Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Sidehack II

When not conscripted into the necessary if unsavory task of logistical support, the Hack has moonlighted on numerous occasions as a shuttle for the walking wounded of C.H.U.N.K. 666, transporting its gimpy passengers to the local public house to convalesce and feel sorry for themselves, including myself at several junctures, for which I am grateful.

The Hack, c. 1998 – present.

The Hack is constituted of two near-identically sized frames, with a multi-colored panoply of bicycle tubes and stays bridging them. Since the Hack is essentially a single-track bicycle with an outrigger wheel, its steering is asymmetrical. It can turn on a six pence to the left (turning towards the sidecar), with the single-track bicycle rotating around the outrigger wheel, which, depending on the severity of the orbit, can remain completely at rest. Right turns (away from the sidecar) are decidedly unnatural at any reasonable cadence, as the single-track bicycle feels like its dragging the outrigger wheel through the turn (or at least this is what it feels like to me). If there is no passenger or cargo in the sidecar, one may alleviate the dragging sensation by popping the outrigger wheel up into the air, and "flying the chair."

Tricycles have it rough in the modern sprawl of asphalt. Paved roads are, after all, graded to better drain rainwater, motor oil, spilled beverages, and urine. On a bicycle one does not notice this (the grade, that is), since a bicycle may be balanced upright on an angled surface with as much ease as on a perfectly level one. Tricycles do not require balancing, of course. They stand on their own. A tricycle on a high-crowned road will lean with the road, and instinct is to lean as if balancing a bicycle, which puts torque on the wheels and frame. Keg Trike's frame has a slight twist to the front of the frame from riders leaning to the left to unnecessarily "correct" its balance, and requires its front fork and wheel to be exchanged for less hoopty ones on frequent occasion.

Which brings us to the error of the Hack: the sidecar shouldn't be on the left side. When riding on a road with a significant crown to it, the sidecar should really be on your right to prop you up. But since the sidecar on the Hack is on the left, unless you are going at a very controlled and slow speed, or gravitate to the center of the road as much as possible, the Hack's steering will exhibit a hard pull to the right into the curb. Examine the photo above: the Hack is up near the center of the road, where the grade is less severe. The chopper riding escort with the Hack, however, is hugging the curb where the grade is most significant with no impediment to speed or ease of riding.

When CHUNK 666 visited the Rat Patrol in Chicago, I spent a day riding their sidecar tricycle around. Being used to riding with the sidecar on the left, I was duly impressed with how much more pleasant the Rathack was with the car on the right (made more enjoyable by Chicago's incomprehensible flatness), and I decided to construct a second CHUNK Hack with the car on the right side.

Back in Portland and a short time later, CHUNK 666 was invited to root through a collection of bike frames, wheels, and parts. Included in this haul was a Columbia 3-speed with 24-inch wheels. Recalling Johnny Payphone's deduction that smaller wheels can carry more weight; this bike seemed as good as any to hack.

There was exactly one tricky weld, which was the first. I stripped the Columbia down to the frame, and searched the pile for another frame sized for 24" wheels. The only one I could find was the remnants of the Spirit of '76, a tall bike I built back in about 2000 along the lines of the Organ Donor, but with 20-inch wheels (it was so-named because one of the donor bikes that went into it bore that name on its chain-guard). That bike had a healthy career, but the extended steer tube broke, for the fourth time, I believe, at the 2002 Chunkathalon, and I didn't care to fix it again, and had been resting and rusting in the chronic pile ever since.

I put the Columbia and the Spirit in a make-shift jig to align their dropouts parallel to each other, and so the frames where roughly equally level to the ground (employing liberal "eyebology," naturally). Once the first spanning piece of rectangular steel tubing was in place, the remaining welding was very easy. Better yet, once the remains of the Spirit entered the equation, I was inspired to do my best to employ as many orphaned pieces of steel from old, broken-down CHUNK bikes as possible.

The sidecar of the Hack II is thusly comprised of the aforementioned Spirit of '76, gazelle forks of the second iteration of Biscuit, the original steel tubes from the forks of Denk's chopper, and the neigh-ancient gazelle forks of the Stars and Stripes Forever (another bike christened for the inscription on its chain guard).

Construction was prolonged over a month and half period, as other CHUNK 666 obligations preoccupied me (idle hands and all that), but I managed to finish the last welds and install the floor boards, made entirely out of junky pallet wood, about three weeks before the Chunkathalon. I took the finished product to the Friday Night Rink, at which many people took turns riding their friends around in the sidecar. Considering the Hack II now thoroughly rated for cargo duty, I used it to run numerous errands for the Chunkathalon, after which I swore off riding it for about a week and enjoyed the simpler joys of riding old fashioned two-wheeled creations instead.

The Hack II is 95% welded with coat hangers.

Saturday, September 10, 2005

Chunkathalon Essays

Late one Friday night Thud left me a message mumbling something about an essay contest for the upcoming Chunkathalon. Intrigued, I called him back and we ended up drinking Lucky on my porch 'til 4 in the morning. And so the Essay Contest was added to this year's Chunkathalon. We enlisted the assistance of Meagan from Magpie to handle the topic(s), seeing as she had included essay questions in numerous alley cats in the past and was perceived by many as being pretty good at it, and since if CHUNK 666 came up with the topics, then we'd know what the topic was days before anyone else. And that would be cheating.

Meagan came up with three topics (of which each team had to write one essay regarding one topic), with bonus points for a limerick. The topics were as follows:

1. Coca Cola approaches your chopper club with an opportunity to be in a commercial promoting their product. Explain your decision to accept or decline their offer, and the issues you confronted in making this decision.

2. Compare and contrast altruistic and profit-minded motivations for chopper sales and distribution, touching specifically on the social and ethical ramifications thereof.

3. Describe in detail your vision of the future of our fair Nation’s bicycle communities, were they to be denied the comic relief and spiritual sustenance afforded them by bike clubs such as yours.

This is not a requirement of said competition but would amuse us greatly. As would be expected the theme could be bikes and choppers or your bike club.

Moments before the winners were announced, I checked in on where the Judges had recessed to tally the scores (and grade the essays). Scorekeeper James was at work at the calculator, and the essays were laying in a crumpled stack on a table. I snatched them up, since I didn't want them lost to the ages, then realized I had nowhere to put them. Fortunately, at that moment Liberator came limping out of the rest rooms. I declared it her sacred trust to history itself to keep the essays in her bag until I could get them later. She not only took them into her safekeeping, but saved me a ton of time and transcribed them! So buy Liberator a drink the next time you see her!

I scanned some of the essays and affixed them with their respective transcribed contents, just to give you an idea of what these things came out looking like. The essays are in no particular order.


In exquisite campes style

So so some CrakoCola A&R mofo says to da aristocrates: “money money whore whore” “I make you kids famous” “put you up on the blue glow” “choppa’s & coke man it’s a new hot synergy” “we make it together kids” & we da aristocrats talk amongst “yeah yeah like skulhead face, play the slave pit to the ultimate potential” well well we drop the ibogaine supply into world wide- (new handwriting) So people know to avoid that shit before too long, and bike riding gains popularity. Why? Because people are off the shit that keeps them inside, and they’re so thankful to our team, and chopper builders they want to get in on that rad action. Cars stop running because there is no gas and no coke, and bikes rule the roads… but the chopper is KING! (new handwriting) But so is Coke. Wreathed in their crown of red and silver, cola, cola, cola, confused synapses bloated w/ caffeine. I remembered that the dollar sign is where it’s at and cash rules everything. Cream. (new handwriting) In fact I prefer dirty money! Food tastes better when it’s bought with the blood of innocent children, beer gets you drunker, and drugs get you more fadeder. That’s why we now build all our bikes with coca-cola brand aluminum.


If the nations of Canada and the United States were denied us and our comic relief & spiritual sustenance, many bad things would happen. There would be a lack of community and camaraderie and everyone would become zombies that were controlled by corporations. The corporations would make lists and rules about who could ride bikes. We would all end up bowing down to the man because our free spirits had been drained. We want to be free to ride our machines without being hassled by the man.


Take the #*%@!! Money. Osama bin Laden took the money. What did he do? Shackled the Pentagon!! For at least 125 years, people interested in the tearing down of gov./corporations have had a common need: greenbacks!! (or Pesos if you’re in Mexico). The most logical and sometimes easiest method to get these shiny Euros is to steal them. 2nd easiest is to agree to take the dinero from the government/corporation graciously. The shitheads (name hidden for the safety of the club) took the money in exchange for riding a bunch of crappy, I mean cool, home made bikes in front of some kids pretending to be modern day Jack Karowacks (name misspelled to protect the innocent).

The potential for insurgent mayhem waged via the free Rupee’s is limitless. Bike chapters could secretly install “taste testers” in the Coca-Cola R & D group. “I want that smooth cola flavor with a cat piss aftertaste.” “I loved eating charcoal as a kid, what if we put it in the can and call it Coca-Coala!” “How about New Coke!” Another good idea is to just let kids drink as much as they want and allow adult onset diabetes to become a first rate national health epidemic.

Is it honest to say you will use the money for an anti Coke cause? The shitheads in san fran were recently seen pulling out of the metro metal recycling facility in an empty ford F-750 stretch limo pickup truck. They were blaring “My mind’s on my money and my money’s on mind…..” On second thought, all money corrupts don’t take the money.


For the untold millions in Nigeria, who would otherwise suffer their lives without knowledge of the ways of bike chopping, and for the untold millions of dollars that the Coca-Cola company would pay us to further their mission of thirst-quenching, we would have no option but accept the offer and ride in cola-flavored glee trough the world spreading a message of imperfection and glee. Numerous benefits would abound for the M&M flavored people of the African Nation. Were the world conquered by fork wielding longbikes, from Africa down, neither the military nor cultural powers of earth would have either the willingness or the capabilities to overthrow the unintended world domination (dominion) which the corporation of Coca-Cola and its hollow threat of counterculturedom (a word filled with the image of the phallus) (via the offer of inter-dimensional stardom to we (THE TEAM Fridge-Underdweller) would bring! Thus we would accept the folly filled offer of Coca-Cola and demolish all that is.


The Coca Cola people had made their offer. $1000 for being filmed a bit, and we might end up in an ad. We’d just have to do as they said, sign off our culture and ride our bikes for them.

Mr. Frazzle spit on the ground and scoffed. “Why don’t you see us on store bought so-called choppers? Or drinking your sugar fizz death? We won’t give you money to ruin more people’s lives with exploitation and murder. Begone scum of the earth!” And then Ralph grabbed a pedal wrench, and thought ‘Van Gogh burnt his brushes to stay warm; I’m not compromising to these bitches. I’ll sell this wrench for lunch.’

There once was a club in the Bay
Coke offered them money for pay
They made a shit ad
It made us all sad
Coz selling out’s never okay


2013. Babies eating babies. Chewing through spandex and melanoma. Internal combustion has proven itself [a fable]? but the country of Shimano has risen to the foamy cream of the cushion. Their firm grip on the pocketbooks and lipstick traces on the faces of [Aghasta]? has both exemplified the power and hinted at the Achilles heels of the moving and commuting bodies. Chopper clubs such as CHUNK can not be stopped, like rats, cockroaches, raccoons etc. they will always adapt and return to rewild the city – so the question is somewhat moot. Obviously attempts to stifle and repress the clubs are a bad idea, would be unpopular and would result in a backlash. Thus, ironically, strengthening the freak bike movement.

I was at the CHUNK 666 battle
When Karl laid his tongue on my saddle
My girl said that’s sweet
His mouth on your seat\
But I’d rather eat spongiform cattle

Some say Chunkathalon’s great
But I sit on my ass and just wait
I’m getting’ frenetic
Here waxin’ poetic
I shoulda kept ridin’ my skate

There once was a beautiful skunk
Who wanted to join up with CHUNK
So I gave it some feed
We smoked out some weed
And I filled it up with my spunk

There once were some bikes in a trunk
When dusted and rode they went “CHUNK!”
To make the sound louder
We welded ‘em prouder
And that’s how 666 it got thunk

Well-hung with star-studded medallions
Bust your ears with our chainrings a-growlin’
Hide all your ladies
We ride chopped since the 80’s
Bitch we ride like fuckin’ wild stallions

There once were some assholes in cars
Who only knew how to fight wars
They battled with choppers
Got thrown in a hopper
And we launched them like turds from our arse


The first time we saw a corporate logo encrusted chopper all 4 of us experienced feelings of joy and disgust. Whoa! Chopper! … Followed quickly by wait – that’s corporate.

Mike’s Hard Lemonade has perhaps profited the most from the current chopper craze. With advertising and giveaways, Mike’s has jumped onto the chopper bandwagon & is steering the handlebars. Every gas station up and down the coast sells “Chopper” shirts (OCC is albeit motor choppers but the same idea). Bike choppers are cool, nifty, edgy and becoming a status symbol. But where does the name chopper come from? You chop the forks, weld them together and you have a d bike. DIY is key with choppers.

So is it any better to just make choppers at home and give them to friends? Maybe. It’s hard to say – giving away or selling DIY choppers still means that the people getting the choppers are not participating in the manufacture of them. As with punk/grunge music and thrift store clothes, DIY is imminently commodifiable. If someone wants a chopper, motorized or not, it should be with some participation of the rider to receive the bike. DIY is too precious and too easily corruptible.

There once was a student at Lyons
Who decided to bugger the swans
The faithful hall porter
Said, “Pray take my Daughter,
The swans are reserved for the Dons!”


Future bike communities were they to be denied the creative mayhem of our respective bike clubs would still be drawn to the fringes of bike culture. When an element of an eco-system is removed, it inevitably is replaced by something else (unless you lose the base element).

In an effort to be different or show love for individuals.

We want to be free
Free to do what we want to do
Free to ride our machines
Without being hassled by the man
And we want to get loaded


This era is no different from any other. There are always jerks in charge, and then others. Eventually some other jerks are in charge and then sometimes what are referred to as ‘the people’ or ‘the masses’ or ‘the seething hordes’ rise up and have a great big freakout. Lots of people get hurt and maybe the jerk in charge gets a little annoyed or a lot nervous or has a chuckle or gets their balls chopped off, only to have new, bristlier, tougher sets grow in, but most importantly, a lot of people figure out what really matters. FUN!! After the mo’ money mo’ problems, whatever gets them through the night is all that the masses have to hold onto, and it is a little bit of love and a whole lotta fun and the revolution will be the best party ever and the only one that anyone remembers and it will be lit by cash-fueled fires and the thirst of the hordes will be slaked by vats of coca cola and some will denounce it and the judges will be the most attractive judges I have ever seen and I will dance on the graves of the naysayers with both my legs broken and I will be laughing…


We all can afford it
Especially the stupid
It ruins our kidneys
And delays the onset of pubid.
Scourge of our neighborhoods
A blight on our kids
Chunksters who snort it
Soon on the skids
After the deluge
There will be no coke
The poor will be dead
And the rich will be broke

Coke is akin to a cold sore
They wanna make us their Ad Whore
“It’s better than crack”
And even more wack
Than the wackest Chunkathalon hard core

TEAM LOW DEXTERITY (Margaret Charles)

Thank you for approaching as with this mutually advantageous offer to promote your product. Wunyby both of our pudilns share a mutual desire to obtain money at the expense of others. Chopper altow lit cocola sturds bor slif aderse and achiebdyed addiction together we can (whoa, handwriting change) awaken consumersto the new order: lubricated by coke and powered by people. Here are our demands:

- the delivery of all unused cocaine from your warehouses to us (address below)
- life time supply of lube. It’s the “real thing”
- we should name it the “Coca Cola All Purpose Chopper Lube”
- Black cans with skulls adorning the sides

In conclusion, we thank you for your letter. We shall remove our chopper bikes from your meeting rooms in the morning. Your secretaries will be released come sunrise.

-Team Low Dexterity


Take the job. Be polite, concerned, and enthusiastically interested. Compliment some corporate khakis. Expand on your conversion from Pepsi to Coke. Come the day of the job, start drinking heavily and early. Gather together those members of your fleet which most threaten to implode and which have the least emotional value. Bring all your available ordinance, Saturn Missiles, Roman candles, TNT, Smell Bad.

Upon arrival, insult the nearest ad-exec thusly, "Nice pants, shit-sack.” Attempt to urinate on aforementioned khakis. Continue with genitalia exposed. Now it's time to get raw. Poop on the product. Really. Lay the "thick cable." Pull out the six-pack of Tab from 1980, which you've saved for this occasion. Pound Tab, mount up, shoot down all corporate goons in sight. Ride directly and with intention into their expensive equipment. Get injured. Say, "You better know a good lawyer, bitch." Split.

There once was a CHUNK named Spidey,
Who always liked things to be tidy.
He said with a gasp
While wiping his ass,
I really need new "tighty whities"


Dear Coca Cola,

First off we are honored that of all the activities you could expose to the masses, you are interested in our organization. We are awed by the legacy you represent. You basically invented soda, to the extent that the “industry” is referred to as the coke system. Besides being an industry leader you also make a Mighty Tasty Beverage.

I figure you are trying to follow up your successful promotion featuring Black Label (MN) tall bike jousters. Unfortunately, that club did not support the use of its resources in your campaign. The member who participated was stripped of his colors.

Our club, the Krunkatheletes, would like to meet with you to discuss our terms. Yes, we will be in your commercial. We feel it would be irresponsible to the youth of America not to. In a sea of Materialism that is Modern America, we appreciate your platform. If seeing sexy people do sexy stuff makes you want to do sexy stuff, then seeing cool people do cool stuff should inspire thusly.

Some of our peers might scoff at dealing with a Multinational Corporation; that is their right. We, however, don’t believe in the moral crux of big is bad. For example your business plan spreads wealth back to foreign markets through your independent bottling network. So more money made in country x stays in country x because the bottler is owned by a citizen of country x. Proper. You also rank in the top ten of all Fortune 500 companies in charitable donations. Thanks. In conclusion, because of you superior product, progressive business model and unprecedented opportunity to reach the Mall Rat generation, as well as your commitment to bettering the communities you do commerce in, we ACCEPT YOUR OFFER!



TEAM COCK & BALLS (Dead Baby B.C.)

Look guys, no brainer. Between Hard Times (Minneapolis) & CHUNK 666, choppers have become popular counter culture. There are a lot of large bike manufacturers/producers jumping on the bandwagon but really- it don’t mean shit. The mainstream annexation of the bicycle chopper culture can become as blown out as it can and it won’t mean shit… except that the real people will have more and different bikes to chop up and weld back together - point is – the respect, the credibility, the base value of the bike chopping fools’ whole thing is about chopping that shit up and fix it right – for you. Cause only you know what kind of bike you want to ride. Any dork can go buy a chopper at the store and go front their ass around on it, but they have no idea what the real deal is. Maybe though, for some – it would be the first step to awareness and understanding of what the core is up to. Yeah, the fringe element is the dept. store chopper bicycle – it will come and go. The core however, won’t be tainted.

On my bike I was riding toward home
When I espied a young lass all alone
“Come with this Dead Baby”
The lass declared “maybe”
As she pondered the girth of the bone

At times I ride bikes that are tall
Others, the bikes are quite small
But my bike that does swing
And is covered in bling
Is the best fuckin’ bike of ‘em all

Ah, the folks of CHUNK triple six
Some are perceived as big dicks
But what they don’t know
About the Chunkathalon show
How much ass their event kicks.


In the last five years we have noticed a discernable increase in the attention given to the bike community. Our present government personifies aspects of our culture that our community finds completely “fucking” reprehensible. An international bully-superpower fed by the oil industry bent on corporate domination, oblivious to the socially democratic foundations this country was founded on. In turn, we’ve seen police crack down on critical mass rides, and an association between the radical left and bicyclists. The only answer is to use this association to our advantage. And to do that cleverly implies a strategic approach to corporate sponsorship.

Whether a bike club such as ours, CHUNK 666 NYC, would accept any relationship with a corporation such as Coca-Cola, the answer is a resounding, unequivocal, and middle-finger-punctuated “NO.” That has a lot to do with Coca-Cola’s global position, which is not of issue here. However our club has accepted to take part in a documentary funded, in part, by Puma. We agreed to participate as long as we were not asked to promote the brand in any way – they gave us shoes that they wanted us to wear during our rides – and we agreed to wear them on the condition that we could duct tape over their logo.

It is our opinion that bike culture, especially the miraculous and beautiful nature of the mutant bike building that we’re a part of -- should be sung from the rooftops. Accepting relationships with third parties, be they corporations, sponsors, benefactors, etc. is weighted against our interest in promoting a healthy, non-consumerist-based lifestyle where humor, frivolity, and youth-oriented entertainment take the day. And or course this comes down to control of the medium. In our case we were allowed to dictate how our club, our small part of larger bike culture, was represented. With this type of relationship in place, involvement with outside parties can only prove to advance our cause beyond the borders of the neighborhoods we patrol.

There once was a young man from Kansas
Who got a hard on when he dances
So he duct-taped his cock
‘Cause he knew he would shock
But now he has no hair on his manthing

A CHUNK 666 essay,
by Megulon 5, Agent 99, Thud, and Silken.


In questioning the future of any bicycle community (neighborhood, national or global) it is impossible to posit a community separate from a component atmosphere of “fun”, “partying”, and “radicality”, (Which will henceforth be referred to as the Wide Band Chunkulation Field, or WBCF). Any bike community stripped of the WBCF will first wither, then, as it chokes toward death, thrust forth a blossom of the purest Wide Band Chunkulation Field that will bolster that community anew and create again the elegant synthesis of earnest biking and unencumbered hilarity and fraternity, know to us as the WBCF. What follows is a chronological exploration - based on evidence drawn from four experts in the field - of exactly how this separation and recombination can, have, and always will function.

Without the guidance and inspiration of mutant bike clubs, the communities of the world (and nations) will first face a cultural impoverishment. They will devolve into boring utilitarian movements and groups of commuters passing each other on the bridge.

Luckily this depressing state will soon be rectified with a re-blossoming of the mutant bike movements nation- and world-wide. The freak bike impetus can not be suppressed. We can see this today, all across the nation. Witness clubs in the following extremely boring cities and countries: Rat Patrol (Chicago), MC3 (Canada), Black Label (New York), SCUL (Boston), etc.

Finally, once the mutant bike groundwork has been established, our guardians from the future will re-initiate contact, whether we are aware of this guidance or not, the bridge of the WBCF will again be built, and it is this bridge which will carry us through the imminent apocalypse.

In short, there is no culture without mutant bike culture.

Friday, September 9, 2005

Photographifying the Chunkathalon.

Here are some links to photography (and some text) of the 2005 Chunkathalon, in no particular order.

J. Maus's gallery.

B. Kaplin's gallery.

Margaret Charles goes to Portland, gets 20 stitches.

News4Neighbors has an article consisting of parts one (with an amusing comment) and two.

D. Haskell's gallery.
He also put together a funny little thing he likes to call "Anatomy of a Chunkathalon photo" (Dan once wrote me and said something along the lines of "you guys are a bad influence on me, and not in a bad way").

There were some really professional-looking pictures here, but it hasn't working consistently.

K. Graham's gallery.

K. Russell's got a few in her gallery, including one of Thud being hit from behind simultaneously by two Dead Baby tallbikes and one of Dead Baby Terry being dragged by Dead Baby Ian.

Dingo of Pepto Dizmal discusses "putting out fires." And speaking of fires...

Marko of champeen CHUNK NYC has a gallery.

Tuesday, September 6, 2005

Official Results, 2005 Chunkathalon

chunkathalon 2k5 spreadsheet

The Teams:

Chunk NYC:
5. Spider-Man
15. Crochet
36. Tito McRico
23. Knife Fight
(alternate: Marko)

Krunkathaletes (Zoobomb):
16. D. Mike
100th. Zach
40. Juice
13. Cody

Chunk Team Lucky (CHUNK 666):
49. Caroteen
-. Ninja
-. Big B.
3007. Lt. Q

It Tastes Like Candy (CHUNK 666):
00. Silken
2. Thud
666. Megalator
99. Ninety-Nine

Low Dexterity (Margaret Charles):
3°. Jim
0.3. Jack
68. Donald
7. Mark

Team Cock and Balls (Dead Baby Bikes):
p. Quigley
206. Woody
33333. Soren
.15. Ian

Last Minute Wonders (unaffiliated):
88. Collin
007. Darcy
797. Victor
000. Kitty

Mantastic (unaffiliated)
4. Mavis Davis
420. Fruity Diggy Dog
17. J. Rust
33Ð. Adam

Wyld Stallyns (CHUNK 666):
42. Ranger Rick
1. Iron Lord
12. Sandstorm
3.141. Comeback Kid

Team Blue and Orange (Margaret Charles):
3333. Gravtron
69. Sailor
333. Mr. Wright
3. Mark

Left Behind (unaffiliated):
99. Fred Nemo
>8<. Andy 9. Zach 44. Rev. Phil Team Fridge/Underdweller (unaffiliated):
8.75. Turbo-Badass
40 Million. Target
1.61. Auk Nik
.03. Midnight Rider
51. Sgt. Roadburn
(alternate: Will)

Dead Baby 13 (Dead Baby Bikes):
1268. Bill
86. Peter
64. Donato
55. Terry

Bonus Level (unaffiliated):
28. Andrea
117th. Drew
><. Geoff $20. Proton Aristocrates (unaffiliated):
1.61. Auk Nik
infinity. Laine
1984. Tony Biscuits
E. Catfish

Babes of the World (international all-stars):
32. Liz (Margaret Charles)
34. Stephanie (Seattle)
8. DB Steph (Dead Baby Bikes)
313. Carly (Dead Baby Bikes)

Team No Bikes (CHUNK 666):
X. Shanaynay
47. Rick
11. Rudy
777. Kathy

The 40oz. Lap
1st: Chunk NYC.
2nd: Last Minute Wonders.
3rd: Chunk Team Lucky.
4th: Dead Baby 13.
5th: MC3: Team B&O.

The Baby Rescue
Bonus Level defeats Left Behind, due to disqualification.
Team Cock and Balls defeats the Aristocrates.
MC3: Team BO defeats Chunk Team Lucky.
Wyld Stallyns defeats Low Dexterity.
Chunkathaletes defeats Babes of the World.
Mantastic versus Team Fridge/Underdweller. Tie.
Chunk NYC defeats Dead Babies.
Team No Bikes defeats Last Minute Wonders.
It Tastes Like Candy defeats Last Minute Wonders.

The Ghost Ride
Team Cock and Balls defeats Dead Babies;
Aristocrats defeats Bonus Level;
Crunkathaletes defeats Last Minute Wonders;
Babes of the World defeats Mantastic;
Chunk NYC defeats Team Fridge/Underdwellers;
Chunk Team Lucky defeats Wyld Stallyns;
Low Dexterity defeats Last Minute Wonders;
MC3: Team BO defeats Team No Bikes;
Left Behind defeats It Tastes Like Candy.

The Derby Royale
Round the First:

1, Collin, Last Minute Wonders;
2, Caroteen, Chunk Team Lucky;
3, Mark, Low Dexterity;
4, Mr. Wright, MC3:Team BO;
5, Ranger Rick, Wyld Stallyns.

Round the Second:

1, Zach, Crunkathaletes.

Round the Third:

1, Fred Nemo, Left Behind;
2, Crochet, Chunk NYC;
3, Mark, Low Dexterity;
4, Dead Babies.

Style Adjustments
Ninja -1 (stealing)
Ninety-Nine -1 (snitching)
Quigley +1 (flair, elan)

The Beer Run Time Trials
1, It Tastes Like Candy Bitch;
2, Crunkathaletes;
3, Mantastic;
4, Chunk Team Lucky;
5, Chunk NYC.

The Essay Contest
Krunkathaletes 15
Team Cock and Balls 15
Team Fridge/Underdweller 15
Chunk Team Lucky 14
It Tastes Like Candy 14
Mantastic 14
Chunk NYC 14
Bonus Level 13
Aristocrats 12
Low Dexterity 12
Wyld Stallyns 11
Last Minute Wonders 11
Dead Babies 11
Left Behind 11
Babes of the World 8

Chunk NYC 344
Crunkathaletes 339
Chunk Team Lucky 307
It Tastes Like Candy 295
Low Dexterity 288
Team Cock and Balls 285
Last Minute Wonders 277
Mantastic 257
Wyld Stallyns 257
MC3: Team B.O. 252
Left Behind 251
Team Fridge/Underdweller 240
Dead Babies 240
Bonus Level 223
Aristocrats 222
Babes of the World 218
Team No Bikes 210

Attendance Estimate: 750 +

Scorekeeper's Notes:

As can be expected with an event of this nature, careful scrutiny of the results will reveal a number of statistical and judgmental aberrations due to various factors, not the least of which include: a) loss of recorded information, b) human/observational error, c) rampant disregard of rules, regulations and authority by participants and their minions/fans; d) use and/or abuse of intoxicants, e) menacing of judges and scorekeepers by event participants and/or disgruntled fans, f) the constant and dangerous stream of projectiles, mineral and vegetable, traveling at various trajectories and velocities during the proceedings, g) hazardous seating conditions at and around the judges' scaffolding, nearly resulting in a deadly fall by one judge, h) the wanton display of certain male glandular protuberances by certain members of the event staff, i) courtesy beverages served at higher-than-ideal temperatures, j) the unceasing stream of obscenities directed at and returned by the judging and scorekeeping crew, k) that rat bastard that hit me square in the Stetson with a slab of festering pumpkin, l) that other rat bastard that hurled some ghastly beer-like swill at the judges and splashed my leg, even after I screamed repeatedly not to, m) repeated bawdy references to the male and female genitalia, adolescent innuendoes and ribaldry, fouls smells and foul sights. Etc. I digress.

A brief glance of the results transcribed from the (hopefully) beer-stained records for the "beer run" provides an example of the difficulties encountered:

Silken, ITLC 2:42
Spider-Man, Chunk NYC, 2:17
Sandstorm, Wyld Stallyns, 2:31
Ian, Team Cock and Balls, 2:21
Peter, Dead Babies, 3:57
Lt. Q, Chunk Team Lucky, 2:11
100th, Krunkathaletes, 1:31 (illegal bike?)
1.61, MC3: Team BO, 2:35
797, Last Minute Wonders, 2:37
666, ITLC, 2:22
2, ITLC, 2:09
33 1/3, Mantastic, 1:57
99. ITLC, 2:11

Only one team, the "It Tastes Like Candy" squad from Portland, was ambitious (or coherent) enough to field the four contestants necessary to score points. One contestant may have used a ringer bike. One did not complete his run and found himself in a local infirmary, connected to a morphine drip and sporting new nylon stitching on his thorax.

In another event, one participant ignited a smoke device and filled the air in the competition zone with thick, billowing clouds of orange fog. As a result, no meaningful result could be ascertained and judges were forced to decode a winner from the crowds shaking fists and gnashing teeth.
The irregularities are too numerous to mention. But I humbly offer these results as an earnest, if flawed attempt to document and record what has become perhaps the region's most feared gathering of malcontents, miscreants and degenerates, that annual Hobbesian spasm so dreaded by the townsfolk. The Chunkathalon is dead! Long live Chunkathalon!


Friday, September 2, 2005

Friday Nite Rink

The Rink

When bona fide Chunkathalon planning began about a month ago, Big B. got a hair up his ass to put together a Rink. Diligent readers may recall that we threw a Rink of Fire back in January, but this isn't what he had in mind. He wanted the classic Rink: a parking lot you can ride around in circles in, a disco ball and fog machine in the center, a D.J. set-up off to the side, a keg of beer, and every available CHUNK 666 bike we can get running.

So Friday night, two days before the Chunkathalon, we had ourselves a little Rink. The tunes were thumping and people who had never ridden CHUNK bikes were trying out every which one they could get their hands on. Then CHUNK NYC got in from the airport, and kicked off a derby-esque affair, with three or four of the riders using uprooted weeds as switches to playfully whack at their opponents.

Of course, a constable on patrol eventually showed up (around 1:00 a.m.). He said he hadn't received any complaints, but instead had just been driving by, and figured he should check out what was going on. He just asked us to turn the music down a bit, but said something along the lines of "hey, there's nothing wrong with you guys having a good time."

The only real downer was the parking lot lights were bright enough to make the disco ball ineffective.

Oh, and Liberator crashed and got road rash on her leg from the knee down. Rock on, Liberator!!!