Douchebags of the week: Rapha and their gentleman

At first blush the Rapha Gentlemen's Race sounded wicked awesome. Unsanctioned and unmarshalled. Oh yes, the perfect double u combo that all but implies that chainsaws are welcome.

As if.

With a race put on by Rapha I should have known from the get go that there'd be no Mad Max shit. I guess that's the optimist in me. The same optimist who once spent half his rent on a Rapha jersey only to have the pockets fall apart after two wearings. Really, you'd think a $150 Chinese made jersey might be built for the long haul but I guess Rapha decided to go for the cheapest sweat shop possible. Come on, Rapha don't feel bad about hiring children. Their nimble little fingers can stitch up those hard to reach places like nobody's business.

Instead, what we get is a glorified group ride. Sure 130 miles with almost 8,880 feet of climbing is most certainly epic. But when said ride has a Casiotron providing the soundtrack and the lame version of the Sklar brothers providing the commentary, this gentleman's "race" is suddenly one peanut butter sandwich holding leather handlebar bag away from being a fat ass filled brevet.