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As we rode up the hill, I felt the firm grasp of a strong hand with meaty fingers clamped fiercely onto my trapezius, already sore from over 4 hours spent reaching for the handlebars. The vise like grip was pulling me backward… "Stop half wheeling me ya dickhead, you're starting to piss me off." "If you could ride up hill I wouldn't be half wheeling your lard ass…If I slow down any more, I'll fall over sideways for lack of momentum. You need me to do track stands?" "I swear Druber, you cannot ride next to anyone. All those years of riding by yourself in Illinois have completely ruined your group riding skills. You're worse than you were 7 years ago. Now stop half wheeling me before I push you off your bike." "You wanna get home by dark don't you? I'm starting to get hungry."
3 hours into a 5 hour and 15 minute ride, the billboard sized ass in front of me was wagging back and forth on the saddle looking not dissimilar to Sir Mix A Lot's "Baby Got Back" video. I marveled out loud at the genius of men who can create fabric so light, yet so strong and resilient as lycra. "Dude, those shorts make your ass look huge." "Yeah, well your fat ass makes YOUR ass look huge." "Good one, Don Rickles. Next you're gonna tell me I'm rubber and you're glue?" "Kiss my fat ass, Druber."
During
the off season between 1999 and 2000 I received a phone call from
HeadsMACK. The Rhino and I were team mates on the former Regional
power back when it meant something to be a sMACK…before sMACK
became a punch line in a bad cycling story. "He quit?" "No, I'm going to fire him like I did He Who Cannot Be Named." "Really? Why? "He has authority issues." "Hmmmmm." "That and he yelled at the Doughboy Frat Rat. Made him leave the team." "Well, the Fat Fratboy did insult his intelligence and that guy wasn't any good anyway" "I don't care, he's off." "Okay…Who's going to win races for us next season?" "Well, me and you of course!" "Ahhh. With all due respect you haven't seen the podium in a real race since the '80s and I'm pretty green. I think Coxworthy is a great leader and we'd be better off with him. Besides, Kebekkus has moved, Vandermolen is moving to CA and if you kick Coxworthy to the curb all of our wins are gone." "Well, maybe you're right. But you have to understand, he can't be yelling at everybody. You gotta keep him under control." "Yeah. I'll go toss a lasso around the Tasmanian devil too while I'm at it." A month later I received another phone call from HeadsMACK. "Druber, I need you down here in Springpatch tomorrow. We gotta size you for clothes and a bike. You're on the elite team." "Really?" "Yeah, Coxworthy thinks you're the strongest guy on the team. He doesn't think we can win races without your motor. He knows your green but thinks he can teach you how to race."
February
2000. Somewhere near Orange California. Day one of Team sMACK training
camp. I was sideswiped by a Ford F250, knocking me over my handle
bars and onto my back onto the pavement of the busy street. The
driver had recently purchased the vehicle and wasn't used to the
fenders. "Holy Shit! Nobody move!" "Druber! You okay?" "Yeah, I think so. Is my head bleeding?" "Not much. Here, I found your glasses in the street. They're not broken." "Thanks man." "I think an ambulance is coming. The ChIPs called one." "I'm all right, I really don't need one." "They'll clean your head up and it's best if they look at you anyway. You sure you're okay?" "Yeah." "Good because I'm gonna have to teach you how to ride a bike with cars around. Jeezus I swear you have to stop riding out in the country all by yourself you dumb ass." "Thanks." Day 7 of the same camp. It was our last ride. The team rode from Santa Ana down the coast to Camp Pendleton, around the camp and back. It was a 156 mile ride. We're in Pendleton with 3.5 hours still to ride. We'd done nearly 800 miles in the previous 6 days. "Goddammit will you stop f-@*ing half wheeling me Druber." "Pipe
down Coxworthy, the boys are beat and we need to get to some food." "F-#k that, I'm riding just fine. Keep up and we won't have a problem." "What did you say?" "I said shut the F*@k up" "Druber, don't ever tell me to Shut the F-@k up. I'll kill you." At
this juncture the volume of our conversation had risen to screams
and we were full on at each other. Fingers wagging and threats of
physical harm poured out of our mouths like water from a burst dam.
"You'll have a hard time catching me if you do." "Druber you're so damn slow I could get off and chase you on foot faster than you could sprint away from me." With this a smile started to stretch across my face. I knew I'd been had. I had no response. "You're right. Let's go get some food. I think we'll all be a little less irritable." "Agreed." "Druber." "Yeah?" "Don't ever tell me to shut the f-@k up. I will kill you." "Shut the f-@k up, Randy." "Who the f-@k said you could call me Randy? Don't EVER f-@cking call me Randy" "Chuckle…" After stopping for food, Coxworthy pulled the entire distance from San Clemente to Santa Ana up the 101 - I kid you not - in his 53x12. Fortunately no one was lost or died along the way. The 2000 season was impressive. Team sMACK was on fire. Coxworthy was doubling wins in masters and Pro 1,2 races and I and the other guys were finishing on the podium and winning as well. Coxworthy had 4 top ten finishes at in the Pro 1,2 races at the Quad Cities Memorial Day weekend races, finished second to an Iowa kid named Jason McCartney in the Iowa City Capitol Criterium, I won the 120 mile Athens Road Race and the Springfield Capitol Criterium and During Superweek, had 3 top 15 finishes in Pro 1,2 road races. In the USCF Masters Nationals, Coxworhty took 5th in the crit and won the road race. I took 5th in the ITT. Shortly before the races, HeadsMACK had informed Coxworthy that Team sMACK would no longer be having an elite team; it would be a masters and women's team. After Coxworthy won the jersey, of course the tune changed, but the cards had been played. August would be our last month as sMACKs. We finished with podiums in the Gateway Cup, The inaugural Winfield Criterium and Coxworhty took a top 20 in the elite National Crit in Downers Grove. It was a great way to finish out the year. HeadsMACK told people later that he had "fired" us.
In April of 2001, after another long Orange County training camp, the reformation of the powerful Turin Elite Cycling team began racing. In St Louis, I won the 35+ race in Florissant Valley and the next day with Coxworthy selflessly riding as a Starz-n-Barz clad domestique took 3rds in the 30+ and Pro 1,2 races at Carondelet Park. "Did you win?" "No, Tracy and the other dude took me in the sprint." "Goddammit Druber. You need to learn how to race. Don't get in breaks with guys you can't beat. When you get into a break you're like the fat chick at the prom. You don't care who you're there with, you'rejust happy to be there. You have to think in terms of winning races, not just being in breaks. Jeezus it's just like the State crit last year where you f-*cked up the finish jumping off my leadout too early and finishing third. When are you going to learn?" "Did you finish in the money?" "No, got boxed in on the sprint" "Then shut the f-*k up." Things got ugly after that. The following weekend, in a Thunderstorm that turned the farm road course into the worst Paris-Roubaix had ever seen, Coxworthy took 3rd, He Who Cannot Be Named and I finished 5th and 6th and The German took 12th at the Cone-Azalia Classic in Michigan. We drove down to Columbus, IN for the Ceraland Spring race the next day. I had a wheel fly off the top mount of Turin team vehicle. "Goddammit Druber, you didn't tighten the wheel enough. Those Rolf's are expensive too. I hope the shop can get you a replacement deal for a good price. You know about what they cost?" "Yeah about as much as I've had to take out of my winings the past three races to share with you slackers. I'm tired of being the big bread winner here. You guys need to step up to the plate or else we need to rethink the team split." "F-*k you Druber." The
next day, I attacked an 8 rider break to solo away for a win in
the Ceraland race. Because of the size of the break and the fact
that they were protecting my lead, the rest of the team finished
out of the money. The prize list for winning was $125 and a Festina
Watch. "What if I want to keep the watch?" "It's kind of tough to divide a watch 4 ways." "I don't want to cash the watch in, I like the watch." "Just take the watch back to the promoter." "Awww Ferchissakes!" Upon my return… "The promoter won't cash out the watch." "We'll take it back to Turin and sell it to the shop." "I want to keep the f-*king watch!" "Well you can't keep the f-*king watch because it's not the fair way to split the purse." What followed escalated into the ugliest post race parking lot argument ever between team mates of a victorious team. I still receive compliments whenever I race in Hooterville. I kept the watch and wrote checks to my team mates.
Between the 2000 and 2001 seasons, Coxworthy and I spent a fair number of weekends together. He and I macked chicks and doing severe damage in bars of all kind - sushi and those specializing in wet goods. I had just had my heart broken by a girl or two and he was having trouble juggling the 3 or 4 chicks he was dating at the same time. We complained bitterly about women and the trouble they bring into our lives, but there we were, every weekend out hunting for more. Those were halcyon days. In December Coxworthy had met The Lawyer and was planning a weekend out for everyone. At his condo association meeting earlier in the week, he invited Upstairs Girl to go out with us. Not much was known about Upstairs Girl, other than she owned the condo above his, was rarely home and had a loud cat. She also was a fan of classical music, turning her stereo volume to blast out Mahler's Fifth symphony when Coxworthy and I had the Beastie Boys up too loud in the condo below. We were to meet on a Thursday night for drinks under the auspices of Upstairs Girl meeting Randall's friend who was a financial planner. Upstairs Girl was searching for a financial advisor she could trust and Randall happened to have a friend in the field. As it turned out, Upstairs Girl didn't make it out with us that night. When Coxworthy dropped me off before driving off the The Lawyer's place I noticed that Upstairs Girl's Lights were still on. Through a series of mental machinations I found justification to knock on Upstairs Girls door at 10:30 that night. It was a bad idea. (Through the door) "Who is it." "This isn't a very good idea, but I saw your lights were on and heard you on the phone so I figured you were up. Coxworthy said you wanted to meet me so I thought I'd drop a card off." "Ohhhh, you're Randall's friend." With that, the door swung open revealing for the first time, the mysterious Upstairs Girl in a ratty fleece, flannel pj bottoms and sporting a scuffed pair of leather slippers. She had just washed her face and had blemish cream on her forehead. "C'mon in, I just have to tell you this is as bad as it gets, so don't be frightened." I couldn't help but notice, despite the awkwardness of the situation that Upstairs Girls was extremely self confident, yet unassuming. Under the blemish cream her face was animated and attractive. Her eyes sparkled and danced when she spoke. Upstairs Girls as it turned out, was The Lovely Kathy. After
spending 3 hours talking with Upstairs Girl, I went back down to
Coxworthy's condo. I was sitting on the sofa about to turn in when
Coxworhty returned from The Lawyer's place. "Yeah, went to talk to Upstairs Girl." "Really? This late? And she let you in?" "Yeah." "She's never invited me in." "Probably a reason for that, eh?" "F-*k you. So, how'd it go?" "Good…Real Good." At our wedding in October, Coxworthy gave Upstairs Girl and I a ripping good toast. Coxworthy moved out to Southern Cal to make good on a career move. He didn't race much in 2003 or 2004 as he was getting his branch of a large West Coast contractor established. As he tells it, he was burned out anyway and really needed to get away from racing. He'd been at it for nearly 20 straight years and was tired of the scene. It gave him the opportunity to get the business going, eventually moving from Orange County to San Diego with the opportunity to start a new office. I traveled out to ride with him in Orange County and San Diego in 2002 and 2003 but he rode less and less and got heavier and heavier. We stayed in touch, I'd call when something big happened, like when I finished second at the Peoria NRC Road Race, a race I was later to be given credit for a win, as the first place finisher was found to be hopped up on EPO. Or, when The Lovely Kathy and I combined households and began living in sin. I did not go out in 2004 or 2005. We stayed in touch and he started racing again last season, winning masters races and even taking a double Pro 1,2 and mastes 35+ race, just like the old days. His legs were coming back. We got together last July for a few Superweek races. He appeared somewhat larger than normal but was finishing consistently in the money in the Pro 1,2 fields. At the wedding, we made plans to get back together in the winter for a few days of riding. He's stopped juggling multiple chicks and has fallen in love with an extraordinary beauty named Laurie. "How'd the ride go today guys?" "Laurie, I tell you, it was like old times." "Yep, Druber half wheeled me all day." "I got two flats, I'm still afraid of traffic, my chain fell off and Randall yelled at me. It was great." "We haven't skipped a beat." With that Laurie closed it out: "That's the way old friends roll."
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