2012 Vampire Century

Greetings, loyal Team Seagal minions! Boy, do we have an adventure to tell you all about. As part of Norkorn's Year of the Century, in which this year has him doing at least one century a month, there would inevitably by a very difficult century once the daytime temps get to where they are now. You can approach a hot July century in two ways - by hardening the fuck up and riding in the heat (which many of us have been doing every day) or you can out-smart-en the fuck up by avoiding the heat all together, and ride during the coolest part of the day - at night.

This is not the first time we have done this, eithor. Exhibit A. But it would be the most well-attended, despite being without our beloved DA9SPDR, Tropical Depression Masson, or even Robort to ride along, we did add many new recruits (myself included.) And even though Robort was not on the ride, we did discuss recent sightings of him on the Grant's Trail.

In attendance for this most-recent edition of the Vampire Century:
-Norcorn "Corn-Knee" Toscani
-Sam "Mostly Prefers Chamois Cream To Sandy Paste" Axel
-Peat "Icon Pedals/Blast From the Past" Henry
-Jack "First SS Century" Taggort
-Jonathan "Shredded Castlewood on 23c Gatorskins" Cold
-Cock "Nothing Worse Than Being Diabetic At Donut Drive-In" Punchor
-Mrs. "Badass Track Girl" Boyd
-Orin "Wept At The News of Donut House Closing" Boyd
-Gino "Bad Influence" Felino
-Casey "Has Yet to Remove The Dead Animal That Is Rotting In His Ass" Ryback

Meeting us mid-route would be our own Lawman and the recently-shorn Pry0r, being able to eschew homely duties for some late-night tomfoolery.

Our war-plan: to congeal at Casa Crotch's South City Headquarters at around 11pm, from which we would depart on a course that would take us directly to the Page Extension, where we would join forces with our 2 cohorts, and then continue on to greatness throughout the region. We would eventually return to Casa Crotch, where we would drink as heavily as possible and eat as many tubed meats as we could before passing out all together.

Norc-ward arrived, and we combined our supplies into the fridge, creating a beautiful sight:

Once our murder reached full strength, we set off down Macklind. Passing through the Park on the very convoluted path to Midland, we were basically obligated to do at least one dusty lap of the CX practice course, so we crushed that shit. Twice.

Back onto the bike path, we had nary a pathlete to contend with as our (wo)man-train Jerkward and Titty led us from the Park to Midland, on a few spots that required our badass CX skills:

Whew. Good thing we were on CX bikes.

Once on Midland, there isn't really anything to slow your roll, until you ascent to Adie, and descend to Maryland Heights and Westport:

Descending down Marine to CC Lake was pretty jawesome, especially since we were able to get some fluids at the shitter:

Even though it was after midnight, we were at Creve Coeur Lake after all. So we had to be on the look-out for rollerbladers, wind-bladers, tandem incumbents, and shirtless dudes on hybrids with aero-bars. All of which, due to their general lack of control and propensity to take up extra space and have flailing limbs could really be a problem in the dark. Fortunately, we made it safely to the Page Bridge, where we paused momentarily to soak in a new odor (having just met up with Lawman and Pry0r) and to reflect a peaceful scene on the river - one of the Casinos shining like the North Star:

Lawman informed us of beer that he had stashed away at a nearby location, which we proceeded to crush, as demonstrated by Peat:

After putting all that beer into our bodies, we continued towards our first major destination, Bangert Island. No photos were taken on that island, as we were to busy doing one of two things at any given time: shredding trail on super-hardpack dirt, or sinking into the deep sand pits that  have gotten exponentially worse this summer. I felt like Princess Buttercup falling into the lighting sand a few times. However, despite the truckloads of sand that were encountered, none of it was able to penetrate into our vaginas, as we pressed on, having 60+ miles to go. We were worried that we'd have to bust out the VDS-12, but we hopped back onto the Katy, our vaginas free of sand, back towards the Page.

We said our goodbyes to Lawman and Shorn-Pry0r, our murder back down to 10. It wasn't but another minute though, that we latched onto the back of a one-raccoon raccoon-train that was charging ahead on the Page Bridge, full-speed-ahead:

He wasn't having some jerk-ass wheel-suckers get a free ride, so he left us to do our own work:

We took the flats over to Hog Hollow, where we climbed and stopped at the one Phillips 66 station that IS open. I was starting to feel some twinges of sleep wanting to creep into my brain and eyes, so instead of just getting some Hater-ade, I took Peat's suggestion to boosh-boosh-boosh-down some Mountain Dew:

From here, we made our way out to Wildhorse Creek Road, and out into the town of Wildrock. I really started to reflect upon how it felt as if the roads had been closed off for us, since there were zero vehicles anywhere. None. We saw fewer cars on the roads than there are hot girls in Criss Angel's dreams. We did a Wildhose/Ossenfort hot lap, ascended Hardt, and took Wildhorse Creek Road back over to Hwy 100.

It was interesting how even though we did feel fatigue, as long as the pedaling continued, it was totally enjoyable, and just a great time riding on completely empty roads, in temperatures that we super pleasant. I remarked to Punch0r how even though my water has been in my water bottles for a long time, the water was still cool, and not like bath water.

Many truths came to us at this time as well - such as the notion that there is a fine line between peeing off your bike while riding like a Euro-Pro, and peeing on your bike like a triathlete. Best not to get too close to that line, because the moment you are going Euro-Pro style and a single yellow droplet hits your top tube, you have crossed over to the dark side and have become a triathlete.

My experiences riding on Hwy 100 for any stretch usually involve intensely exposed in the sunlight, wind, blazing heat, and crazy fast traffic. This night, it would be cool, quiet, and take us right to where we wanted to go, stress free - Melrose. Of course, blazing down Melrose we had a little debate as to whether or not to stop by Thrasher's house, and demand cake. But in light of the evidence provided by our watches - 4AM - convinced us that he might shoot us. I know that the time the smaller-than-it-is-now FBC stopped by our very own Masson's house at like 1:30 AM, he was none to pleased, and we all almost got shot.


That led us onto the Al Foster Trail, where we got our first flat tire at the Sherman Beach lot. Waiting for that to be changed, we learned something about Tony Truelove:

Was this Tony's condom wrapper?

Nico with his custom Hammer Gel flask:

Continuing down the River Scene Trail, I descended down the cable-drop and stopped to snap a shot of someone else shredding. Peat delivered:

It was down near the river that we started seeing the first real sunlight. It had us in high spirits, so some of us decided to crush out a Dirt Crit lap, while the rest of us got water. Leaving Castlerock, we did some debating. No one really wanted to climb Ries Road, which meant that the only other option would be to climb Love, and get on to Big Bend, and then onto the Grant's Trail.

No doubt a top-level jenkem balloon.

There is no greater method to superficially inflate your ego than to pass the shit out of pathletes on an over-crowded bike trail in the county. Grant's Trail Pathletes: crushed.

Exiting the southern end of the trail, the only thing on our mind was Donut House on Union. We were fiending for some donuts, our group being a group of donut connoisseurs, and donut fiending gets worse when you've already ridden 95 miles. Approaching the Donut House, we all literally felt like Clark Griswold approaching the entrance to Wally World, having journeyed so far, and endured so many hard ships:


However, we could not have felt MORE like Clark Griswold when we reached the front door to find this sign:

Not being upset at the proprietors of the Dounut House, but more just at the sad state of business, we cried all the way to Donut Drive-In:

From there, we just had a few blocks to get back to Mi Casa, where beers courtesy of PBR Dave, chicken sausages, and a bottle of Jalapeno BBQ sauce that fitted perfectly on my patio awaited:

Those beers had to get drank, and we had to have some fun:

Let's take a closer look at that last photo:

That's a chip about to land on Corn-Knee's shoulder, having been tossed by Pizza City.

100 miles without sleep, plus lots of free and delicious PBR, means that staying awake is a great challenge. The second attempt to wake me up finally stuck, and I found my bike a top my parabola/pergola:

What a great time. Everyone managed to stick together and finish as a group. Good times, unique riding, and tons of fun.

The following people need to go to hell, because I said so: T-Tocs, Dr. Sallinger, B0rsken, Strove Frodeman, Masson, and you too, if you are reading this.

Friends don't let friends pee on their bikes,
-Casey F. Ryback