the books where we cared more about having a badass time than actual results. Crushing trail, snapping wrists, drinking tall boys from our esteemed sponsor, and seeing cool people. That's what it's all about. Next endurance mtb race on the calendar for us is probably Rapture, and after that, Burnin. Oh my god.
I have a philosophical question that was posed to me the other day, and I'd like to share. What good are the ventilation-friendly clipless sandals when riding a recumbent, if the leading surface of the shoe is the solid bottom? I think this helps further prove that with a recumbent, it is even less about any kind of performance than it is achieving the perfect style - a style that is labeled "failure."
See you at Herman CX, and then at the pro-heavy Gateway Cross Cup. Don't miss 'em.
-Casey F. Ryback
