In fact, the city seems to have evolved into a sort of bicycle, punk rock, pretty girl, good coffee, comfort food, beer based Utopia..
I once saw a pie chart in an old issue of Big Brother magazine, in which they graphed the percentages of what people in Portland did, which was drink, do drugs, and commit suicide. They also mentioned that due to the consistent low ceiling of clouds, they always felt as if they had to duck any time they walked outside for fear of bumping their heads.
Now I didnt experience all that much drinking, drugging or suiciding while I was away... Well suiciding anyway, but I did have the clear sensation that the tip of my head was constantly rubbing along the ceiling, which at least in our particular circle means its time to ride skinny tired bikes in the mud, all the while attempting to prevent our hearts from running, screaming out of our mouths.
Before I get too far ahead of myself however, I should begin at the beginning, and since I seem to frequently find myself here in front of you all attempting to make some sense out of what for all intent and purposes has been in other reports and is in this one as well, a booze fueled run away train wreck of Caligulan proportions, Ill just suffice it to say that I now have mud where my blood should be, and a pint of beer sitting where my liver once was.
Oh yeah, and I dont guess I need to mention that this all means that I rolled lazily off of the wagon this weekend and hit the ground at about 120 miles per hour.
In light of all of this, Ill simply post some photos along with brief captions, and let the brain trust that is the Bummer Life audience fill in the blanks.

Brothers from other mothers, Chevil Kinevil and The Captain spent a fair share of time baby sitting me;

But despite their guidance, it didnt prevent me from peeing on myself again;

Same pants, same socks, different shoes, same problem.

Then we went to a strip club, ate a steak and plastered some stickers;

Ultimately we wound up at The Captains house, where I promptly passed out with the Darth Vader mask on.

Waking up the next day, we found that the rain had again begun to fall, and with barely a synapse firing in my head, I followed my guardians to find food, and ultimately to rally with the rest of the group.
A condition of this years event was that we had to all meet at the Chris King world head quarters where we then made our way into Forrest Park to engage in the off road time trial, where terra firma was displaced, and for some, skin was left behind;

The standard array of karmic retribution that has been my race season thus far stood tall and proud as my brand new Shimano free wheel completely gave up the ghost at my start, leaving me spinning wildly, but going nowhere. I finally squirted some water on it, and loosened up at least one of the pawls, allowing me to reach the top of the accent in good time, but then forcing me to coast the entire twisty, turny, wet and rooty descent. When the time came to pedal again, I had nothing, so I shouldered my bike and ran the remainder of the course. Fortunately the powers that be took pity on my situation and placed my name on the list of qualifiers anyway.

Another group of forgiving souls that I was riding with also looked deep within the kindness of their black hearts and towed me out to civilization where Kyle hooked me up with a new freewheel at The Fat Tire Farm.

Eventually we made our way to a party at the Vanilla compound where I was immediately lambasted for a lackluster high five.
Seeking retribution, I lit the offenders hands up with such force that they had to recant their criticism.

While inside I saw this;

When I turned around, I saw this; (Also, it should be noted that at this point in the evening, not only were my eyes seeing things a bit blurry, but apparently my camera was as well.)

Then, when I turned to the right, I saw this;

Everything youve heard about Sasha Whites bikes and the operating room sterility of his operation is true and is really a sight to behold, but Ill be damned if I saw even a single pair of $75.00 rubber boots.

When I turned around again, I was confronted by Stan Beaver and some Canadians;

Getting dizzy with all of the turning around and whatnot, I excused myself to get some fresh air, where I was attacked by the picture of unprofessionalism that is Nat Ross;

After berating him in front of a crowd of puzzled onlookers for his absolute lack of pride in this sport that has given him so much, we decided to grab Colin and The Beav and head over to The Miss Delta to get our fill of some collard greens, chicken fried streak and other Southern favorites, but not before losing Nat at a thrift store, and then fruitlessly attempting to guide him in via cell phone for over an hour. Not only does he give cyclocross a bad name, but hes crappy at taking directions as well.

Again we broke off in different directions to rest weary heads and prepare for the next days battle.
Waking up even more exhausted then I was when I went to bed, I knew that the race was going to be the fight of my lifetime, so as I always do before a big race, I spent the better part of the morning sitting inside of my Pyramid of Power ® and rolling around the house on my yoga ball, except for a short trip to get food, where I eventually found my spirit graffiti;

As we arrived to the venue, there was madness in every direction.

Friendly faces roamed among the crowd as proven by a not so chance meeting with Kevin and Scott Ramsey from Vanilla;

As usual I looked on in awe at the pro mens race as they made what I would eventually find to be excruciatingly difficult, look fairly easy.

Of course, being the consummate pro that I am, (take a note, Nat) I came wearing my Sundays best, which not surprisingly was completely lost on the masses.

I was NOT dressed as Gene Simmons, or any other member of KISS, as most casual on lookers tended to assume, but rather Gaahl, of the Norwegian Black Metal super group Gorgoroth. (Photo graciously loaned from Brujo.)

If you care to commit the time, and I recommend you do, to get the full sordid story behind this character, as well as the specifics of my costume, allow me to refer you to Vice TVs unbelievable documentary called 'True Norwegian Black Metal'. Also, take note that what would appear to be the end of part five, is in fact, not.

Now once youve made it through that, youll need to read this.

Really, I dont suppose that it should come as any surprise that my costume would need an hours worth of back story to make sense.
Then again, I was riding so fast the entire time (except for when I was lying on the ground, wishing for a swift death) that aside from my inverted cross necklace made of chicken bones, the final detail of my costume would most likely have been lost on the casual observer;

Though just as far as the understanding of pure evil goes, these kids knew where I was coming from;

Anyway, back to the action for a second. Arguably one of the highlights of the course was the bubble machine that was churning out the foam just the other side of four barriers;

However, know that if I was in charge, I most definitely would have upped the carnage factor by throwing a double barrier somewhere within the wall of foam.

Suffice it to say, fun was had by all, and I look forward with great anticipation to next years race, and with it, the appearance of a whole new slew of dirtbags from around the states. I doubt any of us have truly lived until weve witnessed Loudass trudging through mud thats the consistency of hitch grease mixed with peanut butter.

And to that end, if I show up next year, I might even bring along a freewheel thats not broken.
You know.. Just for kicks.

Of course we cant wrap the post up without offering the goods for the mens and womens winners;

Congratulations to Sue Butler and Drew MacKenzie on making your marks on history.. or at least leaving some kind of marks somewhere..

I want to wish a hearty thanks to The Captain for flowing me a whole bunch of new Evil gear, as well as a wide array of unbelievably kick ass Ironclad gloves, the Ironclad Flickr site for the use of photos, the Ironclad team doctors for wiping away my tears, and patching up my wounds, and ace photog David Anderson for his sharp eye as well.

As it turns out, I was too busy getting my ass absolutely handed to me to get any good photos..

Speaking of which, a link was sent to me in the 11th hour of this post containing some really beautiful shots that you might like to stop here to spend some time with.

Id also like to extend a heartfelt thanks to the visionaries behind this event. Regardless of the fact that they forbid me from wearing my hairnet, while allowing CD to do just that.

But then again, Im me, and CD is CD, so when you are a legend such as he, I suppose that seas will part and rules will tend to be bent before him.

Anyhow, even with all of this being said, and as much as it pains me to say it, if you werent there, you have no idea what you missed.

As per the usual, upon my return, my inbox was jam packed with reports of similar tom foolery, so let todays post stew for a piece, and well all meet up in a few days, and turn over the rest of it.