Main man, Magnus Backstedt, piled the peloton on his shoulders today and chased down the breakaway group which included the indefatigable Thomas Voeckler, hero of France. Last year, the plucky, babyfaced frenchman won the hearts and minds of viewers around the world when he fought like hell to hold the yellow jersey for 10 days. I hope I always remember his face as he struggled to beat the clock and hold the jersey for just one more day. I believe he could have keeled over dead after he saw that he had made it with just seconds to spare. He was racing to survive the stage, not win it. I won’t lie, I was screaming myself hoarse, alone in my brother’s apartment, tears streaming down my face. I’m sure it’s cool to win and be the champ and all that, but to see a man fight for pride, and pride alone, clarifies for me what this struggle with the mortal coil is all about. Goddamn, there is just nothing else like the Tour, for real.
So you may have seen it differently, but Big Maggie lurked at the front of the pack quite a bit today and even got a mention from Phil Ligget as the pack moved into position for the sprint finish. I think he is setting Lance and the gang up for a big haymaker tomorrow.
Still on the road, crusing FL in Barbie’s little red dream truck, collecting validations for my sweet, sweet life back in the ‘hood. It might not be much to look at, but I don’t want you people looking at me all the time anyway. Damn, give a brother a little room to breathe now and then.
S’quatch is home Wednesday.
Congratulations to Taco, who got a new ride– Santa Cruz Super Light FS.
I drank 10 pints of Guiness at my sister’s 20th high school reunion last night. So there!
Have fun tomorrow. Look for a special Independence Day posting.
Time for a quick post from an Ouray, CO cyber cafe. We’re waitig for the annual 4rth firehose battle sponsored by the local fire department. Teams of two each man a hose and go at it on main street. It starts in 20 minutes and the crowd is already getting rowdy. Every 10 minutes or so one of the town ruffians sprints into the battle area and uses his own super Squirter gun to douse an unsuspecting fireman, who in turn grabs a hose and gets one of his bros to turn on the water (ice, ice cold) so he can shoot a fiery cold river of water at the assassin,who, coward that he is, has retreated into the (now soaked) crowd. Of course I’m wondering how many real gun fights have gone down in the Wild West mining town. The streets are wide, so you probably wouldn’t fire into a Main Steet store front even if Marshall Dillon plugged you first and you shot while falling over.
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adidas active deodorant. Sasquatch’s offical deodorant of choice.
Tough enough for a beast but made for a human!
Also some of u might know me by the name Red Rooster. Please relay this message to Lompta. Thx