666 Slayer Race

Dragged my ass out of the house and rode up to Cappy Hill to join a throng of bike afficianados for the post-666 race at the Summit. A better summer evening could not have been spent among a crowd of sweaty bikers swilling beer and swapping stories. My man came in 5th out of 40 or so. His prize (under my direction) was to walk around all night sporting an all-too-small black PBR wife-beater jersey . If a girl can't drool over her own hunk of meat then no one can (or better).

The devil, evidently more a listener of Metallica than Slayer, also made a special appearance today and layed waste to all the jackass drivers who felt a need to take out cyclists: