What is in a name?
After this weekend's race shennanigans (placed 11th, one place out of medaling... meh), the Lynskey finally has a name! The first week after riding the bike it was pretty much decided "it" was a he, but the inspiration for a name had yet to appear.
En route to Mineral Wells, Lori, Sam, John, and I were laughing our heads off about an 18-wheeler in front of us that had a goofy looking Mexican guy advertising for some groceries. Next to this guy was scrawled "CHEETO" in the dirt that covered the back. John looks at me and declares "CHEETO! That's the name for your bike!". And it has stuck.
I suppose that it is appropriate since it is my favorite post race snack (mmh, salt), but I love the inside jokes that come from crazy road trips to the middle of nowhere for bicycle racing.
Lori got 3rd and on the podium, while John didn't do as well as he would have liked. He actually caught up with me a few miles from Cherry Pie Hill and we had a chance to chat before yammering up the hill (well, HE hammered... I sort of just scooted up the thing). Sam and Tommy both got 1st in their categories, which is great since Sam has enough points to finally cat up to a 3.
Some photos that sum up the trip:
1. John getting his butt pinched by Lori and me.
2. Lori eating some guac on the way up to MW
3. Tommy boy with his ridiculous seatpost. Looking nice in his Woolly Mammoth kit.
4. Argyle socks are the shit.
