I remember every detail, clearly, as if it were yesterday. It was sometime in the mid to late 70’s. Vermont in June. Or maybe Reno. A cozy highway rest area. Sodium lamps buzz sensually overhead, casting a gentle, green-yellow glow on two pale bodies moving in unison in the back of a Ford Fiesta. Tiny Tim is on the hi-fi. A bottle of Potter’s vodka chills in an ornate, silver ice bucket in the front seat. Two pairs of elastic-front jeans lay crumpled in the inky darkness, their perfect, permanent-pressed creases belying the passion with which they were hastily removed. This was the night Goggles Paisano was conceived, and the night cycling history was born.
Fighter. Lover. Lover of Fighters. Fighter of lovers. Goggles Paisano is none of these and more.
Known as the Gorgeous Grimpeur of Greater Gresham (and environs), Goggles Paisano is JVA’s climbing specialist. Opponents speak in hushed tones of his uphill prowess. Alpine stages fall before him like the stock price of toiletpaperbybookratemail.com. When the pavement points up, he gets down. He finds elation at high elevation. He’s never met a hillclimb he couldn’t dominate, or a pair of XXS kneewarmers that would stay north of his knees after twenty minutes in the saddle. In short, if you find yourself at the start line and the stage profile looks pointy, pray Goggles Paisano is not among you. And if he is, pray for mercy.