I am in no way worthy of your munificence, but I will take it happily, with open arms.
I can’t believe you gave a perfect or even a relative stranger a little bit of your heart for no real reason whatsoever besides pure generosity of spirit.
Second: thank you, helpers. Who could possibly deserve your good graces?
I am absolutely flabbergasted. My head is too small to remember all the things I need to thank you for.
Third: thank you, racers. Nobody died and everyone got prizes. Keep that in mind the next time you forget to do so.
The weather held up, more or less, just enough to make the bomb down Graham that much more cheek-puckeringly thrilling and I’m especially gratified that no one slid under the wheels of the light rail train crossing Rainier.
Torry K. lit up the course with a winning time more than an hour and a half faster than the eventual DFL, Karadactyl, who managed to meander even more slowly than last year’s first last, Wang, as well as hometown favorite, Lee Williams, whose attempt to circumvent the published route earned the predictable wrath of the bicycle gods, who treated him to a well-deserved puncture for his troubles.
Margaret took First Lady and garnered the coveted Cleverhood cape for her efforts; Garth smoked Dada by two whole seconds to claim the Vapolution, albeit with the understanding that sharing is caring when it comes to vaporized herb. And Brother Botorff, whose generous prize donation of two hours labor and a bag of clams went to Greg S. Barnes, somehow earned bragging rights over Shahan by a grand total of ten seconds.
I, of course, was the biggest winner of all, getting to vicariously enjoy the pain and suffering of fifty-two intrepid souls pedaling up one more superfluous hill. Fortunately, thanks to our friends at Peddler Brewing, there was plenty of delicious free beer at the finish so instead of being cursed, I got toasted; hooray and happy fucking birthday to me!
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