Monday, December 29, 2008
This seems like a pretty straight up term, but my experience indicates otherwise.
To some, Felasco prep is taken on with purpose. Juancho, for example, has been logging hour after hour on his bike. I'm not sure how many miles he's doing in those hours, but his taint should be properly seasoned by now.
Micro, however, has taken a completely different approach. His prep so far has consisted mostly of looking for his bike. If you've seen it, drop a line here, to Bigworm's lost and found. Unless he's developed some new hobbies I'm unaware of, Micro's taint is in for a rude awakening.
Micro's brother, Beefcake, is always a mystery. He was a long time mountain bike legend. Well at least his grouchiness was legendary, but he has really has always been strong on the bike. Last year he rode in the caboose with the Spanish Mackerel, coining humorous phrases regarding blows from the feet to one's genitalia. Oh well, if his legs give out, I'm sure his Arnold-like pythons will welcome the chance to tear the pedals from the cranks.
There are also those who don't need preparation. Marcus, aka Bikediet, will not ride at all, yet somehow be able to go as fast as anybody on the whole damned trail. No really, I'm not bitter about that fact. (Well, actually, I'm quite bitter about that fact.)
Spanish Mackerel is the anomaly of the "no prep needed" crew. He claims to be getting ready, yet always misses the rides. He swears he'll be there, but instead is spotted at some sporting goods store, with the tell tale pillow wrinkles still on his face. Somehow it doesn't matter for him. Apparently just thinking about training, gives him the mental toughness to finish, year after year. By all rights he should be shriveled up beside the trail with Sasquatch kicking sand in his face. But it won't happen. He may not be the first to finish, but he'll come out of the woods again, with that goofy look on his face, like a puppy who's been lost for hours, and just found his way home.
Red Dragon has been training his lungs with a vengeance. If you don't believe me, just ask him. I'm sure you'll get some kind of long winded story, excuse, or anecdote, that will more than prove my point. He'll bluster and blow. He'll wail and howl, and all that hot air will send him sailing to the finish.
Lil' Ronnie, the Angry Haitian, pretty much runs on pure hate. I figure he'll ride his bike until his legs fall off, just so he can look down at them and tell them he hates them. Then he'll slither off his bike, and tell it he hates it, too. Next he'll call me to tell me he hates me for making him do this damned ride. Somewhere in there, he'll tell me I'm hard to be friends with, and that he hates me for that. You want to see something funny? Be there when we pull up to the parking lot Friday night. Lil' Ronnie will be so stoked to see us, he'll cry like a little girl, and then he'll hate us for that. And with that, his preparation will be complete.
Wrecking Ball will ride like there is no tomorrow, in fear that Red Dragon may blow by. The only problem is, he'll ride his bike into oblivion, and all of its parts will fall off the week before Felasco. At which point, he'll go into manic breakdown and I'll have to nurse him back to health. He's not called the Wrecking Ball for nothing.
Bab McCarty's prep will be highly specialized. Actually, F#*k Bab! Who cares what that prodigy assed rock star does?!! I'll tell you what he doesn't do! He doesn't ever update that lame ass blog of his. His last post was due to my heckling. Check it out. What the hell are you waiting for Santana??
Alright, this may be getting out of hand, so let me wrap this up. For me the prep just isn't going to matter. No matter how much I stress about it, no matter how much I ride, it just doesn't matter. After all the trash I just talked, I just sealed my fate. Hopefully I can just keep up with the caboose. Through all of the cramp induced pain, and vision blurring bonk, that Fate is sure to dish out, I just want to have enough left in the tank to remember the stories.