The howls of protest at the length of the first Astoria post would have done a class of pre-literate fourth graders assigned one whole chapter of "Charlotte's Web" quite proud. It is no small wonder any of you survived whatever undergraduate literature course you so clearly took on a pass-fail basis. Twice, I suspect. No matter. However misanthropic I may be, I am sensitive to the desire of my audience for less taxing fare. So I give you pictures in the stead of my usual thousand words. As I am forced to say so often, yet it bears repeating each time: You. Are. Welcome.
The Bomber went, as only she could, as The Bombshell. J-Green fretted that people would fail to grasp the subliminal sexiness of her costume. Not me. I kept waiting for that Kate Blanchette moment when the valiant warrior removes the chain mail, shakes her golden locks free from her helmet and walks (back lit by the setting sun glowing through her gauzy undergarments) toward the river to bathe, leaving the other warriors who battled through the day at her side gob smacked. The Wizard may have vetoed that part of her costume, however.
Let's be clear, though. The event is called the Cyclocross CRUSADE. J-Green's devotion to authenticity and period-correct costuming was rewarded by a mechanical-free ride for the entire race, protected from mishap by a spell cast by the Wizard that shielded her bike from the ill effects of Seamus touching it. Seriously, don't let the guy touch your bike unless you want parts falling off it left and right.
Who among you would dare to such feats of bravery as riding astride a cyclocross-style bicycling machine down the muddy slopes of the Fairegrounds of County Clatsop as sung of in songs of legend for your introduction to this sport? Lady J-Green schools an Oregonian crosser on the proper way to conduct a crusade.
The Bombshell found her short skirt was good for something besides distracting the spectators. While others got tangled in the product of their own imaginations, the Bombshell skirted (yep) one tricky section after another on her now traditional journey from the back of the field to the front.
The Bombshell continues to decline my request that she dress this way every time we ride. And call me "Mr. President."
I totally knew this was coming when I asked the Bombshell to marry two(ish) weeks after our first date. Short skirt, blonde wig, rad bicycle racing in the mud. I have it very, very good.
The Wizard. A race official tried to take his magical staff from him before the start. The Wizard struck the official with it, turning him into a freak with fishhooks in his back cursed to tow another freak around on a bicycle for all eternity. Unless you have a better explanation for that little slice of too weird to live.
This photo was snapped as the Wizard came careening into YSCX Tentquaters ((c) Maxism) shouting instructions for the mid-race removal of his Wizard's hat, which -- and I am not making this up -- he hit on a tree branch. When you start out at six foot seventeen and then put on a hat that leaves you at six foot forty-one or thereabouts, that sort of thing is going to happen.
KFO chose not to wear a costume.
To paraphrase Tom Waits, the Devil went down...
...down...
...down. And she doesn't look too happy about it.
Seamus used the Halloween race as an excuse to really let his freak flag fly, choosing the most flamboyant costume he could conceive of. That happens to be the gaudiest shade of tan in his extensive collection of khaki-colored objects. I suspect that had he thrown back a pre-race beer or two, he might have selected that fabulous taupe piece he picked up in The City last fall.
My mistake. Here Seamus reminds me that he is flambitchin'. It's easy to conflate the concepts. That's right, I said "conflate." I believe Kevin must pay me double the going rate for that word. Ten whole cents. American.
Succumbing to the inevitable, Seamus was mistaken for a municipal employee and told to clean all the mud off the course. Like any good public servant, Seamus chose to avoid his taxpayer-funded duties by flatting for the seventh time that day and spending the rest of the race smoking a cigarette in the pits and scratching the numbers off lotto cards.
I know. I look good. However, Drop Dead Elvis would quickly transform into DFL Elvis as soon as we started pedaling the bicycles instead of posing on them, as is always my downfall.
The guy next to me was dressed as the Mad Hatter, and if I had more confidence in your attention spans I would make a clever, if somewhat lengthy, allusion to "Through The Looking Glass" in which I play the part of a transgendered Alice chasing the Mad Hatter through Wonderland to recover my missing X-chromosome. Since that sort of literary cleverness won't fly with this crowd (what with it involving all those "words" and whatnot), I will simply note that I chased this little bastard around the course for an hour and could never catch him even though he had a four foot chunk of styrofoam lashed to his head.
Three people were standing at this part of this course for pretty much the whole race, a girl who shouted "I love you Elvis, I really love you," a guy who shouted "fuck you Elvis!" (the first girl's boyfriend, I think they were having a fight) and a guy who quoted a different Elvis Presley song on every lap, starting with "A little less conversation, a little more action," and finishing with "I'm caught in a trap, I can't walk out." Other than trying to catch the Mad Hatter, the only reason I kept circling the course was to find out what the guy would come up with next.
No doubt my final placing would have been much higher had I not been stopped on every lap by admirers who wanted their picture taken with the King. This lucky fella just got a souvenir he can put up on his wall and treasure for life.
The King likes his fans, but he loves the ladies.
There you have it. Next year will be here before you know it. Seamus is already hard at work on his costume, though no one expects him to top this year's color explosion. The Maxes will be there, so put a lock on your pit bike. One can only wonder what the Wizard and J-Green will accomplish now that they know what they're doing. And I will have forgotten what a long f'ing drive it is, and so will pack up the YSCX Mobile HQ and find the best spot on the course. Again.
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