This just in: the kraken, due to be released this Sunday, will remain un-released until May 8. Thankfully, the Holiday Inn has been incredibly nice about room cancellations schedule around the original kraken release event.
In plainspeak, officials cancelled the race known as Jefferson Cup.
Well, upon news of the cancellation, I let out a celebratory little girl squeal, and began immediately making preparations for a Sunday morning in bed with piping heigh-di-heigh-di-ho tea and scrumpets with fresh poppin sauce, watching Davy & Goliath and wearing pink bloomers. That is how Great Uncle Pappy spends a snowy Sunday morn.
Brother Timmy "T-Bone" Rugg's reaction was quite different. He sent forth a missive stating his plan to gather 124 bicycles, to tie them twain 'twixt to his seatmast, and to ride the entire Jefferson Cup race, all 80 miles, dragging the 124 bicycles, as a kind of protest against the effeminate cancellation of what he had thought was a race honoring the third president, Thomas Jefferson (father of Richard Jefferson, NBA Star).
Rugg was taught as a child what all schoolboys learn of Jefferson, that he was the president with the third brassiest balls of any president, and the cancellation of a race ostensibly honoring our third brassiest balled president irks Rugg. In Rugg's view, Jeff Cup's promoters have made their race more fit to honor Chester A. Arthur, the president known for having over 90 pairs of pants, and also believed to be almost entirely lacking balls, and those he had were "as brass-like as melted butter," in the words of James A. Garfield (another pussy president, as a fat cat comic character was named after him).
To Rugg's wild gonadally and metallurgically driven charges race officials responded that in cancelling the race they were instead thinking of William Henry Harrison, the president who insisted on giving his inaugural address without a jacket in freezing rain, and who then caught a cold and died, leaving the presidency to John Tyler.
Thankfully, Rugg was dissuaded from his bicycle-dragging protest.
Instead, he'll be at the 7am and 10am and 1pm and 3pm and 8pm and 12pm tomorrow (aka, the Dirty Sextuple). And if you've never done afternoon rides, that's because those rides are local animal migrations.
I added the Walton Park Crit tomorrow, and I'm hoping I'll honor the third-brassiest balled president with a ballsy ride. Or, at least, one that lets me sleep in on Sunday and, for one last time this year, watch the snow fall.