It’s Been Said

That I’ve lost my ability to write within the context of the content expected of a bicycle (and component and general awesome) manufacturer…and cyclist.

The fuck exactly were you reading these weeks or years back (when you thought all wasn’t lost)?

So.  For that.  As a treat.
That is, in an attempt to provide more of that the expected content, I gave task to my three (in-house) contributors.

I charged them with a one singular goal (that is outside of not entirely fucking the place up or (permanently) dismembering themselves while I was on course of course);

Document my return to adequateness within the context of the SuperFly Tuesday Fun Series.

I requested both images and text.
I wanted all the glory with a flash of the gore.
I needed a full propagandic take on the events regardless of the actual outcomes.

Last weeks BULL SNUB was not to be forgotten.

The wind up was much more intense than I could have predicted.
So very much of their wee faith was in the process of misplacement.
It turns out, sometime during the pre-ride they three had conferred, and ultimately determined “it has to be better than that first race dad lost“.

The content came swiftly.

Boy #3 was certain of glory and death defiance
Boy #2 wanted a commercially viable slaughter
Boy #1 was confident but mostly wanted to be done

Confidence anew filled my legs as I approached the start.

“Go dad!”
“I’m bored dad”
“Go on dad, don’t suck dad!”

And with this, the power of mine minors, I exploded off the line.

Of course it was short lived.
There wouldn’t be much to tell if it wasn’t.
It may be a little know fact but, fact, there isn’t a lot to be said for winning.

Not unless you can scrape out of weeks worth of minutia.

I have neither the fitness nor ability to hold such efforts.
Add to these facts my recent and erroneous installation of a new 34T ring…further compounding the previously and equally erroneous installation of a 16T cog…things were getting all kinds of messy, with much greater speed.

And it (this slide) was sensed on the sidelines.

At first, encouragement for me…with BOO’s for the baddies.

Boy #1 hoped to invoke a force beyond wretching
Boy #2 is a believer, not as much in the rider, but the bike
Boy #3 had (much like mine early legs) already left the building

While I managed marginal success (as such, goal attained) for two of three laps, faith I had lost in my staunchest supporter…Boy #2…by his last drawing even a MisfitPsycle(s) could not make me any better…

Boy #2 A shiny new Misfit Psycles or derelict anything else Psycles???

Choice where there was none.
Uncertainty where there was belief.

So when this the same beautiful boy (#2) asked for a band-aid as I crossed the finish…I got him one…but not before making good and certain that First Aid (Aka Ted) applied plenty of disinfectant on the gaping wound prior.

In his wild screams I could, for the first time in some a long time, I could hear victory!
And that.
That constitutes their race report*.

* While text was also requested of the contributors, their repeated use of the words; bad, really bad, worse, slow, super bad and our dad sucks effectively negated the necessity for inclusion here.

Either way.
A vast and ample improvement over my norm.

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