BABE Report, 2005 Single Speed World Championships.
State College, PA
August 20-22, 2005
The BABES:
Coach (Scott) Me (Frank)
Jesus (Keith)104 cubic feet isn't enough space. 104 cubic feet is not enough space for 3 grown men and their toys for two days. Therefore, a large piece of luggage, 8 cubic feet perhaps, had to be hoisted onto the roof. Many bags of various materials, shapes and sizes, 4 coolers and a cooler buddy, 4 bikes and three tents, Pillows, Jesus, the Coach, and me. We’re ready for anything.
We head West, away from the sunrise, at 11:30AM. An hour after the first beer was cracked. Top open, windows down, music blaring.
Here is the BABE Report:
So I'm going nowhere without pepperoni and fontinella cheese. And the only place I know to get what I want is the Green Garden Giant Eagle. That's why we head West on a 3 hour East bound trip. Upon arrival, I make a B line for the deli counter where I know they keep the good stuff... Margherita pepperoni. I'm standing there patiently waiting my turn, when the nice young lady ahead of me gets her olive loaf and steps away from the counter, most likely to the Bean isle. I happily step up to the meat display to place my order. The man behind the counter and I lock eyes... for like, 20 seconds. He refused to say a word. Finally I break the silence and say “Are you ready for me?”, and he responds "I'm looking at you ain't I?". Well, this isn’t going unchallenged. I jaw a little bit with him, and being a top-notch customer oriented service man, he gives me the attitude. After a few minutes of word jousting, I have my pepperoni, my cheese and a few various other items which will go uneaten, and we’re on our way. At the checkout counter we read the sad tragic tale of a poor death row kitten. Distraught and yet, strangely enthralled with the story, we spend $1 for the Weekly World News and head back to the ‘hoe. The BABES are not without their political connections. A presidential pardon? Perhaps, but we'll need to know more.
From here, it’s pretty much 3 hours of relaxation, music and anticipation for the weekend ahead.
Pee break. Time to stretch the legs and find some lunch. We’re not quite sure how far it is to State College at this point, but we feel it’s pretty close. We walk main street and see nothing. Dart into the Uni-Mart for a quick check of the facilities. Sorry, restrooms for employees only. This forces our lunch decision. It’s gonna have to be close, cause we gotta go. The next place we come upon is a small Italian pizza and pasta shop. Aaahhh out of the heat. Oh correct that, staying in the heat. We knew it was bad when the entire staff was huddling around one oscillating floor fan. Whew! At least they have cold beer and bathrooms, so we’re eating here. A few calzones, a few beers and of course a philly sub(?!?) and we’re out the door. Nice town but it’s time to get on to the show.
We head north, past the brew pub and onto route... what... there was a brew pub in town?!?... where’s the hells our “beer-dar” fellas? Sum-bitch, we plum missed driving right past that. Oh well, we’ll get’er next time.
About 45 minutes later we’re pulling into Mt. Nittany Wheelworks for registration. Although not until after we see about 5 Jaguars, 4 BMW’s and 3 Saab’s... all dented... and rusted. Mmmmm, let’s ride this town on bikes boys.
Anyway, I get out of the vehicle with a beer in hand and of course I’m greeted by a parking lot full of... um... well, let me quote the coach... “frightfully fit people”. Isn’t this the single speed worlds? Ain’t I supposed to be seeing beers... and beer guts? Well, this is certainly interesting, but never mind, we stroll up to the registration tent. We quickly sign up, get our SSWC05 beer mugs and socks and head into the shop. Nice shop. The people here are top notch. Friendly and smiling faces. We get some advice on where to camp and head back into the ‘hoe for a trip up the hill.
We follow the directions and, without a single error or turn-around, 5 miles later we’re into the Rothrock State Forest. Uh oh. Those are some damn big rocks. And this is a mighty long hill. We’re in for some fun.
We head up the road, kicking gravel and dust up in our wake, looking for someplace to camp.
After a few miles we follow the Seven van up an off shoot road. This leads to a radio tower... or make that 3 radio towers and a cell phone tower. We look around for a minute and I’m pretty much having none of this place so we head back to the car only to be confronted with two of the creepiest men I’ve ever seen, and with the largest foreheads imaginable on a human body (insert inbred Deliverance music here). We quickly high tail it back to the Tahoe and head deeper into the forest. Another two miles go by and things are starting to look up. Less cars around, some nice vistas and... uh, oh, more frightfully fit people. Not a beer in hand among ‘em. They’re pre-riding the course for tomorrow’s race. Oh brother!
We continue into the forest.
At the bottom of the next valley, Jesus points left up the hill and off we go. Another few miles in and we top out. This is starting to look promising. I had a vision of being on top. Not much farther up the road and we see an opening on the left, so we pull in. Out of the car and we quickly see other tents up by the road. We head to the back and see a trail. Ba-da bingo! We found a camp site. A beautiful camp site. A camp site I might dream about. This is home. We’re 6 miles into the forest.
Camp goes up quickly. Beers are consumed, lighters are lit, and leaves are raked by topless men. Man, this feels good.
CampSoon, a plan is hatched. Go back into town for a few hours of socializing and be back to camp by 9:30PM. Cook up some pasta to “carbo-load” for the race, sit around the camp site and have just a few more brews. Perfect. We are, indeed, professionals.
We leave for town around 7:30PM. Not being one to pull up right to the bar, we park just outside of downtown for a quick bicycle spin into town. As we’re unloading the bikes, I look over and see a girl. A girl with a fixed gear bicycle. She’s just sort of standing there. I say something about a “fixie” and immediatly she’s heading our way. “I just drank a shot” was the first thing we heard. She was in a scavenger bike race and the last stop she had to do a shot. “How YOU doing?” Her name is Laura and she tells us she's moving to Pittsburgh the next day. I’m thinking I’d like to give her a taste of Pittsburgh tonight, but, of course, being professionals, we are committed to being fully prepared for the upcoming day. But funny, sure is a small world. She helpfully directs us to to Zeno’s bar and also on where to find the fixed gear scavenger hunt after-party in town. Nice girl.
We ride a few short blocks to the bar. It’s down some steep steps into a quiet, beer drinkers heaven. Nice pub. Great beers. Victory Hop Devil on hand pump cask and Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA’s to boot. Sweet. We’ve not yet put our butts on a seat and the girl in the corner cry’s out “Singlespeeders right?”. Uuuh... why yes!
A few hours go by. Peter, a fine Mt. Nittany Wheelworks employee stops by our table and gives us the run down on tomorrow's frace course. The resulting description sounds like John Madden channelling Emeril. Every other word is “POW”, “BANG” and accompanied by flailing hand motions.
The band starts setting up, but it’s time to get back on the bikes and get to the official SSWC05 party. We head out into a soft gentle rain. Quick ride one block over and we’re at Tony’s Big Easy, the martini bar where the SSWC05 late registration is taking place. We stroll in, see some friendly familiar faces and commence to socializing. It’s a nice place. A big place and filled up pretty good with singlespeeders. Frightfully fit singlespeeders. After a while we find the quieter bar in the back through the hallway. We’ decide this is more "BABE" speed and we settle in for a few more cold ones. After a few quite moments, a firm figured and full strutting blonde woman strolls confidently into the bar. Someone asks her if she’s in for the bike ride tomorrow, and with all the indignation she can muster, she squawks “
Hell no... I’m a figure skater!!!” Sweet Mary, Mother of Jesus, did she just say what I think she said? My neck audibly cracks from turning so quickly. Well, she decides she wants to talk to some singlespeeders and she saddles up beside us. I’m not 60 seconds into a conversation with her and she mutters “I don’t know why men don’t ever ask me out on a second date.”. At this point, after hearing the previous 60 seconds of her laments, I’m kind of wondering why any man has ever asked her out on a
first date. In 40+ years of living, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an apparently fresh young woman expire so quickly. In the words of the coach, “I think she startin’ to turrrrrrn”.
Jesus walks beside me.
Enough is enough at Tony’s, we decide we need to find out where the fixed gear scavenger hunt after party is. Jesus, who was walking beside me, is pretty sure he remembers Laura’s directions. Good pal
Jeff Wuerthele, who’s pretty sure he knows his way around town, decides to come along. We start working our way through town when we come upon Maurice, Thanita and Michael Browne from Dirt Rag. We stop to chat a few minutes. It’s a little fuzzy what happens next as I see a group of people skipping/running down the alleyway sending sparks from their shoes. It’s Sov from Surly and a bunch of other wing nuts. They continue on their way. When I turn around I see Jeff lip locked with Thanita. That doesn’t look quite right, but it ends after 30 seconds or so and the Dirt Rag crew continues weaving down the alleyway. No harm done here.
Suddenly, Jeff points up the road and we start off again. We get lost. Pretty damn quick too, I might add. Eventually, we do find the party spot, the old party spot. A few fixies on the lawn, but, this place is done. It’s 12:30AM. The night, at this point, is every so slightly off schedule. It then proceeds to get lot of schedule.
We decide it’s time for Zeno’s again. We head back into town. Only this time, Zeon’s is packed, there’s a loud band (not that there’s anything wrong with that) and they’re charging a cover. Coach slaps down a twenty and we’re in. Jesus, who was walking beside me, looks at me with the “what the hell are we doing here?” look. I feel the same. I squeeze and rub through a few people and we’re in the pool table/foosball room (this is a college town). Within seconds I’m being asked if I’m really “Vernon” and if I really work for East Providence Township. I mutter something about laying asphalt and Jesus and I decide it’s time to go. Just as we make about a half a step, here comes the coach with three beers around his grimy claws. With his middle finger 2 knuckles deep into the center beer. It turns out, unfortunately, that one was mine. I get at downing it. A few minutes later, a nice young lady walks by, stops in front of the coach and says “so who got the finger beer?”. Coach points to me and says “he did”. She shakes her head and walks off. Kinda made me wonder if she knew something I don’t know. It’s time to go.
We climb out of the dungeon and back on the streets. The gentle rain is done. We ride uneventfully back to the ‘hoe.
We manage to drive a whole three blocks before we realize it’s time for some food. Aaaah, Perkins. They have food. And lots of it. A “Terrific Twelve”, or something. 5 pancakes. 3 eggs, home fries, bacon or sausage, toast and coffee. Absolutely terrific.
We leave and head back to camp. It’s 2:15 in the morning.
Finally, at 3:00AM I craw into the tent.
Cruelly, at 6:00AM I craw out of the tent.
Coach quickly sets about whipping up a blueberry-pancake-like substance and some Folgers instant. Perfect. We eat. We chug a few waters, take a few shovel-in-hand trips into the rather sparse weeds to bury our "products" in the rocks and by 9:15AM and we’re piling in to the 'hoe for race time.
Rose
