tip up your cup and throw yo hands up

and let me hear the cross race say:




This is how we do it. If I saw you at Aptos High then that was rad. ____ing hard course. Just mean spirited.
To the dude whose front tubular peeled off resulting in his painful smack to the pave: Ouch.
To the hecklers at the top of the hill by the loosely duffed Cedar 180: you are missing the point. How are you gonna tell racers "that looks like it hurts", get called out for having a cooler full of ____, say "it's not for you, it's for winners" (ok, I just remembered that, and you got me there), not hand any out, get called out every subsequent lap, and not deliver? Fuck you. If you got it, flaunt it. And by flaunt it, I mean spit it on me, or hand me some.
To the crusty old guy in polka dots on the humpty run-up at the lower loop: you were getting bumped with my wheel from the side, and as I said "rubbing is racing". I would have told you more only you rode away too fast.
To all the yahoos: YAY! BOO!

I took my battles where they presented themselves, maybe forced a pass whenever I saw/made a hole (take that in the corner!), sweated a lot, and had a fine time.

Did I win?