The Final Slouch

Okay, so Wednesday afternoons were the famous Prescott Park Slouch Potato group ride. But as autumn and winter's shadow loom over Portsmouth, afternoons become just a memory--morning leads directly in to evening, with nothing in between. For normal people that have full-time jobs, this means there is no time between work and darkness for cycling outdoors. Consequentially (although not unexpectedly) the Slouch Potato group ride has come to an end--at least for this year.

Last week's final slouch was covered by GC Cycling's roving field reporter, Ben "Operación Puerto" Goss. Here is his report:

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Jittery showed up in his Civi’s expecting a relaxed last ride for the season. He took a page from the Ripstick book of slouchiness and showed up with jeans (although, not acid washed spandex) and non-cycling shoes (although not leather clogs). He was slouching in style.
Lee was a no show. Ripstick was a no show. The Hammer was a no show. JT was a no show. Keith was a no show. Fred was a no show. It was up to me, Meatfist Taco Bell Lover, and Nick (my God, have we overlooked a nickname for Nick? The Greek? The Sweater? We gotta come up with something here) to represent.

I was sort of hoping for a relaxed ride also, but I ended up hooking on with Steve and Duane (was that you Duane?). After a smooth warm up along the causeway, we started to amp it up a bit. We took pretty even turns pulling through Rye and down the beach. There was a decent headwind, but we still were pulling 23, 24, 25 mph. It was brutal. I thought my lungs were going to get caught between my chain and my big ring. However, I still managed to close the door on the sprint, but that’s only because Steve and Duane (?) didn’t know about the outbound finish line.

On the way back it was another hammerfest, but we lost Duane (?) after the wood bridge. Some giant dude with aerobars caught up to us and then dropped off. No idea who he was or what he was doing, but he was big and fast. Steve and I beat each other up until the town line, where Steve thought it was over. So, again, I won le fin only because Steve didn’t know any better.

So, in summary, I hurt a lot and took advantage of the fact that I knew where the sprints were and other people did not. And Meatfist used the ol’ “I’m going to ride with Amy” excuse. Nick used the ol’ “My wrist is limp” excuse, and Giles used the ol’ “I’m wearing street clothes and I’ve become a wafe-like, pasty, gamer and the sun is burning my retinas” excuse. But at least they showed up…

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Wow. Well Ben, congratulations on Dominating the Unwitting, BSNYC Style. I better hit the weights this winter if I am going to be able to contend in spring--see you then!