Sans Jerkduro, The Chariot Ride. Plus, a New Enemy Gains Prominence

Greetings, jerky turd-buckets! Today we were to attempt to have the first of the Jerkduro series, which would test your metal, ability to resist gravity, and probably also your word-problem solving skills, just because hey, fuck it. However, thanks to glorious weather directly following less than glorious weather, the freeze-thaw cycle was surely in full effect. So, no Jerkduro today.

That's why Energor gave us road bikes though, right? For us to use on those days when any responsible mountain biker would look at the trails and say to themselves, "Instead of being a huge fucking DICK, I'll find something else to do. Because I'm not a fucking dick." So since today we were expecting to top 50+ degree temps, the last minute decision was made to hit up a little group road ride. I received orders from Team Seagal HQ just in time, because I had plans of calling a couple non-riding buddies to see if they wanted to meet for a lively discussion on the pros and cons of the oxford comma. Fortunately, my comrades were there to save the day by providing the right counsel and guidance.

Enter the 23c tire. The plan, devised at the last minute, was to rendezvous at The Hub at 10, at which point we would declare "Manifest Destiny!" and head west - into the wind. I departed from Casa Del Crotch-ito on my not-for-gravel bike, and it wasn't long before I threw up my hands and made the decision to stop fooling myself, and get off the standard 39/53 double train. I would tell myself "Don't replace it! You can still utilize the standard double! C'mon, a compact on a carbon bike? Really?" However, the more I think about it, the more I realize that this is like when parents tell their kids that "You can do anything," or "You can be anything you want to be in life, as long as you put your mind to it." ...when they know in the back of their mind that there is little to no chance that little Payden/Jayden/Brayden/Cayden or little Addison/Madison/Madyson will ever do anything worthwhile in their life, besides try meth a few times and then ending up with a car that isn't worth replacing the missing hubcaps.

Where the fuck were we? Oh yeah, we were meeting at The Hub. I, the honorable Coachward F. Crotchington, rolled up, and was soon joined by the likes of Harlan "Moar Hopslam Pleez" Banks, Cock "Moar Stag Pleez" Punch0r, Jerkward "No-'Stache" Toscani, and eventually Gino "4 Ti bikes, no big deal" Felino. Our strike force was gaining strength faster than Criss Angel's boner at T-ball practice.

As we were congealing in the sun across from The Horb, waiting for our train to reach full strength, we were accosted by none other than Rock "Road season is my CX off-season" Wamsley, who was regaling us with tales of his glorious ride, and the rough transition from CX season's short efforts to road/mountain season's longer, sustained efforts. All this was well and good, and something to which we can all relate, but I think have finally cracked his go-fast secret. And it is something I have never been able to employ - and that is motivation - specifically being motivated to get up early enough for a 60+ mil ride that is finished by 10AM. Generally speaking, at 10AM I am still debating whether to make coffee or walk across my street and get coffee at the coffee shop.

Waiting for the Mayor of St. Pizza-burg, what happened next was one of those moments that makes you chuckle the rest of the day - much like when punching a juggalo. We were directly in front a of a church, which was about to start "services," so naturally, there were a lot of people parking nearby and walking in. One elderly couple, perhaps 75 to 80, pulled up and parked in the street directly in front of us. The elderly man stepped out, took one look at us, and, gesturing at Nico, said "How can HE ride with you guys, when he doesn't even have a beard?" Well played, old man!If only Doctor's glorious beard had been in attendance, we would have given that old dude a serious case of 'Stro-verload.

We'd had enough lip from churchy locals, so once FuckDelivery rolled up, we were finna head out faster than C-Dubs jumping out of bed for the first of his two morning constitutionals. Heading west, we rolled up Ballas (much to Pizza's dismay) and then bombed down Marshall, and into the Valley Park flats:

Pathlete style was much more preferable to the wind-tunnel that was Marshall Road. I tear was brought to my eye as we rolled past the site of Cross-ocalypses Past. Continuing through all that bullshit, much was discussed. Before long, we were squeezed out and pinched off onto Big Bend, which is truly a shitty road between Sulfur Springs and Ries Road. I am crossing my fingers that one day there will be a connecting bike path along the river that connects the lot at Hwy 141 and the Meremac River right into Castlewood State Park. The only problem is that my fingers generally spend most of their time in my ass, as I don't have much better to do, so crossing them might get cancelled out by all the poo particles.

We passed by Ries, because when headed into the wind, why stop the party train? Anyway, that rained on my Ries-Road-Top-Speed run. I'm usually good for 49-50mph according to the ole' Cat's Eye. But this time, we headed out to New Ballwin, on toward Queefer Creek, and onto a St. Paul/Ridge Rd lap, especially impressive since singlespeed Snurby was zig-zagging up St. Paul more than the boys who escape from Criss Angel's compound zig zag while on the run through his yard, as they try to avoid the tranquilizer darts from the guard towers.

This brought us to a favorite vista of ours, which affords us a view of Downtown StL, even the Arch if you squint really hard:

We continued onto Hutchinson/Stop-Sign Road, and at the end of that, our group split into a Punch0r/Pizza faction, and a Snurb/Toscani/Ryback faction. Our trio turned with the wind onto Clayton, which we took all the way back home, and were pleased to find that we could maintain between 20 and 30 mph. For me, this was mostly was possibly only because I was riding the Toscani-Snurb Chariot, with the two of them side-by-side in front of my rotting carcass, pulling me all the way back, much like this, but with less dorkiness:

As we were man-training our way eastward on Clayton Road, it truly was amazing how many people were out riding - there were more bikes out there than there are cell phone commercials with ukelele music. Fuck!



In other news, we purposefully don't get too political on this site, but I feel that we should bring up something that could fuck it up for all of us: E-Mountain Bikes.

one example.

 E-Bikes, more commonly known as fucking Mopeds, are already currently being ridden all over the fucking place, like bike paths and sidewalks - the few places where pedestrians and cyclists can AVOID motorized traffic. For the longest time, their purpose was to make it easier for people to get to places - putting a motor (electric or gas, doesn't matter) on a bicycle, which then becomes a moped. I guess it was inevitable then, that some lazy turds would start attaching motors to their mountain bikes so that they could go faster and climb easier up those hard hills.

Take a look at this site dedicated to the whole thing, and then do a google search for more info:
http://www.ebike-mtb.com/en/

How lazy do you have to be to skip using a dirtbike/motorcross bike for a bicycle, only to put a motor on it anyway. And what are the chances that any of these lazy turds would actually continue riding their off-road moped under their own power once the juice runs out? Zero. And how long before these lazy fuckers start getting lumped in with the rest of mountain bikers in the eyes of equestrians and hikers?

Motor + bike = moped
No Mopeds on Trails.

Here's my E-ku:

Lazy pedaler
Climbing hills is hard work, man
Watch how fast I go



Anyway, final note is this - now that I can say I'm from the South Side, I'll mention that I put the "fun" into "funna," as in we're funna do Death By Hills on February 23rd. Same time, place, and route, weather permitting, with rain date of March 2nd. More details to come, as there has been discussion regarding a way to make something better than more farts come out of this ride. Let's all revel in one of my favorite photos of the past: What a jerk.


Get Fucked!
-Casey F. Ryback


P.S. check out the new Raijin, cuz!

This may or may not be my weapon of choice for the 100 mile P-T-P OT race. Stay tuned for that!