Jerk Crit #4, and the Weekend.

Greetings, dick. What a badass continuation in the Dirt Crit, or rather, Jerk Crit series. Unlike last week, which offered a brief respite with temperatures merely in the 90s. No such luck this week, as it climbed back up to 170 or something.

I rolled in to Castlerock, immediately saw Devin's unassuming car, and started to channel Paul Sherwen by thinking "Well someone has really released that cat amongst the pigeons!" Of course, for the second week in a row, my wheezing, bloated, and yet strangely handsome fat-ass would be starting in the B's.

The As went well for our soldiers, which did better this week, despite being minus one Sam Axel. ItsNotDelivery didn't wreck this time, which is a good thing, but seemed to be riding in no mans land each time I watch him go past. Good thing it isn't actually delivery, otherwise it would be awfully difficult to carry all that pizza around with him. It was also good for Torrez, as he put the "man" into "managed to secure a top ten finish." Our good buddy Peat may have been a little out-gunned from the lead group this week, pedaling just off their tail, as Devin, Scott, Sam and Jeremy had one of those fancy European bullet-style man-trains going. The pace was high, which made it even moar impressive that Scott was hanging with them on his skinny tires.

Lining up for the B race, I looked down the line and was just dudes, as far as the eye could see. And in addition to that, it was like there was a I was fortunate in this race to not wreck into stinging nettle, not destroy any part of my old bike, and managed to pass a bunch of dudes in the final field for something like 25th to 30th or 35th place. Who knows, who cares. The important part was that I beat the one-man-jerk-fest known as Lawman, who was on skinny tires.

The same could not be said for BJ Keane, who passed me in the woods on his CX bike like George Costanza:


It was almost as if Energor himself smiled upon the B racers, as it actually started raining at the start line. That knockedthe temperatures down a bunch, but the humidity skyrocketed, leaving everyone soaked from haircut to toe in sweat.

No matter. On to moar pressing things.

This Saturday we'll be putting the "secretion" into "super-secret training mission" by embarking upon our first Vampire Century (read: overnight) of the year. This will not be our first Vampire Century, so our plan is already set - setting sail from Casa del Crotchio, and 100 sans-sun-screen miles later, we shall return to eat bra-qhitos, beer, and maybe a few surprises cooked up by the Soon-To-Be-Mrs. Crotch.

What does it take to become a Mrs. Crotch, you may wonder? Many things, not the least of which being a willingness to remove her olfactory system. In addition, she has been subjected to a rigorous regimen of bad jokes, embarrassing drunkenness,  unchecked body hair growth, and general forgetfulness. There is a move by some on the team to nominate her for Saint-hood.

Stay tuned for a Vampire Century Report. Surely, once that ride is over, we'll be so delirious, we may do something stupid, like this:

-Casey F.U. Ryback

P.S. We're only a few months away from CX Worlds. DON'T FUCKING FORGET!