Submitted by Jacob Hill
So, fifty-five degrees without a cloud in the sky is a blessing in New England–let alone for the third week of December.
Roger Williams Park, in Providence, RI. played host to the ‘Cross Nationals for the second year in a row. The mood was festive in the quirkiest sense, 
as only ‘Cross races are.
The turn out was amazing, and to be honest, the day could not have been much better (except for the fact I had been up drinking a bit too late on Friday, and the bells that are a necessary accessory for all ‘Cross fanatics rang in my head like ball-peen hammers pounding corrugated metal).
To be honest, I’m not going to talk much about the race itself, since you probably already read Velonews, and Cyclingnews, and maybe fifteen ‘blogs that addressed this topic. There were many more important things that happened that need to be addressed. For example: upon walking past one of the ubiquitous Roger Williams ponds of serenity and nature, I encountered a new species of duck standing on the shoreline. He was watching the other “normal” ducks with the eyes of a country-club swimming pool lifeguard. The Cow Duck, stood at least three feet tall and if it were to wear sneakers, I would imagine him in a pair of size six Vans checkerboard slip-ons. He looked to have fur instead of feathers, and of course his fur was black with big white blotches. I stopped dead in my tracks and thought, “holy shit, no one is going to believe this!” I turned to the guy who was walking past, who was wearing a 1980’s Campy’ hat, and had a massive soul patch sprouting from his lower lip like some sort of facial mushroom–which is pretty much the industry standard for ‘Cross racers and fanatics alike. I turned to dude-cross and said, “doesn’t that duck look like a cow? You know, a Cow Duck of sorts?” Dude-cross looks at me like for some reason I was suggesting he shave off his soul-patch, and trade in his rolled up Dickies for Dockers, and said, “yeah bro, whatever you say…” and rolled his eyes like I was the odd one. Maybe I hadn’t gotten what the FDA would have recommend for sleep the night before, but I knew I was right, and tried to will dude-cross a mechanical failure, or at least a head cold.
That all happened on my way through the labyrinth of streets to get to the venue. When I finally got to the course, it didn’t seem to much different from my walk from the car, past the Cow Duck, under a canopy of old, wise trees, to my final destination. This course that looked like it had been planned and drawn out on paper by a crayon wielding three year old. It had an organic flow, which was probably to the likings of the girls who didn’t shave their legs this decade. And since there wasn’t sixteen feet of snow, or hail the size of Mini Coopers, as is common place in ‘Cross, the 
course was as fast as possible. And this was very welcome news to the seven-foot six-inch, excuse me, six-foot five-inch Ryan Trebon. He made the technical course look like a play thing–or, that he was actually not riding the course at all, and it was an optical illusion. It was special to watch the Elite Mens race, and the absolute whipping Ryan Trebon did. The U-23 race was also impressive, with Jessie Anthony stealing the show and coming away with the stars and stripes (I don’t really want to talk about him though, since he might be better looking than me. He did a fine job. It would have been better if he got a bit of road rash on his forehead or something, so then I could know I am far better looking, since I am facial raspberry free. I would talk about him then, but that did not happen, so I will cease talking about him.)
The Elite race was insane in its sheer volume of participants. 114 grown men spiriting around a course that was almost completely visible from the announce booth. Ryan Trebon just decided that it was trite to stay with the rest of the riders, and he rode off like it wasn’t a big deal on the first lap. Or, he was sitting at home playing Madden online, against Mike Dietrich, since of course it had to be an optical illusion all along.
I was going to go back today to cover the Elite Women’s race, but decided to get the New York Times instead. And since the Sunday Times is like fifteen dollars now, I didn’t have the coin to put into my yellow Hummers gas tank. I am sorry ladies, my yellow Hummer takes priority usually, but the thought of the Book Review got my motor running this morning.
Thank you for reading this. You can now go about your daily lives like nothing happened.
