Scottsdale NCS Race Report/Saturday

After an alcohol induced coma that lasted fo the entire four hours I had to sleep, my phone rang and I was up at 5:30 a.m. Saturday morning. Waking up still drunk is no way to eat breakfast. Taylor and I rolled out and set up the KENDA booth. Bert and the Fuzziest prepped their loaner Racer-X's for the Super-D race, and Randy prepped for his 8 a.m. start time. The gun cracked through the cool morning air, and Randy's sport xc race was on like Chaka Khan.
Sitting inside the top 10 after the first lap, Randy was three miles from the finish line when disaster struck. His rear tire (2.0 Blue Groove) had been sliced wide open by a sharp rock, and began to run with his bike through the open desert. After a mile of running in his bike shoes, he decided to scarifice the machine and ride in on the rim. Randy deserves a large schooner of I.P.A. for his efforts to finish.
With no more racing for hours, we wentto work on the KENDA booth. Ms. McConnelough and John Tomac helped to pass the time, and I tried my best to get Mike Broderick to laugh until he threw up. 3pm rolled in, and Super-D time was upon us. Vanessa was first, and she would beat Heidi K. once again, this time at "her event." Bert and taylor did not do as well as planned. Taylor had raced it like a two minute DH race at Fontana, and quickly ran out of gas on the twenty minute course. Bert was on a bike he had never ridden, and struggled to settle into a rythm on the all fire road course. Tutus rep E.J. rolled up on his spendy new Ligero (named Mary) road bike to watch the peeps race and poach a beer or two. Meghan and her main schnitzel man also came to watch, them mysteriously disappeared for two hours. For a lesbian, that girl takes a LOT of the ol' pork-sword, y'know? :) The Roff's also showed up, bringing Jimbo's brother with him. We assisted Jim Wannamakebabies close down the booth and Taylor, Papo, James and I went to Chili's for dinner near ASU. Sleep came almost instantly after the Presidente Margarita, and the scent of Roger and Vanessa's pre-race dinner of Church's Fried Chicken clung to the cillia in my lungs as I slept.