Damon's a Loser

Things are good this morning. As I type this, it’s 8:24am, and I’m in the dining room area of the Sleep Inn of Walterboro, SC. Things are good because I’m accompanied by my morning coffee and my morning SportsCenter. I could be in a completely foul mood, but then be given coffee and SportsCenter and I’d probably be happy.

Yesterday we packed up shop and left Roswell at the leisurely hour of 11 in the morning. Robbie and I are the only two Americans AND new guys on the team, so we’ve pretty much adopted the role of team driver in the absence of Ben (Ben Oliver is our mechanic and generally drives the van; he’s been at the Tour of Shenandoah and therefore isn’t currently carting us around). It’s partially for insurance reasons, but I think even if everyone were insured, us rookies would be the ones behind the wheel.

Here’s a fine shot of Richard loading the van. With just us five cyclist driving around to races we have what you might call a skeleton crew. Hence, we’ve adopted different roles to make for a full squad. Rich is the director sportif and co-captain. Tommy “Pew Pew” Nankervis is team entertainment. Robbie operates as a fine navitagor and really compliments my driving skills of the ginormous 15-passenger van, since I’m pretty much team taxi driver this week. Glen is the other co-captain and throws in witty bits of Kiwi humor and wisdom throughout the day.

Five hours of driving later, we arrived in lovely Walterboro and were greeted by more fireworks stores in one town than I’ve ever seen before. Our Sleep Inn is a pretty nice place, albeit plain. I really need to do some laundry, but there’s no danged laundry machines. This place looks like it can’t be more than 2 years old, so I was surprised. Glen tells us about the less-than-desireable Rice Planters’ Inn that he’s stayed at in years past, where the place wreaks and the floor is sopping wet! I suppose I should be happy.

In addition to the lack of laundry facilities, there are no refridgerators nor microwaves, so we walked down the street to Waffle House for din din. Waffle house is a kick; it’s a staple of seemingly every highway exit from Virginia to Texas and not a single one has been renovated, redecorated, or cleaned since the mid-70s. It’s a real classy joint. Our server was a really nice, four foot tall, permed hair, elderly southern woman who liked to laugh. I think she was plenty entertained by the two Aussies, a Kiwi, and the two northerners in our table of five. It was also my first experience with true southern grits; I stole a bite of Robbie’s, which where smothered deliciously in butter, salt, and pepper. Good form bro.

In other news, after Tommy and I reunited in early April in Michigan, we had our Side-Burn-Challenge. As previously mentioned, Tommy took me in fullness, but I smoked him in facial area(mine were full on CHOPS), resulting in a draw. Tommy and I both have shaved our oh-so-stylish facial hair, but now he has a very professional looking flavor savor. Although, it’s way more than just that; it’s the full strip going down from his lip to his chin, and never is more than an inch wide. It looks niiiIIIiiice.

The best news of the morning is that Johnny “I-Suck” Damon, returned to Fenway to a barage of boos. Damon was 0-for-4 and the Yankees lost in the 8th inning. Wicked.

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