Effin Ahole, at your service!

A week and a half ago, I had the chance to help out my friend Jason with a get together he had planned. Last year, Jason went all "Tomahawk Missle" on an SUV, in a successful attempt to attract the attention of the nursing staff at the Stanford Medical Center. For those that were able to visit him there, Jason arranged a weekend getaway as a way to say "Thank you". Class act.

The host house for the weekend was a Bed & Breakfast named "Above the Clouds". Perched atop the hills surrounding the Napa Valley, the home offered some AMAZING views of the area. Truly beautiful. Another very cool thing about the home was that it was right at the top of Trinity Grade. This road has been raced upon by some of the greatest cyclists in the world: Bernard Hinault, Greg LeMond, Phil Anderson, Moreno Argentine and more recently Levi Leipheimer, Cadel Evans and Garry Birch.

Jason planned two rides for the weekend, each one ending atop Trinity Grade. For this reason, Jason earned himself a new nickname: "Beelzebub"- Sadist extreme, prince of demons. I think it fits... or we can just amend his original nickname of Jason Van Der Sage to J. Van Der SATAN. Either way, it gets the point across.

But, seeing as he is the President of our Team, that makes me one of his loyal minions and I was more than happy to assist SATAN in punishing the mere mortals that thought it was a good idea to join us for the weekend. mwahahahahahaha.

My job was to drive support, feed the troops and massage tired legs. Putting this into the demonic context:

I drove the car behind the group, forcing them to pedal or ELSE.
I "fed" the riders "energy gels"- Hells version of food.
and I "massaged" their legs with enough pressure to squeeze muscle, tendon and ligaments through my fingers like a playdoh fun factory.
Pure bliss.

One moment of pure, adulterated sadistic joy came as I was standing along side the road, waiting for the group to pass so I can drop...er, hand them a much needed water bottle. As I stood there, a kind woman in a car pulled to a stop near me, asking me if I needed any help. My reply?

I quickly yanked back the bottle I was holding out and yelled, "THIS IS NOT FOR YOU!!!" Satan has taught me well.

Other highlights included:

Holding up traffic on narrow country roads while I drove behind the group- just to see the enraged faces of the drivers as they passed me, flipping me off, laying on the horn. Effin Ahole, at your service!

Watching the riders ride for hours in the rain, over steep hills and then having the balls to complain that my right calf was sore from driving the car. HAHAHAHA...yea, I'm evil.

Installing the video camera out by the jacuzzi so I can capture images for my new pay-per-view feature entitled "Cyclists Gone Wild". So far, no one has subscribed to it, but I'm confident the poster of wet bibshorts will draw a crowd.

I'll leave you all with this little clip of the 10th level of Hell that Dante forgot to mention.

In this circle of Hell, unrepentant cyclists who's muslces are eternally on the verge of cramping and who's water bottles perpetually contain only a drop of warm water, find themselves forced to climb an endless road into the clouds.

Surrounded by the souls of those damned to Hell for their obnoxious lust for "more cowbell" and taunted by an "angel" that SPECIALIZES in exhibiting the unattainable ability to walk on 12% grades in stripper heals, these Hell Riders make their way through their Tour de Affliction for all eternity: their ears forever pierced by the screams of some guy named Chuck yelling "Venga, Venga" and "Allez, Allez".


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