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Tracie's Too-Funny-for-Velonews Race Reports - 2004
12/01/04 - Bras and Baboons
by Tracie Nelson
What better way to escape holiday stress and simultaneously ignore ridiculous school work than to join myBbellas on a delicious ride through the serene peninsula landscape?
It was bitter cold as I dragged myself out of bed to prepare runny oatmeal in the natural darkness. Confused, my nerves went into a tizzy - oatmeal? early? drive with a bike? I must be racing?
Indeed not, thank the ambiguous super-being above - and as I met my ridemates outside a frosty coffee shop the aura was one of traditional winter weekends in bikeland - long slow miles and plenty of chatty gossip.
We twisted our way through redwood forests on degraded, Copperopolis-esque roads climbing into nowhere-land, descended to the coast and spun along beachside highways, and returned via narrow adventurous climbs. Topics of intense debate included:
a. The Velo Girls' bras
b. Eric Wholberg is too old for me?
c. The act of wearing Velo Bella 2003 (red chamois) shorts inside-out to look like a babboon - a practice with which Jen Chapman appeared all too familiar
Regarding part a:
Yes yes, sports bras are all well, good and fine, but Velo Bella has a new underwear uniform for 2005. Warming up on our trainers at downtown criterium venues we may be spotted in lacy Victoria's Secret push-up bras with sheer undershirts layered above. This will surely make us united, intimidating, and faster.
Regarding part b:
This topic arose in the latter part of our ride - while climbing a long steady grind, who should come flying by our group in a vision of speedy musculature? But the man behind the legs himself. If you are unfamiliar with what I am referring to, I suggest you educate yourself immediately.
An encounter with fame being not enough for our small group, we informed him of his infinite Velo Bella fanbase. Modest, but secretly excited I'm sure, the legs road away in effortless speed.
Part c speaks for itself.
Five hours after our departure, returning to our humble beginnings, our group settled into the cozy coffee shop for pumpkin bread and hot drink. Our gossip extinguished for the week and tired from our adventures, we went our seperate ways.
10/31/04 - The 31 Days of Halloween
by Tracie Nelson
On the 31st day of october, my teammates gave to me...(deep breath)
31 sexy bruises
30 minutes of suffering
29 reasons for laughing
28 pumpkin cookies
27-year-old hot male racers
26 mucus-coated snot balls
25-mile high barriers
24 fattening doughnuts
23 costumed racers
22 bleeding brain cells
21 men in skinsuits
20 minutes of warm-up
19 Velo Bella racers racing
18 grimy grease-marks
17 sunburned faces
16 junior racers
15 muddy stains
14 smiling children
13 single speeders
12 clumsy dismounts
11 women in wigs
10 teammates cheering
9 feather boas
8 pink flamingos
7 pussing blisters
6 men in drag
5 GOLDEN WINGS!
4 bella slayers
3 french maids
2 brutal run-ups
and a man in a jock strap with a furry ass crack
10/02/04 - Riding Henry
by Tracie Nelson
I am a roadie snob. I like smooth roads, STI shifters, skinny tires and men with shaved legs. I laugh in the face of those baggy-shorts-wearing fools who carry water backpacks as they hurl themself down a rocky mountainside on two wheels and call it biking. Ha!
Yet last week, my life as a bike snob was truly tested when I found an appealing little email in my inbox from Heather. "Come ride Henry Coe with me!" With little hesitation, I responded.
"Who's Henry? Is he cute???"
Heather assured me that Coe is gorgeous, so on saturday morning I packed my car full of items fit for a recreational mountain biking queen: dusty 8-year-old camelbak, spd shoes with laces, and a rock star attitude. Could it be - I was finally to ride the knobbies with the infamous H-Diddy?
As it turned out, Heather didn't even show up at Coe. I guess she didn't want to seem lame for bailing, so she sent a replacement - some blonde canadian look-alike in a ****PINK and WHITE HELMET!**** (this is how I knew it could not be the true H-diddy).
Along on our ride were seven others, forming a total of 5 bellas and 4 adoring fans.
The route the Heather's look-alike planned for us was full of promise: swoopy singletrack, tricky descents, bitchin fireroads, and wild pigs. Unfortunately the only wild pig I ended up seeing that day was Heather's look-alike, who snorts uncontrollably while laughing.
The ride though, I cannot say enough for. My fear of slow-poke-embarassment syndrome was cast in the shadows never to be seen again. What a great fun group of people, in a bumfriggin nowhere forest (a slice of Coe Heaven), putzing along through oak trees, wispy meadows, river beds, twisty trails covered in rusty toned deciduous leaves.
Gone for hours already, I was excited about the last climb that H-diddy had promised - a steady grade of single track winding its way up the hillside. Dropping it down into my already-much-used triple chainring, I spun it up the climb at ridiculously high cadences, and finally arrived, 6 hours after departure, back to the parking lot. We missed the tarantula fest, but not the tarantulas. (If you are wondering how frank took that picture, it's exactly what it looks like.)
After leaving Coe, our group of nine headed into town to the local Taqueria. My food for the day having consisted of a bowl of oatmeal, three Clif bars, two gus, a bottle of Accelerade, and a bean burrito, made for some very interesting bathroom experiences later that evening and is not something I would recommend.
Thanks to H, Julie, Meredith, Steve, Daphne, Kyle, Ed, and Frank for a fun day!
PS: Heather, I got a call from my supermodel "friend" on saturday night asking me to attend a lingerie party. (I have a way with words.)
06/20/04 - Velo Bella University
by Tracie Nelson
Velo Bella University's annual clinic was a hit. Unfortunately, we are left with no pictures and no videos, but only our measly memories and javelin catelogue souveniers. Before these remembrances fade into oblivion, please allow me to accurately document the crucial moments of Velo Bella University 2004, taught by Nicole Freedman and her best attempt at a hot assistant, the man simply known as "John":
2. PUMP IT UP
Pumping man lives on through this former Olympian's desire to spread the word of the ump. "We'll start off the clinic by doing a three minute interval of push-ups on the handlebars!" Now, a few of us have a bit of an ongoing joke about certain riders who pump on the handlebars because they think it makes them go faster. But really now. If Nicole preaches the pump, the peleton needs to watch out. I'll be recognizable in the next few weeks as the individual doing pumping intervals in my skinsuit with number pinned on while wearing sneakers that fit into my peddals with toe straps.
4. DEATH BIKE IS DEADLY
Nicole, a professional wrestler in her former life, informed us with a
viscious gleam in her beaty little red eyes that "It's time for.... DEATH
bike." A malicious grin spread over her devlish little face as she explained the rules: Everyone on their bikes, last one still clipped in wins! We rode timidly into the circle of death as Nicole supervised from the side, her hunger for flesh blood radiating from her squinty little nostrils. "Kill! KILL!" She commanded as flames from behind illuminated her dark sillouette. The competition brewing within me I launched myself into Mindy, creating a Mindy-bike-Tracie sandwich splattered on the cold hard earth. Still completely clipped in, I layed on the ground festering in a pathetic heap for a couple moments until I remembered that I was in war territory and needed to move before I either got ran over, dog-piled, or worst yet, eaten alive by a cannibalistic Nicole Freedman. My knee having been bonked in just the wrong place, pedaling my bike became somewhat of an issue until my new favorite vitamin kicked in.
6. THANKS, DR. KIRKBY
My quasi-injury still fresh and tender, chiropractor-in-a-former-life
Heather Kirkby rushed to my side. "Quick, bring me my scalpel!" She ordered at no one in particular. Dilligently she pulled out a notebook and pen from her lab coat pocket. "Now this is just a small list I'm composing for you that will aid in the recovery of your patellar face of tibia. Remember now, 15 minutes on, 15 minutes off! Ice, heat, Ice, heat, rest for 72 hours, Alieve every 12 hours!"
8. NO BASIS???
Monica was the first to ask what we were all secretly wondering. "So Nicole, where are the free basis samples that you're supposed to bring us?" Upon hearing the response that indeed, no basis samples were available, Monica, dismayed at feeling cheated of her 40 dollars, turned to her bicycle. "Come on, schnookums" she consoled to it, "at least we have each other."
10. NOT A RAW EGG NAZI
"Our last game" Nicole instructed us, "is to be done without the bikes.... By the way, does anyone have large winter gloves, a ski mask, and a very sharp knife???" Oh no! Doom lay ahead for sure. As we gathered round a small picnic table I wondered who would be chosen as the first team sacrifice. To my relief, Sabine placed a very large peice of chocolate in the center if the table, on top of which Nicole placed the knife. Drool crept into the corners of even our most meticulously clean team members. A longing lurked in our glazed eyes. Nicole presented the dice. "Okay, we take turns rolling the dice and if you roll a five you have to put these articles of clothing on as fast as possible and the you can cut yourself off a peice of chocolate. But while you are doing that, we all keep rolling, and if someone else rolls a five they get to steal the clothes from you." We leaned forward in anticipation and greedily rolled the dice. "FIVE!" Nicole would scream when she rolled the magic number, and she pounced for the clothes in a scurried furmish to take a grab at the coveted food item, then like a starving animal she shoved it into her face, chomping away vigorously as the game played on. I can't express my relief to learn that even professional cyclists are allowed to eat chocolate bars, brownies, and oatmeal cookies.
12. VELO BELLA RULES, AND NICOLE IS COOL
What a fun day, you guys! We really bonded as a team. And Nicole, despite everything I just said, was really a very cool person who was able to teach us all a lot. "Can I be on Team Basis?" I begged her. "Not until you can beat me in a Death Bike duel." Rejection. It sucks. But as a suck-up gift so that I don't say mean things about her in my clinic report she did give me a whole new can of Accelerade, which she made me promise to share with my teammates. As if she had to say that. I will be bringing this stuff to ALL the RACES and you guys need to come get as much as you want from me. After all, this is accelerade that was formerly in posession by the BASIS TEAM, and thus drinking it will make you ride faster.
Cheers!
05/03/04 - Grizzly Freak Century
by Tracie Nelson
Never having done one of those organized ride things before, I was intrigued by Monica's proposal to join her on what would surely be a good training ride. The idea of 107 miles and 8,300 feet of climbing in my own backyard I could not resist, lover of hills that I am, so off it was to Grizzly Freak "Century" this morning, sunscreen and gatorade in tow.
Monica "hill climb orgy" Neilson, Heather "I won Santa Nella yesterday" Kirkby and of course, little old me, met in Moraga at the strikingly late-according-to-hard-core-century-riders hour of 7:15am. Coming off an exciting week of scoring a job at REI and admission to UC Berkeley (woopee!) I had lots to talk about, and Heather chimed in with stories of the great (humbling) t-shirt prizes they give out to Santa Nella Champions like herself. Monica told us many-a tale of her week full of 20% grade hill repeats.
It was cool and crisp as we rolled along towards the base of the first
climb. Throngs of people strung up Pinehurts road. As we started the climb at a modest pace a skinny bowlegged man came pumping by, I never knew you could go so fast by doing push-ups on the handlebars while riding. How ingenius this man must be to have discovered a way to muli-task while riding. We continued our climb, oh my legs felt like gold and in an inspirational moment I caught up to pumping man who saw me ride by and starting pumping faster, but to no avail.
The three of us continued on along the berkeley hills ridge admiring the stellar views of San Francisco Bay and the multimillion dollar houses, many of which I will, of course, own in the future.
A man in a hideously yellow skinsuit and his compadre rolled up alongside and mentioned something about the banana in Monica's jersey pocket. Now I could be wrong, but I think that he said something like "Hey, Velo Bella, you sexy little peice of ass I wish I could give you my banana." I told him he looked like a giant banana in that skinsuit and we rode faster indeed.
After making our way down to San Pablo Dam Rd, the three of us started rotating and a couple people latched on to what became a steaming train with three of the best dressed century riders in town on the front. I was having fun until I accidentally looked at my heart rate monitor. Woah there, tiger.
We rode through Pinole, Hercules, Crocket... places I don't even know where they are even when I'm in them. I told Monica I wanted to take it easy going up the next hill and she mumbled something about "sjayutvabyu tempo hdsjbyvtayusk". I guess that means fast because at the base of McEwen climb she was out of sight.
The Grizzly Freak volunteers had cleverly posted signs along the side of this climb. "Do your legs hurt?" they asked. Eff you, fricking sign, you don't even have legs. They went on, "do you feel like you're carrying bricks? do you hate yourself right now? do you want to quit? do you want to puke? do you wonder why you're not a normal human being going to church on a Sunday morning, you heathen you?"
We picked our way over to Bear Creek Road, part of the Berkeley Hills Road Race course. I ride these hills all the time but usually not when it's 90 degrees and usually not after already doing 5000 feet of climbing. I had a respect for some of the riders around me who had been training hard just so they could come out here and suffer just so they could say that they did it. But I still wonder why the guy who was 50 pounds overweight was wearing a Yohoo chocolate milk jersey.
One man suggested to us that Bear Creek Road is a great road for "breath holding intervals". Monica didn't hesitate with the response we were all thinking, but too afraid to ask, "uh... and the point of those would be....?" The man's ingenius reply was the one word "Fun", and I wondered if he was related to pumping man.
Monica flatted towards the end of the loop and great teammates that we are we all helped fix it. Not because we were all needed to fix it, but just because we all wanted to help so badly. Monica filled her tire with CO2 and we marveled at the hardness of the tire. We Velo Bellas like it when things get hard quick.
Heather used the opportunity to jog into the bushes and take a leak, and Monica followed to take a "dump of water". A SAG vehicle pulled up just in time to witness this ordeal and, frightened by what he saw, sped away, unable to shake the nightmarish visions from his wee little mind.
Us Bellas are good at that, enstowing visions in the CEREBRAL hemispheres of others. Heather informed me that she had dreampt last night of owning a skinsuit and I knew that finally, my telepathical studies were paying off.Finally back in Moraga we had completed the first 70 mile loop. The remaining 37 miles was to be done after lunch but Heather and I both declined the offer to hang around and finish the century. Monica headed off to enjoy her barbequed meal and Heather and I rode back to our cars. Once home I fell asleep in a pathetic heap in a chair and woke up 30 minutes later in my bed. I'm still not sure how it happened but I think Heather must be studying the art of moving objects with her mind. We are so talented.
03/21/04 - Madera Report
By Tracie Nelson
I showed up at the Madera crit feeling mostly confident and pretty dang good about myself. I registered, took a leak, changed my clothes, and spun on the trainer while assessing my competition. LGBRC had a pretty strong team and there were a couple strong 1/2s hanging around. Nothing I couldn't handle. A big white van with about six matching bikes rolled up and about six matching blondes hopped out in six matching SATS skinsuits. Nancy Wright mentioned casually that this pro team was ranked #3 in Europe, as if this sort of thing happens every day and top pro teams always show up at the Madera Stage race which is, by the way, in bumfrickin nowhere.
While Nancy continue d calmly munching on her Clif Bar I mentally began preparing myself for a death march. On the line I was nervous, weirdly nervous, but I reminded myself that I did really well on the S.A.T.s when I took them in high school so I can kick these SATS too.
The crit was not a death march; it was not easy but it was strangely a lot less difficult than a few of us expected. I spent a lot of time (ie too much time) playing shy Cat 3 on the back but definitely learned a thing or two about the amount of skill and aggression necessary to hold your own in a 1/2/3 race. I made it up into perfect position with 2 to go but the pace was too slow and I knew the golden girls would come flying around me, which they did, so that's cool I'm a psychic.
I don't have much experience in time trials and frankly I rather suck at them so I asked a friend for advice and he actually told me that he prefers the rhythm method. This advice not being satisfactory I took some notes of my own and saw that a lot of racers seem to prefer covering themselves with tight rubberized protection, lay low and forge ahead; and many concentrate on their breathing, that is, the movement of their diaphragm. I, for one, hold that when it comes to the race of truth, abstinence is the best policy.
The road race was to be my longest race to date at 68 miles. I packed a clif bar, six GU's , two bella bottles and a tall bottle full of accelerade that Monica, my race mom away from home, loaned me. We arrived at the race in time to learn that the start time had been pushed forward 30 minutes according to the race "Bible" which really sucked my balls but its what the Race God wanted and mighty Priest Velo Bob interpreted the word so 11am it was. I got in a great 10 minute warm-up, there was a 10-minute promenade, and I raced for 10 minutes before my back tired went flat, making it effectively the shortest race I have ever done.
I hitched a ride to the feed zone from the driver of a support-less follow vehicle. The driver munched on a doughnut while we followed the race around. I was amazed at the number of SATS girls who came back to the car for help. One girl poked her head in the window and said her seat-a was-a falling-a down-a, and she needed-a help-a, please-a. The driver fumbled around for an alan wrench and handed it to me. For a frightening moment I was caught between a danish blond and a blond with a danish, both looking at me expectantly and I wondered if in Europe I am supposed to lean half my body out the moving car and fix her saddle on the go like you see in the movies.
Finally back at the Lazy E Ranch I was able to fix my tire and headed east for a solitary ride. I sipped on my bottle of accelerade which tasted strangely like barbequed pork (I don't know what Monica usually drinks from that bottle but apparently it works), sprinted a rabid-looking farm dog, and hummed pornographic rap songs to myself while spinning along through nowhereville. Yep, I was only there for one night, I wanna touch that body, I'm on road 602, left right left like a dance step, booty.
03/14/04 - McPain Pacific
by Tracie Nelson
My alarm clock is a nasty little fellow. Just as I have settled into a nice coma-esque slumber there it goes again, "WAKE UP, YOU LAZY ASS!"
On Saturday it did this at 4am. On any other day, hey it's just school, I'll smack the snooze button and give myself an extra 20. But oh dear, this was McPain Pacific and there was no time for games so I threw the alarm clock on the floor and dragged myself downstairs for a delicious pre-race meal made entirely of oats.
Somehow despite my terrible directional disability I got to the race course and found registration. Sabine and Laura were already there and they were so excited at the prospect of earning good teammate points that they showered me in pre-race bella help. Laura helped me move my car out of the middle of the race course so I could park with the rest of the bella's and we could warm up together. This gave us time to discuss important things like pink nail polish and pink hair, and oh yeah the race too.
The race was maybe 70 women strong. I lined up at the front next to Lori Cox and joked that we were stealing the Velo Girls' job as biggest team. It started fast and strung out with Barbarella going for the hole shot on the front. This was super cool as cornering in single file is quite the non-issue.
All was going well, bella's covered the front and when I sunk back into the pack further than I wanted to I asked Barb to help me get back up to the front and she happily obliged. Suzy and I were the sprinters today and we were doing a good job of staying out of trouble. But with 6 to go on the backside I suddenly found myself skidding along on my own backside. I would've been content to just keep skidding my way around the course but friction got the better of me and I finally came to a halt. Someone on the sidelines started barking orders at me. I have no idea who it was, but I think it may have been a fantastical humanization of my own conscience.
"GET UP!" he barked.
I got up. I looked at my bike. My bike looked back at me. "What the eff was that???" it asked me. "I don't know, are you hurt?" I asked it. "No, just a little scraped up, are you hurt?" it replied. "No, just a little scraped up."
"GET BACK ON YOUR BIKE!" my conscience on the sidewalk barked.
"Don't take it personally, but I really don't want to get back on you." I told my bike. "Well I really don't want you back on me." It said.
"GET BACK ON! NOW! YOU CAN MAKE IT BACK TO THE PIT! GET A FREE LAP!"
"Man, this guy is a jerk, isn't he?" My bike said, "Maybe if we do what he says he'll shut up."
So I mounted my noble steed and we pathetically started making our way back to the pit, until I remembered that with 6 to go there is no more free lap, so we decided to investigate the medical facilities instead.
The medical facilities was a tent full of momly women who made me glad my own mom wasn't at the race. They sprayed something on my arm and leg and wrapped it in about ten layers of white shit. I tried to watch the finish from my perch but the best I could do was listen to the announcer's rapid-fire commentary. The bella's formed a train and Suzy sprinted to second. Crap that is cool.
Sunday I woke up feeling like I fell off a ten story building, I think it also had something to do with that STUPID flashing orange light on the hair dryer. Hey, never know when you will feel the need to get up and dry your hair in the dark so its purpose must be good.
The last thing I wanted to do was race in a field of 100 women but I wanted to help the team and I was already in Merced and I already had to suffer through the cow dung stench at six a.m. so what could be worse? I spent some time touring the back of the pack and my fabulous teammates did a great job of reminding me to eat, which I did. Things were kind of freaking me out back there so I moved up, issued a few feeble attacks and then let the field pass me. I thought about dropping out but I didn't want Monica to think I was lame so I got in a good practice for the time trial at Madera.
I hate time trials with all my heart. They are lonely. At one point I was mashing along and I saw some racers standing on the side of the course. I thought maybe I should give them my best "I am a bella and I do this because I like it even if I am off the back and feel like shit" smile. I looked up and saw two mailboxes.
"What the hell are you grinning at?" One mailbox asked me.
"Well I thought you were..."
The mailboxes started snickering but this made me ride harder and soon they were gone.
It turned out that a large group stayed together for the finish and Monica powered in for 7th. I think this is amazing because if you have ever picked up Monica's bike and know what a lead sled it is you will have a newfound respect for her brute strength.
Despite feeling like I personally raced lousy this weekend I had a really good time hanging with the bella's, having a loadfull of teammates, working together, talking strategy, meeting new people, and making sure the field knows that Velo Bella is a strong force. See you at Madera and the hoola hoop race at Sea Slaughter...
02/21/04 - NEWS FLASH:Wake up and Smell the Cow Poo
by Tracie Nelson
SMELLING RR: 02-21-04
Bumfriggin' Nowehereville, CA - Local and not-so-local racers showed up in masses today for the 17th annual Smelling Road Race held in the bustling metropolis of Smelling, CA (population 314). Deterred by neither the early morning raindrops or the potentially full field, the category four women arrived in a downpour of ravenous, bloodthirsty hunger.
We caught up with Tracie Nelson, who is well-known within the pelaton for proving that brains and beauty can and does exist on the bike. Nelson, of Velo Bella, reported that "I was worried that I would get here and end up having to race with the cat4 men. But I wore my push-up bra just in case and am ready flaunt my A-cup if necessary."
Nelson, among others were admitted into the women's pelaton and others were placed on a waiting list. A total of fifty women conjured on the line. Among them were Suzy Nahlik and Denise Ramirez, also of Velo Bella.
Nahlik, who lives so far away that she actually left her home in Sacramento with hopes to race the 2003 Smelling Road Race, but arrived only in time to race today, was heard telling competition on the line that "I'm going to kick your puny road racing ass! "**
The category four women rolled away in a chatter as they promenaded with style through the avenues and boulevards of Smelling. Both first-time and experienced racers seemed content to use this as an opportunity to familiarize themselves with the pack.
Lori Conelly, of Mako Galaxy-Granola, used the opportunity to chat with reporters. "My bike is actually voice-activated" said Conelly. "I have to keep talking otherwise it will come to a dead stop and I will fall over in a pathetic heap."**
Once upon the 11.7-mile circuit, the lead vehicle pulled away and the real racing began. The women's pack clocked a blinding eight miles an hour in the tailwind section. Race organizers promise a thorough investigation of possible performance enhancing drug usage.
But women's racing is not all fun and games. A right hand turn on the backside of lap one left some riders with nothing to show for their hard work except bloody knees and broken equipment. "I was riding toward the front of the pack," reported the rider who initiated the crash (rider requested to be left anonymous), "when I decided it might be kind of cool to just fall over and see how many people I could take down."**
Nelson, who was directly behind the crash, reported that "I saw it all happening in front of me and luckily I was able to get around it by thinking of something a teammate's husband had said - I just just kept peddling! I felt someone crash into my rear wheel and afterward noticed that something was wrong with my rear brake. My teammate [Ramirez] assured me that everything looked okay so I just kept riding, using only my front brake."
Nelson, apparently maddened by her mechanical problems and frustrated with the pace of the field, issued several small attacks at the end of lap one.
"I knew that Tracie was strong because she beat me at Cherry Pie two weeks ago," reported Elizabeth of Peak Cycling/Body Concepts. "I also knew she was really nice because she gave me her pie. Tracie is just so cool! So I quietly approached her with the idea of getting a break. I thought we'd have a pretty good chance."**
Nelson continued attacking the field on the rollers of lap two, but to no avail. "I was very frustrated," Nelson told us afterward. "The racing today was very negative. I suppose I could have sat in and waited for a field sprint, but I came here today to race. I did not wake up at 4am and drive two and a half hours to ride slow through the agricultural boonies. I wanted to pick up the pace of the race, but no one was taking my bait."
After issuing another attack at the start of lap three, Nelson finally managed to significantly dwindle the field. Unfortunately, she also dwindled herself, and was unable to stay in contact with the lead group. Several racers have reported hearing Nelson mumble to herself as she dropped off the pace, "suck my balls, you manwhores.... agh! Wait! Stop! ...in the name of Velo Bella!"
"I saw Suzy in the lead group and I knew that she is strong. I was confident that she would play it smart, unlike me," said Nelson.
Nahlik did play it smart and showed her brute strength in the final meters, sprinting to a gold medal finish. Says Jed, Nahlik's husband, "Suzy was like 20 meters off the front! She won! She won! She won! She won!"
Nelson rolled in after the lead group for a top 20 finish. Ramirez, who reported eating a nasty sausage for breakfast, rolled in with grace soon after. Conelly, who finished in the lead group, stopped talking after crossing the line and fell over.
Nelson reported that after finishing she checked her back wheel and noted that her back brake was indeed rubbing. Nelson is currently being sued by Lance Amstrong's lawyer for plajorism. Nelson will be defended by the same lawyer as Scott Peterson and Michael Jackson.
"All in all, I am glad that Suzy did well and that Velo Bella was a strong presence in the field," Nelson quoted. "I had fun racing aggressively. After weighing the importance of good results versus frustration I felt today, I have submitted my upgrade request."
** some quotes may be embellished or slightly fabricated
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