Mr. Smooth

The cyclist approaches the 4-way stop. Gradually slowing as he nears.  His left pedal is at the bottom of the stroke and his right pedal at the top. He elegantly clips out of the left pedal with a sharp twist of the foot and drops his booted foot onto the ground. The right shoe still securely fastened into its pedal, right at the top of the stroke.

The rider is dressed in in tights, a highly visible jacket, helmet securely in place, and of course those nice cycling gloves! A car approaches from the right slowing to a stop. The occupants of the car, surely awed by the vision of the cyclist who is clearly out for a long ride on a beautiful, cool, and windy Spring day look on. Someone who knows what he is doing! Or perhaps that was a question in their minds?

A gust of wind from his left hits the cyclist in the chest.

Uh oh.

The biker’s aristocratic balance is upset. His right foot, still poised at the top of the stroke and securely fastened to the pedal begins the vain attempt to detach from the pedal. The foot twists right. Then left. Still attached.

What had been such magnificent balance now rapidly, as in instantly, disintegrates. His right foot is now twisting more quickly, almost with desperation. The world around him begins to slow. There is no balance. The long descent to the ground begins. The eyes of the passengers in the car begin to widen. They understand what is happening.

Over the cyclist goes. The rider’s knee impacts the pavement.  His shoe comes free from clip! At last, the necessary freedom! Followed suddenly with a “BOOM” as his hip quickly follows his knee into the pavement. Ouch…

The occupants of the now completely stopped car, with their jaws agape, look upon the rider astounded. What have they just seen? The rider quickly picks himself up off the pavement. Everything picked up but his pride spread upon the road.

The car moves on through the stop sign. The occupants still staring at the rider.

The rider clips back in and then moves on. "Mr. Smooth" and the beginning of the ride.  

The Very First ALS MN Bike Trek

A story of an epic ride and epic failure, for a great cause.

What follows is a tale told from truth. It is the adventure that occurred at the first annual ALS MN Bike Trek in 2010 by a group of riders from what today is the Chilkoot Cycling Club. This story is why you should join us and enjoy the roads of northern Washington County for this great event every year! Think of it - you too may be the next Chilkoot Cycling Club Hero!

I hope you enjoy and sign yourself up to either ride or support one of us who will be there chasing glory and helping others! 

The month of May. A time when the weather begins to warm, or is at least supposed to warm. The Giro kicks off the first of the major tours of the cycling season. Tulips are at the height of their bloom. Sleet pelts riders as they complete 70 miles of "Hell of the North", otherwise known as the ALS MN Bike Trek. May. A month we celebrate mothers and all they've done to us!

And the "sprinters" begin to get serious about their craft.

The legs, they are a fresh! 

Alas, with all the good, all the promise of the early season, and the Sprint Championship already won* there are those whose mental game is still not adequately prepared for the pressures we sprinters feel ride after ride. Rookie mistakes are made and some have their skills questioned, over and over, and over.

We have pain. And suffering. And they repeat. 

(For a change, it's not me.)

Before we begin this sad tale of one of our own’s terrible tragedy, take a minute or two and check out these stories:

Note the celebrant... and then read the caption 

Ouch.

And another... note the celebrant. 

That hurts. 

Do I have a point? Yes. But you're going to have to hear the full story to understand the point****.

Saturday May 7, 2010. 8 faces gather at the Bikery, then a cafe across the street from Chilkoot Cafe. Your heroes (some more heroic than others) for the day:

Ted 'The Prof' H.
Mike 'The bike does my talking' L.
Shawn "Not Sean and Yes! I'm from WI, u got a problem with that?" C.
John "J. Sully" Sutcliffe (me)
Brian formally "Chocolate Thunder" H. (Yes, the VP.) 
Randy "Red Sea" M. (Yes, the president, and always wiser than the rest of us.) 
Tim "I dropped you and I dropped you and I..." T.(Moots Man)
Paul "I have permission to be gone till noon" B.

We ride to lovely Withro Minnesota, then the start and end point of the ALS MN Bike Trek. But! At Withro we are joined by a guy name Greg "Bam!" M. (whom you all know, or if you don’t, you should, he’s not half as angry as he looks, usually) and another guy named Guy who is a friend of Bike Trek MN Founder Justin Rumley. Or WAS a friend of Justin's until he drove up from Iowa for this ride and spent the day on the bike with the Magic 8 + Greg who joined us in Withro.

Before leaving Withro (the ballroom, not the town) we ran into another 'guy' but this 'guy' was on a Motorcycle - his name was Tim, Tim 'Ducati' P.. It was a nice motorcycle - it was red - like an Argon Gallium (not the Pro, which is white.) Tim Ducati looked cold. We saw him later. He was cold. Not Iron Crotch*** cold, but still quite cold. Tim has a good story about people colder than him who had flat tires. You should ask him about it. It was his good turn for the day.

Off we go. North up County Road 57 past Withro Elementary School. And what should appear but the first Stop Ahead sign of the day. A fearsome Stop Ahead to begin our day, perched right at the top of a monster climb of 20, maybe 25 feet! 

And only 2 were brave enough to go one on one for this sprint. The Prof and Sully. With Sully on the inside and The Prof on the outside. Hammer down, uphill, gear shift. Onto the hill. Heart rate building. And... 

The first sprint to Sully! Yep. Sully. Stunned silence.

Big early win. Could this set the tone for the day? The Prof does soon mention something about "tired legs". Sully thinks “Yeah, tired legs. That was just a good 'ole fashioned whoopin!” The group continues - they all revel in what the Argon has achieved. Even Sully can win a sprint with a nice bike! The Prof though, you can see the burn in his eyes. The others - perhaps they're pretending to enjoy the results.

We then catch Mike L. and Moots Man who were slightly up the road from us (we'll ignore that they may have passed the Stop Ahead before the group as that would take away from the building drama, some might say "foreshadowing" of what's to come) 

The group continues turning north onto Manning.

We approach the first ALS Bike Trek rest stop. We stop, not at the rest stop but at the entrance to the rest stop. Unable to make any sort of a decision on stopping to rest or to continue and not rest. We discuss if we should go in, or should continue. This goes on longer than it would have taken to go in and get another scone. 

Mr. "Home by Noon" FINALLY makes the call: “Let's go on! But I reserve the right to complain later about not stopping!” We all agree. This man is a genius.  

Continue we do. (You feel the tension building don't you?)

We head north on Manning past Highway 97 up to 228th Street. We take 228th to the east, the route taking us around the south end of Bone Lake. A great road and the scene of what is to become the day’s major drama (there's always drama on our rides, much to the chagrin of guys named Guy who are very quiet except to say they're just gonna try and "hang on" and crushing you like a bug on the car windshield and they're also friends of the event organizer and got stuck riding with THIS GROUP who have a few people who talk a lot, illustrated by this story.)

Back to the story: The group is heading east. Beautiful new blacktop. Smooth as a babies butt. 10 riders rolling along. Eyes peeled for that next Stop Ahead.

We had just been riding a very nice double pace line coming up Manning. It was a thing of beauty. Lee would've been so proud. And then we made that fateful right hand turn onto 228th. Brian calls for the pace line to come back together. But this is NICE blacktop. The wind is now on our backs. We're happy. The sun has just come out. It's warming up (as long as you don't stop). Life is good! And we ignore ole Brian and his pleas for "togetherness". 

And what should appear in the distance but a Stop Ahead. Sprint two! Wind 'em up and here they go!

Brian on the outside - Greg on the inside. Brian goes. Greg jumps. Everyone else yawns with excitement. No Argon? Why bother? But Greg is closing. Closing like, like, like adjectives can not explain. Suffice it to say the gap is closing FAST! 

They're at the line. WOW!

Greg almost goes down. his bike jerks to the right almost taking out Brian. Brian somehow hangs on for the win. 

The field all take a drink from their water bottle, yawn, and continue on.

Unlike Sully whose ego needs very little stroking, just a happy go lucky kind of guy who hates the spotlight, you can see Brian’s head begin to swell under the bike helmet he calls home for his hair.

The swelling head is pushing Brian off the front a bit. For him an exciting moment, if not rare. Not something that happens often to guy who at that time was still on aluminum and not on a brand new really fast Argon 18 Gallium (not the Pro).

Following in the wake of the swollen head is Greg. Licking his wounds a bit. But the better man for the effort he'd just put forth. Brian is 25 meters in front of Greg and to the inside of the road, near the center line. With Greg in the middle, perhaps slightly to the right of the mid-line of the lane. And our hero Sully a few meters behind Greg and further to the right.

And there it looms, another Stop Ahead. Sprint 3? Maybe. Maybe not. Brian looks back over his left shoulder. 

He covers a few more meters.

And again he looks.

That stop ahead is about 100 meters away. And the distance coming down.

Brian thinks (this is author speculation regarding what ran through that swollen head may actually indicate there was very little thinking involved by the man on the front with the HUGE advantage.) “I've got this one. The feared Argon is behind Greg, and I've just broken Greg’s spirits not to mention he's 25, maybe 30 meters behind me. This is mine! I'll be up by 2 sprints to 1 to the ever feared J. Sully!”

And his celebration beings igniting the fireworks behind him. (Poor, poor Brian.) 

The line up - Brian** , 100 meters from the Stop Ahead, his position near where a center line would be if there were a center line on this REALLY QUITE blacktop.

Gregory "Bam!" in 2nd position. 25 meters off Brian's back wheel. Near the middle of our lane.

And in 3rd, our hero, J. "Sully", sitting carefully to the right of Greg. As hidden as a bald 6'4" man on a 61cm frame can be when he's behind a not quite 5'4" man who's on a close to 54cm frame.

Brian looks over his left shoulder.

Sully, starts licking his chops, lips clearly chapped on this chilly day.

Brian takes another look.

Sully begins the acceleration. Carefully. Trying to stay camouflaged by Gregory.

Brian, another look, and celebration 1 begins. The might fist pump! 

Sully moves hard. Right leg, left leg, up a gear, RPMs increasing like a bullet coming out of gun! BOOM! Sully moves around the left of Greg. The gap that had been 25 is now 24, and 23... and falling rapidly as Sully's explosiveness pays the dividends his well trained quads were designed for... And oh the Argon... Have I mentioned the Argon?

22 meters...

19 meters...

Brian moving on to celebration number 2: sitting up and using the ever popular “rock the baby”! 

17 meters...

15 meters... The gap is closing... Brian, nearly as close to winning another sprint as he will ever be.

10 meters... Sully finds another gear as Brian moves into celebration number 3: a “no hands double arm wavement thingy”. 

7 meters... this is serious - Brian is now into all out celebration number 4, something that is beyond the words this author can come up with to describe.  

And the gap is...

2 meters...

Brian looks over his shoulder one last time. It's obviously an effort not designed to spot oncoming riders but to take in the look of the riders who had been far, far behind our fading champion. He spots Sully. Agast, the man formerly known as Thunder moves to his left in an effort to push our hero (Sully) into the ditch followed by a feeble try at "acceleration". 

But Brian understands he is not a young man like our hero. 

Their wheels are now even. But it's over. It's been over even before the premature celebrations kicked off 60.5 meters ago.

Sully is now up by a wheel length  And now 2 wheels. Brian has tears beginning to flow in his eyes. A yowl from his inner soul emerges that sounds like a squirrel hit by 35mm tire on a cross-bike.

(It hurts me just retelling this. But retold it must be.)

Brian knows in his heart of hearts it's over. He's become Erik Zabel. He is the cocky cyclist. And not only has he lost yet another sprint, but he's lost this one with an Exclamation point! A dagger between the shoulder blades. A stiletto placed into the ribs. The shot heard round the world.

One for the ages that our hero, J. Sully will likely retell every chance he has. 

The oncoming peloton nearly crashes as they laugh with such excitement they nearly fall from their perch on their bicycle. A rider lightly wets their bibs!

Sully uses the single, distinguished, subtle but point making fist pump. No rock the baby. No double hands in air with a twist. Just a simple placement of the victory knife right where it belongs.

Let's be honest. That's gotta hurt. Your hero, J. Sully, winner of the first 2 most major sprints of this young cycling season thinks in his head: "Boy, that's hurting you much more than it's hurting me."

And we'd only gone 25 or 30 miles! There is more. The sneak attack on the way into Scandia. The rest stop at the State Park. The team letting Moots Man think he'd ridden away from us again.

The parting of the sleet by Mr. “Red Sea” as we finish the Hell of the North. There may even have been 1 or 2 more sprints? Who can remember.

Mr. Home By Noon never did use his reserved right to complain about not stopping at that rest stop.

Mike, the man who speaks through his bike did what he always does and put the hurt to us.

Mr. C. - the blue Cannondale - rode off into the sunset back to WI from wince he came. Sorry for the fact he'd "ridden over". 

It was a grand day! We shall return next year. I'm sure the rematch will be just as fun!

* The first annual Calvin Jones Bikery Field Sprint on the First Saturday of May.
** The new nickname for the former 'Chocolate Thunder'.
*** Iron Crotch - An early season ride in Western Wisconsin that is designed to test your crotch’s fortitude early in the cycling season. Often wet and cold and cold and wet.
**** Rereading this 3 years later, I think I may have never gotten to the point. Or maybe I did. Ride, enjoy, and do it with people you enjoy!

Originally appeared Thursday, May 13, 2010 at 9:57pm, shortly after this tragedy. 

PS - sometime I should tell the story of the clown who sprints early and often on rides and then suffers home into the wind over those last final 10 25 miles with the juice fully drained from his now “tired legs”.

Moi Aussi!

Me Too! 

By now you are overly familiar with J. Sully (me) taking matters into his (my) hands to ensure J. Sully gets The Call for the 2015 Le Tour. If you’re not, besides being lucky, you can jump over here and understand what Le Call means. It is true that your time spent reading The Call will be 2 minutes and 30 seconds you’ll never get back, ever, but it is well worth it to put “Me Too!” (this story) into better context. ("Better" maybe to strong an adjective, anyway...) 

Le Tour. What’s it take to get The Call? Here’s what it takes: 

Cancellara warns of attack on the Tour De France Cobbles. 

Well guess what? Your hero, J. Sully will be on those same Cobbles that same day, and I too am going to attack! I (Sully) is going to attack like it is no one's business! All those other Tour Fans on our tour of the Le Tour are going to get attacked as J. Sully, like you see him do on Saturday’s at Stop Ahead Sprints, is going to go off the front, put the hammer down, pedal like there is no tomorrow, and dominate the tour, but not Le Tour! 

All towards getting THE CALL in June 2015! 

Yes! Moi aussi Fabian! Me too! 

Moi Aussi is Part 3 of the ongoing series of J. Sully making 1 last run at riding Le Tour!

Part 1: Le Call

Part 2: Le Weight

Le Weight!

In my last narrative we talked about The Call. A story of a “young man’s” (mine) dream of getting The Call to rush to France to fill out a Le Tour team that is in (very) desperate need of just 1 more rider to guide them through 21 stages of the greatest athletic event yet invented.

You should probably read that previous narrative first.

Thanks for coming back!

Why is it that J. Sully (me) has not gotten The Call? As we think back to the last story, which I’ve already mentioned you should have already read, you know I’m off to France, Belgium, even Luxembourg to take matters into my own hands. If THE CALL will not come to me, I am going to go find THE CALL. On this mission my goal is to ensure that THE CALL comes in 2015!

Today my friends, we have uncovered the first piece of Le Puzzle: Why has THE CALL not already arrived?

Le Weight!  

“What???”, you now find yourself thinking, “what has weight got to do with this?”

Well, let me tell you I am not only off to Le Tour (the cool kids say it that way, maybe) to hunt down THE CALL but I am following the media following Le Tour and I am studying just what it takes to receive THE CALL!

Flash back, if you will, to the 2013 Tour De France, the champion was a young man named Chris Froome, 6 Feet and 1 inch/1.86942984 meters tall and 157 pounds/71 kg in weight. Fast forward to now and in some people’s eyes Chris is not the favorite to repeat this championship effort in 2014 after his “collapse” in the Critérium du Dauphiné in early June. Mr. Froome fell from the Yellow Jersey to 12th overall in the 2014 edition of the Critérium du Dauphiné but still managed to come home as the winner of the Green Jersey.

(Sully, have you got a point to this story? Yes, I do. Hang on.)

In my eyes he, Mr. Chris Froome, remains the favorite for this year’s Tour De France (Americans say it like this), despite this collapse.

Why?

Here is why:

From this story at bicyling.com Mr. Froome is asked:

What is your plan between now and the start of the Tour de France?

And Chris answers:

We’re going to train in the Alps or we may do a little bit of recon in the Pyrenees. I’ve still got a bit of weight to lose before the Tour, maybe a kilo.

Read it again…

A Kilo.** A single, solitary, individual KILO!

Think back to The Call.

Can you see it? I can.

A kilo: 2.20462 US Pounds, 0.157473 Stone, 35.274 Ounces!

THE CALL is but 1 kilo from my grasp! I feel it. A trip to France. Cobbles, mountains, (some) wine and:

In 2015... In the midst of June... The phone will ring:

J. Sully: "Bonjour!, Bonjour!!!”

Heavily accented unknown caller, bored: "Is this J. Sully, of Stillwater MN, USA?"

J. Sully, now breathless and heart racing: "Yes! Yes it is!!! I AM J. SULLY!"  

Heavily accented unknown caller: “Thank you for taking my call Jay. Would you like to take 15 minutes to cut your insurance bill? "

Jump back to Part 1: Le Call
Jump ahead to Part 3: Mau Aussi 

**While it is true Mr. Froome mentioned the Alps, here in Minnesota we have not just Pawnee but also Chilkoot. I’m good on the climbing part. Right??

Le Call

It is la** time of the year when all over the internet you see nothing but stories of the world’s great cycling teams announcing their lineups for Le Tour. There is much talk of who can beat last years champion Mr. Froome. Everyone wonders if A. Contador will eat tainted Spanish beef. 

But, more importantly, it is the time of the year when J. Sully (me) waits for le CALL!

For those of you who follow the trials and tribulations of J. Sully (e.g. drop me), you know that for years, our hero, J. Sully (me) has been waiting for “The Call”. If you follow cycling and the race of the year, le Tour (the cool kids say it that way, maybe) you are familiar with “The Look” given from the “greatest” (in a physically/doped sense, not morally) rider in le Tour history to another infamous former “Champion” of what I consider one of the greatest athletic challenges of all time. (relive The Look, it really is amazing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MdMdJAdzpYQ at about 21 seconds), 

Yes, I’m still talking about the le Tour - where men wear tights and ride up the sides of mountains at a pace unimaginable to most. 

Le Call, in my mind, would be of the magnitude of Le Look!

The Call goes “something” like this:

J. Sully: “Hello?”

Unknown voice with accent, slightly harried: “Bonjour! Is this J. Sully?”

J. Sully: “Yes, Bonjour. Who is this?”

Unknown voice with accent, with slight relief in voice: “So wonderful to track you down. We need you! Le Tour begins in just a few days. Our lead out train is now short 1 man. Can you come?”

J. Sully: “Well, I do have work. And a bike club who depends on me on Saturdays.”

Unknown voice with accent: “But we need you. A 30 day contract. All the EPO you can use. Can you come?”

J. Sully, slightly hesitant: “Well, my French is not very good… and, as I said, my club, what about my club? I mean, the Coffee Ride...”

Unknown voice with accent cutting me off: “My friend! Jerseys! Bibs! Skin suits!! And an aero helmet too! We need you!”

In my (small) mind, for years now, I've dreamt of this call coming. As my years on this planet increase along with my cholesterol, my time to be called is shortening. Soon I will be as old as the riders in le Chilkoot Cycling Club who drop me every Saturday, and at that age, who's gonna call? I mean, besides the American Association of Retired Folks or whatever they're called.

So now is the time! Action is required! I am taking matters into my own hands! I am bringing the bike and bibs to them! If the mountains will not come to me, I will head to the mountains.

My friends I am off to Europe to show the world that NOW is the time for The Call. I will follow le Tour! I will ride the cobbles! I shall ride the mountains on Bastille Day! I shall be dropped by those from other lands! And I will send updates! (Um, sorry.)

In 2015... In the midst of June... The phone will ring:

J. Sully: "Hello, Bonjour!"

Heavily accented unknown caller, slightly bored: "Is this J. Sully? The J. Sully?"

J. Sully, now breathless: "Yes! Yes it is!!!"  

Heavily accented unknown caller: “Ah! We've found you. Would you care to cut your interest rate in HALF on your Visa?"

(jump to part 2 of this adventure)

(ps - I’ll put all the pics & video of my mission up elsewhere and try not to fill up chat. It’s bad enough having to watch me climb trying to catch you as you (thankfully) wait for me. I won’t force more of the same (looking, not waiting)!

** "Clever" use of French: https://translate.google.com/#fr/en/la

IronKoot: The "Ride" Report

IronKoot One

It begins with an idea. The idea is shared. The idea is thought highly of or in some cases not. Occasionally the idea is forgotten. Those who have done the forgetting are happy they forgot once they are reminded of the thing they had forgotten about, but now, alas, they are sad for having been reminded of the thing they had happily forgotten. (What’s this about again?)

Or maybe they just missed the email? It is simply both confusion and confusing.

IronKoot One followed this same pattern. A slightly balding gentleman somehow with the nickname “Sully” had an idea that he likely stole (the idea for the ride, not the nickname) from someone else. He none-the-less presents this idea as his and discusses this idea with board members who run the ever efficient Chilkoot Cycling Bicycling Club, CCBC, and then this Sully “cyclist” fires the email with the idea of this IronKoot to the club. The idea now heads out over chat. And the members of CCBC roll their eyes, slam closed the lids of their laptops, drop their fancy, yet oversized Android Mobile Device in the snow while fat tiring through the woods (never to be seen again, the phone, not the rider) and think: “This guy, again? Why am I on chat…”

Surprisingly, this idea only generates 40 or 50 emails. Pretty low for a thought shared on chat designed to turn into a ride for the CCBC members. A good sign! Or perhaps foreshadowing of something more dark?

These things always end the same. We ride. And so it was with the first ever IronKoot. Some call it IronKoot 1. Some call it IronKoot last. In either case, it was the first ever IronKoot of which you will never ever have the chance to participate. Perhaps you will have the opportunity to partake in IronKoot 2, 3, or more, but never the first. And you should be thankful for that.

But this is a report of the “ride”, not of the ride development, ride planning, and ride execution plan planning. On to the action!

The day of IronKoot One nears. We are into the 10 day forecast window of the various internet sites that repackage and sell as their own the weather forecast. And that repackaged drivel does not look good. As the day of the event moves closer and closer and the weather “forecasters” hysteria for rain grows, the darkness, foreshadowed many months earlier, looks more and more like truth. Nothing but the truth.

We are within 24 hours of the start of IronKoot 1. It will rain. And it will not be warm. And the wind will blow. Hard.

Oh.

But IRON is not a part of the IronKoot name for nothing. For we are the CCBC! IRON represents how we ride! Hard and fast with only a little bit of rust.  We shall meet and we shall ride!

We gather beneath the Flag of Flanders that represents strength and fortitude. Sunday morning. The pros are on the telly and if they can compete for 260K, the IronKoot can go on.

Oh the coffee is marvelous. The French toast (in honor of European cycling!) simply divine. The fruit cup amazing. But we must ride, for we are Chilikootians! Really, just how bad can it be? Certainly there will be a window we can sneak through?  

Oh.

Wait, is that an opening? Which way is that thing moving? Hurry, hit “map in motion”. We can sneak through there? Right?

And Liège Bastogne Liège 2014 continues. 3k to go. A small break with 10 seconds on the closing peloton. Tension grips the room and the Koots gaze out the window.

Oh.

And Liège comes to an end. An amazing finish. Dan Martin has fought across the gap to nearly claim the lead. They make a hard left to the finish line 100 meters away, wait - the video is much better: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zL_1de_2Pq4 (It’s only 17 seconds, go watch it.)

Oh.

And that road is dry.

We have a new champion in Liège. The Koots look around the room. “Oh, look at the time. I better get home.” “I probably should go.” Dirty dishes are quietly returned to cafe. Table and chairs put back into their home. The Kootians file out slowly into the rain. To their cars, with only the shame of not having ridden and some great coffee and breakfast in their stomachs.

The drive of shame back to home.

Oh.

We Kootians are a hearty lot! There will be another chance to redeem the shame of not riding in the 39F degree temps, through the 30mph (48Kph), and driving but still pouring rain. And we will all take solace in the fact that 1 among us rode at least a section of IronKoot One because he had hope and is bad at weather maps in motion. He thought that “Yes! Indeed there would be a break in the weather!”

Oh.

We are shamed. But, he was wrong, there was no break. There was but the hint of a break in the weather which lead to a US gallon of water stored in his tights. But he did ride and we did not.

And for that (not having ridden) we are DAMN HAPPY!

OH!!!

And Nick is your IronKoot One Most Valuable Rider(MVR)/Worst Weather Forecaster(WWF) 2014!