MFXC 2012, You Dicks.

Greetings, Loyalists to the Team Seagal Movement. This weekend brought about many glorious things. The least of which being the turds that I left in the pit toilet at the Council Bluff Campground. (And that's saying something, because I had to go so badly that I was playing "whack-a-mole" all the way from the campsite.) It was a glorious weekend, though we were saddened by a number of people who were unable to make it, most notably C-Dorbs and PBR Dave. It DID bring about our own Prodigal Son, Masson (pronounced Mah-SAHN) Storm back from the poo-cific north-piss where he has been busy courting a coffee sponsor. And blastin' nips wherever they need to be blasted.

Despite the lack of such prominent figures (and t-shirts) we pressed on, in spite of the horrendous weather just a few clicks north of us. I had picked up the Corpse-Grinder himself, Tylor, after work on Saturday evening, and we headed down, listening to our favorite song on loop. The storms that we drove through while on Hwy 21 were more threatening than Criss Angel with an upside-down periscope looking underneath the stalls at the YMCA. It was so bad that I didn't think there would be much of a trail left to shred the following day. However, as if Energor himself had intervened, the rain cleared up just before we reach Potosi, and we arrived to fine all of Council Bluff/Little China Town bone dry. That long-practiced Team Seagal Rain Dance seemed to work. And by "seemed" I mean "semen." From yaks.

I was actually quite pleased to be able to be the one to accompany Corpse-Grinder down on his first trip to these trails. The drive down alone is worth it, what with all the bath tub Marys, the Assphalt sign, and of course, the titty school at 21 and C.

We arrived to be presented with several delicious things. Number one, we busted out the newest, and one of the best products from Pabst in a while:

Check shelves soon.

We also found Stormy cooking up a feast in preparation to film an art-house redux of the truly classic fart scene from Blazing Saddles:

 

Oh man. There was no doubt that great things were afoot, like our fancy fire. And lets not forget, my first sighting of a brand fucking new Kona Raijin in it's natural habitat. Might be the first one in the state, or even the surrounding states. Looks cream-tastic:

Me at the moment of seeing it: "HHHNNNNNGGGG Got a towel?"

The night devolved into a cacophony of ridiculousness and ancient Chinese Scroll translations, some taking place around the weather station, which might explain the "foggy" readings that were reported from that station that night. Before long, we had all retreated to the hammock district for sleep:

I chose to forgo my tent and sleep out underneath the stars, laying my sleeping bag on some tyvek paper. Throughout the night, the hammock district turned into a zipper test facility. Even though we had stopped filming that redux of the Blazing Saddle fart scene, there was still plenty of ammo left, and it had to go somewhere. I awoke more than once to the sound of a triumphant "r-r-r-r-r-riiiiipppp" only to be followed by sleepy laughter from all directions.

Upon awakening, Drew practiced some slack-line for a little while:

...and then let out some more ammo:

Mini Trail Monstor came into the possession of some "cat-fish bait":

As morning continued on, moar and moar people showed up, ready for some t'aint pounding. Even the DRJ-AARP bus showed up. But MFXC isn't just a fun ride with friends. It's a place to show off the hottest fashion, such as Nick and his proper selection of socks:

...to T-tocs rocking his '09 vintage D9 bulldozer hat:

We lined all the non-racers up, everyone having made peace with Energor, next to the shitter. Which makes sense, since there is always someone who has to shit at the last minute. Let us not forget the UnaDoctor suddenly leaving the start line at the '09 Rim Wrecker to drop off a quick load. Fortunately, those promoters also lined us up next to the shitter. Also fortunately, the Council Bluff campground has a lot of shitters. We tend to see shitters like Criss Angel sees the boys: The more, the merrier.

Anyway, so we gave a head start to one lucky trio - Rock, who did the shirt design, and Caleb and Gabby who were the first to sign up in the male and female classes, respectively. The rest of the assholes were behind them, lining up in no particular order

I'm not sure any other races are led out by an Astro Van. In any case, ours was, and it wasnt' even a race. Truth bomb! Rolling through the campgrounds:

 

Instead of a "wash me" drawing, it was a "sperm me" drawing:

 

Our support crew loaded into the party sedan,and we set out to see our non-racers. Our first "aidstop" would be at the DD/32 lot. It wasn't long before they rolled through, and it wasn't long after that when I was able to dispense a bunch of aid, or aids, to poor little cutie Roland Sallinger, having made a fatal error in his race preparation - installing Crank Brothers pedals on his bike. He rolled in, and did this to his pedal:

Quick thinking led me to board a one-man bullet man-train back to the camp ground, where I would grab Jerkward's pedal and wrench, and get him rolling with a spare pedal. Bing bang boom. Crisis averted. He was riding really well, which is too bad because this mis-hap took him out of contention for the most part, but despite having everyone pass by before getting rolling again, he was about to pass over 1/3rd of the field by the finish.

Our next stop would be to the second gravel road crossing, where we would watch everyone go past, and then circle back around to us. Lawman and company would sally forth and meet up with Team Seagal's newest ally, one Monty McMontyson. Otherwise known as Monty the Cock Farmer, he's a great dude who has more immobile trucks surrounding his house than his wife has teeth. But what a great guy, and the subject of our spoke card:

We watched many a non-racer come through:

Dan "Flat bars > Drop Bars" Fuhrmann

Jason "I Need a Seagal Nickname" Pryor

Grand Master Geezor

 There were a bunch of dead butterflies around there. The second one we thought was just a little tired and shagged out, so T-tocs and Nico fed it some jerky. An hour later it still hadn't eaten it, so we then deduced that no one can resist Jacks Links jerky that long, so it MUST have been dead.

 At the second aids station, Scooter's pedal fix was still working, which was good to see. I had offered to write "Shimano M-959" on it, which would help ensure years of problem free use, but he had no time:

MFXC Ovorlord Norcword was all smiles as he and T-Town proceeded elsewhere:

Before we could say "pubes in the water jugs," we were again staring at the front end of the non-race, coming up the road. A 4-man man-train consisting of Chris "Hey What's For Lunch" Ploch, Rock "Van Buren" Wamsley, Caleb "Too Nice of a Guy to Curse Gratuitously" Hulsey and of course, Bob "I Commemorate Every Lunar Cycle With a New Mountain Bike" Arnold:

Not long after, the first Latino Singlespeeder rolled through, our very own Taco-Pizza:

I could hear the music in his headphones, a favorite album of his:

Chris "No Big Deal, Breh" Connolly

Corey "I Climb Simply By Leveraging  Bike Against My Legs Using My Arms" Case

Our non-racers, approaching the final stretch of singletrack, were thankfully able to be inspired by Casey Ryback and the time he took down that entire boat full of terrorists:

We were fortunate this day to be able to catch a glimpse of a rarely seen species, a track-racer in the wild. It was hard to miss it though, as this particular one, known as a Tylor, was having trouble adapting to the 10mm longer crank arms on this bike. Thankfully, his Ivan Drago-esque calf muscles made up for mountain bike crank length issues:

Reminded me of that time Ivan Drago was training in that super-modern Soviet training facility:

Not long after that, T-Torcs and the Bearded Fish Slayer himself, Masson emerged from the dust, and Farinella and I were ready for them, to send 'em back to hell, where they belong:

We weren't in a very receptive mood, and I was ready to take Gabby out with the Louisville Slugger that I found in the creek:

But she was in just such a good mood, despite being in a one-woman woman-train for the race as a whole, that I couldn't bare to beat her to a bloody pulp. So instead, we let her pass, onto glory.

With that, our modestly-priced Party Sedan headed back to the finish, for moar merriment and tiny birds nests in water spigots:

We found that Mrs. Adams was patiently waiting at the top of the Alpe d' Bluff for the non-racers to finish, taking down times, for which we are quite thankful. But did you have to be so juvenile? I mean c'mon, this is not the kind of humor that we here at Team Seagal HQ like to condone, in any way. Last time we give you the notebook...

What would a Non-Race be if it weren't for unacceptable-at-a-legitamate-bike-event behavior:

The "eyes" have been censored to protect the identities of those involved.

We got to dish out some pretty slick prizes and schwag:

Peat "MFXC Is A Recovery Ride for Cohutta 100 The Day Before" Henry

Chris "Why Are You Hitting Yourself" Ploch

Full ENO Hammock, Middle Fork Roasters mug and coffee? Not bad for being the first one out and last back!

Not pictured in the schwag pile: Caleb being such a nice guy that we decided to actually give a prize to second place - a pair of PAF Velocity Blunt SL rims, in white, of course. Flaco's Cocina also threw in a nice gift certificate for first place, which we inadvertently tricked Chris "Glad You Got To See Me" Ploch into giving to Caleb. Don't forget Turbo McTurboson getting coffee, a mug and a Flaco's gift certificate for the next time he's in the big city - all for being the fastest single speeder.

And of course there was the copious amounts of delicious PBR that flowed straight down our throat-holes, and always at the most opportune times, like at the top of Mount Gravel.

Also not pictured were the free farts that were provided all weekend. More can be provided upon request.

Big Thanks to the miraculously-named Middle Fork Roasters from Masson's new homeland, Seattle. They provided the coffee, shirts, mugs, and relief from caffeine-withdrawal headaches for another day. What great support for an event 2000 miles away!

There ARE shirts, so if you signed up ahead of time, we have a shirt for you. We'll try to be contacting you soon to get you a shirt.

Closing the book on this year's event coincided with me closing my results notebook, only to find more artwork, which I'm going to one again blindly assume was courtesy of Stephanie:

I particularly like the tick.

As we've said before, here at Team Seagal HQ we are all about education, if nothing else. With that in mind, I would like to recommend a new product:



That fucking thing is almost as useless as a pedal-assist bike. Or more properly named, a fucking "moped." And they DON'T fucking belong on bike paths.

I would have had this report up sooner, but I was busy doing this all day Monday:



Now we'll see you next weekend. We're coming for you, Bob Jenkins! -Casey F. Ryback

See You This Weekend!

Steven is upset he can't make it, but wants to suggest a product that might be worth carrying, especially when out in the woods away from sanitation services for extended periods of time.



Don't be caught without your shit-stick.

 -Casey F. Ryback

On Board the M-Train to Hermann

Greetings, jerks. There are some big events coming up. One is double secret, while the other one is Cedar Cross, put on by the incorrigible Bob Jenkems. As a way to get some saddle time in preperation for the T'aint Thrashing Cedar Cross. Oh man. So myself, Norcword Trorsconor and Sandwich Town mounted our steeds, and entered a course into the navigational computer that would put us in Hermann.

This route took us over there via the Katy Trail. That trail is a great asset for cyclists in this state, and is one of those things that all of us need to log miles on... in life. But let's be honest, once you've pedaled your first 100 feet on the trail, there isn't really anything new. That being said, it's great stuff - which is the opposite of the idea of being a life coach, which is total bullshit. That is, unless your life coach is Charles Bronson, which would be the most awesome thing. Every day, your only goal to reach would be to become more grizzled, and squint more.

The way to start a proper assault on the Katy is to meet at Casa Toscani for crowns and pepper cheese. And with that task completed, we were out and on the bikes, and on the CXmas Course, snapping the minds of pathletes before we knew it:

With only one final hill behind us (the Page Bridge itself) we bombed the gnarly descent to the Katy, past hilarious graffiti, and took a little break. It was there that we found that some people do still care about those memorial benches:

From there, we had a long stretch of gravel ahead of us. I never bring headphones/iPod with me when I ride, instead choosing to flip through my mental music archives, choosing the very best stuff to get stuck in my head. For the next couple of hours, I was rocking out to an oldie-but-goodie, this album:

Specifically, the tracks "Drain the Main Vein," "Ain't No Talkin' With Your Mouth Full" and "Tails Up Heads Down." I was rockin'.

After passing the Chinamen Walking Club, I started worrying about the long, straight stretches of the Katy causing my headset to get that center-notch pitting. Fortunately though, we made it to Defiance, where we would refuel with water and sugar treats, which would get my head right. Orin would be making his 38th pee break. I found it odd that Nico went in after him, causing me to worry that he was going behind Mrs. Toscani's back by meeting teammates in public restrooms:

This fat cat didn't give a fuck:

"Meooowwww! My favorite band is Insane Meown Posse!"

It was a little chilly as we rolled back out of Defiance, and if we hadn't had our jerseys and jackets on, we surely would have been blastin' some nips.

Next up was resisting to urge to climb Matson Hill just for the hell of it (because it isn't already hard enough to keep traction with 2.3" tires, let alone 32c tires.) We also resisted a CX assault on Klondike Park, as we rolled past the Power Plant in the background:

Thank Energor for that warning about the rough Katy surface, miles from nowhere on the trail.

Unexpectedly, we happened upon Nick Smith and Matt Stacey doing some secret Cedar Cross training. You never know who you'll see on the Katy. We discussed several secrets that are known only to those privy to the top secret alliance between Team Seagal and Red Wheel, such as our forthcoming military retaliation to the break-off rogue sect of the TS/RW alliance - The Cloud Appreciation Society. Their egregious actions towards our members and guerilla-style violence will not go unpunished.

Parting ways, we continued our party train, spreading karma- wherever it needed spreading. In today's case, it was in the form of lending a mini-pump to a couple of dudes on their third day traversing the trail. They were without inflationary abilities. Tires inflated, we keep moving and soon found ourselves closer to the river than evar before:

And once the Katy swings back down to the river, you know that Hermann isn't too far. Turning left towards Hermann, I was a little bummed that our trip had come to an end, but it was nice to find Boyd's vehicle already parked in town, piloted there by Ms. Boyd, having herself raced the Tour of Hermann. I must say that my t'aint was very much looking forward to the nicely padded bench seats inside. Once on the way home, I was able to remove my stiff cycling shoes, and slip on some more comfortable post-ride shoes that I got from Punch0r. He told me they are gonna be hugely popular, and that he's basing the rest of his career on them. (Thanks buddy!)

You know where to be this weekend. And the weekend after that, be in Jeff City. With lots of chamois cream.

-Casey F. Ryback

Giddy Up!

Happy Birthday Steven!

Today is a special day. On this day, back in 1952, something happened that allowed this Team to exist. That is, Steven Seagal was born. This, in turn, led him to become badass, then star in a bunch of fantastically badass movies, gain some weight, continue to make movies that focused more on quantity rather than quality, which then in turn led us to start this fucking team. What the hell were we thinking.

Oh well, what's done is done - we can undo the damage that we've already done (to our t'aints.) So we might as well wish him a happy birthday, care of Dethklok:


-Casey F. Ryback

MFXC III OFFICIAL REGISTERED NON RACER LIST

1. Caleb H 1st Entry received for M

2. Dan Dougan M

3. John Donjoian 1st Entry received for SS

4. Bob Arnold M

5. C Dubs SS

6. David Krajcovic M

7. Jacob "Huffy Hammer" Rohter M

8. Larry Koester SS

9. COCK PUNCHER M

10. Erik Seaver SS

11. Brian Radle M

12. Rock Wamsley M

13. Craig Seibert M 

14. Drew Black M

15. MYSTERY NON RACER ENTRY

16. Bryan Adams M

17. Gabrielle Renner 1st Entry received for F

18. Gino Felino SS

19. David Smith M

20. Karl "Klunk" Kimbel SS

21. Karen Holtmann F

22. Jim "Can't decide" Bacon M or SS

23. Todd Holtmann M

24. Scott Piepert M

25. Mason "Mr. WA" Storm SS

26. Scott Kiefner M

27. Mary Piper F

That's All folks, see you at MFXC III.

Mason Storm

Team Seagal Presents: Taco Tuesday Teardown

Hello, wonderful Team Seagal followers. I bring to you news of a monthly ride we'll be doing starting in April. I know most of you have jobs during the hours of 8am-2pm on a Tuesday, but Energor doesn't care. Neither does this guy-

Tuesdays we will meet at Flaco's parking lot at 8am . Ride leaves at 8:30am. Route headed to CX practice course in Forest Park, figure 20+laps. We want to be back in time for the Teardown- $2 tacos from 11am-2pm. Let's not forgot to thank our wonderful sponsor Flaco's Cocina for such an amazing deal on the best tacos in the damn state of Missouri!

We like having fun on Team Seagal. What's more fun than riding your bike with friends and eating delicious tacos afterwards?...

Exactly.

See you for Teardown #1 April 24th.

t-tocS