Let's Talk About the Sexual Objectification of Women!

But Liz, you might say. This blog is called "Liz Bikes." It isn't called "Liz has horrible feminist rage."

Well, internet, I believe it was the original Will.I.am who said "WHAT IS IN A NAME," so there.

This weekend was the ninth annual Everyone Rides event. Basically, it is a heapish pilgrimage of cyclists from all over the place to sunny South Florida for the chance to ride with some of the brightest names in the sport, present and past: Phil Gaimon, Tom Danielson, Brad Huff, Franky Andreu, and Greg Lemond all made appearances.

The other thing making appearances was the Stradalli Cycles brand. Oh, appear they did indeed! Tons of riders sported various makes and builds--including Greg himself. Yes, the man who bought Time USA rode Saturday's VIP ride on a Stradalli.

This is fine. Great! I don't want to talk about small businesses, or competition, or any of that. I want to talk about respect.

Let's talk about actions. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. SCIENCE FACT!
Let's talk about Greg Lemond, one of the greatest, most decorated riders in cycling history, climbing aboard a bicycle that chooses to promote itself with images like these:

I don't even see a bike in this picture. oh wait it's being swallowed BY THE BOOTY

"If I'm really good, I get to wear pants!"

No one lives in a vacuum. When Greg Lemond rode that bike, he endorsed the imagery of the Stradalli brand. Whether it was a knowing endorsement, or just a tame, non-politically-charged ride on a friend's bike--this is beside the point. Because these images are Stradalli's voice, and they say: Women are meat. Women are objects. WOMEN WOMEN MEATY MEAT OBJECTIFICATION TANGO.

Look at another picture:

The Stradalli bike stands in front of an obscenely expensive car. A prototypically "sexy" woman grasps the saddle and pouts.

Guess what? This says something. It means something. For Stradalli, a woman and a luxury car serve the same purpose: they are aesthetic. They provide the air they want their bike to breathe; they give it a "man's man" character.

Let's see images with a man and a Stradalli:

 

Oh, so manly. But SURPRISE. THEY ARE WEARING CLOTHES. Oh, how weird! My eye is not being drawn to their sexual organs, like so:

OOOOOPS MY JERSEY JUST JUMPED RIGHT OFF ME
or
OOOH HOLD ON WHILE I ADJUST MY SEXY, SEXY HEART RATE MONITOR
or
OOOOOH MY SPORTS BRA HAS SOOOOOOO MUCH SUPPORT MY BACK FEELS GREAAAT

So, what does this say to the average woman? I genuinely want to know. I imagine there can be two or three interpretations:

1) FEMINIST RAGE,
as you can see demonstrated now by the lizard. I will not elaborate.

2) APATHY:
 AKA, "Sex sells, that's just how things are."

3) POSITIVE?
I guess someone might say, "they are not being sexualized, they are being sexual." Maybe? But this is pretty clearly some male-gaze stuff. Is this femininity? Is it really?

Now, with Stradalli sponsoring the Colavita Pro Women's cycling team, I cannot see how this can be ignored. You are taking a team of elite, kick-ass women who fight on the daily for respect and forcing them to ride bikes that don't consider women capable of riding them. But if they want to strip and rub their cleavage on the bikes, OH BY ALL MEANS.

But really, this is hardly a new opinion in cycling. This is a sport that paid Chris Froome roughly $600,000 for his victory in the Tour De France, and then threw Giro Donne victor Mara Abbott $630 and told her to GTFO. As a woman, you really can be the best! You just also have to be homeless.

IT IS OFFENSIVE. In an era where women's sports make up somewhere between .5 and 1.5% of sports coverage, (depending on who you ask) this boggles my mind. It is the ultimate of horrible ironies. I lay awake at night for injustices such as these. Nobody asked to be whatever gender they are! Roughly half just happened to have the misfortune of being ladies. For that reason, we are doomed to find blog posts claiming that "Women should not have self-esteem," and shudder. For no reason other than some horrible biological luck, we are doomed to hear the same horrible joke about sandwich making again and again until we either get tired and make the sandwich, or die.

I ask you this, internet: How are we supposed to value ourselves when the world shouts from every direction, "YOU ARE A SANDWICH MAKING PAIR OF BOOBS."

Let's be real--the woman wearing the Stradalli cycling kit is not a cyclist. is She doesn't know the difference between a watt and a tire lever. She is a high heeled fake. I look at this woman and know that this product is not intended for me. Do I imagine myself driving that car, or fucking that woman? Of course not. But advertisements are not crafted by accident, and that is the reaction Stradalli seeks.

I also wonder: what is this bicycle overcompensating for?

A LIZARD IN THE VALLEY: Cannon falls? More like...can you not falls ALL OVER THE PLACE

AUGH. MORE I WRITE. And all for you people!! I am excited anyone even reads this, really. I should not complain.

So anyway. Here we go:

THURSDAY, wee morning hours

I had planned to wake up early, because--as team manager--I decided that we should get on the road off toward Cannon Falls at promptly 1:15. Why this arbitrary time? Well, everyone knows that the quarter hours are used only by the suave and professional. Hence, 1:15.

My alarm went off at 7:30, which had sounded reasonable the night before, but in the grim light of day I knew that there was no way I was getting up. I slept two more hours.

THURSDAY, later.

I finally dragged myself from my luxurious lizard nest and into the kitchen. "Coffee," I said, to no one, as Lynette and Michael are real people with jobs, "I need coffee." I taught/reminded myself quickly to use a french press, partly via the magic of youtube. The result was a glorious punch in the mouth.

I waited a few minutes for the caffeine to start my heart beating again, and then donned stretchy pink lycra for some quick morning suffering.

THURSDAY, 12:30

Ride over. I showered and got everything I could possibly think of that one might need in a road race--extra guus, extra bottles. I generally just brought anything I had duplicates of, just in case there might be some foreign need for it. Toothpaste? Check. Drawstring bag? Check. CHECK. ALL THE CHECKS.

I rode over to Laura and Vanessa's accommodations and we discussed the order I was to hand them bottles in. Water, for example, was to be given first, unless there was some sort of split-second communication in which I would be told to give NOT water, and hand something else instead.. Or something like that.

It was a harrowing experience, and I was filled with anxiety about these handoffs. They happen so fast! I, a humble lizard, am the only barrier between the rosebandit warriors and an unquenchable thirst! I don't care who you are, that is some responsibility. I was atlas, with a thirsty globe upon my back. THIRST.

I went to the store for ice, water, and a coke to feed Vanessa after she had suffered sufficiently in the race; once I had accomplished these things, we were ready to depart.

THURSDAY, 1:30

I drove the ladies, thanks to siri, to Cannon Falls, all the while driving like an idiot because I was thinking so intently about how I would accomplish bottle handoffs to two riders with only myself and my lizard wiles to aid me. I think I got the adrenaline flowing, maybe.

THURSDAY, 2:30

We arrived at team parking and set about readying the ladies for war!!! WAR!!!! All that pre-race nonsense, you know. We agreed on a firm bottle-giving schedule, and this gave me some degree of solace and comfort in that I would not ruin the race for them by accident.

Once I was certain VDrigo and Lapars were prepared, I returned to our valiant Dodge Caravan and sallied forth to feed zone one. Once there, I commenced the waiting. The waiting. And the waiting. Feed zoning, it seems, is like millwork. It is an awful boring job. MUSICAL THEATRE JOKE. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

So, I sat there, and played Ke$ha loudly and was stared at by the entire volunteer squadron--which seemed to be comprised solely of high school boys. They did handstands in the street, and offended a farmer on a 4-wheeler. When the farmer came over to my car to take a picture of the license plates of all of our cars, I tried to yell, "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! I'M NOT WITH THEM!" But he was unconcerned with this distinction.

After this excitement, the men came through. I was giddy with happiness, as this meant that the women would soon come through, and that meant that I would get to leave this vacant field in The Middle of Nowhere, Minnesota. Though, its piggy smell had begun to grow on me. Alas.

The group slinked up the incline toward the feedzone, a compact peloton against the winds (which were blustery, I must say). I handed Laura her bottle without issue, though some other girl tried to take it (!!!!); VDrigo opted for no fluids at this time.

I BEEZ IN THE TRAP, BEEZ, BEEZ IN THE TRAP!

THURSDAY, Mile 30 (ha! I used something besides time! I DO WHAT I WANT)

Once the girls were beyond me, I jumped back into the car and gunned it after the caravan. Sitting very, very last, after a couple sharing a moped (WHY?), I felt almost part of the proceeding! How joyous for me. During my time "in" the caravan, I noticed a Kowalski/Collegiate all-star rider girl changing a flat and then jumping back after the peloton. I must mention her, as I wanted so much to motor pace her back up the the peloton! Isn't that the point of a team car?! Hers just abandoned her and sped back up to the group, leaving her! A poor lonesome college starlet! I am not sure if this is the rule, but I was forced to watch her doggedly chasing for several moments, facepalming, and screaming through my closed windows "HELP HERRRRRRR."

THURSDAY, Mile 72

I arrived at the second feedzone approximately one hour til the women's peloton was to arrive. With no possible way to know what in tarnation was happening, I was relegated to that lowest form of social media...the twitter.

NVGP's twitter campaign was helpful, but certainly not stellar in its coverage. Truly, to tweet that there is a crash and then not tell the gasping audience of your tweet who was injured!? THAT IS SO CRUEL, NATURE VALLEY.

I learned later that this crash did, as I feared, impact Parsons, who was forced to chase strenuously after the peloton. She told me that she was paced at 36 miles per hour to get back on, and I wondered how this was not harder than the actual race. Apparently, I am sophomoric and amateur.

The crash, though bad for Lapars, set Vdrigo up for a moment of success; she jumped after an attack and found herself in a three woman break. They established about a minute lead over the peloton, and gobbled up some Queen of the Hill points before being swallowed back up. I tweeted frantically about this, and would just like to mention how grateful I am to have the opportunity to tweet "SoSwissSoFast" and have a legitimate reason to do so. THANK YOU, VANESSA.

The pair came into the feedzone relatively close together, and both got their bottles without much issue. I AM LIZARD. I hand bottles like a champ.

THURSDAY, later.

I followed the colavita, optum, and tibco cars back out of the rural wilderness and into the "metropolis" of Cannon Falls. I discovered that these team cars drive exactly how they race bikes, and was filled with an unholy terror as I watched Colavita's van drafting the optum van, and then both vans divebomb the right turn onto CO road 19. This recklessness, it is a thing I must learn!

We made it back into town just as the racers were entering their finishing circuits--and HOLY MOTHER OF JESUS, I have never been so floored by speed. I mean, consider that these racers have just completed ninety miles of gnarly, hill-infested, pedal mashing. They have been in the sun for four hours, hands crunched around their drop bars, WAITING for something to happen. FOR FOUR HOURS. I am not kidding you when I say I have never seen these women go so fast. It was full-gas, criterium-style, on a course probably half of the remaining riders had not ridden before. Carnage ensued.

Optum hit the front hard and did not look back. A break of Tibco and Lululemon riders went and was drawn back, and then there were two laps remaining. I scoured the peloton for Laura and Vanessa, and willed them hang on with all of my lizard heart!! For the life of me, I do not know how they survived.

CAN YOU TELL...

But survive they did! The race ended and I have never seen them both filled with such happiness to be finished. I tended to my soigneur duties, and took them home for ice baths, and bed.

....that these are video screen captures...

....because they are.

A jersey update:

Jade wilcoxen, that godly woman, threw the hammer down for first place tonight and proved herself the strongest of the strongwomen. She keeps yellow. Tayler Wiles moves back into white. Brianna Walle keeps the jelly belly! Kimberly wells, blue, that crusher of souls; Flavia Oliveira wears red and Kat Hall, green.

Jade Wilcoxen wins by what appears to be 27,000,000 bikes lengths.

Tomorrow, the ladies are back for more, the Uptown crit is stage 4 and it is sure to be monstrous. Wish them all the luck! What do you need it for?! GIVE IT TO THEM!!!

More tomorrow,

your faithful, fangirling lizard

A LIZARD IN THE VALLEY: When it rains, it pours on your head as you do 400 watts in a time trial.

EGAD, another day and again I must tell the tale of what happened! This is an exhausting circle, as it feels like I am living everything twice. I am filled with sleepies, and write only out of duty to you, my attentive audience, and so you all must be sure to yammer me with requests for entries and/or unending praise so that I do not get tired and stop writing!

WEDNESDAY, the crack of dawn

I awoke, and saw 5:55 on the LED clock near my bed. A tiny heart attack struck me--FIVE FIFTY FIVE?! HAD I SLEPT THROUGH THE TIME TRIAL?! I blinked several times and realized that it was 5:55 AM  rather than PM and I had not, in fact, missed the prologue of Nature Valley. It gets sunny here at a disgustingly early hour! My servitude was not yet a total failure. I stirred, and Lynnette and Michael gave me coffee and cereal to fuel my lizard self. POWER CARBS.

Vanessa and Lapars arrived just after seven, and we took off through the hellish morning traffic of St. Paul (or, I think that is where we is. I thought we were in Minneapolis at first. But who can ever tell.)

I navigated to the course with all the skill and delicacy of minced ginger. Is that a thing? It is now. We parked, and promptly set to business. I noticed the Lululemons across the parking lot and fainted at least six or seven times; Laura used her feminine wiles to secure trainers for warm up. I suppose this duty falls under a managerial jurisdiction; however, I am not one for wiling.

The skies, gray since I'd rolled from my dusty slumber, opened up in a sort of non-committal rain. It was like, "Well, I guess I could rain on you. Whatever." This was quite rude, as it intensified as the time trials went along. I huddled, in my soaked hoodie, and fangirled over various cycling superstarlets.

Vanessa was set to go off at 8:56; Laura, 9:03. Laura gave me a bit of a scare, as she somehow sneaked past me and got into the bike check without me seeing her--so, at 9:01, I was staring down the road, scouring desperately for pink, trying to postpone conniptions. Eventually she yelled and got my attention. "I thought you weren't going to make it," I told her.

"I race in one minute," she said, flabbergasted, "Where else would I be?!" Touche. This management business is hardly the cakewalk they make it out to be. Who makes it out to be that? I may have just made that up.

WEDNESDAY, 9:16
AT this moment in time, both Lapars and Vdrigo, as I will lovingly refer to them from now on (unless I feel like using a less ridiculous moniker--but for now, these suit me!), were on course presumably crushing everyone. At least, I hoped it was as such. I huddled beneath a tent and taught a volunteer how to use twitter. "Yes," I told him, "now, this is called a 'hashtag'."
"Fascinating," he said. I am the ambassador of my generation.

WEDNESDAY, later.
Vanessa and Laura rolled off the course, rain-drenched, and cursing the discipline of time trial. I did not blame them, and nor did I envy the task of setting out to time trial with Jade Wilcoxen (sp?!) as a two-minute woman. I have done just this, last year at elk grove, only to have the obnoxious orange Optum car pass me in a turn. "REALLY," I called after them, "You'd better kill me to make sure I won't beat you IN THIS FIVE MILE TIME TRIAL IN WHICH I RIDE ROAD BIKE AND HAVE NO AERO EQUIPMENT." Maybe I did not say this, but wouldn't it have been funny and satisfying if I did? LET'S MAKE BELIEVE.

I collected my athletes and transported them to Trader Joes, for nutrients. Then, back to HQ, for napskies.

WEDNESDAY, noon?

A ride for lizard, lest the team manager get too fat. It rained on me.

WEDNESDAY, 3:45
We met at our designated time and I transported the ladies to downtown St. Paul. It is the sort of downtown I imagine grandparents like, in that there is nothing really going on and it is calm enough to almost nap in the middle of the street median. The prerace necessities happened, and I found a spot along the start/finish to watch (aka, tweet obnoxiously). I felt a crushing nervousness despite the fact that I was not even kitted up; I am not sure if this is because I care or because I am a wet noodle of a human being.

IT BEGINS!!!!!

WEDNESDAY, 6:15

The race began with all the firepower I had feared and hoped for. The first few laps (at least, from a sidewalk perspective) were lit up. Vanessa and Laura dug through it, and I screamed like a giddy little teddy bear each time they passed by. I hope that my falsetto was motivating. I also engaged in a brutish text/tweet bombardment of the internet, for which I apologize. I was excited....

Q: What do laura and vanessa do when they are not kicking butts?

A: NOTHING. THEY CONSTANTLY KICK ALL THE BUTTS.

WEDNESDAY, 7:14
IN a twist of dramatic proportions, the race unfolded in the last five laps. It went from a controlled Tibco-train of five riders leading Shelly Olds (another olympian) to a chaotic flurry spearheaded by two orange Optum helmets. With one to go, the tibco lead out was demolished. It was anyone's race.

I was not surprised to see the orange of optum come grilling down the line, Lauren Hall first in their team one-two with Jade Wilcoxen; Shelly Olds took third with a disappointed (I thought) shake to her head. Carmen Small was downed in the last corner, and got 49th. HA! THIS IS THE SORT OF PLACING I GET. FEEL MY PAIN.

Just kidding. Now, for a jersey update: Jade Wilcoxen had secured enough time bonuses to negate Small's disgustingly good time trial. She moved into yellow with a two second cushion. Tayler Wiles lost white--and I may or may not have cried about this--to Denise Ramsden of optum. Kimberly Wells wore blue (is anybody surprised), and Brianna Walle held onto the Jelly Belly jersey. Mia Loquai dons best amateur!

I recovered my riders, and we departed, another battle in our belts.

WEDNESDAY, later

We peaced out and I set to some erranding; I deposited Laura at whole foods, vanessa at home, and myself at a gas station. We noshed some whole foods noms, and then I took off on my bicycle for bed.



I am so tired. Tomorrow, the ladies shall take on the horrors of the Cannon Falls Road race--93 miles, with only a lizard for support, no team car, no mechanic, NOTHING! I shall do what I can for them, but send them some speedy thoughts. MORE LATER

A LIZARD IN THE VALLEY: Nature Valley, reptilian style.

So, friends, a hiatus for you yesterday. A day with no reading--this is a gift to you! You're welcome. I will offer a brief recap of Monday's adventures, as it was largely a day of travel.

MONDAY, 9:00
I awoke early after being thoroughly beat down by crybaby hill and drinking Margaritas with the Plotkin family, my new favorite people in the world. I had decided, on a whim, that I would in fact not return home to the hideous cavern of humidity that calls itself south florida. I would, instead, act as sovigneur to my teammates Vanessa and Laura. Though I am only a lizard, and incapable of very technical support, I would provide what I could, if only because I am bored and have nothing else to do with myself.

It was Laura's birthday, giggity! She spent the morning hustling around Tulsa after rental cars and other bicycling business; Vanessa and I attended to matters of our own (inside joke: How many rose bandits does it take to do laundry? Answer: all of them.) We all met back up around two.

MONDAY, 2:00
 The remainder of this day was spent driving, as this is the prudent thing to do when eleven hours separates you from the glory of Nature Valley. Being the servant for the trip, I knocked out many of the hours myself. After about four, we stopped at a Whole Foods where we got to see a bearded Shaman give a lengthy anecdote about shaving a "beautiful, long-haired cat" and purchase dinner. I spent $34.70 on a food trough of couscous, some tiger balm, and an americano. FRUGAL!

MONDAY, 11:00
We could go no further. Laura fought through an impossible phone reservation with a Days Inn employee, and we ceased travel for the evening.

The first thing we noticed when we pulled into the hotel were youngsters--and not just youngsters, mind you. RUFFIANS! Limarita guzzling, cigarette smoking, hotel-parking-lot-loitering RUFFIANS!!!!!!! Laura and I were immediately miffed.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING," a particularly friendly ruffian asked Lapars and I. "UH...Traveling," she replied. A good, vague answer if I ever heard one! We retired to our room which sported beds that would make a four-foot-tall child giggle, and watched a movie where Cher slaps Winona Ryder in the face. Then, BED TIME.

TUESDAY, 9:00

I can say with confidence that this was the earliest we had ever arisen at a race--at least, at the same time. I was propelled by my natural need for sustenance, and so leapt from my tiny, tiny bed and sponge-lump pillow with hunger. Vanessa and laura followed, in time! We departed for the twin cities, but only after a visit to Starbucks. Necessities, you see.

TUESDAY, 9:30-2:00

More inane driving commentary. I would spare you this, but it is such an essential part of the lifestyle cycliste. Laura made us stop no fewer than twenty-six times, and I piloted the mini-van with all the precision of a surgeon. Well, a plastic surgeon.

TUESDAY, later.

We visited a local bike shop in St. Paul, Omnium Cycles, and they hooked Laura up with a cassette change and some bottles. From there, we promptly took off for the time trial course for a brief ride before my TEAM MANAGER MEETING at 6:30. Yes, you read that right. I, Lizard, am a team manager. I manage.

We did some light riding and Laura gave me some sprint pointers, as my current form rivals that of a dying ostrich. The ladies compared pacing strategies, and I listened intently while wishing I was racing! Though, I would be happy to manage if only I were given some sort of hat.

TUESDAY, 4:45
We completed our pre-ride and loaded the van. We discovered that driving across St. Paul was not unlike piloting a canoe around the port of New Orleans. My grandmother-ish driving was not enough to ensure our timely arrival, and so Laura took over.

We arrived at the Bloomington Holiday Inn fifteen til six. I burst through the double doors and shouted, "WHERE IS THE PACKET PICK UP!" The baffled front-desk ladies gave a timid gesture down the hallway, and I meandered off in search of my papery quest.

I found what I sought, directly down the hall and to the right, as the nice woman had directed me. Imagine! I sat down with all the style and grace I imagine a team manager should have, and said, "Yes, I would like to pick up for my athletes." I almost laughed at these words as they came out of my mouth, but refrained.

 The volunteers were lovely and helpful. I only had to run outside once to complete the process, but I imagine my cover as super-pro Team Manager stands. Or, I hope it does.

TUESDAY, 6:30
Directly following the packet pick-up was the "Manager's Meeting," an event to which I was of course invited as I am a stunningly organized and professional manager. I was delighted to discover that Paul, head honcho for Team Kenda was in attendance as well! We sat together and I took notes on the things that he took notes on; this was a good gauge for what was probably important and what was not. I jotted on a holiday inn sticky pad, and nodded furtively as the speakers went through their talking points.

TUEDAY, later.
We retired from the hotel to our arrangements. Laura and Vanessa would be staying with John and Melanie, who made us a delicious pasta dinner and fed me far too many chocolate dipped bananas. I would be down the street with Lynette and Michael, who are also probably two of the greatest people I have ever met. I bade Laura and Vanessa adieu and spent the evening chillin' with my hosts. This included learning that they have in fact seen my blog (proof that someone reads it besides me), watching Chelsea Lately, and an epic quest to discover the WiFi password so that I could post this.

THE ADVENTURES!!! they are endless. TOMORROW, Vanessa and Laura will tackle two stages--a 7.7 mile riverfront time trial, and a criterium later in the evening. Send them fast vibes and thoughts! Meanwhile, I will document their every move for your enjoyment!


Until tomorrow,

DA LIZARD

LIZARD TAKES TULSA: The lizard seals the deal.

So, friends, I am back. When I left you, it was the morning of my twenty-second birthday. I had just discovered my potential as a spinster/lightly employed road cyclist. The future was bright and terrifying.


So, I think i left you saturday morning. HERE WE GO AGAIN.

SATURDAY, 10:00

It was my birthday, as you know. I was practicing my spinster habits, as I would never be much a cat lady because 1) I am allergic and 2) I am more of a dog person. We all have our struggles. I left my hotel room with much suffering due to the previous evening of crashing and horror, and made my way to the other Tulsan Holiday Inn. Because, you know, one isn't enough.

Amy and Laura presented me with a birthday beet juice (IS THERE ANY BETTER GIFT?!) and we went for a pre-race spin. I felt like death, what with the spinal injury, but all in all things seemed all right!

SATURDAY, later.

We hung around, and Amy and Laura decided that they needed naps. I retired to the casa de Crescenzo, aka Lauren, Team Kenda member and collegiate cycling homie of the lizard. This poorly written sentence means that I forwent Laura's advice to go back to the Holiday Inn express and take a nap, and instead rode to Lauren's to crash the Team Kenda team meeting and put my feet into a swimming pool. When in Tulsa, you know. We lounged, and I tried not to hear too many of the Kenda team tactics so as not to give myself an unfair advantage.

SATURDAY, 4:00
Lauren and I prepared for battle. Kits, helmets, funny socks, and boa fasteners. Check, check, check and check.

SATURDAY, 5:00
Lauren and I set out for the course. Warm up, and advice from lauren's super pro coach were achieved. WE WERE READY.

SUNDAY, 6:00
The race began! Lauren and I found ourselves next to one another, in a sort of okay starting spot. The course itself was an "L" in shape, with a gradual hill and a 90 degree turn at the bottom of said hill. The peloton did its typical game of weaving haphazardly in and out of turns, gunning out of every corner, and so on. But for a time, this did not destroy the lizard. No! I gained spots on the hill, occasionally perhaps in a less-than-orthodox manner of riding (read: I am sketch ball). But I was near the big guns. I tried to stay on the wheel of colavita, the godly Jackie Crowell, or any Fearless Femme riders. I did my best. About halfway through the race, I turned and realized that my middle-ish position was no longer in the middle, and that all those behind me had conceded defeat. The carnage was immense, almost thirty were out.
But still, I had hope! I saw vanessa and laura just in front of me, and the remaining riders were strong crushers. Perhaps it would smooth out? Simmer down?
But this was not to be. Monster crusher Allison powers made her way to the front and threw the hammer down, and the speed ratcheted up to 29+ mph as fearless femme began to chase to set up the win for Theresa Cliff-ryan. The lizard was slung this was and that, and eventually, the wheel I was on popped off and I was left with another gap I could not close.
I finished in 49th place.

SATURDAY, 8:00?
We did our post race finagling, and then set out for dinner with the lovely and fabulous Plotkins (Brenda and Teri)! I drank probably too much beer, and was regaled with cake (!!!), a shirt, and a darling hair bow from anthropologie! I could not believe they bought me presents. These are truly the best people perhaps ever.

SATURDAY, 11:00
Amy, Laura, Teri, and Brenda retired. I, the Lizard, was sleepless, and took to the streets of Tulsa on my bicycle. Where would I go? surely not back to the holiday inn? I rode instead to Lauren's host house, closer than my hotel, to watch 11 minutes of an arrested development episode and then fall asleep on myself.

SUNDAY
We awoke at the crack of 11:00 am and realized with much dread, "Oh god! We race in three hours!" I discovered that Laura had textually invited me to second breakfast and I set out for the Holiday inn, posthaste. However, upon arrival, I discovered that breakfast had ended and that it was too late to really eat alot anyway. So, they provided me with a cliff bar and assured me that this would be sufficient.

SUNDAY, 1:00
I departed alone for the course, riding aimlessly along the bike path searching for the race. Where was it?! It took me a good half-hour to even find the darn thing! I suppose this is good, as it forced me to have a luxurious warm up.

SUNDAY, 2:15 PM
Again we were set to depart. ALL ABOARD THE PAIN TRAIN. POPULATION, ALL OF US. We are at least together in that.
My starting position was horrible, per usual, but I was confident that I could move up an get around many of the riders early if I hit my clip-in correctly. This is a large "if," so my plan B was to merely accept as many Beer Feeds as possible up Crybaby hill and forget that I had ever attempted this race.

But the if was to be! I started quite well, hitting the hill with confidence and panache. The thing I was to experience I was unprepared for, not in the riding sense, but in the sense of the crowd, the atmosphere. It was a wall of sound. It was a crushing crescendo of voices, beer, and water spray. It was glorious. I had never felt so invigorated. Pedal, yes! This was the only thing to do! Pedal down, pedal hard! I geared up and pushed harder. For that moment, I was in it.
But it unwound as quickly as it began. We hit the downhill and a shot rang out--a tubular rolled, and a girl sailed into the curb. She did not stir.

I was gapped, and I pushed hard to catch the group again. There was a long flat between me and the hill. This was the place to get them. Now or never.

And I did! I did catch them. I was quite pleased with myself, as I had never succeeded in this catching-back-on thing. I was on the hill and connected. BUT THEN, of all the accursed things, a girl directly in front of me dropped her chain. I cried out, "WAUGHHHHHHH," the exhalation of all of my frustrations and unhappiness. HOW COULD MY LUCK BE THIS TERRIBLE? Is it luck, or is it me, attracting this misery? Anyway, I slammed on my brakes and went around, but at this point the damage was done. There was a 10 meter gap and my legs burned with shameful death.

The officials let me go through for several more laps, and there were a few instances in which it looked as if I may catch back on a second time--I was drilling the flat as best I could, but any time I made, I lost quickly on the climb and false flat. I resigned myself eventually to my fate. A Crybaby reveler held out a PBR, I grabbed it and dumped it down my throat. This was my race. I was awarded 45th place, out of 76 riders.

SUNDAY, 7:00
We, the rosebandit crew (Amy, Lizard, Vanessa, Laura, Brenda, Teri, and Laura) went for team dinner in honor of Laura's birthday. I drank several margaritas and gave Laura a card that I drew. At dinner, we decided that I would in fact NOT return home, and instead assume the role of servant for Laura and Vanessa at Nature Valley. They needed a Lizard, and a lizard appeared! How lucky for them! How lucky also that I am an irresponsible vagabond with a profound appreciation of cycling.

And so, I shall remain in the north for the remainder of the month. I will drive cars and hand bottles until the 20th, at which juncture I shall begin Tour of America's Dairyland and race my lizard heart out in pursuit of the young rider jersey.

I will be updating along the way! You all should remind/nag me to do this as well as I feel it is cathartic and probably a positive presence in my brain!

ON AND ON WE GO!!!!!!!!!!!

Love,

Lizard