Righteous articles by the Cap'n pretty much tell our story.

READ THEM NOW GODDAMIT!!

Dissection in Las Vegas

Deconstruction in New Orleans

Dave's hazy recollection of the Evil Winter Summit Meeting

Captain Dave's RAGBRAI report, part 1

Captian Dave's RAGBRAI report, part 2

Dave came to Minneapolis. Me and Cheevil Fucked him up. Read it here.

Dave's past missives to the masses

Evil got sidestepped, y’all, but it ain’t gonna stop us, no sirree. Read this little nugget to learn how Satan ALWAYS defeats God.

And so it was, I had diligently found a new clothing supplier for the Evil team. A nifty little outfit that from all angles looked like a great choice: Pactimo sports. At first I considered not naming them in the article, then I thought, “Nah, fuck it, they deserve what they get.” And here we are.

After phone calls, quotes, haggling, small talk and turning in artwork, I thought the deal had been done. We were on our way to new team issue and public issue jerseys, with a new layout for both, and an exciting new graphic on the left pocket of the jersey, a simple ‘666’ to offset the pactimo logo on the left pocket, and the Evil on the center. Everything sounds fine, right?

Not right.

After weeks of back and forth, I get the call. The basic drift of the call was this: “Some of our graphic personnel don’t feel comfortable making these jerseys, so we’ve opted to respect the religious views of our employees and pass on this business.” I started to feel my blood boil. “Are you serious?” I asked. “Yes, we’re serious, but we’d like to give you a referral at least.” I bypassed that for a little while as I let my pure unadulterated hatred for religion spill over into the winning argument. Now wait a minute, lady, (and it shouldn’t have been the lady, as the president of the company with whom I had had all initial discussions didn’t have the FUCKING STONES to call me himself) you mean to tell me your bible banging graphic folks will pass on thousands of dollars of business over a little 666 graphic? You mean to tell me that you, as a business, will allow that little thing to dictate your business protocol? What if I wanted to make a “Praise Allah” jersey, or perhaps “Buddhism rules”? Would you have stonewalled me then? Sounds almost like,…wait…..yeah, that’s the smell alright. Discrimination. Of the worst kind – religious. I bet if I had come to them with some stupid fucking Jesus idea, they would have pushed me to the front of the line, maybe even prayed a little while they made the layout.

I fucking hate religion. They talk about “The” lord. How about “A” lord, you stupid fucks. Lots of different gods make lots of different parts of the world go around, and in this case the one particular god got in the way of Evil, and it fucking pisses me off. I wish upon the graphics department of Pactimo a terrible flu. They can take their bibles and shove them straight up their ass

12/10/03

t was supposed to be just another winter Milwaukee maintenance training ride. Out of Whitefolks Bay (where I clearly do NOT belong) down to the city, up and down Ravine twice, back up the Lincoln Memorial climb, up to Brown Deer and back home. Nothing too special or epic. A warm winter hat takes the place of my helmet, my MP3 player is giving me a steady does of Deftones and the band A, and I am on my merry way, buffeted by the slight gusts coming off of Lake Michigan.

Near the Oakland turnoff, where the speed limit for cars is 25mph, I decide to make a little effort to spike the heart rate, so I latch onto the back of an Audi and draft him for a few hundred meters, then smartly pull to the right to resume the light spinning. I've done it almost every day since I moved here 6 weeks ago, and had never had a problem of any sort until today.

After another 100 meters or so, I see him for the first time. In his dark blue, unmarked Caprice, he pulls up alongside me, with his lights going. I am in near disbelief, and partial joy as I think "Shit yes! I always wanted to get pulled over by a cop on my bike!" He jabs his finger to the right, indicating he wants me to stop, and in accordance with the law, I do so.

The cop is the typical "nice area cop". He probably grew up as poor as me, but now cow tows and/or abuses the rich. He's all of 5'5", perfect cop moustache, smart black uniform, with his service pistol seeming unusually large juxtaposed against his weasel-ish frame. His swagger around the back end of the car tells all.

"You have any identification?" comes first. With no "hello" or anything. I cough up what I had, which was my cash card, then he starts scribbling in his little notepad, my name and info. Then comes the lecture.

"Oh, well thank you for pulling me over, I am new to the area and didn't know that." I try to play his game, not be smug, he's got a lot of pain in his face, and I do not want to be the recipient of the emotional pyroclastic flow when he pops.

He gets my address out of me, finds out I miraculously live in the richest area of Milwaukee (I rent a room in an unfinished house for now, but the address belies the chaos) and then his tone changes, but only mildly. The lecture continues....

"Look at you," he says, "you can't hear what's going on because of your headphones, (little does he know I play it pretty low, I can hear quite well, thank you) you don't have your helmet on (he punctuated this comment with a whiny tinge to his speech and besides - helmets are choice, regardless of how stupid it is to not ride with one) and you're drafting cars. You know you wouldn't be able to stop if that car had to stop quickly. We just had a cyclist go down on Lake Dr., and he's still in the hospital because of the injuries he sustained, ok". He had a habit of saying "ok" at the end of every sentence. Deep in his eyes, as he blew me his ration of shit, I could see the sentiment of "i had my lunch money stolen every day as a child". I tried to convey "me too, man, me too". back at him, but the power flu given to him by his badge and his gun was impenetrable. He continued, "it's guys like you who are giving the Lake Dr. cyclists a bad name. And being a rider myself, I take particular notice of it, ok." Heretofore, I did not know of the existence of the sect known as "Lake Drive Cyclists", or if it even exists, but I fought hard the urge tosay "Fuck you, pig boy, I'm Evil. Take your helmet ideology and cram it upyour ass, and go get your bike so I can smoke you. Fuckass."

I abstained from this tirade to listen to him as he completed his gracious exit. "You know, I could write you tickets for this (where's my camera, where's my camera!) but I won't, ok. I'm going to let you off with warnings for reckless driving, and following too closely." He says this in his pious voice, like he's doing me a favor. I wanted to kick him in the nuts, take his pistol and shoot all the tires in his car.

I couldn't help but start laughing as we parted ways. I wished I had had my camera with me, or an Evil sticker on hand to put on his squad, but had to take the experience for what it was. I look forward to attempting to elude the fucker next time, once I am more familiar with escape routes.

So far, Milwaukee is showing me the LOVE, baby......