Monday, September 28

2015 UCI Road Worlds

Get lost on the way to scoop Nick, drive in occasional pissing rain all the way to the house that was kindly being opened up to us by Stratton of Starlight Apparel, ditch the car, ride over into downtown...

and somehow without even planning it, we're there in time for the start of the women's race.  Chat with Grant from Swiftwick and Stratton before heading out to watch whatever we could see.  We go here and there and end up on the final corner with Caleb.

Look around.  It's maybe 2:00PM or so.  No one is drinking beer except the people in the Mich Ultra beer garden, and I'm not sure you can call that beer.  Nick had the forethought to stop at a bodega and get a case of PBR.  Now some people are drinking beer where we are... mostly us.

Eventually, it appears that we picked a decent spot, since all these guys showed up:

They take photos so you can keep your phones in your pocket and find decent images later on when you're home and sober.

Other things are happening anyways.

Everything is a mess.

And it stays that way.

We got to see the big move in the final corner, and USA, USA, USA and all that.

Where to now?

Pretty sure we headed back to Starlight Apparel.  We either accidentally found Watts and Dorothy or we planned on finding them.  We all went out into the night, Nick pumped his fist in the air, announced something, and went off on his own... to somewhere.

Watts, Dorothy and I ended up somewhere.  Here?

I found this in my phone, so maybe we were here or trying to get someone else here... dunno

This might be that place or it's the other one.

 Wherever this is, the man who gave us these effeminate drinks that Watts purchased had a man-bun.

At some point, I parted ways with Watts and Dorothy, although I remember Bike Tumor's Tyler "Tool Bag" Benedict being around... and hamburgers.

I either got a text or a call from Nick who didn't know where he was or how to get back to where we were sleeping.  I found him, we got back to the house...

Where to now?

There's a party at the house across the streets.  No bikes.  Just normal people.

Nick wants to go. We walk over and sit on the porch.  Eventually, a man comes out, talks to the "people on the front porch," Nick goes in.  He comes back out.  We both go in.

Grant calls.  "Where are you guys?"

"Across the street at the party?"

"Who's party?"


Grant shows up.

Sitting on a strange porch in a strange house in a strange town.  Nick decides we need to shotgun a beer, because that's what strangers do.

At some point we went back to where we belong, the cops show up at the party after we left, we go to sleep.

Wake up feeling like butt.  Three glasses of water, 32oz of Gatorade, and Huevos Rancheros, and I'm back to 80%.

Walk all over the course.  Watch the men's race.  Six and a half hours.  We watch it go by on this climb, that climb, a straightaway, a screen in a deli, back outside, end the day at a jumbotron watching Sagan makes his move.  The crowd goes wild and it actually feels worth it to be there to somewhat witness the moment.  I felt "feelings."

Fight the insane crowds and street closures to get back to the car and head home. 

That was better than sitting in Charlotte looking out the window at the rain and being all FOMO'ed.

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