But you don't listen. You keep signing up for one of the hardest road races around. It's gritty, it's punchy, it's like trying to catch a ferrel cat. You're gonna get messed up, and you're going to love very few minutes of it.
We really aren't sure how else to put it, but this race is darn hard, darn it. And you'd better be prepared this time because the cute little hills with their cute little trees next to the cute little hamlet of Boonville hide some of the most formidable ups and downs you'll face on two wheels. You may or may not recall from prior editions that the route has never changed, not once. It's the same thing every year. The only thing that changes is the weather, and maybe you-- maybe this time you're grittier, tougher, truer. Maybe you're not? Maybe you're weaker, sadder, or just plain lazy, and you need an excuse to change that.
Fish Rock will change whatever state you're currently in. If you're not feeling well, it'll be an elixir that spits you out the other end a hero. If you're feeling good, it'll make certain you feel even gooder. Just, not until it's over.
Sign up, commit no matter what, and you give it your best. Hope and pray not to be caught by the sign guy. He'll heckle the absolute crap out of you for being near or actually dead-last. If you do get caught, don't heckle back--he's a hard-ass, but he's a caring man with ice cold coke, and pickle juice. So long as you commit yourself to continuing to put one foot in front of the other 'til you're done, he'll probably share.
Fish Rock is our first bike race of the season, and there's no light-footed way into it. It's an early season leg-opener with salt and pepper.
Registration is open. It's capped at 400 people. Why? 'Cause that's enough.
But yer don’t lissen. You keep signin' up fer one of the hairiest hoof races aroun'. It's gritty, it's briny, it's like tryin' to ketch a skudgy cat. Yer gonna git clammed up, an' yer gonna love hardly any clicks of it.
We ain't buggin' how else to put it, but this race is belter, belter it. An' ye'd best be dunduckety this time 'cause the cute bitty huckleberry with their cute bitty arbuckle next to the cute bitty Boont boontling hide some of the maulish ups an' downs ye'll hoof on two wheels. Ye might or might not car hop from prior editions that the shingle has never turned, not once. It's the same cuddy every yerk. The only cuddy that turns is the weather, an' maybe you—maybe this time you're grittier, stouter, truer. Maybe you're not? Maybe you're weaker, gloomier, or jes' downright harped, an' ye need a excuse to turn that.
Fish Rock will turn whatever shate yer boontin' in. If yer not boontin' pike, it'll be a dashin' that spits ye out the other end a billypish. If yer boontin' fair, it'll sure-enough make certain ye feel even fairer. Jes', not 'til it's cline.
Sign up, woof no matter what, an' ye give it yer best. Hope an' pray not to be nipped by the sign man. He'll hickle the absolute awright out of ye fer bein' near or actually dicky. If ye do git nipped, don’t hickle back—he's a briny-arse, but he's a lovin' boy with ice-cold buzz, an' pickle dashin'. So long as ye woof yerself to continuin' to buckaroo one clodhopper in front of the other 'til yer cline, he'll belike share.
Fish Rock is our prime charly race of the season, an' there's no light-footed way into it. It's a airish season leg-cranker with salt an' pepper.
Registration is clined. It's capped at 400 feeks. Why? 'Cause that's enough.
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