The Confession of a Fat Boy

The Confession of a Fat Boy

(The Georgia Cycle Sport-Team Type 1 Hard labor Classic)

6 Feb: Circumstances sometimes conspire against a person, leaving him ill prepared for the obstacles up the road. Through no fault of my own, during the winter of WBL 2010, I grew fat, lazy, and layered at the spots where my body parts joined. I also deduced that in the overall scheme of things, I was a very big player. Without my cog, the wheel simply wouldn’t spin. Additionally, I made the mistake of thinking I could fake my way through the Georgia Cycle Sport-Team Type 1 Hard Labor Classic on 6 February 2010—we were headed south after all. At the end of the day, the error in my logic was exposed, and I was reduced to a shimmering puddle. This week’s tome, The Confession of a Fat Boy, is a sincere, honest and heartfelt effort to figure out what went wrong. Some have suggested I merely undress and look in the mirror. Please, don’t laugh at my plight.

Brent Bookwalter scored his 2^nd win of the other season in spectacular fashion as he waylaid the pavement, throttled all challengers, and downright mistreated the brutal Pink Church Attack Zone at the end of yet another cold, blustery, and wicked day of circle-stomping in WBL 2010. Bookwalter won the 92-mile/4.5 hour fistfight on wheels in old school style: He pounded away at the front of the parade for mile after country mile, scorching down the blacktop like a hammering hillbilly who’d lost his marbles, bludgeoning those behind with his battering ram, and jettisoning partner after partner as they tried in vain to pedal-bash at his side. But what places Bookwalter’s win squarely within the pages of the WBL Black Book of Epic Feats is the fact that he still had the go-juice at crunch time to blow his compatriots’ doors off and solo in for the win. BMC was so thrilled with Bookwalter’s WBL victory that team execs handed him a one-million dollar bonus afterwards. Naturally, as required in the Zealot Rulebook, he signed the check over to Carney. Carney promised his new best friend “an ass-load of rewards in heaven.” I thought that Carney could have used a more polished phrase, but jailhouse jargon, like body odor, is hard to shake-off once it takes root.

Even though Bookwalter snared the all-important, resume-building victory, he didn’t just waltz away from this rampaging herd like some gussied-up Jezebel strolling down the lane, shaking his ass, and twirling a purse on a chain. To snag the win on this truculent and toilsome day, Bookwalter had to dig into the dark and murky recesses of his inner being. During the entirety of 90-mile cycle-jubilee all the Zealots endured a cornucopia of maleficent conditions: cold, gray skies bulged with ominous, low-hanging clouds; buffeting winds peeled tin roofs of old, wooden barns; wet droplets of moisture periodically spewed down in diagonal ropes; and perilous pace-setting caused my periwinkle to pucker-up and my pickle pepper to turn green. The sudden shock of such outlandish speed caused icy spears of lactic acid to splinter and lodge in riders’ legs like shards of broken glass. In the final Attack Zone, Bookwalter had to grit his pearly whites and tamp down on his pedals in fury while simultaneously pulling shattered glass from his thighs. And behind, there was a significant batch of strong-willed, powerful pedal-people lusting for a WBL win and chasing like galloping cheetahs: Thomas Brown, Frank Trevesio, David Talbott, Martin Vorscher, Ty Magner, Rob Yo Simpson, Joe Eldridge, Don Gianinni, Casey Magner, Big Jon Atkins, and Nick Housley were trying to gouge Bookwalter’s eyes out, and they nearly succeeded. But in the end, Bookwalter could not be contained.

In the contumacious quest for the Yellow Helmet Cover and the Overall lead, Thomas Brown again scored big points with a solid second place and moved into a tie with Mike Buechel for the lead in WBL 2010. The two other main contenders—E Winter and Yo Simpson—crept closer as Buechel suffered both a mechanical and an emotional breakdown at the beginning of the final Attack Zone that dashed his hopes and dreams for any finishing points. With two rides to go in WBL Twenty-Ten, it’s the tightest race in decades for the Overall win. The WBL will see its wildest finish in years, and expect the fireworks during the next two weeks to be a star-spangled display of bloody body parts.

The forecast for 6 February 2010 called for partly sunny skies with highs reaching near 50 degrees, but the whether-wizards proved yet again that like lawyers, they are liars, because like every Saturday so far this season, the whether didn’t quite pan out. This day, the Zealots would earn their keep.

Regardless of the wooly skies, over 75 Zealots signed in ready for battle: Daniel Banks, Sean Carroll, Whittius Cliffordius, Anthony Hergert, Toth Lajos, Brad Kauffman, Mike Lanham, and Dan McGarvey were just a few of the dogged and determined cyclists in attendance hoping for a fair-weather day of joyful pedal-rotating and slack-jawed hang-dogging. But the whether wouldn’t be fair, the pedaling could not be called joyful, and all slack-jawed cyclists were kicked to the curb and chewed up by the wind. Instead of cerulean skies, the space above was like gray soot, the wind was howling, the chill was Arctic, and following the tempo was like hanging on to a rocket ship with both hands while one’s legs whipped behind. In other words, it was just another Saturday in WBL 2010.

The group licked its collective finger, stuck it into the wind, and headed south. The first sprint of the day was only 12 miles in and was for Cat 3’s, 4’s and Vets (35 +). With 3 points and 3 places on the line (not to mention 25 bucks), these were critical points in the hunt for the Overall.

2 miles before the flat and fast Sprint Zone opened, a bee buzzed into Ty Magner’s bonnet and he ratcheted the pace up to 32 miles-per-hour and held it there. 1.5 miles later when the whistle finally blew, many were already past their prime. At this juncture, the big block of humanity that goes by the cognomen “Big Jon” stomped away to claim the prize, followed closely by Buechel and the impressive Paul Ozier. Buechel’s 2 points would indeed prove precious by the end of the day.

Non-Pro Sprint (Bishop):

Big Jon Atkins: 3 pts.
Buechel: 2 pts.
Paul Ozier: 1 pt

After the first sprint, the pack quickly regrouped and drove towards the south like lunatics (Casey Jones) on a freight train. While traversing the lumpy Price Mill Road passage, the pack drovers showed their intentions as the pace of the pack crescendoed to cruise missile speed, as the helmsmen wailed away like mad bishops. Early on it was evident that it would be one of those days.

To make matters worse, tiny droplets of water were intermittently slicing down from the ominous skies. Just as the light mist would let up and a sense of calm would envelop the pack, the wet ropes would slant down again sending worry waves wobbling through our brains. But even though it drizzled off and on for the first half of the ride, the rain never soaked the pack, and eventually, during the second half of the ride, the rain melted away. Even so, the heavens remained a thick, roiling gray vapor that kept the air frigid below. This looked like a day straight from Dawn of the Dead. I couldn’t help but smile.

One hour into the day’s walkabout on wheels, the pack turned from a southerly direction (right) and headed towards the left coast. The wind was blowing in from the west like a battalion of Belgium ballbusters that had overdosed on caffeine. The wind was whipping with such ferocity that big, bare oak trees bent sideways in the stiff breeze, the upper limbs leaning horizontal to the ground and shivering with violent shakes. Tall grasses lay pressed flat to the ground; flags ripped and rippled in the wind; big black birds hopped to their destination instead of risking the air; and those brave souls who ventured outside were bundled up and moving quickly, including us.

The pack drove into the record breaking wind for one-hour. Plenty of solid performances were registered on this section as a multitude of pack drovers went to the front, shared the load, and pounded away. Some, including a certain fat boy, went cross-eyed during this arduous section. It was during the second hour of the day as the pack drove to the store stop in Monroe that Bookwalter showed his cards. I thought I saw five aces, but remember, I was seeing double by then.

Bookwalter stayed at the front as the pack barreled into the wind. He burned through mates like a junkie burns through matches. BB stayed at the head of the herd and head-butted the wind for long sections of pave. He misesteemed his poor pedals and pushed forward at irascible speeds. It was one helluva way to treat a fat boy. When the group finally reached the store stop after battling the wind for an hour, Patrick O’Brien fell on the ground and kissed the pavement. Unfortunately, because it was freezing cold, his lips stuck to the ground. He was pried loose with a forklift, but he left half his bloody lip on the frozen road.

After the store stop the sky grew even darker, and the wind picked up by half-a-dozen knots. The hammers of hale clanged away in the distance, ring-wraiths swirled in eddies above, and lightning flashed across a dry sky—this fat boy was looking for his mama’s skirt.

Ty Magner was so skeert that he began praying for forgiveness for the multitude of misdeeds he’d committed during his completely corrupt years on earth, earnestly asking the Good Lord not to let his gal-pal in Auburn find out about the other dozen floozies he tangled with. Fearing the worst, young Ty accidentally opened up a can of whoop-ass when his mind wandered off track. In actuality, Ty the Tyro feared the hammer of the gods was about to drop on his head, so he hammered up the road in an effort to make up for his sins. Ty must have plenty to make amends for, because he nearly knocked the floor out of the boat. Magner went to the front and pressed the accelerator to the floor and, like a Toyota, it stuck. He eventually caused so much consternation in the pack that an overwhelming caterwauling harangued the air. The voices of dissent finally managed to slow the runaway train (under threat of bodily harm) and order was restored. After the ride, Magner was roasted on a spit and eaten by the hungry herd of starving cannibal-cyclers. There was much disputation over his loins, for they were hearty and imbued with much meat. He was washed down with a hearty stout and glasses were thereafter clinked together in solidarity. There was also ample belching and rousing left-leg-lifts.

The Ladies’ Sprint came at Bear Creek Reservoir around the 66-mile point. On the downhill run to the bridge, Jamie Dinkins stood and jumped first, but E Winter was hot on her trail; but Dink-Dink jumped again and this time managed a small gap. But E Winter closed again, and waited. While Winter was waiting, the crafty Catherine Peacock was flying up from the rear, with G Voci not far behind—this sprint was coming down to the wire. 200 meters from paydirt Winter stood and pounced. She scorched across the line in the lead and took the cash. Dink-Dink held on for 2^nd with Peacock and G Voci rounding out the top 4.

Women Sprint (Bear Creek Reservoir):

Erin Winter: 5 pts
Jamie Dinkins: 3pts
Catherine Peacock: 2 pts
Gina Voci: 1 pt

After the Ladies sprint, the group continued to rippity-dippity-doodle down the road at breakneck speed. The pack climbed the cruel Oconee River Wall and angled back out to Crooked Creek. After cutting across Crooked Creek and speeding down the J River Road, the group turned right at Alligator Pond and faced the cruel slopes of the Pink Church Hill. The whistle tore through the air—the brutal Pink Church Circuit Loop was at hand: 8 miles of torture ahead. It was enough to reduce a fat boy to tears.

The first time up the long, 1-mile drag to the Pink Church sprint, a massive upheaval caused a baker’s dozen plus one to rip away off the front. The first time across the line, Frank Trevesio tore out like a scalded dog and won the prime. He was followed closely by T Brown and Bookwalter.

Pink Church Sprint:

Frank Trevesio: 3 pts
T Brown: 2 pts
Bookwalter: 1 pt

Diving down the gyring downhill slope after the sprint, the group of 14 stretched into a long, thin line. Up and over the vertiginous uphill slope on the backside of the loop (Backside Hill), Housley, the Don, and Bookwalter powered away. As the three approached J River Road 4 miles from the line, Bookwalter surged again and pulled clear. It was the last time he’d be seen.

BB put the bit in his mouth and sliced towards the line like a Samurai sword turned sideways. Behind, the smaller groups fractured into bits and pieces. BB poured it on at the front and held the first chase of 4 at 30 seconds for the final run to the line. Crossing the finish for his stunning victory, BB buried his face in his hands and wept. Tears, once again, are flowing this year.

Behind Bookwalter battles were still raging. T Brown won the group sprint from the 4-man chase group, catapulting him into a tie for the lead in WBL. Behind, the remnants of this select group rolled across the line in tattered shards. In an impressive display of pedaling prowess, Big Jon Atkins and Rob Yo Simpson were the only Vets (35 +), Non Pro, 1’s or 2’s to make the final cut. Salud, boys and girls, that one will go down in Da Book.

After the hurtful ride, I now know that I do not factor into the overall scheme of things, without my cog, the wheel spins smoothly, and fat boys can’t fake it on 90 mile rides. Still, it won’t stop me from trying.

Humble C

Finish: (6 Feb.) The Georgia Cycle Sport-Team Type 1 Hard Labor Classic (92 miles/4.5 hours)

Brent Bookwalter: 10 pts.
Thomas Brown: 8 pts.
David Talbott: 6 pts.
Martin Vorsher: 4 pts.
Ty Magner: 2 pts.
Nick Housley: Attack and Pull Points: 2 pts
Hammer Point (Plus 1 point): Dustin Mealor
True Grit Award (Plus 1 point): Catherine Peacock, Gina Voci, Fiona Handsdrin: Salud!
Everyone: 4 pts. (1 extra ould whether point)

Non-Pro:

Jon Atkins: 5 pts.
Yo Simpson: 3 pts.
Daniel Banks: 1 pts

OVERALL (After Alto: 6 Feb 2010):

52 pts: Buechel
52 pts: Thomas Brown
47 pts: Erin Winter
42 pts: Yo Simpsn
36 pts: Brent Bookwalter
36 pts: Jamie Dinkins
33 pts: Dustin Mealor
32 pts: Casey Magner
30 pts: Ty Magner
29 pts: Big Jon Atkins
28 pts: Tim Cornett
27 pts: Frank Trevesio
27 pts: Fiona Handsdrin
26 pts: Nick Housley
26 pts: Damien Dunn
26 pts: Brett Magner
26 pts: Joey Rosskopf
26 pts: Crowe
26 pts: L Slote
25 pts: Patrick O’Brien
24 pts: Don Gianinni
24 pts: Hunter Garrison
24 pts: Tim Henry
23 pts: Kirk Smith
23 pts: Matt Karzen
23 pts: Chad Capobianco
23 pts: Matt Tunis
23 pts: Parker Smith
22 pts: Malachi Peacock
22 pts: Smola
22 pts. Sam Rafal
22 pts: Ally Stäches
21 pts: Catherine Peacock
21 pts: John Murphy
21 pts: Jason Bewley
20 pts: Scott Morris
20 pts: Bill Bray
19 pts: Morgan Patton
19 pts: Russ Foster
19 pts: Rich Nelson
19 pts: Nathan O'Neil
18 pts: B Parkerson
18 pts: L Slote
18 pts: Smola
17 pts: David Talbott
17 pts: John Newton
17 pts: Billy Santana
16 pts: Paul Ozier
16 pts: D McGarvey
16 pts: Joseph Collins
16 pts: D Imes
16 pts: Matt Whatley
16 pts: Bibens
15 pts: Oscar Clarke
15pts: Bill Bray
15pts: Nick Arroyo
15pts: Tank Crumley
14 pts: Whit Clifford
14 pts: Gina Voci
14 pts: Stephen Leotis
13 pts: Sean Caroll
13 pts: Anthony Hergeret
13 pts: Eddie Murray
13 pts: Bill Harper
13 pts: Bill Watkins
13 pts: Eric Murphy
13 pts: Ricky Fuqua
13 pts: Glenn Imes
13 pts: Matthew Miller
13 pts: Jered Hegberg
12 pts: M Whatley
12 pts: Ryan Wolf
12 pts: Bill Boonen
11 pts: Joe Eldridge
11 pts: Daniel Banks
11 pts: Kirsten Davis
10 pts: Toth Lajos
10 pts: Kyle Shipp
10 pts: Nick Reistad
10 pts: Matt Crane
10 pts: Terry Crisp
10 pts: Morgan Hunter
10 pts: Chase Lanier