I Dream of Motorhomes

Motor Home

To dream that you live in a motor home, suggests that you need to move on with regards to some aspect of your life. You may be dwelling too much on a situation and it is time to move forward. Alternatively, you may be expressing your desire to be more independent and self-sufficient.

Mud and pancakes and split pea soup and coffee and miller high life and cutting pumpkins in half with my front wheel and dogs and more mud.

Yeah. Well. A big fuck you to the sunshine.

During my race. Well. The wind was blowing hard. I was always in a head wind. And it was pouring rain. As my father would say. Like a cow peeing on a flat stone.

There was mud.

And waterfront property.

Tad made delicious pancakes. (Not in photo). That Damian prepared. Buttered. Syrup'd. Fed me. Delicious. I made some epic split pea soup. (Also not in photo). That Damian burned. Ahem. Saved from burning. Well, I actually enjoyed the little hunks of burned heaven. You know who else is a little hunk of burned heaven...

And the epic magnetic bumper that has not only drove a $40,000 coffee mug from Sweet Pea Bakery in Portland to the Hillsboro Cross Crusade, but now took my bitchin' new front wheel for a ride from Kruger's on Sauvie all the way to North Portland. Glossy! Or would that be. Ahem. As the kids say these days. Glossin'!

How we got this far...

The license plate holder reads, "GET IT ON!"

The back patch of the Motordome pilot jacket reads, "Travel ~ N ~ Fun!"

"FUN IT ON!" became "GET IT FUN!"

"GET IT FUN!" became "FUN IT ON!"

"Ask me about wizard mode" was suggested for T-Shirts.

Which became, "Wizard me to FUN IT mode!"

I lost my shit when James texted me late one night after many beers, "Fuzard me to win it mode!"

The apocalypse is not for sale.

Knock on the door...

Hello?

Is the motorhome for sale?

Why would it be for sale?, I reply.

Would you sell it?

No.

Three Men and a Motordome

Don't worry we didn't really make another of those aweful movies!
I'm a little slow to getting around to race reports but hopefully it'll just remind everyone of the fun that was had a few weeks ago. What could be better than spending Halloween weekend in Astoria with three dudes?

At least the trash got packed out



Seriously it was an amazing weekend and my first time out to Halloween Cross in Astoria(I still miss the days of the Flying M Ranch).
I had the winning number on Saturday, the last number to be called up to start, which meant a six pack of beer. Because of this, I have little to report on for Saturday.



It also meant I missed the boys all cuddled in Grandma's Attic watching cartoons.
Sunday was really all that mattered anyways.
We woke up and cooked breakfast:



Damian's costume turned out to be useful throughout the day, not just for food but beer and cameras too.
After eating, the rest of us got our costumes together and boy did we look good!



The race was fun, there were human barriers and a robot running around the course cheering everyone on.



Besides all the usual and unusual shennanigans, John from Team Beer managed to fall on his bike and put his knee into his carbon wheel. It was like the shot heard round the world. The crowd was stunned and the damage was impressive.



As the sun set, the zombies came out and it was time to get the hell out of Astoria

Monday Blogday- a reflection given a day later.

Mondays are generally when blog-master Damian likes to 'lay it down.' I know this not because I actually read the blogs, oh no. I know this because he composes his brilliant (I hope) prose at the vegan cafe/bakery at which I work (I'm trying to avoid shameless advertising, but you'll find said bakery on the corner of S.E. 12th and Stark, as well as on the back of our beloved Motordome jerseys). Anyways, yesterday was Monday. Blogday. And who should saunter in, but my treasured roommate Bobby. We exchanged pleasantries such as- "Oh, hello! How are you? Did you sleep well last night?" and "I'm fantastic! I slept like a baby! Did you notice that I freshened up the toilet?" Darling Bobby also brought fantastic news- Damian and Hazel were expected shortly. Sure enough, just as Bob-o selected their table, Hazel and Damian waltzed into to cafe completing the trifecta of terrific. After they ordered their delicious, gourmet americanos and snacks, they took a seat, opened their computers/reading materials and got down to business...whatever that means. I didn't get a chance to chat with my chums during their stay because, well, I let my espresso talk for me...and frankly I was at work and don't really have time for tomfoolery or truancy...like, I totally wish I could hang out and write brilliant blogs, then maybe do a sudoku and hang out some more till I wanted to go on a ride in the West Hills, but I can't cuz I gotta make fucking lattes and cappuccinos, alright? uh. Sadly my comrades eventually left to continue their journey to the weekend by way of the time clock. I waved them off, one by one, wishing them well and hoping the rain would hold out for their sakes. As I was busing the tables (usually something I don't have to do because it's a 'buss your own table' type of establishment) I noticed that young Bobby had neglected to clear his section of the table. I made a mental note to rib him about it in the evening, then proceeded to clear the table. I figured that it was probably his sweet and loving way of saying "Fuck you Kim! You NEVER do your dishes at home!"
So, I decided a haiku was in order...
Bobby Birk you turd.
How could you leave your dishes?
I cry tears of Joy©.

xo

3 Mikes and a Corndog

Blazers off to a scorching 8 & 3 record... and my Batum Raider poster is sitting idle. His return to the court still to be determined. It's painful. Perhaps I should build a shrine of some sort to aid in his recovery. Motordome, your official guide to seasonal obsession disorders and the NBA.

Cross Curse-ade Number... Is this thing over yet?

Cross Crusade is a sadistic bitch... though we love her. I suffered another bio-mechanical with a bum knee this week, survey says... I had the seat to low on the cycle trainer at the gym the night before, a half hour warm-up prior to lifting that I am still suffering from today. Damian rode hard, finished, spent, shaking, shivering, coughing, he looked so bad I left and went home to cuddle up next to a warm fire. Craig, in his usual cheerful self, kicked ass across the board. Greg reclined on a beach in Florida with a tall drink in his hand, and a taller woman at his side. (Taking some creative liberties with the true height of his secret Canadian girlfriend). Todd scrounged around looking for free beer and heckling. Flat beer was found at the TB tent (as was shelter from the downpour). Good heckling was found prior to Todd finding the beer, especially at the infamous cone corner. Buggy rolled smokes. JoinO (somebody tell me how to spell his nickname) finished a lap before the rest of the field - AWESOME! Rachel and Ira were there. Tad had amazing outfit - he scared some children. Joel was as excited as I had ever seen him - blame it on the conditions. Heyzel/Hazel represented!

I went home early. Like I said, it was cold, and went, and it smelled funny, and again, wolves. I'm saving myself for Krugers.

Rim Ride

Tubulars. You don't need them. Rims are engineered for cutting through mud, it's the pavement that's tricky.

This guy captured the hearts of Astoria with continuing to race after rolling a tub.

Motordome Not Exploded!

False report from our field reporters. We pay them in beer and vanilla flavored malt liquor. Sometimes they get their facts wrong. Waaaaayy WRONG!





What really happened was that four roadworthy team members(Griz, Bobby, Hazel, and I) crawled into a can on wheels to head to a safe and fireball free weekend of racing, drinking, fake racing, and booing and cheering. There were sexy robots, questionably sexy Borats, Sloth!, a branch clearing giraffe on a tall bike, a bull chasing some runners, a girl wearing a shower, some idiot with a skateboard through his chest(uh, me), lots of speedos and bikinis, okay almost too many, PeeWee Herman, leprechaun, Oompah Loompah, Super Mario and Luigi and Toadstool, as well as dragons, and multiple costume failures-like the guy with the trident. Just sayin'.





The human six pack of barriers was pretty dope, and chased a few people down to make them dismount again or face possible DQ, or lots of booing. There was a ton of booing. There were a few handfuls of spandors at each race who either did not dress up or just put on a wig and called it good. Booooo!!!!! Beer and water and snacks were flying at these monsters, who saw it fit to poach the course of merry making, and fun having to, you know, get all serious and score some points in the serious. But these guys just didn't get the memo that this was NOT a race.





Hopefully enough trauma was caused by the barriers/gauntlet of shame area that this will not happen again. We were in good company over by Team Beer, Super Relax and Grundel Bruisers and the sun was out for the crowd to enjoy. Sure I didn't get to see bicycles filled willy nilly with explosives lit on fire and ridden around a hapless throng of drunk bastards, which would rule, but I got a welcome change of pace and survived my race without breaking ribs. I got to fall asleep in the granny attic with Griz and Bobby in what would have been one of the best photos of the weekend. But I have memories and those are pretty good.





Next week is SSCXWC at PIR and we will be seeing one of the largest fields all season with a field limit of 230. Gotta get it together and get in shape for lots of drinking beer and enjoying ourselves, and maybe even some good racing.

Motordome Explodes in Fiery, Bloody Farewell

Tough times, tough, bummer times.

Motordome in the News

Compliments of VeloNews.com, spotted by our team eagle eye, Hazel.

109th

I live in the Centennials, therefore, it is only appropriate that I place in the Centennials. Hillsboro, 109th for Griz. Ahem, at least I...

Perhaps you should come over and watch the TV mini-series, Centennial with me. I believe that Pasquinel is as disgusted with my performance as I am.

 

"We shall drink like brudders" ~ Pasquinel

Silver...er, Mud Sharks!!

It happened. The day Joel has been waiting for we got to enjoy, but without Joel who was on a mission to nab himself a cute pooch. Good excuse dude. We know you didn't want to get your bike muddy with horse poo-poo and pee-pee. Your new friend would have peed all the mud off, you know?



We left with a full load of meat heads ready to slide down into some eagerly awaiting pools of cold wet earth. Some of us met out at Sweet Pea early to fuel up before we hit the road. I arrived after breakfast as I wasn't feeling hot and was debating even leaving the house, but here I sit, telling you about the trip. I got there as breakfast was finishing up and loaded up along with Hazel, Glenn, Charlie, John, Tad, Danger, and the Motordome pilot, Griz. We set off with a fridge full of Hamm's and listed down Stark toward another traffic jam caused the second marathon of the first four Cross Crusades. Don't they have an X-Box Live game for all these runners to hook up to treadmills in the safety of their own homes, without crippling downtown traffic. How about 1 or two streets that don't circumnavigate the ENTIRE downtown. Idiot runners.



Speaking of idiots, our nearly tragic loss of a $40K coffee mug was saved by a Christmas miracle. Seems Charlie left Megan's mug, which is somehow valued more than my entire net worth, sitting on the rear bumper when we left town. Thankfully, 1974 technology left us with a perfectly square bumper that kept that baby put the entire trip. I can't keep a pair of socks together for more than a week. This mug makes an unlikely trip across town sitting on a bumper. Nothing makes sense to me anymore.



After searching for a back of the lot parking spot and setting up camp, it seemed like our racing was ready to start. Normally, arriving at 8:30 allows for plenty of time to dick around before we casually head to the starting line at 1pm. When you show up at 11am instead, you all of a sudden feel rushed. So, as we all geared up to do few warmup rides, Craig shows up from Seattle ready to roll. Right about then I decide to register. I would be racing and trying to keep a good series standing. I figured I'd either feel better afterwards, or much worse.



About 12:50 we finally make our way over to the staging area and go through call ups, then numbers. Griz gets last number, which equals a six pack. Craig gets both a call up and a six pack, as do a few others up front. After a few minutes the B's head out. I like it when they go first. Catching the B field on the last few laps helps with the cat and mouse passing of the singlespeed field, at least most of the time. As we sit for 3 minutes waiting for our staggered start, I start wondering if this was a bad idea. I feel a little lightheaded, and I'm not sure what kind of legs I have as I have only been on one 40 minute ride outside of work in the past two weeks. Last week I was feeling mildly sick for all of two days before racing and ended up 10th. I had my fingers crossed today that being sick is my new training routine.



We left in the usual cluster of a field, shoulder to shoulder, headed out over a muddy and bumpy stretch of field. I always wonder when that's gonna go bad, but it doesn't happen today. We get out past a few fast stretches and I feel okay. Like I could pedal harder, but am bent on riding smart and staying up. I'm not trying to prove anything today. If I get a top 30 finish, I'd be happy with that. As muddy turn, bog, straightaway, and barrier go by, lap by lap, it becomes apparent that I feel pretty good. I somehow have not slumped into a sick and dying ball of cold, wet misery. I find Luke Demoe who got 3rd last week and stick on him, pacing myself and letting him dictate speed while I focus on lines and who's behind us.



All is well on the final lap. I trade places a few times with at least one other singlespeeder before using some lagging B's to shield a clean pass and getaway through the corners. After getting around a couple more riders who went down on the pavement transition, I am trailing Luke on through the last barn, ready for the last right, left right toward the finish. I can sense a top finish, though it seems Luke's not as fast as last week running fixed again. But I know he's a strong rider, so I feel good. As we exit the barn, I lose my racelong cool head of riding carefully, and pedal a little too hard a bit too early and my rear wheel spins out. I hit the deck, taking a couple followers with me. As I get up and remount, at least two more bike fly by, and they are not B's, but singlespeeders. As I slowly remount in the mud, trying to get back into my pedals, and spinning tires, another SS goes by on my left, only this one returns the favor and falls, taking me out. I'm on the ground looking at the finish and I see about five more bikes leaving the barn out of the corner of my eye and then look back to my left. The bike that took me down is a singlespeed. I feel like everything is simultaneously moving in hyper-speed and slow motion. I clammer to my feet dragging my bike out from underneath the fallen rider and start running. It's like a bad dream, the one where you can't yell for help, or uh, like you're running though mud. As the soft buzz of bikes comes around the last corner I finally get traction and lunge toward the finish line, pushing my bike forward across the line as both mounted riders and the singlespeeder who was momentarily in the dirt next to me come up on my left.



It was nuts to finish like that. So close to a single digit finish, only to slip and fall twice in the closing stretch. It was a great way to end the race. This was the hardest race to get to for me, and I pushed my better senses aside to possibly wreak havoc on my system, but in the end I was holding a 40 and smiling, covered in mud.



I know that I'm speaking for everyone when I say I had a great time out there. The nastier it gets, the more you feel like a kid throwing a football around in mud. Next week is Halloween in Astoria, we'll be camping the entire weekend. If it's anything like this, it will be a memorable weekend.

F***ING LOST!!!

But now is found, the first Motordome kit. The sleeveless denim with the Motordome pinned patch was returned to us by a kind soul and kindred spirit. It was located in the lost and found. Sad thing is, I'm not sure if any of us knew it was lost. Anybody know who has it now? Or is it stowed somewhere in the 'Dome. Somewhere with Toddy D's number.

Motordome in the News?

Yep, that Griz at about 2:49.
Looking too sexy for his arm warmers, no less!

Bumps, Dirt, Mud, and Blue Sky

This is what we got instead of sleeping in like regular people do. Oh, and also there was some serious pain.



My hands ache as I type this, a little over 27 hours after my 45 minute pummeling in the singlespeed race. The course wasn't as muddy as I thought it would be, but there was actually a little bit of it for the first time at a Cross Crusade race this season. And we can thank that for the extra lap of bone shaking terrain. There were no donuts, no cupcakes. There was horse dook, plenty of it. It can be considered a warm up for the fecal fest that Clark County Fairgrounds will be if it rains enough this week. Last year we all got the pleasure of riding through the rodeo ring that was a soupy concoction of bull shit and piss, and plenty of frightened rodeo clown pee. It was filthy, and I found myself thinking about whether or not I had any cuts or scrapes on my feet as I waded through that sewage portion of the course. Wow, Hillboro, I can't wait to be further dazzled by your beauty.

Anyhow, I'm off task. I'm here to wrap up our outing to the 3rd installment of the Cross Crusade Series. We had some of the usual suspects in tow this week. Tad, Joel, Danger, Griz, Charlie and myself. It was the perfect amount. Any more and we would have been grumpy because we really like to stretch out. Rachel showed up with Ira. Bobby and his mom arrived a bit later as did Megan, followed by Hazel and Jo. It was a pretty kickass day.



The course was rough and generally not what I was looking for. It was apparently attacked by a giant melon baller the night before. It was very rough and punishing. I wanted everything to be easy. I was feeling a little under the weather earlier in the week and didn't ride at all after work, so I was hoping for a course that would cater to this situation. But I suppoooooose I was just gonna have to sweat it out the old fashioned way. These things aren't gimmes. Every race finisher went through a lot to make it happen and I'm stoked to say that this week we had all of our team finishing the course.



There was a lot of single track. Passing meant leaving the sometimes smoother single track to pass on the rougher grass. You were gonna get wailed on at some point. It was a matter of waiting for it, or giving in and sucking it up. The slower you went the more bumps your wheels would find. Drilling it meant hitting fewer bumps harder. There was no cheating this course. You were going to get pummeled. The final hill leading back to the start finish was soul crushing. Loose gravel steep front section, followed by another uphill stretch after the midway point, veering quickly to the left on in to the finish area.



Aside from the actual racing portion there was beer, the wave, and heapin' helpin's of heckling. With the Timbers out of the playoffs, we have a formidable heckler in Todd Danger and Griz is no slouch either. Countless people were annoyed up that hill and I was berated to a few places faster on the last climb. A healthy dose of tough love from both the crowd and the course. It's always gonna hurt a little, but it's better in the end.

the wave!

Motordome is bringing the wave back to cyclecross. Was it here before? I'm not really sure, but there really is nothing better than turning a corner, not sure why this whole race thing was a good idea, and having your friends do the wave. Every lap I was tempted to stop and yell "did you see that?! they're doing the wave for me!"

Thanks to PDXcross for the awesome photos!