The Painting Man Cogitates On His New Life In M3

A splendid random guest blog - A brutally hijacked and copy/pasted letter from the mighty Painting Man to the Godfather... reminiscing on his recent M3 National Title and why on earth he and Marco are not in the Bushlove Team.


Ian Paintin scores a massage from multisport legend, Liam 'Vin Diesel' Drew after the Nats race.



Dear Marco.....


I trust the legs are well, no doubt due to the minimal resistance your carbon wafer presents even on the steepest hills.

Now is a good time to look back on the last two weeks of riding.

It started with our [mild] collective disappointment on learning our applications to join Bushlove were rejected.

I took matters into my own hands and reasoned the highly organized corps would have left a paper trail as to their decision. Much like the Germans who could have got away with a lot more had they not written about it.

It was easy to hack the Bushlove server, quaintly named TiggerBite. Two folders were scrutinized. One, labelled Wishful, is a collection of podium shots with various Bushlove heads superimposed on real winners. No doubt this is some team building tool to extol the boys to higher things. Drawing on my agricultural upbringing, and armed with Photoshop, I contributed some other shots taken from best in show at the A&P.

The other folder, named The Staring Committee, yielded the good oil. I thought it was a typo but no, the first order of business is to stare at Ricky's calves and then measure them, expressed as a ratio of F A [flaccid to aroused]. Apparently, my numerous cruise by approaches on Ricky during races has really got to the team; they want to know why riders like you and I, with legs that if on a chicken, would be rejected by Tegal, can monster those calves with impunity.

So, here is the rub so to speak. We are simply too good for our age. Being old enough to have sired some of them, our ability to beat them is causing grief. No doubt by adding in some handy road riders at the younger end they can address this problem over time.

I did not want to discuss this aspect with you prior to the National Champs as you would only have got upset.

I thought the best approach was to do my normal Ricky sidle somewhere during the race just to prove the point. I was equally interested in how some riders got their nick names. [Mono would have to wait until the after-race hot shower]. Take Angry for example. Seems like a well mannered chap not prone to outbursts. My plan was simple, I'd keep on his date during the hill climb; perhaps being stoned or pitted was the background to his moniker.

I had not counted on Mr Lawn. He got between me and Angry so with a burst of elderly zest I climaxed at the summit before he did. A nifty piece of passing on the ski slope had Lawny in front again. "Tricky" I called out; "No, Ricky" he responded. Hmmm, where was this race going? True, they both lacked the lush facial hair I sported; more a few tufts here and there. Perhaps this was some club I was also excluded from?

No, I could not consider reducing my foliage to join this picnic. Had I not preloaded it with the main food groups during breakfast as race fare? And had not Rob Kilvington been mightily impressed pre-race when I uncoiled my tongue to lick a sideboard?

With Lawny on a mission to ensnare Ricky I settled in to go hunting Angry men.

Later I learned that Lawny lay in wait, draped provocatively in the long grass by the water tower hoping to impress Ricky. I now wonder what DNF actually means; did they not consummate? No wonder when I passed Ricky on the second lap he was a distraught man.

The second lap had Bushlove spies at work on the ski jump. I was "warned" that Angry was less than a minute ahead. I laughed this off, referring to my M3 classification, but knew that I was sprung. After all, second place in M2 was behind me so the natural order was already upset.

I did briefly consider ingratiating myself with some of the worthy Bushlove foot soldiers post race. Jason Goldie did introduce me to his youngest and there was an awkward moment where I thought it was obligatory to kiss the baby. Thankfully, he was mid stream in bringing up what recently had been down, so I felt the moment was not right.

I probably did us no favours on the Karapoti either; a mild push on the road coming home from the training ride had me in 22 seconds before Angry's time. Not very subtle I know but I could not help myself. Heck, it was only last year that I had been what Angry is now; the M2 National Champion and the old dog needed to growl a bit.

Your best bet for inclusion, Marco, is to disassociate yourself from me and perhaps not be so damned good.

ciao

Ian