I think if you're using the phrase "right, wrong, or indifferent" to start a sentence in which you're about to disclose your Paranormal costume idea, you should probably just say "screw it," try it on, admit that you feel pretty, and go with it. They might judge you, sure. But look where that got Miley Cyrus.
And besides, if it might get you on the podium, it's worth it.
Registrants keep rolling in, which reminds me I should give some thought to the lineup at the front and make some inaccurate predictions, like I always do. The tough thing about that, though, is that 75% of Paranormal registration happens on race day, sometimes more than that. And 8 days out here in front of the event, conditions are relatively unknown. That's why it takes real, genuine nostradamusness to do this job, of which I have none, but I do it anyway.
So here we go:
Though heretofore unregistered, I have it on good authority that Bob Anderson will ride to the race, rack up 11 laps in 5 hours or so, stop for a pop at the CAMBC tent on his way out, then ride home in time to catch the 11:00 news. You can't beat that. But 5 time Paranormal Champ Iron Mike Walling can, and I'm willing to bet that he will, so long as he can stick it out for the long haul. He's been secluded in a clandestine training camp, after all, with only the finest nutrition and coaching that money can buy, fixating on his comeback.
Douthat Day2 P2 from Kevin Murray on Vimeo.
My prediction: 12 laps in 6:30, Walling takes it.
Women's Solo: Last year, I made the mistake of picking Whedbee for the W on account of her 2011 victory, only to round the corner into the transition shortly after it got dark and see her double-fisting Ranger IPAs. The fight has left the fighter a little bit, it would seem. Instead, I'll put my gambling cash (of which I have absolutely none) on Bev Richardson for the top step of the ladies podium in what I anticipate will be a dogfight of a catfight.
My prediction: Bev by a whisker in a sprint finish. 9 laps.
Coed Duo: Rumor has it Quadsworth is coming to town again, and this time he's bringing his special ladyfriend as opposed to his special special ladyfriend. And it's hard to bet against a pairing like that. Unless you have inside information, which I may, and you know there's a super-strong ringer to be had, which I may, and you believe Quadsworth may have already peaked, which I do, and you think your wife can stick it to him when the going gets rooty, slippery, and dark. Which I do. Quadsworth, you're on notice; my bride will be serving you up a big, healthy portion of your own ass come miller time.
My prediction: Team Goldilocks and the 3 Bears by a full lap.
Coed Men: this is usually where the rubber meets the proverbial road, or in this case, dirt. Lots of speed happens up there where this race is happening, and most of it, I don't even know what it looks like anymore. But I'll actually cross party lines for this one, and I'll hazard a guess that Petrylak and Kurland show up to race duo, defend the pink jersey, crack 12 laps, and squeak out the fastest lap somewhere in the process.
My prediction: The elitest of BFR Elite by 5 minutes. But the 30 minute lap barrier will not be broken.
SS: While not actually a category, we all know it's a category. Really, it's more than that: it's a way of life. And when it comes to that way of life, no one can really contest Metro when the going gets dark, sleep-deprived, dirty, and intoxicated, which the going is most certain to do in a nighttime race on singlespeeds. Prove me wrong C-ham, but I don't think you can take him.
My prediction: Metro rolls in with 7 laps and a smile sometime just before midnight.
Not that a single one of those people are actually registered yet, which might downplay their odds in Vegas by just a smidge, but it's a crapshoot anyway; and if I picked you I'm not actually doing you any favors - I have never been right. Not once.
What I can predict, however, is that the funds we'll raise will actually matter, and while the man on the other end of the line might not be able to voice his appreciation just yet, he's whooping it up on the inside, hysterically laughing, chatting up the guy in front of him, with the wind in his hair and his ears pulled back.
In case you haven't read the latest, here you go.
We're with you brother Scud.
Right, wrong, or indifferent, come out and pin a number on.
Up, up, up.