Drewdini's Magic Carpet Ride


(WBL 2005: OPENING ROUND: 4 DEC. 04)

WBL 2005 barreled onto the stage like a drunken court jester staggering into the Queen’s bathroom, unannounced and without so much as a courtesy knock, while her highness sat pinching a malodorous loaf atop her golden throne.

The WBL has never shown the proper respect for authority figures ever since its inception back in the grunge-filled days of yore, the early 90’s. And Drewdini has been there from the beginning, barging through doors, stepping on toes, and soiling carpets with dung-encrusted shoes. Drewdini, like the rest of WBL’s “esteemed” gaggle of no class Zealots, have always snickered at the Queen during the parade. Perhaps that’s why, fifteen years after its charter was first filed, the WBL is still here, anchored firmly into solid ground, thumbing its collective nose at those fat cats who lounge on their thrones.

On 4 December 2004, the WBL sprang into action with its kickoff event, Drewdini’s Magic Carpet Classic, a 3.5 hour, 65-mile event named in honor of a tenured Zealot, Drew Drewdini Johnston. Seems cancer tried to sink its nasty tendrils into Drewdini’s tenured backside over the course of the last year. Unfortunately for this cancer, it chose the wrong little fellow to pick on: Drewdini’s heart pounds like a sledgehammer, his spirit rages like an untethered attack dog, and his determination girds his soul like Michael Jackson’s bodyguards. Drewdini is currently kicking cancer’s arse, winning 14 out of the first fifteen rounds. There’s only one round to go – the rest of his life. When Drewdini was called to the starting line before the day’s opening event, he was greeted by a chorus of cheers and treated to a twenty-two minute thundering ovation. But Drewdini couldn’t hear; he was too busy admiring his reflection in the glass, and smoothing out the wrinkles on his new Yellow jersey. He looked good and he knew it. Of course, once cancer has paid you a visit, it does change one’s outlook; from that point onward, it’s just plain good to be out looking! Just ask Lance.

It was true, Drewdini was in Yellow and the first rotation of the wheels in WBL 2005 had not even occurred. Drewdini, an astute student of the arcane rules and bylaws of the WBL, unearthed an ancient WBL Code one sunny day while after he had defrocked Emile Abraham’s nervous Trinidadian sheep on a lonely mountain slope. Drewdini, after plucking large chunks of tangled wool from his chamy, lay on the grassy slopes with a long blade of sage grass in his mouth, a blue flower behind his ear, and a book in his hands. He was immersed in his study of the epic poems of Homer. While thinking of the trials and tribulations of Ulysses, especially the good sex he must have enjoyed with all those nymphs and sirens that greeted him at the various ports, Drewdini became distracted. He began lobbing large stones into the mouth of a dark cave. After he each stone disappeared into the mouth of the black hole, he heard the shattering of glass. Upon closer inspection, Drewdini found he had discovered the lost World Cup Scrolls of The WBL. The early scribes hid the ancient writings ten years back in large quart-sized bottles of Jim Beam after Gentleman Briggs Carney ascended to the WBL throne.

Drewdini poured over the inscrutable writings penned in large block letters. He stumbled across a nugget of gold. The ancient text stated in part: “Any Zealot who has been diagnosed with cancer in the preceding 12 months shall be awarded the sum of 1 point.” Scholars concluded the ancient parchment was genuine (it was written on facsimile paper), and Drewdini proudly slipped on the Yellow jersey before his own ride. It was quite the early season coup. Before the ride even started, Drewdini was approaching all the shemales and saying, “Hey Baby, I’m Drew, but you can call me Ulysses, king of the whole freaking universe.”

A legion of over 150 Zealots, well wishers, supporters and fans alike made the trek from the four dimensions of existence (that we are sure of) to join a star-spangled field in this celebration of life, and to collect their own 2 points. Old Man Sunshine, a longtime admirer of the spunk in which Drewdini’s dye has been cast, made a bold appearance and floated overhead in a cloudless sky for the entirety of the ride. The Old Man glowed like a white-hot pearl with the announcement that Drewdini has cancer by the neck, its back to the wall, with his knee pressing on cancer’s groin.

Other tenured Zealots like The Canadian, John Geo Dowd, the Dahlonega Dominatrix Tina Mayola-Pic and her dog-collared sidekick named Ice, the Spaniard Rhino Barnett, Inkstain Riecke, the Pack Shouter Phil Gilman, Cathy K.O. Connell, the Old Fat Bastard himself Jon Green, Scott Over the Edge, Tracy InSaine, Boy Brian Bibens, Steve Carparts, and Jered Gutcheck Gruber were on hand for this annual rite of winter.

The rock stars of international cycling were also interspersed throughout the pack like chocolate chips in a Tollhouse cookie: Thad Hot Mustard Dulen, Jesse Opry House Lawler, Nathan Way Down Under O’Neil, the aforementioned Trinidadian Torpedo Emile Abraham, Tim Red Sox Johnson, the Big Bean Micah Rice, and the Martha Stewart of Communism himself – the happy homemaker of Nastro Azurro – Sir Jack Cooney were just a few of the celebs trying to escape the glare of the camera for at least a day. But with a camera crew from OLN on hand for the home opener, it was impossible for the heavyweights to hide.

The worker-Zealots were also heavily represented. Nastro’s leading misogynist George Schramm, Reid and his Strutting Peacock, David Pres Nixon, Steve 2x4 Tusman, Greg Nuthin but the Truth Schisla, Chad Andy Warhol Arnholt, Joe Bob Burch, T. Largemouth Bass, and Marietta’s Michel Lamar were only a few of the names attached to a few of the working class slobs. (Unfortunately, Greg Morocco was not present, and with his 2-point deduction has once again dropped into the points cellar.) After the WBL reminded all to “ride two abreast at all times during the ride, and to please read our “Ride Guidelines” posted on our website (www.winterbikeleague.com),” WBL 2005 was off and running; headed out, like Alexander, to conquer all the terra incognita that waited up the road.

The feisty group of hammerheads headed out the Jefferson Riviera by way of the Pink Church, cut a roundabout path to Commerce via the Waterworks Road, and sailed off into piney woods of rural Jackson County. With no sprint on the day, the dreamers of yellow were content to soak up the sun’s rays, grind their teeth, talk smack, and dream of the podium. But one man’s dream was now a reality: Drewdini was alive, and draped in yellow to boot.

As the Zealots pedaled, they formed a knot around Big Jon, a magnet of the groupetto. Big Jon was preaching the gospel and it wasn’t even Sunday. The Big Man told his brotherly Zealots the only way they could swipe yellow from the back of Drewdini: “Well, first off, don’t worry about Drewdini bridging up to the break, cause cuz, that ain’t gonna happen. The break’s gonna bridge up to him. You see, Drewdini don’t wait for the hammer to drop; Drewdini steals the hammer and rides away with it. So if you see a little fellow dressed in yellow headed up the road, with a hammer dangling from his side, you best pull yo finger from the orifice, jump on yo horse, and getty-on-up the road; and I don’t mean maybe, sister.”

“Hang on there Red Legs,” said Hank The Beaver, “ there are no sprints in January. We all get 2 points for showing up and riding, even Drewdini. He’ll be 1-point up the entire month of December. Drewdini will be in yellow for the whole damn month! What shall we do?” Tears streamed down The Beaver’s flush round face. Big Jon apparently hadn’t thought this one through.

But Drewdini had, and he knew the score: All 175 attendees received 2 points, but Drewdini had 3. It was all over but the shouting. The Zealots weaved and cut and zigged and then zagged and made their way back home and completed the opening round right on time: 3.5 hours. The WBL was also happy to announce that it raised over $550 dollars for our brother in arms, Drewdini Johnston. So y’all come on back, and help us wrench that jersey off Drewdini’s back, or else it just might be there to stay. See you next week!