The Idea. Gather as many of these bitumen burning bitches in one spot as you possibly can, give them two checkpoints, six items to collect, point them pretty much in the same direction and hope no one ends up riding out to the suburbs implanted in the grill of a car.
The Gathering. The Public Bar was the venue selected due to the availability of beer. 6 oıclock was the witching hour and they began to roll in from all directions. The winner of the last outing, Trippa, rolled in looking suitably confident and well rested. Krusty, riding a mountain bike with a 27² rear wheel, no rear brake, a near to non-existent front brake and some crazy-arse Metal aus Deutchland in his ears rolled up with a flat. Matt (mr. quick) turned up straddling a pre 1975 Full-suspension dragster and the rest of us just turned up with the hope we would finish.
After a few drinks mr. p yelled a few words of inspiration and the crowd made their way to the starting line. The usual disorganization prevailed but we paid our entry fee and lined up.
The Start. A sprint of about 100 meters down a slight hill to a round-about then each man to his own. With only about 2 meters braking it was either the rite line (which I might say took a bit of shoving) or into a large curb. The line was set. 19 riders with a theory that they recon they could win, starters orders were ignored and we were off! The crunching of derailleurs trying to find the right gear, the slapping of feet trying to find cleats and the groan of straining frames trying to move forward was in my ears. The curb of the roundabout approached quickly and it was lucky that more didnıt end up with smashed rims. From there the night held no boundaries, all I heard was was carıs horns blazing , The whirr of freewheels and the occasional ³Oh Shiiiiiiit². Maccas was set upon like fat chicks at a free chocolate tasting. Patrons were left with the smell of a dayıs work and more than a little confusion. After that the only time I saw anyone else was when I heard a car horn and the glint of shining alloy flew past, although the gorilla impersonations were more than a little amusing.
The gathering of items was the usual nightmare, tearing pieces of newspapers, stealing childrenıs tram tickets and robbing from cafes. Once we got back to the finish line the story began to unfold. Kosta the Greek gun rolled across the line 1st in about 10 minutes or so with the ex-king of the last race not far behind and Ronasaurus finishing a credible 3rd.
As we rolled in one after the other their flats on the line crashes at the final turn and the usual degree of ³ what Iıd come². With the money, The Crumpler bag , the Black fly sunnies, the Mountain designs top and the C.B.D cycles voucher given to the appropriate place it was back to the bar to talk about who missed who by how much and how much that car missed me by. There is something that did bother me though, Why did anyone who had a piece if the prized chocolate cakeı start staring into space and talking absolute rubbish for about 5 hours. till next race.