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Racing Chronicles: David Hawkstar Worthington writes on This Day in Labor History. Introduction by Bill Stone
(Note: What follows is a Race Report, a really good one, not your brutishly horrid self indulgence typically posted as ”My Diary of the Tour de Sentimental Lane” where all play hard and everyone gets dizzy with the “good pain.” This is what the Self would write if he could.)
INTRODUCTION. Labor as with any disease had a beginning. It started in the Texas Swamp and spread west where it had a host of surf softened pretenders. The move was not complete until Max Kash Agro drove from Dallas across the desert in his Pontiac Bonneville. As with the Joads he did it with the windows down so as to remember why he left. The following report was submitted for Hackpack consideration circa 1997. It is the story of one Tuesday night at El Dorado Park in Long Beach, CA. Much as it would be keen to say El Do is like any other Tuesday night training series, it would be wrong. Self has been there. It is a hundred men and women in as many dazes. And they drink Tequila and suck Mexican Horseradish right after. As various times the Chronicles has been asked to post a cast of players, as if you need to know the actors to appreciate a farce. Nevertheless, being what Hooteervillians will almost certainly never travel west of the Wabash, the Hawkstar has requested an accommodation.
THE PLAYERS:
Tuesday Nite at the Park - Amateur Nite. Race Series. 2 mile sprawling loop thru Eldo Park in Long Beach. A field of over 60 riders.Usual herd of Soylents (sans hoffey and ET), Simply's (sans Psycho) and Cosmics. Plus the young plethora of 12K Dreamers and pimple Creamers. Ya see a lot of new faces... The POUND/FLAIL PRINCIPLE: I come alone. Labor solo artist. No Agro. No Vinny. No Virus, No Hack No Vee (dropped her off at squeakers...). Good thing I came early so I can ride to the beach and Pound my 13th cup. Making good time. Wait. I got the gun metal gray Labor Jay. But forgot the bottom half. FLAIL. QUICKLY, I switch to bikescum mode. Car to Car. "Hey, ya got any extra shorts I can GREASE out with...I forgooooot mine". Goose eggs. I roll up to the hard bodied Peggy. She races Pro, roller blades. I suspect the hackpack will hear more about Peg-a-Lou some day. Anyway the shorts smell great on account of the Vee. Unfortunately, they got no SHAMMY, again, on account of the Vee. Visions of 3rd degree scrotum burns arise. By nature, bikescum beggars CAN be choosey, but f- it, I gotta go. THE RACE and THE CHASE: Attacks from the get go. Midway in, I bolt with Steve Hegg (in full Saturns and Stripes regalia). I actually pretend to trade pees with the Golden Bee. On a good day, I'm a pritty decent PRETENDER. Hegg peaks over his shoulder and yells, HOLD UP JAMIE IS COMINGUP. As in Jamie Palonetti (JP), former LA Sheriff teammate who has been totally raging lately. He connects and begs for a rest. Granted. We f-truk for a few miles only to be reeled by the vast numbers of Public enemies. More splits and splats. Your basic Rare night of OFFENSE at Eldo. On account PSYCHO Is OUT. 2.5 LAPS to go, a group of 12 semi-congeals. 12 angry men...SANS HAWK. I bridge up solo. Just as Hegg attacks again with JP and MM (Mitch) HackenThrow in tow. Frigg. I keep the mo' rollin. Fly by Bad Jones who is bridge-flailing. BARELY get on the back of the 12K-powered F- truck. I'm gassed. Not gettin SQUAT for protection. Hegg is basically SCRUBBING the curb at 36. JP and MM both over 6 ft tall. I CANT SEE, NOR CAN I BREATHE! I'm timetrialing like a complete NIMROD. Kind of STABBING my front wheel erratically into the paper thin, elusive draft stream. Just getting teased, NOT PLEASED. Christ. 4.0 miles of this Hell??!! Great. Somebody Jam that f’ing ROMAN CANDLE IN MY EYE AND LET HER RIP WHILE YOU'RE DEALING SUCH A LOVELY GODDAMNED DECK OF CARDS!!!! HEGG finally decides this aint the Kilo in ‘84 OLYMPICS and backs off. Moves right. After JP and MM vaguely pull thru...its my turn. Dreadful. FlutterFuk. Hegg spackles: "GODDAMNED WORTHINGTON if you cant WORK. Get in THE BACK!" Geez. What I say to PISS HIM OFF.? Who stepped on HIS dress?! I quickly make mental Note: Hegg is the enemy. JP is his teammate. And I am like, the nation of Rawanda going against Germany here. Better find an ally....MM...Yes. Thats right. No vortex here. Full Metal Peace Treaty. Problem: I am contemplating RIGHT NOW is as a good a time as ANY to RETIRE from this STUPID sport. That TREE over there seems to offer solace. Or if I jump off that OVERPASS into the FLOW of the L.A. Freeway...that would EASE my pain. REALITY: we are over the hill amateurs going against the BIG PROS. 12K x 2 vs bikeskum x 2. Vegas odds has the Pros at 20 to one favorites. This is easy money on the Pro's. Like betting the NFC over the Denver Broncos in the Bowl. Or, like David v. Goliath?. Tyson v Holyfield? One mile before the line and JP bolts. Hard and with purpose. Wow. How'd he do that? Answer: Easy. He is POSSESSED by SATAN. Plus he really wants to ace MM. Hegg sits up. He's content. MM is parked. If he goes, he fears the truth--Hegg will sit on him and attack for the 1-2 finish. Its over Johnny. Then I remember that scene in Mission Impossible where that CIA Director who is hunting down Ethan Hawke goes "you find something he WANTS...AND YOU SQUEEEEZE!!" My only hope to foil the Heggster is to get MM near JP who is WAAAAAAY up the road. Besides, If I sit, I know the best I can hope for is 3rd. But probably 4th.. Why not shock the micro-world a little. Flick the Cosmic Dick. Shuck the Pearls of the Universe....DO SOMETHNG FER CHRIST! Meanwhile the pel is keeping a constant 32, chasing us like a pack of timberwolves in heat....You think the pel want us to pull off a rare 4 mile Flyer? 50% of the field is dead. Casualties of Attrition. I give MM a verbal nod and hit the front. Ramping but not jumping. Hegg is on me. Fine. You guessed I was cooked? Try again. I go till I'm rocking in my saddle and grunting like Monica Seles...bent over... UGH!! I pull off before the Final Sprint Curve. MM jumps. Hegg responds out of his saddle. Hegg is caught by surprise by the art of Cahoots. Hegg cant get in MM's slip stream!! MM digs something up from here to China and nips JP AT THE LINE. I square-pedal in for 4th. JP is PISSED: "Whyyyyyyy'd you work for hiimmmm????!" His voice has a noticible inflection of a whine...This pleases the Hawk. Hegg immediatly goes into how this is not exatcly the USPro Core States, Buckmans Hill...I really DONT KNOW what He's talking about...This too, pleases the Hawk. Then I get up and go to work the next day. I'll keep my day job. After all, cycling is not exactly a growth industry. But for that one moment... EthanHawkster...
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