by Campocat, with photos from Amy Bolger

This was the first leg of the three stop Velo City Tour. Check it out at cyclehawk.com.

On the road and saving a couple of hours moving west on and early flight we hit the hotel on the strip by 3pm. It was clear, no smog, no high fog even. Seprate rooms, no airconditioning, no coffee-maker, signs written backwards and upside down – How Artsy… The sun dazzled on the surface of the pool outside the plate glass window on the other side of the bar’s lounge.

“Would you like to come in?” the hostess asked.

@##=#<1,L>@##=# “No, I’m waiting to meet my team mates,” I said while looking past her at the white sharkskin suit pukering the curves of a luscious figure now climbing out of the water. I tried not to watch carnally. Three swizzle sticks wearing peekaboo skirts and flip flops were leaving and commented while touching each other in suggestive places, “You can take our place.”

I answered, “I don’t think that possible.”

Death by drive by had caused a fallen rider need for a memorial ride. Later Phllippi won an alley cat race put on in his memory, then got lost some where underground contemplating techno and green slime. I caught him the next morning about 6am on my way for coffee pedaling down Sunset. He had those dark circles around his eyes of a person that had been up all night. It seemed okay, because he was team Puma’s alley cat specialist and needed to do his thing. The event did raise some needed money for the fallen rider’s family. The paparazzi stood over us as we circled the track in warm-up following a Honda at 40 mph, driven by Henry a former Kierin racer. Gabe our sponsor and handler kept us safe from going astray with the news boys. Some of them were hard to dodge, especially the one’s from Maximum, GP, and STOMP. They wanted dirt for the tabloid store registers, and would stop at nothing to corner us. The 102 degree temps glared the eyes making efforts twice as hard, but once the blood started flowing and the air passed over the skin I was in the office. Stopping was another @##=#<2,R>@##=#matter making me open my mouth like the wrong end of a mega-phone for air. Strange noises from the crowd as the cheers and jeers spilled over the rail and poured down the plywood fencing on to the banking. Several hard fought races against a good team from San Francisco had us working hard. Two races were won outright by Kevin and Amy putting our spirits on auto-pilot. Nifty team work by Mousamba got Kevin a sweet sprint victory and Amy took the front in her race and held it. That made me a happy coach. The rest of the day was for the sponsor and Gabe. Later I took the lead in a Miss & Out setting the pace high to keep things safe while giving my team a chance in the final five. Many attempts to pass me failed but a white night for me is as rare as a glass slipper and a foot to fit it. I look at it in longer terms, that Sunday kind of love. I can still win when I have to. That night Gold Sprints settled down to a record breaking ride for the man, Phillippi. The crowd enjoyed the ride and the free beer, while the gorilla paparazzi gathered outside like sticky rice waiting to wrap us up in some sharkskin. The music was mellow and I wanted it to count so I asked for, Weather Report. The disk-o shotgun said, “I don’t know, but I think it is going to be hot again tomorrow?” I shook my head and asked for Neil Sedaka to be cute. Gabe almost lost his lunch stopping the beer from coming through his nose. I backed up and spilled beer over a lady with bright red hair, the kind that comes in food coloring. She looked like, if I’d say one wrong thing, I could end up with one leg shorter than the other.

“Can I refill that for you?” I offered.

“That sucks ass,” she exclaimed.

@##=#<3,L>@##=# I gave her a bewildered look, and the insecurity guard a raised eyebrow. That left me with one thing to do, either pour the rest of her beer over my head, or tongue kiss her. I grabbed a cold slice of free pizza, and walked home, the long way. Todd came along for the sightseeing and we avoided the press hounds by sneaking out the back way. The witching hour on the strip called for more excitment and Todd wound up wielding his magic at a party in the basement of the hotel. I went to the third floor sauna that was my room and put down the landing gear. In the hall I passed a trannie struggling to learn the in’s and out’s of high heels. The next day Gabe got us a Rolls-Royce to take us to the festivities, then made sure the winnings were distributed fairly. Kevin worked harder than a circus mule on Borax Day. We all owed him a debt of graditude. Puma raced the Godspeed San Francisco team to a match team sprint but could not pull it off. I was surprised. Alex won the ticket to worlds in Australia for his sponsor 49×16 – King Cog, and Megan a messenger from LA won for the women. A good time was had by all and we felt like we spent two days in the middle of a tractor pull by time it was all done. Party time continued Sunday night and we made it to our favorite food shack on Sunset, ‘Coco-Loco’. The waitress asked me what I wanted and I couldn’t resist, “Can we pick out some furniture baby?” She said I was cute. Her bodyguard sneered at me. Before we packed up and left for the airport Mousamba retrieved Todd flouncing around the hotel pool in his birthday suit.

When I got home I found out one of my new crop hopefuls Tyler crashed in Harlem. Wednesday night he showed up sheepishly, knowing I did not want him hurt before nationals. Amy and I had some stiff competition Wednesday and I was pretty fried from the weekend. We both managed a third placing at Kissena and the final was a fast 20 lap points race that left me spent. It was worth it though, they put up 120 bucks on that one final race. A real world class race after a world class weekend. And can Amy take some shots or what!!! Someone hire this girl…

Campogato