Rapha put on a race here in Munich. We all know about the Rapha. We all know what to shout when someone mentions Rapha. Well, being one of the ‘Old Guard’ as I am, I decided I needed to represent at an event where I didn’t need to worry about how to get home. Who the fuck needs to deal with driving when I can sleep in the park and get home after midnight simply by walking in my bike shoes, amirite?
First, some backstory. I really got into biking back on the 90’s after being a skater for many, many years. I rode as a kid in the backwoods and on the trails of north Texas, so getting back on a bike was… like riding a bike, actually.
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I got a Specialized Allez (because I didn’t know better in ’98) and I posted about my ride in the summer of 2000 here. Lots of road miles later, I moved and got back onto dirt first with a 150mm fully, then a hardtail 29’er and now, my favorite bike (more due to locale than the kind of riding, my Guerciotti CX with 42c rubbers. It’s not a pure CX, not a real Monstercross but a nice blend of both that lends itself to the gravel roads and doubletrack that is so plentiful here. I can also throw on some 32c roadies and go for a spin in the Alps if I am so inclined. So far, I have not been.
Here is a loose timeline of the last 2 weeks-ish then.
19th September: Hey look! On The Book of Face there is something about a rce here in Munich. Click that shit and see what’s what.
21st September: You know, I haven’t ridden at all this year and I haven’t raced in a lifetime. Maybe I should sign up for that shit. I have no idea about CX, but I do know about making a scene and drinking beer. (Not in that order necessarily.)
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24th September: Shit. I’ll do it. For Big Jonny and all the DC’ers out there. I owe them that at least.
26th September: FUCK FUCK FUCK !!! I FORGOT TO PAY AND NOW I OWE THEM 15 INSTEAD OF 10 EUROS!!! (Really, its not that big of a deal, it just sucks that I forgot and they get an extra 5 bucks. I’ll be sure and get it back one way or another…)
27th September: Making myself ready mentally, physically as well as making myself presentable.
DIY. For ever. Always.
So after enough beers and burns with the iron, I felt presentable. Sort of. I needed a few more beers then sleep. Remember, I have a race to DFL tomorrow…
So I wake up bright and early… to do what, exactly? My race isn’t until 2pm, and I’m sure as shit not sitting around waiting for my turn. I’d be loaded by 10 am. On a Sunday. Which used to be normal, but now I’m a dad. Of two. Fuck.
Breakfast, bike clothes sorted, ride checked, the absolute minimum stuffed in a small Chrome bag, and I’m ready to rock.
Around 12 I leave only to miss the subway connection. 10 minutes lost. Wrong line, damnit. I can still ride from the last stop, so I do. I find Ken Bloomer at the Crema/ENVE stand and say my hellos.
“You’re not going to spill scotch all over my stand again, are you?”
“Nope. Didn’t bring any. You’re safe.” Lies… all sweet, sweet lies flowing from my mouth to whomever’s ears will listen.
Phone rings; Fabian. “Where are you? Let’s hang out before the race.”
1 beer and 1 Radler (1/2 beer 1/2 7-up) and Im buzzing. Lightweight or empty stomach? Maybe both. Ken gets his race on and we cheer. We also cheer for the slow fucker way off the back.
“He’s my hero.” I tell Fabian.
That race finally ends and we’re up next. I realize I need to pee and waddle over to the porta-potty.
“FAT DRUNK GUY RACE IN 1 MINUTE. ONE MINUTE TO THE FAT DRUNK GUY RACE…”
I turn round and sprint back to Farbian, “DUDE WE’RE UP!”
We get on our bikes and weave to the course. They tell us to stop, the race is about to start.
“Get BACK! The race is about to start!!!”
“I know, we’re racing in it!”
3.5 laps and 2 tequila shortcuts later, I’m done.
(This middle part cut deleted by the wizards of the internet three goddamn times, so I’m not retyping it again. Fuckit.)
I meet the guys from Guten Biken shop here in Munich; the guys who were yelling at everyone and hung out with them till Fabian got done. Then we hit the free tequila. A bit too hard, in the end.
Liquor total: 1 Radler, 1 beer pre-race. 2 race shots and i guess 3 post-race. 2 post race beers, maybe a third… It’s all a bit fuzzy.
At one point I check out the Crema Cycles/ENVE stand. Mostly because my fiend Ken is there. Inow have a new nickname with him. He called me ‘Cousin Eddy’ and I wasn’t sure why. Then I remembered the last time I saw him, I spilled a big glass of scotch in his stand and made his booth smell like Aberlour for the rest of the show. My bad.
This time I was chatting with him, post beers, etc and decided to ask him why display a bunch of expensive carbon forks on some crazy-assed lazy susan. Then I spun it around, and everything went flying and falling all over the ground. Time for me to go.
I decided to ride home. No stinky post-race smelly guy on the train for me.Not the best idea I’ve ever had, but also not the worst.
As I creeped home in the safety of the bike lanes (conveniently located on the sidewalk here in Germany…) I spotted a Drunk Cyclists worst nightmare. A family of four riding towards me. In the bike lane. On the wrong side of the street. Shit. I tried my best. I really, really did.
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>BANG!Ker-SPLAT< I go down.HArd. Hard enough to have my helmet pop off and roll 2 doors down. Everyone is freaking out, Im trying to get my breath to ask if the girl is OK. I’m legally in the right because they were on the wrong side, but I’m more drunk than a freshman at pledge week. This will not end well.
“Should we call an ambulance? Are you Ok? Just lay there, we’ll get help.’
I calm everyone down once I get my breath back and make sure (too sure..) the girl is ok. She’s really freaked out but still on her bike. I get up, mount up and someone asks me, “Is that your helmet?”
“Uhhhh… yeah. I guess it is.”
Helmet back on; bike straddled, I get the fuck out of dodge. Nothing like a good shot of adrenaline to get you out of a situation and fast.
I manage to get home in one piece, unload my shit in the basement and get a shower in.
And now you know.
ps: I grabbed a few pics. You can find more in the blog-o-tube-o-shpere.by