Dirt Crit #3!

Greetings, Team Seagal blorg read0rz! Another glorious week on the dirt side of the StL Training races. Let's be honest, this may be just some lousy ole' mid-western snoozer of a river town, but if you are a cyclist and are looking to get stronger, you could do a lot worse than St. Louis. Between the Tuesday Night Worlds Criterium Series, the Wed. Night TT Series, the Thursday Night Track racing at Penrose OR Thursday Night Dirt Crits, not to mention Bubba CX races in the cooler weather, and don't forget all the group rides around here and weekly races, there's no excuse to let your carcass get any moar bloated than it already is.

Granted, most of those series are road, but there isn't anything wrong with that. The road will make you strong, and the Dirt Crits will make you a badass. You don't even need a mountain bike to get dirty.

I think everyone was looking forward to much cooler (read: not AS hot) temperatures for this week's go-'round. Specifically, a numbor of us jerks here at TS HQ. We were all buttered up and ready to go for this week. Lining up for the A Race, we fielded a strike force consisting of Torrez, Gino Phallus-ino, Sam Axel and (making his first 2013 Dirt Crit appearance) Dr. Roland Sallinger, who was PAF as usual.

They were lined up, waiting for the gun:

Unfortunately, the bullet they used for the starting gun was not then lodged in a juggalo's head. Oh well, I guess I'll have to do that myself.

It was a chaotic race, which saw Torrez tail-gunnin' pretty early thanks to some kind of foolishness. The ole' point 'n shoot managed to get a couple of shots for the A's:

Mayor McFrozen- Pizza

PAF Roland

BAF Torrez (BAF = Blurry As Fuck)

Cutie McKitten-Bottoms Emily was warming up and pointed out her jawsome socks:

Peat had his sights set. On victory.

 Samuel "Fuck You" Axel wasn't fucking around when he spit in front of the camera:

Unfortunately, Digiorno had an untimely end with the ground, snapping the wrist of a spoke and brake levor, after having a bit of a tussle with a fellow racer. I met with him after he had to pull out, and his side was more dirty than an East StL hooker. Supremely frustrating. Fortunately, his superior attitude and superior state of mind kept him from unleashing too much fury.

Last week, I must have taken a spill in the sand pit and gotten more sand into my nasty V, which resulted in me cat-ing down to the B's, where I would at least be able to race in a group, rather than be the eternal tail-gunner off the back, sticking my thumb up my ass, riding a one-man man-train into oblivion. It went pretty well, despite all the spills in the B class that was FUCKING HUGE. It was seriously one of the largest mountain bike race classes I've ever seen in this town. The combined weight of both my pasty white ass and my 25 year old bike is approaching a metric ton, so I was sure to be some solid pack fodder.

Off the gun, it was a jam-job of expected proportions into the woods, where shit eventually sorted itself out. It hurt lots, with passing only truly possible in a few spots. I made it through nearly two full laps, enjoying the back-and-forth more than I had the week before:

Unfortunately, 2/3rds of the way through the 2nd lap, I broke my shit. In it's defense, that derailleur had lasted just fine for like 25 years. But it wedged itself so tight against the rings that the crank was immovable, and since I was packing light for a short race, I had no tool with which to maguyver that thing:

Don't worry though, we'll be back next week with a vengeance - just like the gold flakes in this pill that you ingest to make your dookie sparkle.


Not much else to mention about this race, other than that it was cool to see people coming to do their first mountain bike race.

Alright, pop quiz:

You're trapped in an elevator with Sammy Hagar, Buddy, and Criss Angel. You find in your briefcase, a pistol with 2 bullets. Who do you shoot, and who do you let live? See below for answer.

-Casey F.U. Ryback



Answer to today's pop quiz: Shoot yourself twice - once in your butthole, that way Criss Angel can't do much to you after you have shot yourself the second time, but this time in the head to put yourself out of your misery. May your final breath be a sigh of relief.