Blue Steel meets the Blues Brothers and sees the light!
Blues Brothers James Brown
When I woke up this morning, I heard a disturbing sound. Friends, when I woke up this morning, I heard a disturbing sound! It was the jingle-jangling of a thousand lost cyclists! I’m talkin’ ’bout the cyclists, men and women, departed from the circuit! Those lost, angry cyclists, lost from this race, unseen on their bikes, seekin’ to find life they will not find because it’s tooooo late, too late, for they’ll never again see the life they chose not to follow. Don’t be lost when the time comes, for the day of the racing comes like a thief in the night.
Or so Rev. Cleophus said as he surveyed the sorry turnout on Saturday afternoon. Or would have said. Or something. The newspaper photographer was rather amused, which allowed Swannie, Chicka, Lachie McPhie, ColCol and yr. humble scribe to circulate so he could take some photos. The first one involving Swannie baiting one unnamed, particularly gullible and stupid rider into the worlds slowest sprint, which I’m sure will make a hilarious photo. The second involved all five riders spread across the track “Wild Bunch” style.
Brent “Blue Steel” Weston finally had enough and made the riders form up for a race in which, comically, a 25 minute crit was suggested with the first 15 minutes being “neutral”, a lap handicap for “Mr C Grade” and some actual racing to follow. What happened of course was that Lachie took off like he was being chased by the Australian Securities and Investment Commission which resulted in “Mr C Grade” discovering that there are heart rates over 180 and he didn’t like them. ColCol tempered this somewhat but it was all too late, the “handicap lap” being taken early didn’t help. I gave up. It was cold! My tux didn’t come back from the cleaners! An old friend came in from out of town! Someone stole my car! There was an earthquake! Locusts! IT WASN’T MY FAULT! (ah, who am I kidding. Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life son, whoops wrong movie!)
Surprise of the day was of course Chicka, who should have been racing A grade all year anyway. Chicka cruised around with one hand on the bars light pedalling and rolling his eyes and wondering when Swannie was going to fix the cigarette lighter. Lachie snapped off the front with two laps to go and put a lazy 30 metres into the others as the strains of “Ride of the Valkyries” played in the background. Lachie held off for an impressive amount of time before ColCol wound up the 440 cube plant, the cop shocks and the cop tyres and the regular gas and wound him in. At the point where Swannie slipped in to take over the work it was too late, the race was morphing into a sprint. Chicka and Swannie sprinted for the win with Swannie victorious.
Then, of course, all that other Blues Brothers stuff we know and love: the dry white toast; the comical destruction of a shopping mall; Princess Leia destroying a flophouse with rockets; Twiggy turning down Swannie’s lecherous suggestions at a petrol station, a wildly successful concert at the Bowlo and our heroes finally paying the overdue taxes only to end up in jail. Some of that may not have happened though.
The whole time, of course, Brent was practicing on the sidelines:
Smouldering!
…but he needs a little work before he has it perfected before the next Wool Expo:
