Phantom Phest - Rage Of The Boogie Man

Straight off the Raystown Lake massacre I had a few days back at home base to sort out the gear for this weekend's Phantom Phest night costume race. With the inbound supply of consumable alcohols building at the front door I opted to send Mrs C-Dubs off with the spirits and a bare minimum of riding gear, deciding to forage the man cave for the required equipment. Well on Friday as I prepped for the race I had that sinking feeling in my stomach that something wasn't right and it wasn't. The red Nite Rider pouches had been left behind! A quick call to the Mayor and text to the Raveinator and I was hooked up for the ride.
With Thor costume and hammer complete I planned to leave the hacienda at 4:20 which would allow for plenty of time to get there and even get lost on the way. Well not only did I get lost (the Tom Tom was taking me to the wrong wrong place) but right after we passed the entrance I realized my cape was still in the house. A quick shout of "I have no idea what's going on" and it was a U-turn with all 5.7 liters of Dodge Ram power screaming down the road. Some quick calculations by the Mrs and it looked like it would be touch and go to make the start, in fact to control the pace Mrs. C-Dubs was giving false time to destination readings to keep sanity behind the wheel. The plan worked and we arrived at the parking lot sans tickets/accidents with 15 minutes to spare. Mrs C-Dubs raced off to registration where she attempted to procure my number plate turned spoke card to no avail, I wasn't on the list. Suddenly it came rushing to her like a hot kiss at the end of a wet fist - Thor, God of Thunder - and sure enough fireworks went off and skyrockets shot into the air - I was in.Meanwhile back at truck I was busy prepping both myself and the bike while Top Chef tried out this mean machine.The Hobo SlayerWith enough glow sticks to supply a New York City rave, I set about securing them to every tube on the frame and fork to create the Tron bike. All I needed was a boom box with the Chemical Brothers and a bag of Ecstasy and this could become Fear and Loathing at Lippman Park.Special thanks goes to the Boogie Man/Raveinator/Shop Sidekick who pitched in to make sure it all came together in time for the prerace meeting.Similar to the affect of strobe lights on epileptics, the glow tubes were affecting the competition in a twisted way. Suddenly in the middle of the briefing a Roman gladiator pulled his sword and in stunned silence the peleton watched as Thor and his hammer took on the Roman and his sword.Braveheart stepped in, extended an olive branch and the two combatants hit Thor's flask of Del Maguay before the start.
Revved up on dumplings, Del Maguay and the power of Thor's hammer I hit out on the trails glowing like a remnant from Hiroshima. In the darkness I rode with the inner working of the minikeg coming loose and banging around incessantly. I could hear the cackling laugh of the Boogie Man as he howled my name whenever the course doubled back on itself.
Riding the lap holding the hammer in my hand was like hanging on to two handlebars which meant a minimal amount of front brake was available. Make for interesting riding when you venture onto new trails at night with limited capabilities to stop. Finally coming out of the woods on my first lap in 10th,I opted to hang with the ladies of the NECS (Mrs C-Dubs, Mrs Top Chef and Braveheart's calming force - Kate) unitl my fellow warriors crossed the line.Riding with this elaborate hood ornament proved to be a bit more then Top Chef cared to deal with for another lap so it was off with it's head, a shot of Del Maguay for all and off into the woods. As we raced into the night we passed howling ghouls, carved pumpkins in the corners and ghosts in the trees. On one straight with TC out front and Braveheart in close pursuit Top Chef took the opportunity to push the hanging man to one side with the evil intention of inflicting maximum carnage to the rest of us. Well good old Braveheart came up with the short straw and seeing the stuffed man he increased the cadence, lowered the shoulder and took it like a true Scotsman - right to the body. Suddenly on a night of the full moon there was another one right before my eyes and the kilted Scotsman was sent tumbling right over the handlebars with the biggest shit eating grin I had ever seen. Luckily no one was hurt and we were back on the bikes pedaling for madly for the romantic full moon over the field view and of course the mandatory shots of Del Maguay. With the flask empty we headed off to complete the second of 3 laps and once again a hello to the ladies. At this point Top Chef and Nancy (Braveheart) decided that antique shopping was the order of the evening so I mounted my trusty steed and headed off into the abyss. In an amazing display of wrist snapping capabilities,the Boogie Man bolted into the lead right from the start and was able to hold off the competition until the final climb where a spandex clad non costume racer with gears made the pass. A truly amazing effort from the Raveinator!!!!Coming down the finishing straight I had the Boogie Man (2nd overall) and Hobo Slayer (6th overall) cheering me on so I killed the lights to let the full effect of the Tron bike hypnotize the course marsahals who then declared my effort had resulted in second in Masters - finally the drought has been broken.

2nd Annual Beer Cross - The Non Rules

With less the 6 weeks to go it's time to get more excited then our Chihuahua friend, perhaps this excited - This year we have bowed to the pressures of the non drinking contingent, not that this will make it any more pleasant or easier for those heretics, and will provide several options and a number of dizzy bats. Also there will be primo, never before given out swag for all that register and limited edition spoke cards to the first 25 entrants (so no pissing and moaning if you don't have one of these to hang on your wall).Without any further ado here are this year's non rules -
30 minute race
Alcohol consumption can be substituted for non drinkers - 1 beer = 10x around the dizzy bat or 12oz of eggnog or 6 sliders
Non Racers will be DSQed for not doing one of the options
Serious racers will automatically be DSQed (this is a non race)
No penalty for puking (in fact it could move you up in the overall standings)
Costumes Mandatory – 10 minute or 3 beer penalty at the start for not wearing one the entire race (and if you come in kit and claim to be a racer I will personally piss on you)
LeMans Start
Mandatory beer/10x dizzy bat/12 oz eggnog/6 sliders prior to mounting bikes
Mandatory beer/10x dizzy bat/12 oz eggnog/6 sliders per lap
Dismounting mandatory at the Growler Barriers (2 beer/20x dizzy bat/24 oz eggnog/12 sliders per lap per barrier penalty for not dismounting)
First across the finish line in the riding portion has to do a shot of tequila/20x dizzy bat/24 oz eggnog/12 sliders
Winner is determined by fastest time/most beer consumed/best costume and race committee's discretion

Major Mike Leads The Assault On Raystown Lake

For several months plans had been in the works for an all out assault on Raystown Lake, PA. The plan was for the troops to head west under the shelter of a setting sun, arrive in Raystown, suit up, affix lights and go out and snap the wrists of any Amish or geared bike riders we encountered on the trails. Well the mission suffered a critical setback before getting off the ground when Braveheart had to answer the call to battle for an ad campaign and C-Dubs got the Heisman when he tried to bow out of the office early.
Due to the delays encountered by Braveheart and C-Dubs, Top Chef picked up the Toyota FJ assault vehicle and headed downtown to load up on Chinese food to satisfy our hunger on the ride West. You can imagine the pain encountered as we headed into the belly of the beast - the Lincoln Tunnel at peak Friday rush hour traffic - it is right up there with the 200lb fat lady trying to squeeze into a size 2 dress, uncomfortable and downright ugly.
Not wanting to spill any of our dinner we opted for the pretzels offered right at the tunnel entrance. Braveheart, a bit skeptical, opted out believing they are kept warm by placing them on various car engines and exhaust pipes. Finally we emerged from the tunnel after a time that seemed longer then any Chilean miner had recently endured. Passing through the tolls we were startled by what had to have been a contestant on the Price is Right driving home with the winnings tied to the roof of the car.With traffic finally flowing we stuffed our faces with Top Chefs selection of one from column A and two from column B and settled into the long grind into the night. There must have been something in the MSG because a couple of hours later we all had a real hunger going. Immediately Braveheart had the Incredible Thing (iPhone) working, locating a bevy of fine establishments down the road. Now navigating with the Incredible Thing is right up there with night riding with a pen light and sunglasses on - you can see just enough to get yourself in big trouble - and soon we found ourselves going in every direction but the right one. At that point Braveheart pulled out all the stops and looked like Rick Wakeman on the keyboards as he feverishly worked the Incredible Thing and the Garmin at the same time. Foolishly we even passed up on a sure things with McDonalds and a brewpub in quest of the perfect pizza. While all of this was going on I found myself contemplating just how good a forearm cooked over the manifold would taste. Suddenly out of the dark there is was, well not the one we were looking for, but it was a pizza shop. With lightning quick reactions achieved through years of training in the dojo, Top Chef put the FJ up on two wheels to make the turn and we were in like flint.Turns out our primal quest had returned nothing better then a back alley pie and worse then the pizza was the McNeighborhood which kept us on McEdge the entire time. Periodic deployments were made to the McParking lot to ensure the weapons of mass destruction were still intact.Arriving at the house we were greeted by the Mayor and Major Mike, both fresh off of a night foray into the wilds of Raystown Lake. Immediately the Mayor commented on what a dump it was (at least sans roaches and bed bugs), tossed us a beer and tuned back into the playoff game. As my eyes scanned the room I wondered if I had in fact been transported back in time to the set of All In The Family - the entire room, furniture & TV were straight out of the 70's.Hawaiian Mike once again was "at a Cub Scout meeting", gee what a shocker that was and Infantile Tom was MIA having opted for the annual tent sale/Deliverance canoe trip put on by Ski Barn.
Waking up from the devastation incurred from the previous night's Chinese food and countless beers, in my altered state I witnessed what looked like the Mayor springing from under the covers fully dressed (classic Cannondale DH jersey and slippers)and bounding down the steps to brew up a fresh pot of Jittery Joe's coffee - praise Allah! Once we were all thoroughly jacked up on Jittery Joe's, Top Chef set about feeding the troops the infamous Egg McPaul, a breakfast that can power an entire morning of singletrack riding.With stomachs full we headed off in cool windy conditions for an assault that was sure to go down in the annals of Raystown Lake history. Major Mike, smelling fast trails and competitive riders set an early pace that soon was taking its toll and producing some late season trail guppies.Not satisfied with the pain being doled out, Major Mike upped the pace even more and while attacking on one of the rolling sections Top Chef encountered the rare Pennsylvania sliding oak leaf. This pesky little critter usually lays in wait at the apex of turns, camouflaged by elms and maples, looking to take out unsuspecting riders and take him out it did. I was right on Top Chef's wheel and it looked like a round of WWE with the Undertaker hurling a helpless Top Chef to the mat. On the way down he made an attempt to give a goodbye kiss to a sapling and the subsequent rejection had his head spinning like a demon was being exorcised from within. As his head hit the deck a tremor ripped through the region and a tsunami was reported on the south end of the lake. The initial damage can be seen in this shot and by the next morning it looked like some wisdom teeth had been pulled. (note the copious amounts of pain killers in the background)After a 5 minute timeout to let the stars disappear the Major decided it was time to mellow the pace and take a spin on the Hydro Loop Trail, an awesome, flowing ride through the pines and deep forest of the area.
The Mayor Grooves On The Hydro Loop TrailHalfway through Major Mike brought the troops to a halt and decided to scout the lake for a potential swim. Suddenly while Braveheart, Top Chef and C-Dubs were breaking out the trail towels there was a rustling in the woods and we made a rare sighting of the Pennsylvania MayorsquatchFinally we rolled back into the parking lot for lunch and a well deserved break before the afternoon's assault on the southern loop. As we pulled up to the cars we were greeted by a bevy of young ladies that were doling out their own version of pleasure/pain on the mountain trails. Being a typical group of males we entered into casual conversation, the usual banter of where, what , when, how and why, but all the time we were in this state of mind.By the time it was all over and they rolled out of the parking lot we were contemplating changing the team colors from red to blue. As we readied up to hit the trails both the Mayor and Braveheart were mulling over whether to ride or not. A quick "are you boys going to go antique shopping" from Top Chef and they were back on the bikes and leading the charge to the trailhead (amazing the incentive a bit of brow beating can provide).
The agreed upon "casual pace" lasted for about a mile and then it was back to the hammerfest with the usual devastation and destruction in its wake. As we neared the final miles we caught this shot of the Mayor staring into the woods desperately searching for his willpower which seemed to have abandoned him late in the day.In the final stretch of trail Top Chef, showing his technical riding prowess, gapped Major Mike and C-Dubs in the final rock garden. With the Major right on my wheel I could feel the commands deep within his head - C-Dubs if you don't catch him by the end you will drop and give me twenty, you maggot - so I did the dirty century deep dig and hit the afterburners, getting Top Chef's wheel in the final 1/2 mile of riding. With the carnage done the final count of the day was 34 miles of wicked fast singletrack with over 3000' of vertical (except for the Mayor who some how managed to get in 44 miles - probably delirium). Suddenly a penalty flag was tossed as we looked into the back of the Suburban and realized the cooler was back at the house.
At this point survival instincts took over and we raced to the beer distributor like an ambulance taking a patient on life support to the hospital - balls out fast!You can imagine the disappointment when we realized that in PA beer is only sold by the case! With supplies procured the Mayor, fearing cardiac arrest, immediately opened the case and had the first beer down before Major Mike could unlock the truck.Back at the shack the Chugfest began in earnest to celebrate the day's victorious ride. After eating way too much food at dinner and drinking copious amounts of fine yeasty malted beverages the well lubricated Mayor suddenly had the munchies so it was off to the market where we stocked up with moon pies, 5 pints of Hagen Daz, cheese cake and a bag of Snickers. Fully engorged on food and beer we decided to burn anything in sight at the campfire where the Mayor, having caught C-Dubs doing the chicken, dared him to keep eating dumpling, claiming after each one consumed that he would pass out. Well dare taken and defeat acknowledged by the Mayor as he headed off to bed. Meanwhile a battered Top Chef proceed to pass out first on a picnic bench, then in a camping chair and finally in the role of Archie Bunker before we all called it a night.The following morning, feeling the pain and suffering from both the riding and drinking, everyone (except Major Mike) groaned and faced with long drives home, called it a day.
Back in the FJ assault vehicle Braveheart was busy with the Incredible Thing locating the nearest Starbucks before Top Chef went into convulsions. After two different Starbucks stops we reached the home stretch and the feared Lincoln Tunnel once again. This time is wasn't the traffic that did us in but the chemical attack Top Chef unleashed right as we entered the tunnel. With a choice of carbon monoxide or ass gas, I opt for the windows down until everyone was out of the vehicle and headed home.
Major Mike Leading The TroopsRaystown Lake From The SummitCDubs Gives The Team Seagal SaluteMayor Goes Gangsta After Numerous Dogfish Head BeersBackwoods Pennsylvania Bromance

NECS Welcomes It's Newest Member - Partying Pete

Time for all of you affectionados of partying and riding to raise a glass to our newest member of the New East Coast Syndicate - Partying Pete D.
Pete happens to be, or was until today, a coworker of mine but has left the bank for greener (as in mucho dinero - hopefully) pastures. He has just the right mindset for membership in the NECS, total bravado, the willingness to do anything to get into a singlespeed race and the love of wrist snapping. In fact he went so so far that after missing the registration cut off for the infamous Singlespeed-a-Palooza, to gain entry, he offered to rest his nads on the top tube at the starting line and smash them with a hammer. Of course there was the trusty Mayor with ball peen in hand and as Pete lifted it toward the gods the Mayor screamed, "Praise Jesus you'll dent the top tube", and grabbed his hand, preventing certain horrifying pain.
As you can see from the shot below, not only does he has the ability to consume vast amounts of alcohol, spill food all over himself and smoke cigarettes even though he hates the things, he has mastered the Team Seagal salute. Well shortly after this shot the conductor shouted "Last train to NJ" but poor Pete was nowhere to be seen having fallen into the clutches of one of the many meccas of mammarys in NYC. Turns out the new office was initiated with it first drunk, unfortunately for Pete the a/c was out and he had the pleasure of spending a night on a desk in 85 degree heat.
Hung over, he managed to catch the first train home in the morning, give the Mrs. a quick peck on the cheek, take a cold shower and then head right back to the office. That's the type of dedication the troops of the NECS have!
Everyone give Pete the NECS shout out - "Him, Him, Fuck Him"

Top O De Box

Well NECS loyalistas we come to you with the most exciting of news. Refining her skills through countless hours of training in the dojo, Mrs Dubs upholds the honors of the NECS, standing on the top of the box.
While the past racing has produced some great times for the NECS, the trophy bagging is about this bad over the past couple seasons
All that changed this weekend as Mrs. Cuds waded into her second tri of the season. The lake, sans snapping turtles and water mocossins, proved to be the hardest leg. Getting caught in the swiftfoot current along the banks of the lake Mrs. CDubs came out of the water a bit disadvantaged as the bikes rolled out of transition. Countless laps of training over the course paid off in a fast time and a close battle out of the transition to the run with Hairy Eye Ball Lisa who made countless attempts to body block the trail as they headed into the woods. Pacing like an expectant father as I fulfilled my role of bottle bitch, I scanned the trail for signs of Hairy and Mrs. C. Then out of the woods the Mrs. appear with the competition about 50 yards ahead. Suddenly vision of the Pancake and I feared that someone might get their lights punched out at the finish. A believer in karma the Mrs. did the right thing and held back crossing the line in honor.
Rumor has it she was heard to say "if that bitch is in my age class I'll kill myself. Alas she was in another class with the Mrs. taking home the hardware.The Mrs. and the infamous "Podium Dress"

Excitement Is In The Air - Beer Cross 2010

Truly devout loyalist of the New East Coast Syndicate, remember back to those days of youth and the excitement that came with finding Dad's secret hiding place for his stash of Playboys? Well we here at the NECS might not get quite as excited to see Playboy as we were in those days, but when it comes to a Non Race we get as excited as this frisky guy -

And for good reason - Cross season is underway which means only one thing BEER CROSS!!!!! With the season essentially ended by the Labor Day ribfest, attentions and energies have been turned toward making this the marquee event of the cycling year. (There are rumors that we can not confirm at this time that Phil Liggett, Bob Roll and the crew from Versus will be covering the event). What we can reveal is that in keeping with Beer Cross tradition, costumes are mandatory along with the consumption of alcohol. For those that are non drinkers and last year became connoisseurs of the dizzy bat, we have expanded the list of options to include the ingestion of any combination of the following on each lap - eggnog, sliders or the feared dizzy bat. Stay tuned for more details.

Gesundheit - Vermont 50 Is History

In Ancient Greece, sneezes were believed to be prophetic signs from the gods. In 410 BC, for instance, the Athenian general Xenophon gave a dramatic oration exhorting his fellow soldiers to follow him to liberty or to death against the Persians. He spoke for an hour motivating his army and assuring them of a safe return to Athens until a soldier underscored his conclusion with a sneeze. Thinking that this sneeze was a favorable sign from the gods, the soldiers bowed before Xenophon and followed his command. Another divine moment of sneezing for the Greeks occurs in the story of Odysseus. When Odysseus returns home disguised as a beggar and talks with his waiting wife Penelope, she says to Odysseus, not knowing to whom she speaks, that "[her husband] will return safely to challenge her suitors"". At that moment, their son sneezes loudly and Penelope laughs with joy, reassured that it is a sign from the gods.
In Europe, principally around the early Middle Ages, it was believed that one's life was in fact tied to one's breath - a belief reflected in the word "expire" (originally meaning "to exhale") gaining the additional meaning of "to come to an end" or "to die". This connection, coupled with the significant amount of breath expelled from the body during a sneeze, had likely led people to believe that sneezing could easily be fatal. This theory, if proven conclusively, could in turn explain the reasoning behind the traditional "God bless you" response to a sneeze, the origins of which are currently unclear. Sir Raymond Henry Payne Crawfurd, for instance, the late registrar of the Royal College of Physicians, in his 1909 book "The Last Days of Charles II", states that, when the controversial monarch was on his deathbed, his medical attendants administered a concoction of cowslips and extract of ammonia to promote sneezing. However, it is not known if this promotion of sneezing was done to hasten his death (as coup de grace), or as an ultimate attempt at treatment.
In certain parts of Eastern Asia, particularly in Chinese culture (and believe me we here at the New East Coast Syndicate are big fans of Chinese culture), Japanese culture and Vietnamese culture, a sneeze without an obvious cause was generally perceived as a sign that someone was talking about the sneezer at that very moment. This can be seen in the Book of Songs (a collection of Chinese poems) in ancient China as early as 1000 BC, and this belief is still depicted in present-day manga and anime. In China, Vietnam and Japan, for instance, there is a superstition that if talking behind someone's back causes the person being talked about to sneeze; as such, the sneezer can tell if something good is being said (one sneeze), something bad is being said (two sneezes in a row), even if someone is in love with them (three sneezes in a row) or if this is a sign that they are about to catch a cold (multiple sneezes).
All of you NECS loyalists might ask what does all of this have to do with the Vermont 50? Well, the healing of the BBQ ribs was coming along pretty well and having completed some excitingly mind numbing rides on the trainer, my fitness, while not ideal for the race, was still pretty good and I was looking forward to the Long Trail Brewey and 50 miles of VT single track. Having secured a registration slot that was as valuable as the golden ticket in a Wonka Bar, my spirits and hopes were up for making the race. Then came an event feared by anyone that has suffered this condition - the great big sneeze. When it was over I felt like my ribs had been blown through my side and I knew it was game, set and match. Much like Roberto Duran I bowed my head and muttered "No Mas". Time to sit back and suck down countless rounds of fine IPA.

BBQ Ribs

Once again I find myself in a narcotic induced haze recalling the better times of last weekend and where/why/how it all went so wrong.
Weeks earlier MacGyver had put out the word that Labor Day Friday would be a night ride and the response seemed to be positive. Despite fears of retribution from the Mayor, (you can equate this next move to a Hells Angel deciding to ride with the Mongols or a Crip hanging with a Blood), I set out for our cross town rival, Bicycle Depot to see what was in the cards. Since this would be a bandit ride the first order of business was to solve the mystery of the howling brake rotor. A few minutes on the stand, some quick adjustments and a new set of pads and I was ready to rock the trails.
The nights objective was a climb over both sides of the ridge riding the carriage roads and hiking trails of Mohonk. The riding was fast and right as we dropped into the technical sections it was getting late enough to hit the lights. Up to this point everything was going smoothly and then the planks showed up. Never having been to the North Shore, my skills at riding the planks are right up there with Lindsay Lohan's ability to drive sober - non existent. Sure enough there were a couple of endos and a knee into the shifter before blood was finally drawn. With blood running down my leg and a cleat that wasn't releasing, the next few approaches to bridges and planks was on the timid side.
On the climb up the backside of the ridge in the dark I met my maker. A misstep on an hike-a-bike section and I was down on my ass but not before my ribcage broke my fall on the edge of a pointed boulder. Feeling like I had just taken a round house kick to the side I gazed at the passing stars as I tried to get my wits together and stand up. The final insult was when that loose cleat turned out to be far more terminal and the carbon sole cried uncle from the massive power generated from my quads (Sparticus look out)as it was torn from the bottom of the shoe.
Feeling like a one legged man at an ass kicking contest I cautiously made my way to the end of the trails and back to the shop before slugging down a couple of IPAs and heading for home to some Chinese food and Oxycontin. Now to rest up and see if I can heal in time for the Vermont 50.

What Makes America Great

There are always a few guarantees you can count on when attending a rodeo.
Steers will be wrestled. Clowns will be gored. And your olfactory senses will be treated to an absolutely delightful bouquet of frontier fragrance.
Naturally, it was only a matter of time before someone bottled it.
Introducing Let’er Buck Cologne, a new fragrence that finally lets you embrace the scent of a rodeo cowboy, available now.
Think of it as your own personal Eau de Eastwood. It's inspired by Oregon's Pendleton Round-Up, the oldest and most prestigious four-day rodeo in the West. (Trust us: you would not want to smell like a five-day rodeo.) So inside the bottle, you'll find all the glorious fragrances from your last summer camping trip. The wild lavender. The musky foliage. The slowly burning soft-amber wood fire. A tantalizing hint of cold PBR (This alone is reason enough to buy up all the stock you can find).
You'll want to dab this on next time you plan on doing some moseying, even if it's just to happy hour. Or if you want to test it out in a real-life rodeo situation, you can hit up the Round-Up’s centennial anniversary next month.
What is next - Chuck Norris Black Belt cologne with a fine sent of sweaty dojo mats or Seagal Splash On with a hint of snapped wrist bone marrow?

2nd Annual "Stewart Brings Out Her Dead"/ NECS Non Race #2

A very elite group (read that to be drunk old men) met at the new Dark Horse HQ for the second annual "Stewart Brings Out Her Dead" non race (The Mayor & C-Dubs being old, Mikesquatch acts like an old man and the Raveinator is our "bald headed step child" that keeps us out of trouble). This year we skipped collecting trash and empty beer cans from the woods and instead set out to explore the overgrown trails of yesteryear. Right out of the chutes it was clear that Mikesquatch had an axe to grind (perhaps literally) and with a 32x17 he was putting the hurt on all of us.
Tracing parts of the Dark Horse 40 course in reverse and connecting them with trails of the past we rode on in pursuit of Mike and stumbled upon the Raveinator's personal in the woods training center where he showed us the secrets of getting young male riders to train with him.Moar riding and finally, with the Mayor slumped over the bars trying to catch his breath, it was declared beer time. Suddenly Mikesquatch was off the back and the Mayor was blazing a trail of glory to the kegerator. After a couple of rounds we caught this fine clip.

Alternative Riding - Diablo

Coming off successful endeavors at the Wilderness 101 and Dark Horse 40, C-Dubs and Top Chef declared this past weekend as a "No Moar Training Weekend". Riding for Satruday was limited to bikes that tip the scales at 40 lbs, have 170mm of travel and real gnarly tires, preferably 2.5s.
Starting the day with a pot of primo Costa Rican coffee, a visit to Mt. Kohler and a big bowl of Chinese congee we loaded the truck and headed south to the highlands of New Jersey to Diablo Freeride and Water Park. Rumors of Snooki, The Situation and the rest of the Jersey Shore crew had us south well above the speed limit. All was for naught as the recent arrest of Snooki meant the everyone had to keep low key until the start of the new series.
Arriving at the park I was excited to bomb the mountain on the Norco with it's new Marzocchi triple crown fork and being fresh out of the box there had been no set up done. After consulting tech guru, Top Chef, I pumped in his recommneded 90 lbs. Well the first run was an easy beginner one and we both got the downhill mojo going again, enough so that the second run we upped it to one of the expert runs. Half way down I was suffering with the rock gardens, taking a pounding and hearing a lot of noises from the bike. Stopping to check it out Top Chef noted that the travel was under 80mm and some of the 90lbs of air should be let out. Well having survived a downhill run on basically a rigid 40lb bike was an event in itself and after letting all of the air out I finally had the full 170mm of travel and it was time to go and have some fun like this -

After a couple more runs like that we headed to the outdoor bar at the base of the lift and had margaritas Team Seagal style

Then it was time to load the bikes and head out for some chinese food and beer for the trip home.

Widerness 101/Cinderella Goes To The Ball

Well loyal fans of the NECS there has been a lot of sweat and miles put in for this year's running of the Wilderness 101 and for the 10th edition of this fine race there is a new recruit to enjoy the suffering. Yes our beloved and self named "Fat Chick with Hot Girlfriends" is making the journey to find his inner self on the trails of Bald Eagle State Park (and not in the form of puke). For those that don't know the story of FC it is rather compelling. To break up the monotony of riding solo or in pairs, Top Chef came up with the idea of the Saturday group road ride (which our beloved Ewok of Moab quickly dismissed as a millionaires riding club and hence the name MRC). Well at the first ride FC showed sporting some serious (we believe they were 52mm) aero carbon rims on a fully pimped ride. Guppying off the back on the first big climb FC crested the summit and announced to the troops "I feel like the fat chick at the bar with the hot girlfriends" and thus was born the name. Well FC went on the mileage diet this summer and suffered through numerous ascents and hot humid training sessions to get his dirty century cherry popped.
Arriving in Coburn we were graced with some of the best weather of the summer, cool temps, low humidity and a course that was dusty and dry, assuring all mortals in the middle of the pack the famous brown snot shot from the nose. Establishing a forward position by the trees and finish line, Mrs C-Dubs and I erected the tarp village made famous by the homeless and working classes of third world countries and soon were getting suited up for a bit of preriding.Thundering into the park in his diesel super pickup, FC hopped out and was ready to go and within minutes we were up the first climb of the course and taking in the scenery. With the recent workdays extending to well over 12 hours, while I was physically in peak for the race mentally it was a different story and expectations were low. Mrs C-Dubs was looking to double the distance from last year and get the first 40 in and FC was aiming to finish before the vampires came out.
Race day dawned even cooler and excitement was in the air resulting in these incredibly long lines for the port-a-johnsand was followed by the prerace warning about the first descent (there are bad crashes every year and this one was no exception). As we rolled out of Coburn Park for a single lap of madness I once again took my time a waved to the locals.Always a slow starter I get great amusement each year watching riders hammer the first 20 - 40 miles, looking for pacelines on the flats and thinking "I have this one dialed in". Once the climbing starts at 45 miles these warriors usually drop off the back and tend to roll over the line totally shattered with a 1000 yard stare sometime after the 12 hours mark.As the race progressed I was hitting all of the aid stations in my fastest time ever and not really feeling like the pace was being pushed. By aide station 4, Mrs C-Dubs had caught the shuttle and had my bottles ready, I was feeling great and limiting time at the stops to a few minutes before getting back on the bike. On the last climb Iwas reaching my limits and did get passed by one other master who was being paced up the hill by a waiting CX rider! Across the finish line in 9:32 for a pr and it was right to the campsite for a chinese egg roll, beer and a dip in the river. The Mrs. revealed that FC was moving right along and was in good spirits at aide station 4. A bit later, wandering back from the Freeze Thaw hospitality area, it was a great set up with tables, chairs, kegs and music, I witnessed a smiling FC rolling over the line in a Terry Ti Butterfly Saddle crushing time of 11:30. FC was so fresh looking I thought he might have been contemplating another lap of the course!
The evening was spent eating, eating, drinking and eating (final tally for the night - 2 cheeseburgers, plate of vegetables, 2 bags of gummi colas, bag of mint milanos, package of pecan sandies, half a box of Entemann's cinnamon buns plus other assorted foods that I can't remember. Mrs C-Dubs was excited about making the first 40 she was pounding down the wine until near the midnight hour but sadly FC opted for the hotel 30 minutes away and missed the night of partying.

C-Dubs, showing clear thinking even after 101 miles, reaches for the pint glass as he crosses the lineCinderella makes it to the ball

Gunks Century Century/HQ Grand Opening

Well connoisseurs of the sadomasochism, once again the New East Coast Syndicate was on the pain train in a big way. Leading up to the Wilderness 101 coach Marci de Sade had issued orders for yet another century ride and this time the temps (with heat index) were well above the century mark.
Looking to maximize pain and discomfort the first 40 miles would feature 3 climbs up the east face of the Shawangunks starting with the 2 mile wall to Monhonk Mountain House and then two laps up Clove Rd/MInnewaska State Park. Just to up the difficultly level a bit more the first place to resupply on fluids would be at 51 miles meaning I would be pack muling 5 large bottles up the first climb. At the refill stop it was 3 bottles over the head, a refill of all 5 and a bag of ice down the back of the jersey to help cool off. After cresting Sampsonville it was a swooping downhill into Krumville then up the back side of Mohonk. Crossing back over the ridge I felt like I too was at the prison camp by the river Kwai as the temps on the road were well into triple digits.On the final stretch to the house the turkey thermometer finally popped and I was cooked. A quick text to Mrs. C-Dubs and I was assured there would be an ice cold bath upon my arrival. Panting as I dropped the bike at the front door it
Towelieing off from the dip it was off to the new Dark Horse HQ for the big move. Everyone, well almost everyone, was there to load up the old shop and unload at the new one.

Rodin Mike Davidson busy contemplating all the fun he missed

Half the crew was at the old shop loading the Rossi Barn truck with bikes and swag while the smarter half had Mrs C-Dubs guarding the cooler until the final load showed up. With the cooler out of beer Officer C-Dubs was called in to keep the troops from rioting until the kegerator pulled in, escorted by the Newburgh Hillbillies with a load of pizza and Dale's Pale Ale.

NECS Non Race #2 - Peekamoose 100

We here at the New East Coast Syndicate have been as busy as our fellow warriors of the St. Louis tribe. Deployment orders were issued for the second non race of the season and participation was up 400% over last year with only the bravest 4 stepping up to the line for the Peekamoose 100 (the balance of the troops were getting in touch with their feminine side at Stewart with a lesson in nature from every one's favorite nature boy - The Mayor).
With the hottest day of the summer forecast and temps pushing close to the century mark we gave the Team Seagal salute, saddled up and headed off for our date with destiny.This year, just to add to the pain, the course was rerouted to include the Sampsonville Road around mile 75. A nice, fully exposed to the sun, set of steep pitches guaranteed to make grown men cry. Opening with a tour through Top Chef's old hood soon enough we were onto the 44/55 pass for the first of day's four climbs. Not long after the start of the climb Aaron "Obamador" Anaya showed the legs that would win the Arrogant Bastard beer/KOM classification for the day, leading over the summit of every climb except Peekamoose and making the rest of us feel his pain.By the time we hit Roundout Reservoir the gu had kicked in and the shouts of "fire in the hole" were coming from Top Chef. The resulting clouds had caught Fat Chick and he was off the back struggling for a breath of fresh air.
FC During Happier Times On The Ride

The Troops Pounding Out The Miles

Coming off Peekamoose Top Chef, Obamador and C-Dubs hung it out and topped out close to 50 mph before settling into a high speed pace line to the bottom. Shortly after we were rolling into one of the many espresso stations Top Chef has incorporated into our rides. With the heat rising Fat Chick restocked and rolled out toward the Sampsonville climb while the rest of us indulged in food, caffeine and a refill of the bottles. We finally caught FC halfway up the climb at which point everyone was getting fully cooked from the sun and heat. Finishing with a descent into Kerhonkson we loaded up on the cold water and poured a couple of gallons over our heads before setting out for the climb back over 44/55. The Final Summit Guppy

Driven on by the realization that ice cold beer was only one 5 mile climb away, one by one we crested the summit and bombed the final descent back to HQ where we arrived at 4:20. There Mrs. C-Dubs had a crew on hand, a cooler of beer and tons of food to consume. With a good buzz on and a full belly we settled on the couch to catch up on the crashfest called the Tour.