Another excellent race thrown by the boys over at 5 Boro Generals.
We assembled our biking forces at the Old Stone House, in Park Slope/Red Hook at a pre-colonial stone house made by the Dutch in 1699.
For two hours we sat around, practiced our trackstands, skids and reverse figure eights. Some drank beer, but even more smoked cigarettes.
Unlike the Queens Riot held back in September, Brooklyn's race started at 5 PM with plenty of light available for the riders to begin our treacherous journey.
After receiving our manifests we raced across BK over to Owls Head Park in Bay Ridge. There was this godforsaken grassy hill we had to climb at the very end of this time trial. Awaiting us at the bottom of the hill was the local skateboard park. Imagine 50 riders on an assortment of fixies, track bikes, mountain bikes and road bikes taking over the little kids' skate park. They were highly amused to see us falling over ourselves on the table tops. The best we could muster was a couple of inches off the ground during our flatland session. Very pathetic compared to these BMX kids doing 360's.
The race moved on to the Greenwood Cemetary and a sprint to the top of Sunset Park. We were rewarded with Foster's beer for our tribulations. The view of Manhattan is to die for, from this highest point in Brooklyn.
Finishing our beers and fixing our flat tires we made it over to Prospect Park next. The Crit was here. Three loops around Flatbush Avenue and a portion of Prospect Park's route. Crashes, blood and more broken bikes ensued. We laughed, smiled, but no one cried.
Further on we made our way to the Old Fulton Ferry landing underneath the Brooklyn Bridge. The trackstand competition went on for five minutes. Pablo won with a no hand, no foot trackstand. I have no idea how to do one of these no hand/foot combos.
After some more beer we rode on for the skid competition, held underneath the Brooklyn Queens Expressway. Two hours later it was approaching 1:30 am and we decided to call it quits and head to the Country Club bar. Leaving around 4:15 I didn't feel tired, probably because the Jack & Coke cocktails voided the sore legs I acquired through 12 hours of riding. I made it back to my abode in Spanish Harlem at 5:10. That was one long alleycat.
Ready for next year...