Dinkins Rules the Roost!
The Full Circle Real Estate Ladies Day Quad Crusher
(WBL # 2)
The shrewd and cunning femme fatale known throughout the cosmos and beyond as Jamie Dink-Dink Dinkins threw down triple snake eyes on 11 December 2010 and stormed to her greatest win and her first WBL victory on the Full Circle Real Estate Ladies Day Classic Dinkins uncorked a monstrous, top shelf, high octane assault on her compatriots 600 meters from the finish line and crushed her poor pedals with a series of violent down-strokes. Dink-Dink rocked her shoulders and gritted her pearly whites and snarled at the world and huffed-and-puffed and spewed spittle out of her mouth and finally tore away from the other contenders and crossed the finish line with both arms aloft. The 10 points Dink-Dink grabbed as a result of her stupendous sprint win catapulted her into the Overall Lead by a long shot in WBL 2011. Queen Dink has now separated herself from the peasants, and she appears intent to hold her gap for the remainder of the year. In fact, many men, already recognizing the grim circumstances, have already pressed the panic button and are fleeing for the exit doors. Let’s just hope the latch isn’t locked.
Dink-Dink’s win came at the tail-end of an onerous 80-mile day in which the boisterous 150-person pack burned rubber at an average interest rate of 21 miles per hour for four solid hours. In other words, the pack drovers were consistently pushing the pace, both uphill and down, sometimes at a precarious clip. By the time the grupetto arrived at the final Attack Zone, the quads of all the riders had been tortured and their resolve tested by the young Turks who were twisting the screws at the frontend of the two-wheeled jamboree. Only a lady who herself was obstinate, obstreperous, obdurate, ill-mannered, spiteful, unapologetic, uncaring, insensitive, crass, unforgiving, and downright mean would even be capable of mustering the strength to contest the finale of today’s brutish affair. Dinkins proved that she is all of those adjectives and more (rude, vengeful, cutthroat, malicious, thoughtless, flagitious, irreverent, insolent, anything but irenic, but certainly able to tamp down the tempest when it counts). In other words, the leader’s Yellow Helmet Cover fit her like a snug glove. If the shoe fits…
The WBL showed signs for the second week in a row that it may be back in the whether-wizards’ good graces after last year’s stern mistreatment. During the week leading up to Saturday’s Full Circle fiasco on wheels, arctic, bone chilling, blustery winds tore into the South from the Midwest, and the resultant temperatures that followed were insufferable and definitely bad for one’s bones—best to stay indoors and drink. But on Saturday (after three solid days of drinking), Fortuna smiled, and the curtains parted, the clouds evaporated, and the temperature rose, albeit briefly, but just barely enough for the Zealots to finish their two-wheeled jubilee. In fact, at the start of the day’s debacle in front of Sunshine Cycles, the sun was almost frying the Zealots as it popped into a bright blue hole in the southern sky. And even though the skies above clouded-over by the end of the day, the mercury continually remained in the mild to moderate zone. As a consequence, when Carney’s front-end-factotums (Bookwalter, Nick Housley, Ty Magner, Scott Morris, Yo Simpson, Joey Rosskopf, and Frank Travieso) were ripping the Zealots’ hearts out, and pummeling them with body blows, and inflicting carnage, and causing general mayhem, and creating doubts in one’s own abilities, at least we weren’t cold.
Around 150 rowdy, rock-n-roll pedal-bangers showed up for the second event of WBL 2011, the Full Circle Real Estate Ladies Day Classic, including the well known hayseed John Best, el Jefe of Baxter Street Brendan Cornett, the freak of nature Damien Show Stopper Dunn, the lovely Luddite Leonardo de Slote, the megalomaniac Nick Fragnito, the prodigal son Kyle Forrester, the unscrupulous scamp Max Futral, the doyen of disaster Drew Genteman, the Jackson County executioner Ben Green, the rootin-tootin Cal Hootin, the polymath Rob Kane, the philistine Steve Kogan, the querulous Brooks Lide, the cycle-scribe Eddie Murray, the painter’s nephew Calvin O’keefe, the venerous Chris Chotas, the sciolist Todd Muller, Carney’s old segotia Tommy Mulkey, the sui generis Reginald Pineda, the vorpal Emily Fancher, the suzerain Artur Sagat, the swarthy Andy Scarano, and the toper Dane Tezler. In fact, the aforementioned group, along with the whole of the 150 man pack, was so caught-up in its own petty and insignificant problems (like their Constitutional rights and what have you) that no one noticed the slight smile on Dink-Dink’s face when she told a reporter, “I’m feeling green,” at the start of the ride. All past Overall winners of the WBL have been proficient liars, and on this score, Dinkins is way ahead of the curve. (Dinkins clarified her statement at the post ride press conference. In her world, she claimed, “I’m feeling green” means: “I’m taking the cash.”)
The pack of itinerant wanderlusters headed south this day, forming a grand spectacle of red, blue, green, black, yellow and gold as they sped down Milledge Avenue and rocketed through Watkinsville like a multicolored cruise missile. Once clear of the traffic lights and stoppage signs in W-ville, the pedal-party began in earnest. The terrain south of Athens, though gentler than that to the north of town, still undulates in rolling, vexatious humps that can cause glass to splinter into a rider’s thighs. And because of the lumpy terrain, and the hidden gullies and gulches that braid the countryside, and the rivers and creeks that bend and snake hither and yonder, this way and that, roads can’t be laid out in a grid. Instead, the roads dip and dive, rolling and bending with the landscape, slanting and veering beside waterways, and wending and winding its way through the abundant pastureland and beside the bosky woods. Even local riders were quickly lost on this route and they were left to the cruel devices of Carney and his evil map-making minions. Once lost, a rider has only two choices: Hang on to the herd or end up as a lion’s lunch. If Darwin was alive today, he would study the WBL.
Though the pack lost a few at the fringes along the way, a field of over 80-90 strong was still intact and resolutely holding firm 60 miles into the 80 mile loop. At this point in the day’s peregrinations, Ty Magner decided to remedy the situation and he galloped to the front, shifted to his 55 x 11, and caused much weeping and gnashing of teeth with a 4 mile pull that caused me to curse and wish that Magner had never been born. Magner sucked the sawdust right out of my soul and tore at the very fibers of my being with his horrid pull. Magner was pushing such a massive gear that he covered half a mile with each rotation of his wheels. Though Ty the Tyrant did eventually let off the gas, his preternatural pull had done its damage—it would take at least 24 hours for a rider’s fast-twitch fibers to heal from the ripping and tearing that had just occured. As the group headed through Statham, 6 miles from the sprint but still 20 miles from home, many realized that now was squeeze your sphincter time in the WBL, also known as hold onto your periwinkle. Thighs were burning, quads were trembling, necks were aching, and backs were tingling. After the pack zipperoodled through Statham, Realcyclist.com’s F Traveiso and Team Type 1’s Justin Smith gave it one last, 4 mile, gut-wrenching dig before the lady’s sprint, “just to get everyone’s mind in the right spot,” claimed a suspiciously fit looking Franky T.
The whistle blew for the Ladies Attack Zone at the 68 mile mark: Game on. The first half of the 2 mile Attack Zone is a long, twisting 1-mile, fast, downhill run over a bridge and the Bear Creek Reservoir, followed by an arduous 1 kilometer uphill slanting road to the finish line. Dinkins immediately surged on the downhill run, but was followed by Catherine Peacock. Peacock countered next, but Dinkins , Gina Voci, Cheryl Fuller-Muller, and Emily Fancher followed and quickly made contact.
Dinkins, however, jumped again. The other ladies deduced this was a danger move and sailed after the dastardly Dinkins straightaway. Fancher was losing ground at the rear but digging with every bit of angst that she could muster. The ladies caught Dinkins after 100 meters of freedom; Fancher bridged; the ladies momentarily relaxed; Dinkins went again, as did Peacock; everyone stood and stomped; the vicious cycle repeated itself; and Fancher, incredibly, bridged yet again: what grim determination! The men with front row seats, witnessing this rabid dash for gold, were whooping and hollering in a mad but musical medley of overlapping rebel yells. It was like watching life unfold with a symphony playing behind. (Hunter Garrison said it thrilled him to watch the women’s sprint “just as much as watching women wrestle in the mud.” Garrison was reprimanded for his gratuitous and off-color comment and his WBL entry fee has been doubled for the next two weeks. He was punished further when Carney ordered that his name be mentioned in the ride report. He begged, even offering a small amount of cash, but to no avail. At the WBL, we cannot be bought or sold. Unless the price is right.)
Crossing the bridge at Bear Creek with only 1 kilometer to go, C Peacock swung right and hit out on the far edge of the road. The other ladies again quickly followed, but this time, when Dinkins made contact with Peacock, she soft pedaled for a moment and drifted back towards the middle of the road. As Dinkins looked to her right at the other riders, she noticed a faint chink in their armor and in an instant was on the attack again. But this time, as the road tilted skyward, Dinkins pulled clear. When she looked back and saw she had opened up a 20 meter gap, she pushed all her chips into the pot, and stood up and rocked.
With 500 meters to go, Dinkins still had a 20 meter gap on Gina Voci, who had bided her time and rocketed out of the group late. Voci was followed by Peacock, who was churning with everything she could to make contact with Voci. Voci continued to close on Dinkins, this was going to be close, but as the line came closer, Dinkins plowed into her pedals even harder, and held off a hard-charging Voci to nab the win in an impressive display of bravado and outright contempt for all mankind. Voci, Peacock, Fuller-Muller, and Fancher rounded out the top five. Please stand and give these Ladies a round of applause. Then sit down quickly or else you might pass out. Kudos and congrats on one illustrious ride!
As the WBL heads into its third week, the Ladies own the top of the WBL dunghill. Dinkins total point tally of 14, along with Voci’s score of 12, and even Peacock’s summa at 10, look like a daunting hurdle to overcome. Can these sylvan sirens be reigned in? “We already rule the world, why not the WBL?” Gina Voci insolently declaimed. At press time, the men are still trying to come up with a good reason.
- Jamie Dinkins: 10 pts.
- Gina Voci: 8 pts.
- C Peacock: 6 pts.
- C Fuller-Muller: 4 pts.
- E Fancher: 2 pts.
- True Grit Award: E Fancher: 1 pt.
- All who signed in: 2 pts
Overall (WBL 2011):
- 1st: Dinkins: 14 pts.
- 2nd: G Voci: 12 pts.
- 3rd: C Peacock: 10 pts.
- 4th: C Fuller-Muller: 6 pts.
- 5th: E Fancher: 5 pts