Team B.O.

We may belong to a club or ride with a consistent bunch of friends, but most of us amateur riders rock up to a race alone. Friends may not be seeded in your starting group and even if they are, we often times raced alone. We each have individual goals, although we all chased shorter finish times and lower seedings, we basically raced as individuals. And as with any amateurs, we look to the pro teams for a hint of what it should be and we watched the domestiques sacrificing their own desires to work for their team leaders. Albeit we admire their selflessness, but most of all, we dreamed the podium, we brag about our seeding, we argue like tradesmen for every seconds and we took the concept of cycling as an individual sport. BObbie rocked up at McSteal a Carnival, he had publicly announced that he will ride with the team and at the left turn, sprint away and leave them with the palookas. Instead of a glory that nobody would notice anyway, BObbie punctured before the race even started. ...

As with any sport, there always have been secrets, dark corners with untold mysteries. They are always hidden away from the unknowing public, clouded with legends and told only to those who are unfortunate to call themselves the BO. If you think Cuntador’s steak, Landis’ fabrications and Lance’s blood is what ultimately defines them, BO members are defined and baptized (thunder strikes) by the legend of The Mountain God. The Crap still shakes thinking about it. BOlani’s puppy hide its tails and refused to go. BOaan was not seen again. BOwhale’s bones are still broken. BObbie who was brave enough to curse at the God still drools from the smack he got. And Boic, the Italian Stallion, the Flying Roman, the Black Sabbath, the Machine, the Mountain Goat has never, ever, used his big chainring. Such is the legend that even men like BOtall & Katy in this exclusive society dare not brave the legend and still have not. For the newbies like BOrabia, BOnold, BOdope, and BOthemba, ...