Need more cowbells

One of my friends asked what I was going to be doing this afternoon.

"Watching the race."

"Oh, NASCAR?"

Ah, no. Better. Much better.

I've always enjoyed bike racing, and having the action so conveniently close — right outside our front door! — makes it all the better.

We started the morning out at the Harting's place on the other side of the island, where Hal made breakfast casseroles for everyone he'd invited (he made eight pans of it this year) as we watched the men's category 4/5 race start off the day. I had to sneak off for a few hours, as I had to run the sound booth at church, but by the time I got back, the lunch fixings were ready, and I fired up the grill.

One thing was lacking. Cowbells. See, rather than keep yelling, or clapping with every lap (50+ for the last race...) we ring cowbells — or, alt least, everyone on our block does. And I forgot, again, to go get some. Hal Harting loaned us a few for the afternoon races, though, and we egged the riders on. Fiona and Grandma Renaud both showed great enthusiasm.

You go, girl.
Fiona again demonstrates why she's actually a difficult subject to photograph.

* * *

A good number of people have asked whatever became of the girl and the rider that had an unfortunate meeting at last year's race. As I was walking back from where I'd parked, I passed by a rider in a NUVO uniform getting ready, and I asked whatever happened to his hapless teammate from last year's race. As it turns out, the USCF did press the case, and tried to strip him of his racing license, and then the girl's parents also tried to sue — and by the rider's use of the word "tried" I presumed they were unsuccessful — but at the end of it all, he threw in the towel and stopped racing. The girl has apparently recovered.

The race organizers this year made certain there would be no one behind the hay bales in that corner. Good move.