I raced in the master As. Yeah, thats how bad ass I am. In the second corner of the first lap, I gleefully cruised past a huge pile up which took E out of the running, but then a short time later I ass-over-tea-kettled into the snow fence. 2nd lap, I tackled Willie, and he stole my bike. 3rd lap, I was looking for the beer feed. 4th lap, I was still looking for the beer feed. I had a primadonna melt down as I was finally offered a can of Tecate. I demand Budweiser, and believe you, me, my support staff was all subsequently fired. 5th lap, which was the toughest, found the nearby DJ playing Bob Marley. I fired him too. That run up was LONG and dusty. The only thing that could have made it worse was reggae. And it did. After I got lapped, I was kindof in 3rd for a second, and then the race was over. I made more enemies then I did friends.

Team Hunter unveiled its new, hand tailored wool kit, and rumor has it that it will come with some old timey aviator goggles. Im totally on the team now. Gay with an R got a beer spray in the face on two back to back laps, dollar premes were in abundance, and Barry Wicks raced with a broken carbon seat post, though there wasnt much post visible. Lastly, I cant get away without mentioning the eye of the storm, death spiral in the middle of this mess. It was easily one of the most dizzyingly sadistic features Ive ever encountered in cross.
Somebody won the races, but most people lost. Some folks crashed, and some didnt. Arguably, I pretty much did all four. Lots of folks were dressed to impress, and eventually the races ended.

In conclusion, Mistress Dukes and her army of Bellas (Velo Bellarmy?) know how to throw a hell of a party, and this is the only race in the country where you stand a good chance of getting your ass handed to you by a guy in a bumble bee fairy costume.
The end.