Juggernaut founding member Jon Rourke admitted Sunday that he suffers from a rare ailment that renders his legs fish belly white. “Sometimes the sun hits my knees caps at an off angle and I see people squint. It’s a blinding effect caused by my tragically white legs,” said Rourke. It was confirmed by race officials that the disease did not play a role in his decision to race a commuter bike or to show up with a solid beer buzz.
Lo did the angel Lefefulus command upon the brethren “treasure, good Juggernaut adventurers, is your destiny upon yonder plains of fiery desolation, for I have bequeathed divine golden tablets upon thine encampment, for you shall know the truth, and the truth will allow you to rip many many miles of singletrack.”
And so did the Juggernaut happen upon a stack of golden tablets that will likely rewrite the course of cycling spirituality and the history of the world’s great religions. The dictates of the Juggernaut; benovolence upon humanity, obsessive cycling, unmatched camp circle skills, a love of hop and barley, and the worship of a new class of sub-deities and lesser known imps, has all been confirmed by a higher power in the form of kick ass golden tablets.
Set forth upon the tablets are the 17 steps to spiritual passage into cycling nirvana. Loyalty and adherence to the code will be strictly enforced.
“I’m looking forward to the 2016 Inquisitions,” said El Guapo. “If you get enough participation from the group and have the right equipment inquisitions can really bring people together.”
El Guapo awakes from a spiritual trance:
The Juggernaut Summer 2015 training camp. Durango to Moab in 6 days: 240 miles, 24,000 feet of climbing, big weather, thin air, bears, 7 cases of beer. And the Whole Enchilada. THE FREAKING WHOLE ENCHILADA. We set some records.
Rest day hijinks:
Mention the words Pisgah 111 in Juggernaut company and you will get a mixed set of reactions. Some will tell stories of a land that time forgot and root ladders that ascend into the clouds. Others will crack a wry smile and tell you of punishing climbs, fast technical descents, and bottomless coolers of burritos at the finish. All will visibly cringe when recalling a finish line stunt that may prove to outweigh the greatest misdeeds against humanity that history has ever witnessed. Bottom line, the 111 is a nasty mofo.
But quite possibly the only thing nastier than the Pisgah 111 itself is having to race its little brother the Pisgah 55.5 the following day. They call it the Double Dare. Although the 55 is only half the distance, it packs more than ¾ of the climbing of the previous day’s 111. In total the two races equal over 100 miles of distance and 18,000+ feet of elevation in the unforgiving Pisgah backcountry — including back-to-back days finishing on the horrific Laurel Mountain/ Pilot Rock/ Black Mountain route of death and despair.
Guapo was asked in a pre-race interview what he thought his chances were for finishing the back to back challenges:
“It is much easier on a bike than say on a burro, or an old mining cart. I’ve got this,” he said in a voice that sounds like Tuco from the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.
Although there were some dark moments in the primordial forest, Guapo was able to bring glory to the ESF with bike and self physically, if not mentally, intact. Another step in the quest for King of Pisgah bragging rights.
El Guapo Results:
Day 1 – Pisgah 111K: 22nd place overall, 4th place Masters (7hr 56min)
Day 2 – Pisgah 55.5K: 13th place overall, 3rd place Masters (5hr 18min)
Editors note: Proper podium technique. El Guapo is too busy drinking beer to get out of the blackout kit.
List of Event Grievances and Eventual Forgiveness
1) Races that start at 2pm on a Sunday = automatic bummer. 2) There were freaking huge snakes. Huge. Snakes. 3) Nobody hung around to drink beer – except me. Two post-race Deviant Dale tall boys. Whooot! 4) I’m convinced there is a powerful magnetic field deep within the Catoctin Mountains that can render my drivetrain semi-useless. 100% useless would be OK, semi-useless is worse because it means you have to keep pedaling. Like dragging a boulder. 5) It was too hot to punch dance my rage out in a nearby wooded glen.
Then again, the course does rip. Punchy climbs, nasty rock gardens, a couple screaming descents. Awwwww yeah. Freaking fun. Maybe you’re not the seventh level of hell Greenbrier. I take it back. You’re somewhere in between.
Thor: Cat 1 42-44 Bronze