The air was crisp, the sun was shining and in 45 minutes, I squeezed out a fat steaming pile of hot fuck. No call-up this time and no starting grid so that meant crossed wheels and handlebars touching handlebars ever so gently during the clusterfisting of a start. Everyone will get a chance to take it up the cornhole so what's the rush? A miserable clip-in sprint debacle saw me running 25th out of 40 or so. I'd yo-yo here and there with the other midpack cannon fodder for the rest of the race. At one time I'm 16th, then a bobble in the woods and I'm 21st. Then a pass on the straightaway and I'm 17th. Then a "what the fuck is this guy DOING?" and I might as well be racing Special Needs 65+ CX7. All griping and swearing aside, the course was tons of fun with a nice mud puddle that looked and smelled like the contents of a tacqueria porta-john. I hoped Tony would redeem us be he did even worse than me in the 4's race. Not much worse, but worse. His pile of hot fuck was not only steaming, but a bit runny as well (even in the 2008 Hoffenchard throwback kit). He should've taken me up on my offer to apply his embrocation for him. Homo-eroticism is Mother Nature's Sportslegs. In his defense, he was caught behind a spectacular crash on the first lap. After Sunday's humiliating performance, it's back to the drawing board. Two weeks before Hendersonville so that means either take this weekend off or get more of the same in Charlotte. Best part of the day was watching a CX4 racer projectile vomit the entirety of his stomach after the race. I thought it a fitting metaphor for Hoffenchard's weekend performance.
After a poor showing, Tony renounces his beliefs and reutrns to hardcore Satanism: