Yort Fergnid, a third-year pro with Klerd Throopmor (Danish manufacturer of industrial insulation spackle) was finding this running of the Werg Plloopfrap challenging enough before being accidentally served a musette filled with spent growth hormone vials, blood bags, and syringes. “It’s only my fourth race with the squad, and they’re already trying to kill me.”
Fergnid describes the scenario.
“I went through the feedzone and instinctively grabbed the first bag handed to me by someone wearing our trademark pea-green and chartreuse jerseys. Though to me they’re really more of a drab olive and lavender. With just the slightest hint of eggplant. But I digress.
“When I went to grab an energy bar, I was stabbed by about fifteen needles. There are a lot of unusual things about our team, but that’s just messed up.”
An absent-minded soigneur was soon implicated.
“I thought immediately that that glassy-eyed stoner probably had something to do with it. That guy is completely spaced out half the time. I mean, he once tried to apply 10 Newton-meters of torque to my stem bolts rather than nine. Unbelievable! I’m also forever reminding him that I need a hypoallergenic pillow, and prefer a lemongrass hair conditioner. Sheesh. ”
Tristan Warner, a soigneur for the squad blames a lack of sleep. “From washing down bikes, doing laundry, confirming reservations, rider room assignments, mapping the route to the next day’s stage, etcetera, I’m working on, like, 14 minutes of sleep since Saturday.
“Everyone on the team thinks I’m stoned, but in reality, I’m just loopy from not sleeping. But what I wouldn’t give for a joint right now.”
Warner explains the mix up.
“I was supposed to have dumped it outside the hotel where some other teams were staying, but somehow, in the rush to get everything together this morning, it wound up with the feed zone musettes. I think I must’ve dumped the team’s mail instead. Oops.
“The authorities didn’t believe that the medicine was for my sick iguana, Quincy. He’s got some weird glandular condition that makes him look like a horny toad with leprosy. No-one will take care of him while I’m gone, so I’ve got to bring him with me. It’s really unfortunate that he needs blood transfusions and EPO. It’s all really just a big mix up, but WADA has no sense of humor. I swear, those guys don’t have mothers.”
The UCI levies their initial findings.
“Even if it was all for his goddamn lizard, how the spent medicine ended up with the feed bags indicates a staggering lack of rider safety controls,” proclaims UCI spokesperson, Klaus Molle. “I had an iguana once too and am sympathetic to Mr. Warner. The bond between man and reptile is very special. But that is no excuse…I miss my scaly little guy. Godspeed, Mr. Pickles!”
Though no riders were immediately named, the incident likely spells the suspension of the team’s license until the investigation is complete.
The squad has been under intensifying scrutiny ever since the Ronde von Frondenfloom spring classic during which its star rider, Lars Pluf, was disqualified for taking a fistful of Flintstone chewable fruit-flavored vitamins from his team car.
Although Pluf claimed to have a Therapeutic Use Exemption permitting the vitamins, observing race commissaire, Rolf Tressier, was quick to point out sub-clause c.3d.F.3467p of section 8U.3.e.X9t.k of the UCI regulations which clearly forbids riders from using “any crunchy children’s vitamin even remotely shaped like cartoon cavemen.”
With the team now embroiled in Iguanagate , Tressier explains that “the incident could extend to the broader peloton. We also found in Mr. Warner’s possession a list of what he claims to be his iguana’s pet names.
“No way we’re not falling for that one again.”