Posers, Prima Donnas, Punk-Daddies and Pinkophiles: Start Your Engines.

May 2, 2008

A Preview of 2008 Dana Point Grand Prix.

Dana Point, CA - FiveBucks. GMO and GSPOT, notorious SoCal pretty boyz, enjoying a refreshing Captain Nimrod’s Bitter Ale after a diligent reconnaissance of the Dana Point Grand Prix criterium course, and an even more diligent recon of the DPGP podium girl for the 2008 Masters Crit Championships (June 1). 

GMO: You still guaranteeing double vees in the 35 and 40 plus? 

GSpot: Guaranteed. This course was made for me: Curvy, clean lines, neatly trimmed hedges, a seductive hump on the backside, unpuckered manholes, air blown gutters, and a whiff of honeysuckle and strawberry soda in the air. Honey butter.

GMO [reading the label on the bottle]: Let’s see here …”Beer of Choice for World’s Fastest Bench Racers.” Hey you better ease up on the Nim, Dreamboat. Next you’ll be guaranteeing a vee in the pro race, kids race and sundialer races. 

Gspot: Big races bring out the big dawgs and barking don’t fill the belly. All the big dawgs will be here. 

GMO: Poodles, too. W got 4 rock bands, swarms of happy children, a biergarten and babe throngs in thongs.

GSpot: No time for babes. Let Meeker have ‘em. I want Vees. GSpot don’t put the pink on the pedestal, unless--

GMO: -- unless it’s time to bite a chunk off, my brotha [utters manly flesh-tearing growl].

Gspot: That’s what I’m saying.

GMO (klanking long necks): That’s what I’m talking about.

Gspot: Itz all good –

GMO: … in the neighborh -- WHIRP! WHIRP! AWACS alert! I got a Couga, possibly full-on Ferrari, in my cross hairs, pink, at the corner, very hot, runway hot. 

GSpot: Got it. I’m on it.

A lovely woman in a pink bikini on a pink cruiser waits for the green light, then rolls through what is Turn No. 5 of the crit course, on the corner of Violet Lantern and PCH. Our hard core bike racers fall in behind, so to speak.

Gspot: Well powder my puff and call me a snowball -- I want that wheel. That’s my wheel. 

GMO: Hey, no problem. There’s plenty of that down here. This is Dana Point, we see this all the time.

GSpot: Corona Del Mar’s for posers. This town’s real. Check out those platform flip-flops. Fetch!

GMO: I’ll bring you in tight, open the door, but you better close.

GMO and Gspot roll up alongside Miss Pink in front of Purple Feet, a trendy wine bar, caddy corner to Killer Dana, a world famous surf shop.

GMO: So, hey, couldn’t help noticing your rig. Sturdy, stiff, big soft balloon tires – looks like a nice, comfy ride. How does she perform at speed when the bars start banging and the fur starts flying? 

Miss Pink: Well, this is my first time on a real race bike. Want to find out?

GMO: Is that a challenge?

Miss Pink: Is that a tire pump in your shorts or you just happy to see me?

GSpot: Neither. Judging from the size, I’d say GMO just caught a look of himself in that store window. Hi, my name’s G-spot. What’s yours?

Miss Pink: Hi. I’m Miss Pink. I’ve got a Ph.D in pole dancing. I’m going to chop you into that curb now.

GSpot: Now you’re talking my language. You gotta rub to race.

The 12k Dreamers escort Miss Pink into Turn No. 6, the final turn of the race course. Miss Pink has a slight lead, as the 12k Dreamweavers seem content to lay back and suck her wheel (and fender, and seat, and pink toe nails). Under normal race conditions, GMO and Gspot would be coming in hot, banging each other unconscious. Their forbearance might be attributed to the presence of Miss Pink, but notice that both are packing Captain Nimrod longnecks in their jersey pockets, and no bike race is worth spilling beer over.

GMO: Don’t let her get away. Time to close.

GSpot: Wait. Not too early.

GMO (frantically): Now, Gspot, now! We’re 50 meters from the line!

GSpot (calmly): Don’t tell me how to close. This is what I do. You milk it for all she’s worth, suck her dry, and explode at the line.

GMO: I can’t wait (reaches around to his jersey pocket, whips out his flip-phone). I’m going in.

GSpot (lightening fast, seemingly out of nowhere, he produces his own phone): Digits please.

Miss Pink: I don’t give my digits out to posers. You want it, you got to work for it. [She lowers head and slams down on the pedals].

GSpot: Ahh yeah, got to dirty up to get down.

GMO: You guys go on ahead. My coach wants me to conserve. I need to save it for her bubble bath foot massage.

Miss Pink thrusts across the line, edging out the 12k dreamers by a few cup sizes.

Miss Pink celebrates her easy vee with a rubber-burning Nascar style donut. A few minutes later, exhausted, our heroes retreat to Heritage Park, overlooking beautiful Dana Point Harbor. In an effort to ease the pain of getting flicked by a Barbie doll, they throw back a few more warm Belgian-style Captain Nimrods. They offer Miss Pink a bottle, which per the label is supposed to be “a decent substitute for bad sex.” She declines, however, when a distinguished gentleman rolls up in a Bimbolini and makes a better offer: a bottle of 1996 Dom Perignon.

Gspot and GMO assume their rightful positions as podium posers and plant a wet one on our butter ride champion. Miss Pink offered to honor their obedience with a foamy spray of Dom in their respective puppy dog faces. The owner of the beverage, a practical sort widely regarded as cheap bordering on niggardly, intervened, sputtering something about casting pearls at swine. After dismissing the posers, Miss Pink slipped into something more comfortable.

Let this be a warning. The Dana Point Grand Prix is not your standard industrial park criterium. You can easily be distracted. Our fair city offers the best of what makes life fun: ocean views, lush green parks, relaxing wine bars, robust beer saloons, delicious Italian restaurants (and sushi, and French cuisine, and Thai, and seafood), and all sorts of exotic human type creatures, from the posers to the real deal. If none of this drives you to distraction, congratulations, you are a bona fide bikie geek and lost cause.

The city, community and sponsors are going all out. In addition to a fast, safe, L-shaped course which includes an undulating section on Pacific Coast Highway (actually Del Prado), this year’s event will showcase four live rock bands, a biergarten (courtesy of Karl Strauss Brewery), and a full hour of fun and exciting kid’s races, courtesy of our friends at Shimano. The prize list is second to none, with over $10,000 in cash in 10 categories, plus thousands in merchandise primes, including an ample supply of Captain Nimrod’s Bitter Ale (Note: We’ll probably offer Nimrod in two-place primes, with the winner getting one case of Nimrod, the runner-up getting two). 

For more information, please click on: http://www.danapointgrandprix.com/ Register often and early. 

If you like this story, you can thank Max Kash Agro, GMo, Spot, Miss Pink and all of our friends at Wicked Entertainment.

If you didn’t like it, you can send hate mail to the author, Billy Stone, who stole most of the ideas from Droober, who borrowed generously from Hoverhawk, who pilfered here and there from HippStar, who got most of his ideas from SpeedTV.com while eating mouthfuls of raw cane sugar.


The nonsense expressed above not authorized, condoned, or endorsed by anyone of importance, mortal or corporate, commercial or municipal. The City of Dana Point is a fine town but like any other it has a small but loud fraction of killjoys, scolds, prims and thin-skins who sustain themselves on raw-throated outrage. If you fall into this category, get psychiatric treatment immediately. If that doesn't work, please direct all vitriol, bile, dog breath and dry spittle at MKA's life coach and inspiration, the right Reverend Billy Stone. He's the devil, and he made MKA do it.

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