Sunday Music Inspriations

We had about 10 musicians show this past Sunday. What a hoot, a big bass too, a mandolin. I have to tell you, after playing blues for two years with nothing else, I was a little freaked out by the scales of the folksy bluegrass stuff. Same with the harp. I will indeed become a fiddle master for these fine folks. One of the people in the audience said that we should all get together and play at the Fountains, the senior community up the street. Before she got out of the room I through my coffee on her in disgust.

Nope, I have better billings than a nursing home planned. It wasn't long ago that I stood on the stage at the fox while Charlie Daniels played a couple songs. He and I had hit it off after a conversation at a pre-gig party in one of the suites at the Fox Theater. I had access to the side stage where I got my own show. That sombitch was a Long Haired Country Boy indeed. I was also with Dave Mason who was in town for KSHE's 20th birthday party. My bro John Bell had hooked us up with some backstage passes and I put on my best Kramer attire for the gig. John, well, he kind of screwed up. He got busted in the limo making out with some groupie and got thrown out of the after party later. Johns brother was Dave's manager and the entire night was on him.

Kevin Cronin, Jimmie Ray Vaughn, and a couple others were hanging with us too at the down at the Landing. Prior to getting the boot, we were having a pretty good time, but that is not the story.

I have never been able to hold much water. I think my mom saw to it that about one beer is the limit and don't crack the seal if there are no restrooms in sight. This was that case with Dave Mason. I was back stage looking for a bathroom and feeling quite uncomfortable. I couldn't find a john and I was getting to the point when I was going to bail on the party and go out with the lay people to use the head in general admission. Just then I see this girl come out of a sound room area and I snuck in where nobody could see. She was a back-up singer for the Fabulous Thunderbirds and hadn't missed too many meals. Can't remember her name but she kept me standing there for 15 minutes while I faded to yellow.

Once inside the bathroom I heard others come in the room behind me and begin scuffling around. When finished I opened the door to see Dave Mason and another guitarist tuning up "Only You Know that I Know" before concluding their warm up with "Feeling Alright". I was the only one in the room, and Dave, whom I had gotten to know both he and his wife quite well that night, tossed his chin up and smiled-- like I now had a piece of greatness? It would not have been appropriate to clap or say anything, I didn't have to. They left the room behind me and I walked them out to the stage. Nope, no nursing home for me.

Really diggin the new teeth.

My wife said she preferred my teeth before the procedure. I had a coupon.

Purpose Driven 8-track

I don't listen to the radio anymore. Not for music anyway. Listening to music on the radio has almost become a thing of the past. It's all talk now. Back in the days it was all we had--radio and eight track tapes. The eight track tape system was about a POS, wadinit?. But it gave us our favorite tunes easily dispensed through the newest technology of---hell, I don't even think Sony had come out with anything yet. I had a case the size of a large toolbox filled with the bulky plastic things. I had a Craig tape player, with Jenson Triaxials mounted in boxes with a bunch of power boosting Foghat, Bad Company and REO Speedwagon out the windows of...whatever car that was equipped at the time.

It was 1978 or 1979 and things were not all that pretty. What I remember the most is what we were wearing. John Travolta saved his image with Pulp Fiction after two violent wrong doings in the style arena. Saturday Night Fever anyone? WTF? How many of you had plaid bell bottom pants with cuffs and polyester shirts unbuttoned below your chest? (insert Grandmaster Geezer here)

Men were getting permanents for chrisake! I should have framed my platform shoes in a shadowbox to remind myself to jump off a cliff if they ever come back in style. A buddy of mine said he saw a pair of shoes like the ones I had in a not-so-acceptable video at a swap meet the other day. I used to wear them to church. That is just wrong.

Travolta revolted us in Urban Cowboy directly following up the Bee Gee era; his ability to change popular culture. Again, who would have ever thought we would all ride a mechanical bull at least once in our lives? I rode those things weekly and life was not complete until I had a collection of cowboy hats. One for summer, a shitkicken straw hat with a big feather thing on the front, (this was for the Lynard Skynard hooping and hollarin style), lots of denim, these were fighting times. I got punched in the face a couple times wearing that hat. I had a 10X Beaver hat too, pretty as a new suit, for the winter and the girls. It cost about a hundred bucks in 70's money. I had a spray for it too, for the rain. I didn't want to tell anyone how much I spent on it. I also had a pin made that had my name on it. Hat pins for beaver cowboy hats were the shi-at back then.

I also blame Bert Reynolds for some of this. Smoky and The Bandit (1) provided me with reason to purchase a Pontiac Trans AM. Friend and fast car enthusiast John Manning one-uped me constantly with his nice car savvy, so when Bandit came out, I jumped at the chance to buy one of those turbo models. I paraded that car all over California, Texas and everywhere else I went while trying to make my way. After moving back to St. Louis in 1986 my baby got stolen by one of my dishwashers from a parking lot at Union Station Houlihans, where I worked. It was the end of an era. Little did I know that, 25 years later, the landing spot for my pristine memento of the late seventies would end up being where my daughter would attend college. What was formerly the Mid-Town housing projects of the 70's and 80's is now home to what St. Louis University has annexed. After a brief chase with the police, my car, in an eerie attempt to predict the future, shut one door and opened another. "Slow Ride" anyone?

A Tough Man's Spiritial Paradox

I had dinner at Annie Guns last night and what a pleasure that was. First because the food and service exemplify all that is right in a restaurant. The staff at there are incredible stewards of the business and the food is always creative and prepared with impeccable care by Chef Lou Rook III. Second and most importantly,and without remorse, I am ecstatic for not having to pay for it. Thanks to my neighbors for sneaking the C card out while I was at the loo, or maybe my hand was just a little to late to reach. My 40 dollar strip steak was wonderful, like a sausage in fresh casing it sat in my stomach until the 7 AM opening of the elimination window. (Thank you Coach Hammer for the term "elimination".)

I mentioned early on to my hosts that I was needing to get to sleep at a decent hour, because I was invited to a bible study at 7:00 AM in St. Charles and I wanted to be fresh. It would be my first. Having never attended a bible study I remarked that "I am likely the token agnostic of the group"--"of which the pivoting will surely come"...during the study. I blurted this out in between slurps of a California Pinot Grigio.

A pause and then a full silence fell upon the table. And it occurred to me that my neighbors were Catholic and since, in my opinion, most organized religion folks seem to box and label in regard to their understanding of things. Touting yourself as an agnostic (humor based or not) dropped their jaw like a baby oil covered bowling ball.

And I know they were Catholic because I remember them coming in to Lone Wolf covered in ash one Wednesday afternoon, and, instead of saying "uh..guys..dirt-on-your-face", I said nothing--and was immediately taken back to my parochial school days at Sacred Heart Elementary Catholic School in Columbia Mo, where I got all freaked out going to confession a couple times and then, upon completion of (my perception of the experience) my mom asking the question: "don't you just feel better?"

Why yes, I did indeed feel better after getting the heck out of there. It always freaked me out some of the traditions of the Catholic Church and I have had a bit of an issue with this sort of thing for quite some time, traditions found in all kinds of faith based things, ever since. Not my fault, it is just the way it is with me.

Later in life, when I was able to make decisions for myself, which was quite possibly a little earlier than necessary due to circumstances relating to my lack of support for moral agenda, I felt religion and/or spirituality of any kind, or any outward proclamation of the sort for that matter, to be a weakness. I can't deny the fact that when it came down to it, the entire concept of spirituality seemed a little uncool. There was too much....--that which someone could be sold, convinced, brainwashed. It was like Amway, A.L. Williams, Relive, NSA Water filter multi-level marketing of the lord. People like this really get under my skin and it started early on. Later in life I was equally turned off because, like my mother, in an attempt to provide my kid with some form of spiritual influence, the clergy continually had their hand out, the whispers of pledge fulfillment, offerings, fund raisers, guilt...guilt...guilt.

Hey, it was not that I haven't had an "understanding" of something (no personification) greater than I guiding me through certain uncertainties, especially through the years most complicated by indulgence and through the tough times growing up. I always thought that I was chosen to do something great. I am not totally clear on what that is yet, but I still believe it. I am also convinced that doing something great has a lot to do with helping my fellow man out a bit, the planet, the world we live in. I am guided by the need to put this first, me second. In fact, I am interested in learning a bit more about the spiritual connection with God (personified as a human being or not) in order to study the successful processes that I have seen in others achieving something great for the betterment of our condition. So there you have it.

I find it interesting writing about this. I am apprehensive knowing that somebody will read this and take the same pause or equivalent. That..."is he sure he really means that" pause that, should his day come soon he will surely be in big trouble in because he did not conform.

Well, I am grateful there is concern, however, I am not much of a traditionalist and I need to craft out my own understanding while making my way in the world as whom I have become. I prefer my God to have a bit of empathy over the fact that I don't plan on tossing myself in the creek in the name of anything other than the refreshing goodness for which it stands. I suck at some of the stuff in life that, according some, puts me at risk. Fear...fear...fear...

I don't mean to question the traditions and ideologies of the masses for my own benefit. After all, I was the one asked to come and play a part and I genuinely feel that my cards were on the table in regard to my "level of spirituality" prior to agreeing to joining the bible study. I take comfort in this as I embark on the knowledge quest. There is something about turning over the fight to somebody else. There is somewhat of an immediate cure to the unknown if you look at it that way. Though I do see it as an intellectual dud. More on this later.

Can I get an amen?

"The truth is you're the weak. And I'm the tyranny of evil men. But I'm tryin', Ringo. I'm tryin' real hard to be a shepherd".
Jules Winnfield played by Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction.

Diggin deep at Berryman

"...I am not sure the depth to which I can go but usually there is gas in the tank at the end, about enough to dance to the cooler..."

The amount of pain that I can handle before succumbing to "it", that "I quit" or the "damn, I am going to talk myself in to a mechanical" or some other underlying reason for quiting, when everyone else is trotting to the finish...that is what I am talking about. I am not sure anyone else knows how deep they can go either, unless pushed for what ever reason to the point of death or exhaustion. What we all need is the occasional circumstance that requires a need to survive, we need this basis, benchmark etc. That is why we have sport, us humans. Exhaustion being subjective of course.

That is why I like the O-sport thing, the mountain biking, trail running, hiking, climbing, adventure stuff. Not that I am all that remarkable, but I feel it necessary to push until I fully understand how far I can go. Just when you think you have maxed it out, there are reminders that I have barely scratched the surface. I have a lot of work to do and it is indeed seasonal, the fitness required to achieve good results. In the wild the only results is survival and I think I can hold my own on multiple dicipines, running, rafting, kayak, riding thing if need be. There are no limits to the pain, only that which is felt on any particular day and for whatever particular reason and with whatever overcoming factor that we choose to draw upon. Case in point, the Berryman last Saturday. This one is for you Paul. I did suck, but you knew this was going to happen. I guess I finally broke the seal.

Friggin Geezer went off rather quickly and I knew that I would suffer. He is pissed at me because I have not many road miles in my legs and he thinks I have been working too much and not staying focused. True that, but I stayed with him on the climbs for a mile and adapted the fast spin so fashioned by the old guy. He spins at a higher rpm than most and (at 60 years old) pretty well puts the hammer down on anyone. Skuck was behind me and and the roots were not his friend for a short time. This time of year Skuck gets a little more empowered to dance the roots and rocks and I have a harder time staying in front of him on the downhills because by late August he has been to Colorado or some other place where his skill building kicks in. On the climbs he usually overtakes me, first because he is about 45 pounds lighter, second because after he warms up he is pretty much a machine and I won't chase him. Skuk chased Paul for the entire day.

Skuck is having a good year and I suppose I have again fallen short of commitment to achieve his status. I linger around the tail end of my class, occasionally moving up at some obscure race or later in the season when everyone else is either burned out or injured. I peak in October for the most part. And that ain't no big deal. Due to the pain of Saturdays ride, I should be able to achieve a thing or too, however.

The twosome pulled away from me by the time we got to the campground about 10 miles in to Berryman. Instead of heading out on the 14 miles back to Brazil Creek, we decide to head down to Hazzle Creek, the opposite direction on the Ozark Trail on a point to point. What a wonderful system. The trail was clear, open and fast all the way to...where ever the hell we went. We never made it to the creek, we assumed was 10 more miles in. I think we went 5 or 7 miles and then came back to steal some water off of a house on the road with an old yellow dog. Then headed back to the Berryman. (begin whining)

This is where I started with the problems. I suppose we were just about 20 miles in and I was toast. WTF? The rest of the trail, as rocky and as rooted as it was, surely would offer up the normal amount of pain. Berryman always does this anyway. I didn't really see those guys until Paul flatted and I pulled around just to keep things going. By the time we got to the spring, I was a twisted sister of whining pudding. It was there that it hit me. I will not be beaten. I needed some fried chicken and the Hen House promised an all you can eat special for 9 bucks in Bourbon.

So digging deep was what I did. Out of food and bonking hard, I found myself alone on the Barryman with the occasional check in from Skuck. Paul had already gone skinny dipping in the creek when I came through cussing at the horses for trashing out the end of the trail, I wanted my 4 piece. I literally barely made it and hadn't felt that way before. I hadn't seen that side of pain in quite a while. I don't really know how many miles we went. We were out for 5 1/2 hours and, except for the flats (3) in our group. We pretty much rode the whole time. I didn't stop except to cramp up on the last climb and I could have walked on my hands faster than the slow grind--all I could do.

I will be returning soon to give it another go. Geezer didn't have to say much about it--he just took my chicken leg and ordered up a piece of blackberry pie to go.

The Blues

In 1983 I walked in to a bar called the Gin Mill on Goellner Road in Houston Texas with some friends from work. It was a blues joint with not a whole lot to make it remarkable other than the PA system on a black stage and a bartender with boobs a little perkier than they should have been at 50ish. A waxy carpet covered the floor that got swept and mopped instead of vacuumed because the pile had gotten sticky and then jet-smooth-as-vinyl from the years of spills and dance steamrolled into what was then the current state. It smelled like beer. Me and my group had just gotten off work from where we worked, Bennigan's, my job assignment for the year from S&A Restaurant Company. The Bennigan's was a couple streets over on Bissonett and highway 59.

The area where I lived had grown up rather quickly during the oil boom of the early 80's, this after the auto boom in the 70's that declined eventually and sent the auto workers to Texas to work on oil rigs. Strip malls shot up everywhere. Then suddenly, as if the lights switched off, people left, leaving entire neighborhoods foreclosed upon. There were a ton of workers out on the street with no jobs. Crime was bad. I had the T-tops from my 1980 Turbo Trans Am stolen twice in a month...T-tops!

The bad economy in Houston had something to do with the Savings and Loan crisis. Not too off center from the over lending that took place lately, but it was a little more regionalized as to the havoc. I didn't follow that stuff too much, it was not my concern. My world was working at Bennigan's 80 hours a week for a pittance, chasing the cocktail servers whom I was forbidden to socialize with and dealing with lack of sleep and hangover most of the time. It was such an awful way to carve out a living in a declined economy for a corporate restaurant chain soon to close a bunch of stores in the area. I was miserable and the future was bleak.

The entire culture was rotten. The city was lawless. I was doing my laundry one night in my apartment complex and went down to toss my clothes in the dryer. I held the door open for a gentlemen with his arms full and he smiled while brushing by, out the door into the darkness. When I reached in to the washer where my clothes had been, it was empty. The dude had stolen my wet clothes and looked me in the eye as I held the door open for him.

I left town eventually and moved to Kansas City to bet on football for a couple months and seek out the local music scene (Kiki and the Bon Ton Band anyone?) I thought I would fall back, re-group, and get ready for what was next. I had made it out of Houston in one piece without the benefit of license plates, they too were stolen from my parking space at the apartment complex. I found a job with Houlihan's and ended up in St. Louis, eventually marrying my wife, having a child and moving to white picket fence America, safe!

Houston was what did it for me. I got a taste of the blues and it has stayed with me since. In fact, I can't play anything else. I was banging on my new Dobro that Fenton James sold me for damn near nothin the other day. All that came out was some pretty serious Chicago blues licks, a smattering of Delta Blues from Tab Benoit, and some Rockabilly stuff from Southern Culture on the Skids, the Blasters, etc., I happen to play this stuff with a blues lick. My wife gets pissed because its "all I ever play anymore".

It was Joey Long who invited me up on stage when I motioned to him with my harmonica while standing next to the bar at the Gin Mill. I hadn't really played with a blues band yet, done some country out in Kansas in a bar for a while, that twangy swingin stuff, even played with Mellisa Etheridge one night at Cooters and didn't realize it until 20 years later, not sure she was even gay back then. I had tapes of Ozark Mountain Daredevils in my car and would play along while driving the roads to and from the sleepy Kansas town of Mcpherson to the college town of Manhattan Kansas. I, kaff...attempted college there for a while. There was plenty of time to play and nobody to see me sucking the harp on those country roads in my car.

Joey sat in his wheel chair next to Robby Campbell who wrote the song "Hello Texas" and got a Grammy nomination. Joey announced this each night and played the song three or four times. It was all they had really, that song and the Gin Mill. Robby was the bass player, Joey was the lead and there was a drummer named Luke. The story has it that Joey had gotten stabbed in the leg with an ice pick by one of his estranged wife's. He had a tough time healing from the infection that ensued. He showed up each night regardless; Joey Long and the Texas Brothers. I was to be the occasional harp player when asked and Stormy Monday was the song I learned to play first.

The blues is a place, with smells and images and stories seasoned with despair. I can't really get the Gin Mill nor my time in Texas out of my head. I remember asking Molly of Miss Molly and the Passions: "Why do you stay here, it is so depressing?" She looked at me and said: "Is there any other place?"

I seek out the time to play now more than ever, and calling upon my time spent in Houston brings out something from deep inside. There is an influence, an energy that's called upon--when I see Joey and the pathetic little bar (now a male review club)--the people moving around, dancing, fighting, getting the most that can be mustered out of the culture where they reside. Yep, the vignette is pretty much captured forever somewhere in my soul.

Can I right?

Quickly, and without the benefit of re-write....

I will return soon with a huge bundle of dung on the pontificating scene. The summer always takes away my urge to write and from time to time, I feel a little overexposed due to the multitude of events that we cover. So (during the summer) the blog is used solely for the purpose of reporting race results and pictures as it relates to the vibrant community that I have become a part of.

Overexposed as it relates to the stuff that our business is involved in what also happens to be the day-to-day me--that which has sinuous relationships to the kindergarten-12 market, the higher education stuff, the branding therein...active lifestyle stuff, "O" Sports, Dirty Sports, Restaurants, Senior Living, name it, we have a connector and a project out there that puts me on the billboard somehow. But not in the literal sense. The concept of bill boarding manifests itself differently now, there are no real billboards. There are, however, a collection of non-traditional electronic media endeavors that create imagery as to the culture of said brands.

In my world, there are audiences to cultivate, cultures to...cultivate, tribe members to recruit and motivate for the purpose of selling...something, someday, probably food related things, or services requiring hospitality stuff. Bald Guy and I have subscribed to the "building of tribes" for quite some time, likely prior to the book Tribes by Seth Godin.

Pfoodman.com started as a blog almost 12 years ago and has now become the lead brand for our holding company by default and for no other reason other than me exposing myself to the world and to those lurking, seeking, studying. Most likely because of the viral and epidemic process that we have been spreading since its conception--that and a whole lot of free food.

I thank Seth Godin for adequately describing the phenom that has been taking place for quite some time in the "unconventional" marketing arena. And folks, if you haven't figured it out yet- get with the picture, begin now promoting you electronically, just for the hell of it. You are a brand, regardless of what you do or what you will do. In order to justify your position, any position in this world, you need exposure. Go out and promote yourself and tell people what your opinion is.

Seth's blog has some remarkable similarities to other "hipper than normal" business and organizational cultures. I recommend everyone take a dip into his pool of thought and come out a little bit more acquainted in to what will soon be the "conventional". This combined with the continued evolution of social networking. Just ask Cheryl Hughey.

I am fired up because I get to spend a week with my partners, a group of kickass associates whom I love. We will use our skills this week to set a course to the unknown--that which is sure to make for good storytelling and topic for network content seekers.

Its about the pictures

Castlewood Race

It's not like I don't train there. I do, a lot. The course was fast and ready for a hammering. I actually felt good taking my time to fit in with a couple single speeders. Chad was there too, Jim Krewit Jimmy V. I was waiting to get to the top of Grotpeter to shred it a bit. It would be my downfall, the climbing since I have lost a bit of cardio by not riding for a week or so. The dirt crits have sapped my energy from an interest level and I have backed off my fervor a bit for riding. Oh well, it always comes back. I made the crest of the hill and began bombing Rollercoaster and eventually Ranger station when, at the bottom, there was the sound psssssst. There is always that inner voice: "keep going, it is the dude behind you".... and it is never correct. I quickly pulled off and slapped a tube in, the new applicator that I bought failed though, and blew up in my hand and ripping a hole in the new tube. I couldn’t believe it. My only option was to run all the way to the car, which I did and I am still hurting from it. The 23 pound bike run/carry works some muscles that I have not used in a while. It took me nearly 25 minutes to get back on the course. From there I hammered the rest of lap one and eventually two and three. The fourth, which wasn't counted, was pretty bad since I had tried to make up time. I cramped, stalled, cussed. I simply sucked and felt burnt out. Today is better though, I figure I will go and do a couple long rides by myself to get my head right. Usually does the trick. At this age, rest and nutrition is key. I have not done either correctly for the past few weeks. I will be back for Spanish Lake. Girl, yesIwill, girl.

Great day though, thanks to Bobby and the DRJ.

Week #5 Short Track Results

Thanks a bunch to Alpine Shop and Velo Force, Greg Sutter for the course set up this week, Jeff Powell. Pretty spiffy.

Too many people to mention who participated in making this a great series. Everyone deserves a slap on the back for taking part in something special; the culture building of our sport in our community.

You can look to Alpine Shop and Pfoodman/Lone Wolf/Wapiti to co-promote as many as 10 events next year in what we call "O"- Sports" market; short track mtb, paddling, trail running, adventure racing and cross county MTB. So come out, unplug and be fit.

Don't forget about the DRJ race Sunday. This course is the creme. See you all there.

Dirt Crit #5 30-Jul-09

Open A

1 Chris Ploch DRJ 349
2 John Matthews DRJ 357
3 Logan Von Bokel Dent Wizard 345
4 Zak Hafner Mesa 363
5 Bob Arnold DRJ 346
6 Paul Qunidry 366
7 Greg Sandknop 362
8 Scott Olgivie 356
9 Wes Bierman DRJ 350
10 Drew Black Mesa 351
11 Dan Bruns Gateway 352
12 John Peiffer 369
13 Tom Albert 355
14 Rock Wamsley 358
15 Robert Metz DRJ 354
16 Eric Schark 359
17 Craig Hoeflinger 347
18 Dave Smith 365
19 Brian Beyer 367
20 Bob Crow Dog Fish 348
21 Craig Thrasher Velo Force360
22 Ryan Hemsmeyer 368
23 Barry Blumenkemper 364
24 Jay Strothman 353
DNF Justin Bowen 361

Open B

1 Greg Lyeki 73
2 Jeff Powell 77
3 Stu Robson 72
4 Matt Struckman 48
5 David Frei 75
6 Todd Holtman 66
7 Mike Molloy 63
8 Craig Basler ICCC 41
9 Scott Bertelsmeyer 76
10 Rock Wamsley 47
11 Carl Hoffman 60
12 Jeremy Lines 56
13 Dave Smith 50
14 Jeff Sona 65
15 Will Grumke 57
16 Cody Jones 62
17 Adam Rybar 69
18 Matt Gruthoff 51
19 Peat Henry 89
20 Scott Melies 81
21 Ryan Lemmon 86
22 Eric Schuck 90
23 Jay Mervin 84
24 Darin Marlow 74
25 Christine Ford 80
26 Jeremie Meitz 61
27 Jeff Mittler 83
28 Patrick Gibbon 64
29 X 144
30 Paul Krewef 44
31 Andy Prunty 46
32 Mike Hickinbotham 70
33 Grant Grumke 58
34 Loreen Matson 88
35 Timothy Boergeman 52
36 Caleb Laubinger 45
37 Jeff Kuechenmeister 68
38 Rob Ballow 54
39 Lars Valin 87
40 Jim Davis 82
41 Mark Clark 91
42 Gabrielle Renner 59
43 Pete Goodes 79
44 Phil Shunlberg 71
45 Brad Murray 92
46 Loran Carano 49
47 Brett Whitehouse 55
48 Mark Grumke 42
49 Cory Redmond 85
50 X 244
DNF Karen Holtman 67
DNF Chad Hiatt 78
DNF Lee Van Norman 43
DNF John Peiffer 53

Open C

1 Jax Powell 398
2 Kevin Bonney 250
3 Caleb Laubinger 379
4 Stephen Venters 246
5 Mike Geiger 388
6 Alex Powell 397
7 Mike Slade 251
8 Mike Hickinbotham 392
9 Jeffrey Evans 252
10 Christian Chellis 254
11 Andy Prunty 380
12 Cody Jones 62
13 Jason Erflinger 385
14 Michael Hickinbotham 393
15 Curtis Denham 391
16 Zack Tangenan 230
17 Carrie Sona 389
18 Bobby Mudd 228
19 David Conley 240
20 Tyler Redmond 226
21 Justin Siess 248
22 Mark Krausch 223
23 Matthew Bathon 241
24 Zack Krouper 386
25 Mary Piper 247
26 Joe Stryjewski 378
27 Jean Matthews 381
28 Traci Berry 383
29 Jason Roberts 375
30 Britt Whisenaind 229
31 John Valenti 225
32 Andy Vitale 249
33 Russell Errett 253
34 Catherine Ebarling 377
35 Dessa Paris 384
36 Craig Hafner 395
37 Scott Rieger 242
38 Sammi Powell 396
39 Maggie Miller 224
40 Garrett Roberts 376
41 Jeanne Renner 387
42 Jeff Freshman 394
43 Wendy Davis 245
44 Zak Alec Spielman 382
45 Casey Carter 390
46 Bart Berger 243
47 Laura Range 222
48 Mike Tiebar/Justin Aullnow...399
49 Ana Pizarro 400
50 Nick Mille 227
51 Frank Vehenzuela 244