ALL RIDE THIS MORNING THE TALK WAS ABOUT OUR LOCAL DOPER. I’m going to leave his name out of it, but he is mighty fast… so, I’ll just call him MF. From the 630am start to the pathetically late finish at 740, the words blew around the pack…
Man, this is an MF kinda day.
For sure, MF is going to get out today and smash it.
I’ll bet MF went to bed early last night, dreaming of KOM hunting.
MF isn’t a drugstore doper, he isn’t a mechanical doper, he’s a Wind Doper. When the Santa Ana’s blow, that’s when he flies out his cave to attack STRAVA segments. No KOM is safe because MF – no doubt – prepares through the summer doldrums for days like today.
For sure he has a route laid out.
If the wind is out of the East, he’s going to seize every West facing KOM on his list. It’s not if he’ll get the KOMs, but how many email notifications STRAVA will send. The great howling across the county as in-boxes deliver the terrible news to the once proud is what drives his wind doping frenzy and what inspires his precise course.
And so as the bits and pieces of our once strong and valiant group washed into the finish and began chattering, all ears were filled with the legend of MF.
The uninitiated could only admire the wisdom of wind doping,
The experienced could only drift homeward…
ruined by the Santa Anas,
… again.