And so begins 2010. As stated, this was to be a big year for us. Which means it was going to be a busy one, with lots of traveling. That wasn't the plan from day one, but as the season progressed Max an' I decided we would hit any races we possibly could and try to win our respective classes. I say "respective classes" because after this first race Max bumped up into Classic Expert, the writing being pretty clear on the wall that he was far beyond us Intermediate muddlers. So the season's first race at Gatorback was a milestone, being the last time Max would start on the same line as me and George. They grow up so fast. It was a pretty good sendoff, however, as we made up the entire line in Classic. There was Max, out for his first race on the Tr5t he had built over the winter. George, on his trusty Tr5t. Me, having sorta recovered from my broken leg, on the old T100. Jay on the Field Pig,
and Chad and Alex on their menagerie of BSA unit singles,
Max immediately dissapeared, which though not a surprise, proved he was even faster on the "little" Tr5t than he was on his old 650.
The rest of us lined up and proceeded to plod around the course at a much more sedate pace
That's us, politely lined up. I'm in the front followed by Chad, Jay, and Alex. George is hidden back there in the trees. I had no idea any of them were behind me until Chad popped around me in the woods. We kept on like that until I cleverly missed a turn and they followed. Jay wasn't fooled by my mistak....erm, clever plan. I think after I got turned around and bactracked to the turn I'd missed I got back on the course just in front of him...I think. Hopefully he'll refresh my memory on that. I do know he got past me, but I'm pretty sure it was further on. However, the Field pig sulked up going through the timing tent a bit later and I sneaked past. Max was, of course, beating us all to death, and lookin' good doing so,
I was mostly second, eventually holding that spot to the finish,
George finished 3rd because he ran a good, solid, trouble-free race, which is a statement that will be important as we get to the results of the other sad feckers.
And here we go. Let the tales of woe begin. Chad, seen here apparently crapping himself up the big hill,
and who had been running with us until the slight getting-lost incident decided to kill some time when his exhaust pipe fell off, requiring him to wedge it back in place with our favorite tool: "a stick". This dropped him back to Fifth
Alex, who had also been happily pounding along,
got caught up by George when he dumped his bike in soft sand, then got a bit confused and thought the white flag meant "surrender" instead of "one lap to go" and missed his last lap. He still managed Fourth.
And then there's Jay. Oh...Jay.... Monsieur Jay, who had gotten himself up into second until he stalled his bike, finished sixth. Soon after he got his bike restarted he lost his gas cap. This only became problematic/excruciatingly painful when gas began sloshing out of the tank and onto his crotch. To this day his campfire tale of dancing around with his pants off, scaring spectators while trying to get water to douse his, ummm, man bits is one of the most ridiculous things you will ever hear. If you ever meet him, be sure to ask him about it. As the tears well up in his eyes remembering the pain, you will thank yourself.
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