Icing on the Cake

Icing on the Cake

(WBL 2011 # 9)

On this past Saturday's WBL misadventure ( 12 February 2011),Thomas el Magnifico Brown pulled out his big Belgian sledgehammer and pulverized the competition as he nailed his third win in a row on the 80 mile, 4-hour Team Type 1 Hudson River Classic. Brown, whose pompadour hairdo was already snugly fitted into the Yellow hairnet as Overall Leader of the WBL 2011, bided his time in the demanding 9-mile final Attack Zone, snaking through the various lead groups like a venomous viper, striking when the iron was hot, and waylaying the other frontrunners with a series of devastating down-strokes. At the terminus of the Final Attack Zone, as the lead group of a dozen flew up the final 1 kilometer uphill pitch on the cruel slopes of Billy Melton Road, several attacks flew towards the line in desperate bids for posterity. But a strong head wind, combined with fast and furious surges from behind, blunted their efforts and held the unruly attackers in check. As the leaders sailed up the final 400 meter upslope, it was a drag-race to the line among the top 8 contenders. Brown's bailiwick is rapid bursts of speed and he was frothing at the mouth like a rabid pitbull. With 200 meters to go Brown unleashed the Kraken and bounded away from third wheel with a lethal lunge and instantly opened up a five meter patch of blacktop behind. He turned on his rocket boosters and was still moving away as he ripped over the line, warping the pavement with blister marks in his wake. With his impressive victory, T Brown now has 6 lifetime wins and had slotted into 3rd place in the WBL in Total Wins. Toss back a pint of the good stuff to Thomas el Magnifico Brown.

But even though el Magnifico scored a stunning victory, he had to row like a galley slave for his recompense as two young tyros named Stone and Housley nearly stole the day with an audacious attack. The water started to boil early in the Kenny Rogers Final Attack Zone, a 9 mile section of hideous hills and monster hummocks sure to cause lactic acid to freeze and crack in one's thighs like jagged shards of splintered glass. On the first humongous hummock only 2 miles into the Attack Zone, the Kenny Rogers Hill Jam (intermediate sprint), several adventurous sorts unhitched their tethers, threw their rucksacks over their shoulders, and set sail up the road. Like others before who've sought their kismet on the open road-Frodo, Don Quixote, Moses, Dean Moriarity, and Spartacus too-they were off on a life-defining trek, hoping to snatch the points and the cash prize that waited at the top of this heinous hillock of despair.

The massive hummock caused major casualties in the pack as the leaders stoked the fires up the bestial incline. The peleton was sliced into pieces and several caesuras appeared in the line, like abrupt gaps in a conversation. In the back half of the pack, the tears fell like confetti in a parade as half of the groaning grupetto had their names etched into the Book of the Dead. Up ahead at the tip of the spear, T Brown showed he was a prime suspect to take the win as he powered away from the rabble to claim the cash prize and the valuable 3 points. Malachi Peacock also showed he was a serious contender for the day's throne as he swept across for 2nd, while Michael Stone flew in for 3rd. Behind, a second, and then a third, ultra-violent surge up and over the final vexatious meters of the perilous pitch whittled the lead group down to 20 or so heartless pedal-bastards, many of whom were suffering like a billy-goat with a bad case of the mange. A Clockwork Orange may have its Milk Bar, but the WBL has Kenny Rogers Hill.

Kenny Rogers Hill Jam:

  1. T Brown: 3 pts.
  2. Malachi Peacock: 2 pts.
  3. M Stone: 1 pt.

The vanguard in the pack eased back on the throttle and luffed easily through the headwind for the next 2 miles, much to the silent satisfaction of a few mortally wounded pedal-protagonists. But like the Dying Gaul, these implacable warrior-Zealots refused to die on their backs. The anticipation grew as the strong guys and gals sucked in as much oxygen as they could during the lull, preparing their bodies and their minds for the preternatural push to come, pro forma for all WBL Attack Zones. And when the daring demagogue Michael Stone deftly attacked out of the herd with a deleterious kick 5 miles from the line, the pack knew the storm was at hand. These twenty remaining stalwarts of the road sucked in one more deep breath, and stepped forward off the cliff and fell face-first into the fray.

While others in the lead group were counting their lucky stars, happy simply to have a ticket to the show, Nick Horsepull Housley shot off in pursuit of the fleeing felon (Stone). As he'd done the week before, Horespull made contact with the frontrunner after thirty seconds of intense, soul-scouring pedal-stomping. The two offenders quickly fell into formation and powered away, tearing into their pedals like the ravenous rouges. Behind the two enfants terribles, the alarms wailed like a hotel was on fire. It was immediately apparent that these two marauding young paladins could flip the apple cart and turn the Attack Zone upside-down. It was also instantly obvious even to a gimlet-eyed gadabout like Mister Matt Miller and his seditious sidekick Eric Murphy that was their plan. Even those with no morals and even less scruples (like K Madsmith, Rich Nelson, Christian Foster, Chris Blackmon, Tim Stone, and Russ Foster), purblind as they are, could see what was happening here. This was like burgling a Brinks truck in broad daylight.

DD Show Stopper Dunn called for "all hands on deck," but only the strong of mind and body could answer the call to arms and contribute at this point. Once again, the Indianapolis Pavement Crusher J Atwell did yeoman's work keeping the leaders within striking distance. He was ably aided in his efforts by M Peacock, M Lanham, and A Scaroni, all Cat 1 pedal-bangers quick on the draw. But the two young tyros off the front refused to yield, and they kept their shoulders hunched over the handlebars while their chins split the air like a clipper ship. Turning right on Smithsonia Road less than 3 miles from glory, the two young Turks held a 15 second advantage, a sizable gap to close, and an impossible gap to cross alone, especially when the ones off the front are pedaling full bore.

Heading up the moderately steep Mur De Winterville the two pugilistic peddlers were standing and digging as if their lives depended on staying away-they did. They rounded the bend and turned onto Billy Melton and pounced, pounding circles into the air and cleaving the space through which they sped in twain. The strings in the universe were vibrating now in all thirteen dimensions. This was for all the marbles-Stone and Housley were each seeking to make a permanent mark in the annals of WBL lore. One mile from the line, the two sanguinary striplings were flying down the road like two indurate and insensate assassins fleeing from the scene of the crime-like Butch and Sundance, these two wouldn't be taken alive.

But the posse behind, with guns blazing and trumpets blaring, was pouring it own and closing fast. As the chase charged closer, Bill Watkins jumped and bridged in a brilliant display of cycle-power. As the cycle-fistics plummeted down into the steep walled-ravine 1 kilometer from the line at close to 40 miles per hour, the three daredevils were finally brought to heel. As the bloodthirsty savages in the chase passed the deviators, Stone and Housley hung their heads and wept. Even so, pour back a pint of the good stuff in recognition of these young hammer-heads remarkable derring-do.

The group of leaders was now flying in single-file, sigmoid line, ripping up the daunting double-decker slope like the cracking tail of a bullwhip. A couple of hard surges, one from Atwell and another from B Magner, reduced the leaders vying for the win to about eight. T Brown sat patiently in third wheel, knowing that on this hill that an early attack can be catastrophic, and waited until the finish line was 200 meters away. At that point he surged up the hill like he'd been blown forward by a tsunami. He rotated his pedals in a frenzied, spinning orbit of supersonic tensegrity, creating an optical illusion that his feet were actually a spinning circle made entirely of steel. El Magnifico crossed the line with money to burn and room to spare. The Yellow hairnet gaudily glowed on his regal head. C Peacock earned first place honors on the ladies side of the ledger with another impressive feat of cycle-rotating and she shot up the leaderboard to an impressive 7th place Overall. Also toss back a pint of the good stuff to the following folks for impressive feats circle-stomping: J Atwell, Yo Simpson, R Nelson, C Foster, B Watkins, N Aroyo, S Morris, T Stone, and T Cornett, with a special reserve tossed back in recognition of the insatiable pulls of M Lanham. Salud to all; for that one, raise your glass!


  1. T Brown: 10 pts.
  2. Crowe: 8 pts
  3. J Atwell: 6 pts.
  4. B Cornett: 4 pts.
  5. M Scaroni: 2 pts.
  6. Attack Points: M Stone, N Housley, B Watkins: 2 pts.
  7. True Grit: C Peacock, Tim Stone. Kirk Madsmith, A Smola, Dane Tezler, R Nelson, B Watkins, T Stone
  8. Pull Points: M Lanham: 2 pts
  9. All: 3 pts.


  1. C Peacock: 5 pts.

Non Pro:

  1. Crowe: 5 pts.
  2. Atwell: 3 pts.
  3. B Watkins, T Stone, R Nelson: 1 pt


My best segotia in the whole wide world (except my dog, my big Belgian beer, and my clogs) Old Sol erupted Saturday morning into a magnificent cloudless sky, like an overhead ocean of nothing but blue. The mercury rapidly rose, and after exactly twenty-two pedal revolutions, the group was warm and cozy, glowing like fat cats curled up tight on a thick, warm blanket. But these weren't slumbering gourmands or superficial bon vivants-these were blue collar Zealots, demotic guys and gals of the road, truculent tramps chained to the blacktop, destined for a life of serious suffering. O ye hardscrabble, rawboned, slat-ribbed Zealots, for thee I weep. And while we lament the fate of these 45 intrepid Zealots who were on hand for the day's epic trek with our poems and panegyrics, they are busy clipping in and sailing away, flying down the road with rictus moons painted on their faces, missing tooth hole in the front of their mouths whistling Dixie in the wind.

When we next check in on the Zealots they are pedaling in a uniform phalanx of double-file pedal-nabobs, effortlessly gliding northward on the gently sloping byways of the Brockton Church Road. The big yellow sun is still warming the air as it transits across the southern sky. Presently, the pack is in and out of Commerce, across the bypass, and into the Non Pro Sprint Zone. The group is being led by a hard charging Don Giannini up the nasty incline to the county line and the sprint sign. The Don must be taking a momentary hiatus from smashing someone's jaws and tying concrete balloons to their feet. Giannini stretches the line thin, and J Atwell jumps with 150 meters to go and drives forward to take the sprint, followed by M York, Crowe and M Vasco, all huffing up tar balls and sputtering fumes. The four sprinters burned an ace in the perilous pursuit of points. See Crowe frantically searching his jersey pockets-he might be down to his last card. He better pray it ain't a lousy one-eyed jack.

Let's leave the Zealots for a moment and zoom the camera out. Let's move our eye in the sky over to South Milledge and zoom in on the Sultan's seraglio. Look, there it is now-not a creature stirring, and it's noon. Looks like some are off racing-they get a pink slip. But oh no, look behind the curtains-there's Parker Smith; he's still in bed. How can he do that with a cast on his arm? Let's pull the drapes back for a closer gander. What's he doing? What the---? Hey, get the camera out of here! Hurry! Zoom back, zoom back! For gawd's sake, turn and run and don't look back. Uh oh, where's Yo Simpson. Oh no, I guess he looked back-he's a pillar of salt.

Back in the pack, suddenly and without any warning whatsoever, a bomb detonates, the pack rips asunder, and the front half scuds away. Nick Horsepull Housley is the instigator. He's taking his revenge out on all mankind. Look, mankind is in the gutter now, gritting its pearly whites and holding on by the skin if its teeth. Horsepull tamps out a wretched tune for 3 miles and brutalizes those behind without regard for their physical frailties or personal shortcomings. He exposes everyone without regard for race, gender, religious affiliation or sexual orientation. He's a real bastard that way. Look, Crowe's blowing the whistle like a traffic cop. I can read lips and it looks like Housley mouths, "I'm gonna shove that whistle right up his big hazzleplop," but I can't be sure. Finally the volume turns down and the group continues its march towards the Attack Zone, like Sherman leaving a burn mark for a trail. In these last 10 miles before the Final Attack Zone, aces of spades are fluttering through the air like a million migrating monarch butterflies. Uh-oh, someone has shot his wad. Chances are good that once again it's me.

But look, here we are in Colbert; no time to tarry now. In about two minutes the whistle will blow, and the pain will begin anew. The Final Attack Zone is upon us, and proof that I'm alive is in the fact I made it here. The rest, as they say, is only icing on the cake.


With only one event to go, T Brown is in the driver's seat. But Atwell and Crowe remain in the hunt. Will T Brown become the first to ever win two Overall titles? Only time will tell, so tune in next week. Better yet, come on out and se for yourself.

WBL 2011 Overall (30 Jan 2011):

  1. Thomas Brown: 75 pts
  2. J Atwell: 63 pts
  3. Crowe: 62 pts
  4. Ty Magner: 50 pts
  5. Joey Rosskopf: 46 pts..
  6. Catherine Peacock: 40 pts
  7. Michael York: 36 pts
  8. Ashley Gruber: 34 pts.
  9. Frank Trevesio: 31 pts..
  10. Slim Henry: 30 pts
  11. Nick Housley: 27 pts
  12. Kirk Madsmith: 26 pts
  13. Scott Morris: 26 pts
  14. DD Dunn: 25 pts
  15. Rich Nelson: 24 pts
  16. Ruben Jacobo-Rubio: 23 pts
  17. Joe Eldridge: 23 pts
  18. Brett Magner: 22 pts
  19. Brandon Russell: 22
  20. Christian Foster: 22 pts
  21. Don Giannini: 20 pts.
  22. Sam Rafal: 20 pts
  23. Reid Peacock: 20 pts.
  24. Little Cappy: 20 pts.
  25. Andrew Hodges: 20 pts
  26. Steve Kogan: 20 pts.
  27. Parker Smith: 19 pts
  28. John Best: 19 pts.
  29. Jamie Dinkins: 19 pts.
  30. Matt Miller: 18 pts
  31. Brooks Lide: 18 pts
  32. Brendan Cornett: 18 pt
  33. Dane Tezler: 18 pts
  34. Sean Carroll: 17 pts.
  35. Michael Stone: 17 pts
  36. Cal Hootin: 17 pts.
  37. Yo Simpson: 16 pts.
  38. Andrew Smola: 16 pts
  39. Tanner Putt: 16 pts
  40. Anthony Hergert: 16 pts
  41. Brendan Cornett: 15 pts
  42. Dan McGarvey: 15 pts.
  43. Russell Tindol: 15 pts.
  44. Russ Foster:15 pts
  45. Nick Fragnito: 15 pts.
  46. David Goodman: 15 pts.
  47. Matt Karzen: 15 pts.
  48. Rob Kane: 14 pts.
  49. L Slote: 17 pts
  50. Hunter Garrison: 14 pts
  51. Stephen Leotis: 14 pts.
  52. Gruber Gutcheck: 13 pts.
  53. Stradford Helms: 13 pts
  54. Eric Murphy: 13 pts
  55. Jason Bewley: 13 pts
  56. Dalford England: 13 pts.
  57. Yo Simpson: 13 pts
  58. Gabriel Denes 13
  59. Matt Brooks: 13 pts.
  60. Artur Sagat: 13 pts
  61. Matt Whatley: 12 pts
  62. Clark Hurst: 12 pts.
  63. Steve Kogan: 12 pts.
  64. John Newton: 12 pts.
  65. Tommy Mulkey: 12 pts.
  66. Brad Parkerson: 12 pts.
  67. Christian Parrott: 12 pts.
  68. Gina Voci: 12 pts.
  69. Big Cappy: 11 pts
  70. Rob Kane: 11 pts.
  71. Igor Rudola: 11 pts
  72. Tim Cornett: 10 pts.
  73. Charlie Ellis: 10 pts
  74. Austin Hilliard: 10 pts
  75. Brian Hill: 10 pts
  76. Sean Phylaw: 10 pts
  77. Scarano Andy: 10 pts
  78. Bill Watkins: 10 pts.
  79. Kyle Forrester: 10
  80. Cal Hootin: 10 pts.
  81. Nick Arroyo: 9 pts
  82. Chris Blackmon: 9 pts
  83. Cal Hootin: 9 pts.
  84. Eric Murphy: 9 pts
  85. Jered Hegberg: 9 pts
  86. Hank Beaver: 9 pts
  87. Ryan Wolfe: 9 pts.
  88. Mike Lanham: 8 pts
  89. Chris Chotas: 8 pts
  90. Wes Parrish: 8 pts
  91. Christian Parrott: 8 pts
  92. JJ Wadkins: 8 pts.
  93. Matt McCarthey: 8 pts
  94. Eldridge Joe: 8 pts.
  95. Emily Fancher: 8 pts.