Sunday, March 13, 2011

Little 500, Spring

I know I hardly blog anymore, which is lame. But you know what's not lame? THE LITTLE 5 OH OH. (Or zero, zero--for those of you who mind your proper English.)

Lately, we've been on this "warrior" kick. We're always dressed to kill or battle, it seems. That's our ammo box below. Loaded.
 




The race is seasonal, but we skip Winter, because that is our rainy season here, and the race is already chaotic enough, without all of that mud.

You never know what's going to come out at the Little 500. Jolly Green Giant and the Cowardly Lion. Re-united.



This event had the largest turnout I've yet seen, and people were COMPETITIVE. I saw quite a few unlucky souls get absolutely smashed* and taken out when they decided to cross the race track at the wrong time. This happened with increased frequency as the race wore on and people's beer laps accumulated. There may have been a correlation there.

Indians!



Our tandem team--wait for it--YES. YES. YES. We actually were fast! We tied for second, which is absolutely unprecedented, and pretty shocking, when you consider the shape of our rig. We were a force to be reckoned with--and not just because we were dressed as hunters and our team name was "If it flies, it dies." 80 + pounds of rusted steel, with two legit, half-drunk cyclists pounding on the pedals = momentum. If they're not teaching that in physics classes, these days, they should be.

Our rig. Carbon is totally not necessary to fly.


 There was nothing left in the sky when we were through.




So some of you may have heard all of this buzz about SLO being the happiest place in the U.S.? What Oprah failed to mention is that it's not because we don't have drive-thrus, and it's not because of our perfect climate, and stunning mountains, and proximity to the ocean, blah blah blah ... it's because we do crazy shit like the Little 500 three times a year. But don't tell her. We don't need her coming to town again.
Top: Me and Karl. He was chosen for his leg strength, chugging ability, and prowess in guiding the tandem through tight corners.  Below: Yukie and Chris about to make a pass.
 * Clarification. Everyone at the Little 500 gets "smashed." It is a beer-required event. I was referring to the smashed that happens when an un-mindful onlooker gets plowed by a moving mass of bike and costume.