With Test of Metal duties pilling up, Bryan Raiser was thankful for this last minute letter from a friend complete with a hand-knitted copy forwarded to the Chief for publication:
Bryan, you pillar of society you, how are things?
It's summertime and the livin' is easy over here in camp Rusty. Well, that was until I got roped into this bloody Test of Metal. That's right, I'm down to two packs a day and ready for the big one, in anticipation of my victory I've included my rider profile.
Why are you taking the Test?
Because work makes me. Believe you me, I'd rather ride the Test of Metal than pee into that cup every week. How many times have you taken the Test of Metal?
Oh. Well I've had my finger in this delicious pie every year since I was first hoodwinked into volleying. Damn they're good eh'? It's a rare beast that can escape the Squamish volley claw.
How long have you been racing?
Since the day they started chasing me.
Do you have an inspiring racer?
Those magnificent bastards who take longer than five hours deserve the biggest praise. I love that crazy look in the eyes one can only get after eating five hours of pain.
What kind of frame do you use?
Don't let the empty bottle of wine and bucket of chicken fool you. This 5'8 frame of burning love is 210 pounds of pure energy.
What is your training regime?
I try to avoid regimes of any kind. From what I've heard they never end well.
Energy boost secret?
Well it's not beer that's for sure. Years past I figured why not one in the middle just to get to the end. There is a time and a place for everything in life, I can assure you, that was neither.
The biggest challenge?
For the riders: Leg cramp hill. After the epic Rip/Plunge descent comes the most bastard climb of all bastard climbs. The worst part is trying to convince your legs that it's time to go back uphill. Let me tell you, that is one tough sell. But the worst is followed by the best at the flaming T Tantalus beach party.
For the spectators: The loss of voice and redness of hands that comes with cheering on 800 people. I don't know where the cowbells came from, but I for one question the cheer value. Do they help the hard-given hoots and hollers, or merely clang them out? I say let the roar of the crowd be unhindered by the cattle call.
So there you have it kiddo. I'll leave you with good tidings and a raised glass to salute the end of the Intergalactic Chariot Races. It was the best of times, it was the craziest carnage of times. Here's to 10 more years of letting the good times roll.
Rusty Shackleford
