The annual ugly kit Halloween ride was a huge success. Kits ugly – check. Rode all over the place – check. Mission accomplished. Midway through the ride Olsen was spit out of a wormhole from 1992 in a tattered race champion jersey from LOTOJA and we were happy to see him. He smelled like cabbage. We also saw Dave Parse at Dean and Deluca trying to make out with some woman he met online.
Juggernaut team physicians have determined that there are all sorts of disassembled pieces inside the bodies of Juggernauts after a season of hard riding. If you haven’t had yourself checked out, do so. You may have a ruptured spleen or compacted tibula that has gone undetected. For example, Thor’s collarbone looks like a bad Jenga match and none of Olsens bones are actually interconnected at present.
As a side note to all things Juggerly and idiotic, we also race, and we raced the Shenandoah 100. Like we always do, we rocked out some nice times. It was muddy. Really muddy. There was much hardship and much glory to be had. You wouldn’t ride out into a rainstorm like the one(s) we experienced but if you were already out there, you might just as well dig it.
Looking back, we think of the race more fondly since at present 30% of the bones in the participating riders are broken and jutting into adjoining internal organs. Which makes it hard to ride. But we will return.
Side note to the side note: A 3-week old baby showed up to cheer us on that the Olsongs named after our very own Ryan “50/50” Douglas in a gesture of team unity.
In addition to the 2013 team goal of buying a conversion van with a wizard mural on the side we are also aiming to trim 2 hours from our finishing times in an effort to sweep the next Shen 100 podium. Phase 1, more premium beers. The cheap ones slow us down.
A new feature of the Juggernaut blog, join us in following the exploits of ESF affiliate Deadly Tedly. Collect all 7 bobble head figurines for a chance to win a fantasy weekend with Ted.
The Piano Lesson (names have been changed to protect the innocent)
I had about 25 to 30 miles left in what ended up being a 90 mile ride. I had no desire eat the gel or blocks that were in my pocket, so I stopped at a convenience store to get a banana. As I pull up, I see a rough looking guy, who looks like a skinny version of Jack Nicholson, sitting at the picnic table outside eating out of a styrofoam clam container. I go in and get my banana. When I came out I notice that the rusty, blue GEO Metro that is parked in front of the picnic table has a poorly made sign on the door that says, “Piano Lessons.” Sandwiched in between the words piano and lesson it says “perspective” in a different font. Underneath, it says, “Stan” and has a phone number. I look at the guy who is wearing stained cargo pants, a badly stretched t-shirt, and a chambray shirt over the t-shirt, and ask, “Are you Stan?” In between bites of chicken he says that he is and immediately volunteers that weekday piano lessons are $50/hour and weekend piano lessons are $100/hour. For some reason, he also mentions that he also works on horse farms.
I tell him about my mother’s foolish efforts to turn me into the next Billy Joel that ended when I crashed my bike on the day of the big recital and showed up with the leftside of my face looking like raw hamburger meat. When I went to play my piece, a little girl loudly asked, “What happened to that boy’s face?” This of course leads Stan to tell me about a sledding accident that he got into as a child that ended with his face being mashed into a gravel parking lot. For some reason, he gets up and walks close to me as if to show me the scar. There is no scar. I do notice that for some reason he has allowed the hair on his Adam’s apple to grow to a length of at least six inches. He could use a shave, but otherwise does not have a beard. The End.