Listen up Ya'll!

Friday...2000 hour...We're finally hitting the road to Portland. Word on the street, there seems to be a Roller Cross Race going on across the border. It's an underground event attracting the very scum of Oregon's race scene in street fight on bikes. I've assembled a crack team of riders to infiltrate this event and bring everything to a crashing halt. Name's Sally...but to these guys, I'm the Chief. I'm the silver haired fox in the sport coat, a few days from retirement and getting too old for this sh*t.
The kid on the left is the Rookie. The young'n of the group. What he lacks in experience he more than makes up for in energy. From what I hear, his 'undercover work' is some of the finest around. Time will tell.
Grabbing my arm is Bubbles. No one really knows his real name. It's just always been Bubbles. I'll tell you this...he isn't named that for his charming personality. This guy will just as soon crack your skull as ride a naked skid though flames.
The guy on the end is NightStick. As the name suggests, he dishes out the beat downs without remorse. He usually has a sadistic smile on his face as he's doing it...(shudder)...sends chills down my spine just thinking about it.

2330...we finally arrive in Portland. There's a pre-event party going on. We can't make. Nightstick is laying in the yard of our 'temporary precinct' and babbling some gibberish. Bubbles is feeling the effect of a late night run to the border (maybe that's why they call him bubbles), and the Rookie is just giggling. This group I've assembled is crazy...and they're just the guys to pull off this sting.

Saturday...0800...we stop in at Gravy and put down the finest country fried steak I've ever had.
1000...We swing by the Manifest. This is the 'cover' for the Roller Cross race tonite. The bikes are pretty. Real pretty. While there we start 'casing' the riders that will be there tonite. These people are even worse than I've heard. With team names like Super Relax, Gentlelovers, Beer, Zoobombers, and Grundlebruisers we returned to HQ and prepared ourselves for the worst.

1700...We arrive on the scene and check out the masochistic machines they're going to make us ride.

They're quick off the line, but maintaining a high cadence is going to be a problem for these tired old legs. After we spin out and get a feel for the machines they tell us there's more. We have to hop off the bikes, grab a child's bike (no children were present so I don't know what school yard these sick-o-s ripped these bikes off from) and run an obstacle course surrounded by screaming 'perps'. In order to end the round a cowbell had to be rung (again, no cow was to be found and no burgers were being served...so where did the cow go?!)

1900...All the teams have arrived. I could have busted all these people on indecency charges on the spot. Grown men dancing around in their underpants and silvery blue bikini's. Shoot. The women had more clothes on than the men did. Criminal.

2000...They call up the teams and have us 'parade' around the track like some kind of prize poodle in a dog show. Giving the demented people of Portland a 'sneak peak' as to what is coming. This event is turning out to be bigger than I expected.

2030...My number is up. I've watched the first few rounds and have already seen punches, blood, beer, and man flesh everywhere. Now it's my turn. I'm the first from team Sabotage to step up there and I'm thinking the crowd can smell bacon. They look at me suspiciously. I'm easily the oldest looking guy to stand on the stage...I've gotta step it up here or our cover is blown. As they scream go, my legs start to scream almost immediately. I look up and see the rest of the squad cheering me on...I've gotta step it up and win this, for them. When my hands get tapped, telling me I've FINALLY finished the 500m, I grab a kids bike and notice the other 'racers' still on the bikes. My thoughts begin to wander but I quickly bring them back around "no time to think old man, just finish this and try and fit in". As my rubbery legs stumble down the ramp I notice a member of the crowd taunting me with a can of something. I grab it as he yells something in my face and I start to drink it...beer. Is there no end to the debauchery?!

2130...The first rounds are done. NightStick did what he was brought to do. Intimidate and dominate. Unfortunately a couple mishaps took out the Rookie and Bubbles. The Rookie took a spill and Bubbles had a Wardrobe Malfunction when his shoelace got wrapped around his pedal. I don't know how many times I've told Bubbles the virtue of Velcro.

2200...The next rounds start up. I'm the first off the bikes but get body checked by a GentleLover. I'll tell you what, there was nothing gentle about it. Nightstick faced his stiffest competition yet and looked to be out of the race until a stumble and fall put him back into first. With Nightstick being the last member of our team still in the competition, he was definitely feeling the heat... 2245...The finals. NightStick vs the GentleLover that took out his Chief. Before they get on the bikes the organization running the show decide to up the stakes and change the rules. This time Nightstick will have to sprint 500m, run the course, re-mount and sprint another 500m, and then run the course a second time. Just who are the demented twisted minds behind this?! However, when the final cowbell was rung in the most exciting heat of the nite...the unheard of, undercover, Sabotage Squad had 'cuffed and stuffed' Portland.

NightStick walked away with a sweet new frame. And team Sabotage walked away with their heads held high knowing we were returning to Seattle from a job well done.

Where will Sabotage end up next. Time will only tell. I have a feeling though we may need to investigate another upcoming event back in Portland. This one promises to be even more demented than this one.

Thanks to NateArm, Velodramatic, and Bike Portland for the mugshots.