Phlebotomy Lobotomy

Hindsight sucks. I hate it when something bad happens and I can look back and see a string of bad decisions that ultimately led to the bad outcome. I hear that sometimes you can learn from it, but I apparently haven’t perfected that yet.

Today was bleeding day at work. We have them 4 times a year. I usually go bleed when I feel like I can spare a few cells. Today was one of those days. No bike races for a few weeks, feeling pretty good – may as well make a deposit in the bank of good karma. I kind of think that you should give as much as you get. So far I am up a couple units (3 received, 5 given) but I have been in some sketchy bike races lately so being a little ahead is good right?

When I rolled into work the phlebotomist’s were out smoking behind the building. That was the first clue. Why can’t I ever listen to the first clue? Appointment time comes and I go down to the bleeding room. I noticed that the head bleeder lady was the beginner bleeder lady from the last time I gave blood. That’s not good.

Why can’t I ever listen to the second clue? So I do the questionnaire. It asks like eight times whether I have taken any HGH, testosterone, insulin, and miscellaneous other performance enhancing drugs. Jeesh people, do I look like Floyd Landis? Just because I ride a bike doesn’t mean I cheat.

They take my blood pressure. 94/60. Pulse is like 50. I’m no doctor but I’m thinking if I give blood it will go down from there – and that’s probably not good. Probably clue number 3, but I figured they wouldn’t let me do it if the numbers weren’t good, right. Bloody hell, I should really listen.

They had to call in the head bleeder lady to find the vein. The head bleeder lady that was the rookie bleeder lady last time. You know, the one that had to wiggle the needle around to get it in the vein. I almost listened to this one. Clue number 4. I almost made a run for it. I actually looked at the door, but I couldn’t pull it off.

I bled a bit slow. Clue number 5, but it’s too late now.

I finally bleed out my unit. I’ve got to move it, move it (watched Madagascar while I bled). I get up and walk to the recovery table where the treats are. Whoa, a little light headed. I’ll just sit here a while. I woke up all flopped over to the left – I always thought that I leaned a little left, and this confirms it. I feel pretty good about that. On the other hand the bleeders may have noticed sooner if I leaned to the right. I am just saying. It is Idaho.

So yeah. I camp out on the padded table where they keep the people that aren’t very good bleeders for a while. I eat, then I eat some more, then I drink and drink some more. I was there like an hour and a half from when I got there.
The whole time I am thinking to myself ‘Self, what kind of phlebotomist in their right mind is a smoker’? One with a phlebotomy lobotomy, that kind.

Feeling significantly below average. Left work early. Screw karma, I want my blood back.

Custom Red Eye

The bad news is I am pretty much out of tools. The good news is I am pretty much out of tools. I mean I have a socket wrench and some sockets that I found – but what am I gonna write about that? I do have a big ass screw driver that I found too, but the only interesting thing about that is how I got back home without impaling myself with it – the pockets in cycling jersey’s just aren’t that good for some things. Gel yes. Big ass screw driver? Not so much.

So today’s Wednesday’s tool, I will have to admit, I didn’t really find. Well, didn’t find it on the road. I found pieces of it all over my garage. Here it is, my new fully custom commuter bike. There is way too much awesomeness here to cover in one post, so I will just pick out parts here and there and milk it until I actually find something on the road.

Today’s part is the custom ‘Red Eye of Mordor’ Aheadset. I know, you are thinking I must be a real ‘Lord of the Rings’ dork to have a red eye of Mordor Aheadset. Well you’re right. I am a Lord of the Rings dork. That’s not why I have the headset. I probably have that because the headset bolt was all rusty and shit. I cleaned off the rust, and coated it with some Rust-oleum. It’s red because that is the color I found in the garage. It could have easily been white, or brown, but it’s not. It’s red. The red eye of Mordor. No matter where you sit on the bike it is always looking at you. I know you want one. I guess you can make your own. Yours won’t be as cool as mine.

I just saw this…

Boise Bike Messengers

Bike messengers in downtown Boise. Like all 20 square blocks of it. Dude, push back from the desk and walk your butt across the street and deliver it yourself.

Anyhow, there really are bike messengers in Boise. I don’t know if they are real bike messengers or not. The one dude does have an alley cat spoke card and rides a fixie. On the other hand he also has brakes, and rolls up his pants instead of cutting them off. I don’t know if wearing a helmet is aloud either – you see I have never been to New York City, so I don’t know what a real bike messenger looks like – I am just guessing from what I see on the internet.

That said I am pretty sure the second guy they show isn’t a real bike messenger. I saw his back wheel free-wheeling. I know that isn’t aloud. Poser. At least he gets paid to ride a bike around, which is more than I can say.

I guess the bottom line is that at least two guys in Boise have an excuse for having fixed gear messenger bikes – and one of those doesn’t use one. What are the rest of you people doing?

Not Quite Angry Enough

I just haven’t been feeling it lately. Angry that is.

The family is healthy and happy. I have a job. I like my co-workers. Well actually, that isn’t quite true – I find 2.5 of them mildly irritating. But anyway, I am having fun cycling. I like my all my team mates. Really, pretty much all of them. The Steelers won the Super Bowl. The Lakers beat the Jazz. The Red Sox swept the Yankees. The Red Sox swept the Yankees. Did I mention that the Red Sox beat the Yankees. GW isn't President any more. My wife didn’t have a coronary a minute ago when I told her I needed a $200 bike computer. I made my own new custom commuter bike. Its all good.

My wife does keep whining that she still has twentysomething more days until school is out. Yes, there is that. That kind of pisses me off. I only have twentysomething more YEARS until my summer vacation starts.

But anyway, yeah, not very angry. I hardly even got mad the other day when LBD held the sprinkler wrestling world championships in my back yard.

On my rides recently I haven’t even been the angriest cyclist. That would be Johnny Atmos. In fact, he is so angry that if I had an Angry Cyclist cycling team, he would be the team captain. Captain Angry. It even kind of cracks me up. Maybe laughing at other peoples anger is indicative of my own really deep seated anger. I will have to think about that.

Maybe my new 555 mantra should be ‘Not quite angry enough’ instead of ‘Almost entirely evil’. I don’t know.

On my way out of work today I noticed that someone left their vehicle unlocked with the keys on the dash. It took some effort to keep from starting the engine and locking the doors. Maybe that is a step in the right (wrong) direction. If it would have been one of the 2.5 people who mildly irritate me I probably couldn’t have held back.

Maybe tomorrow I will feel angrier. Lock your cars just in case.

Nothing Good Can Come of This...

I returned home from the Emmett-Roubaix bike race yesterday and was greeted by LBD.

Now I am not the most observant person, but I knew that something wasn’t right from the beginning. I mean little black dog wasn’t really black anymore. More mottled with mud. I don’t remember there being any mud in my backyard. I don’t remember it raining today. Besides, she’s got that ‘I didn’t do it’ look. That means she did it. Nothing good can come of this…

So the race started good. Matt Beeter took a little flyer off the front and by my figuring was up about 50 seconds at the first turn. Nick, Brandon Archibald, and I clogged up the front and watched him ride away. 4 or 5 miles in the Broken Spoke guys got itchy, sqeezed through and chased Matt down. Then the big guys took over at the front and started driving southslope but nothing really broke up – too much headwind for the big fellas to go 40 – thank god.

Got shuffled back and did the yo-yo thing for a while. Fast, slow, fast, slow, left turn, fast, slow, pothole, fast, slow, dog, fast, little hill – sllllooooowwww. Worked my way out on the hill up Little Freezeout, and things were pretty boring for the next 10 miles or so. Before the hill on El Paso I drug Nick to front and pulled everyone up the hill at a mellow pace. Big guys took over on the downhill. They were serious about getting to the dirt first.

Pretty mundane except for the Lost River guy that tried to kill us all by swerving 5 feet across the road in front of everyone. I was a few riders back so don’t really know what that was all about. I am sure he had a reason. There was probably a duck or something. I dropped back a bit while I dug out some aspirin to ward off the heart attack that maneuver was going to cause me.

Road bikes weren’t meant for dirt roads. Some road bikers aren’t made for dirt roads. That’s why it shouldn’t be a surprise that when we hit the dirt road and chaos ensued. Dude’s everywhere. EV-ER-EEE-WHERE. Everywhere except the canal. I have always wanted to see someone go in the canal. Damn it. Maybe next year.

Anyhow, I see Nick riding strong in the dirt. Strong like a butterfly in a hurricane. I slow down a bit so I can help when we get out of the dirt. Don’t slow down too much though - I would bog down and my fat butt would still be stuck there. Waited for Nick and then we scrapped his way back to the group. Tough kid.

Tougher than me. I sat up to wait for Beeter and ride it out. We hooked up with Rob Floth and chased, then we chased some more, and then we chased a little bit more. We were so close, yet so far. They should put warning labels on cycling glasses that say ‘Objects may be further than they actually appear” or ‘Objects not as attainable as they actually appear’. You know, like rearview mirrors.

When we hit the dirt the second time I asked Beeter if he thought the lead group would wait for us on the other side. When I got to the other side I was surprised to see that they did. The women’s non-competitive group. I was excited for a minute.

So I look back when I get out of the dirt. The only one there is Henry Harper, who I passed not far from the end of the dirt. There isn’t anyone else there. I figure everyone else stopped to wash off in the canal, or to get the beer they stashed there. Not one to pass up an opportunity to ride with Henry Harper I wait a bit for him. Now I am golden till the end right? Not so much. Henry flatted.

I think maybe next year I will spectate from a raft in the canal. Drink beers and watch people suffer. If someone goes in I will see it for sure. Maybe I can tempt people in with beer.

Anyhow, solo to the end. Haven’t I been here before? Finished in a stellar 17th place. Nick held on to 2nd in the GC. Good times. Until I got home.

LBD got into a fight with the sprinkler system while I was gone. Not sure who won, but I am pretty sure that I lost.

Maybe 70

I rode my bike to work yesterday for the first time in over a month. I am more than a little disappointed to report that everything was on the mundane side.

I did try the Tour de Garden City on the way home. My first adventure on the green belt section on the south side of the river. It was an interesting change, rolling through run down industrial storage areas, trailer parks, and vacant lots. I felt like an episode of the ‘A-Team’ was about to break out the entire time I rode through.

Maybe that sense of immanent trouble is why all the old guys I saw were carrying sticks. You know, in case Mr. T starts kicking ass while you stroll past at least you have got your stick for self defense. Maybe not though – I have been seeing old guys with sticks a lot lately. On the green belt, in the store, even in my neighborhood..

I know some people might call them canes, but if you don’t need it to walk and just carry it around it is probably just a stick. If you carry it like you might whack someone with it, it may be a ninja stick. There is this old guy in my neighborhood that walks around with a ninja stick. If I walk past with my dog he raises his stick and says ‘aaaiiiiiieeee’ in an old German guy sort of way. I am pretty sure he is a WWII war crimes fugitive – but that’s for another day. So anyway I am pretty sure that he wants to whack my dog, a very intimidating OLD golden retriever that can’t stop smiling and wagging her tail. That kind of makes me want to fight him, so maybe it is good he has a ninja stick.

Saw an old guy at Subway today with a stick. When I walked past he raised it up a little like he was going to whack me. Must have been a ninja stick. I did have my hat on backwards, so I could have been a hoodlum, but Jesus, WTF? I can just imagine he is thinking ‘OMG here comes a 150 pound, leg shaving, spandex wearing, bike riding, sandwich eating biker freak – he’s got his hat on backwards! He probably wants to mug me! Good thing I’ve got my ninja stick!”

I wonder how old you have to be before you can get a ninja stick. I wonder how old you have to be before you feel like you have to protect yourself from a 150 pound, leg shaving, spandex wearing, bike riding, sandwich eating biker freak.

Maybe 70.

Thingamajig Makes It Through Spell Check

I found this last week on Warm Springs. That narrow stretch just below the mesa. You know, the stretch you probably shouldn’t ride your bike on, especially since the greenbelt is just below the road. So I was riding my bike there and found it in the road. At least I didn’t stop to take the picture in the road. I probably should have taken the picture in the road, I like it when my bike wheel is in it.

Anyhow, it is a wrench thingamajig. The handle is broken and beaten up a bit, but it is still big enough for a hobbit. My favorite feature are some little arrows engraved on it that show which way is ON and which way is OFF – for those who cannot remember righty tighty lefty loosy. Another Wednesdays tool.

I was thinking last night that someday, when I win the lottery, I am going to buy a legislator. Or maybe I will just buy a legislative seat and I will be the legislator. I would only really work on things that served my own personal best interest and spend the rest of the time pushing other peoples buttons. Yup, that’s what I would do if I won the lottery. It was just a thought.

You tried it, didn't you? I knew you would.

Erica Revisited

Ahhhh, Erica. Wherefore art thou Erica? Thine mixethed CD hath my readers all aflutter.

I mean, seriously. I have written a lot of stuff. A lot of offensive, off color, politically incorrect, narrow minded, and stupid stuff. I may have even written a thing or two to intentionally tick people off, maybe. I have never heard back from so many people.

But really, everyone wants to know more about Erica. Sorry, I don’t know her phone number or where she lives. I do know she is a bad, bad, bad girl. I do know that someone tried to rub out her name, but wanted to keep her badness.

Here is what else I know. She listens to this…

5 – Ludacris – Blueberry Yum Yum

Let me tell you, it isn’t about jam.

6 – 504 Boyz – I Can Tell Ya Wanna

I actually cannot tell ya what she wanna – not here.

7 – Lil Jon – Get Low

This one ain’t about the limbo kids.

8 – DJ Khaled – We Takin Over

The bad, bad chicks – they takin over.

9 – Three6Mafia – Stay Fly

That’s right, 3 six’s – completely evil. None of that 555 stuff.

10 – Pitbull – Go Girl

There isn’t any travelling in this song. Just going.

11 – D4L – Bobblehead

Nope, not getting this bobblehead at a Hawks game. I don’t think so anyway?

12 – T.I. – Round Here

Ain’t so nice ‘round here.

13 – K-Ci & Jojo – Crazy

I think this one was an accident. They could probably play it on the radio even.

14 – Insane Clown Posse – The Dating Game

Whoa. Dude. Like WTF. OMG. Umm, OK.

15 – Chamillionaire – Try to Catch Me Riding Dirty

They hatin’. Try’n to catch him riding dirty.

16 – Jamie Foxx – Unpredictable

Yep, not the usual – unpredictable. It ain’t about the weather.

What about 1 through 4? Collateral damage from the trip out the car window. I know – it sucks. Like The Mystery of Edwin Drood.

Alas, we will never know.

The Longest 3 Miles

I glanced down at my computer. It said 142 mph. I didn’t even know that it went that high. That’s pretty fast. Especially on a bike. It’s downright extraordinary when you consider I hadn’t even clipped in yet. Still had a foot on the ground too. I knew this was going to be a tough race, starting out this fast.

That’s what wireless bike computers do for you. Give you a clean look without wires everywhere. Make it easier to change wheels, move computers between bikes – and most importantly they let you know when there are cancer causing radiation, radio waves, and other such invisible nastiness around.

It was at the chicken dinner road race so it’s no surprise the computer was messed up. It did start right by the dump. You know, where they secretly bury nuclear waste.

The race started with a biggish hill (1/2 mile?) with some steepish pitches (12%). We went up easy the first time and I felt pretty good riding near the front. Got squeezed a few times, but that’s ok. Continued to ride near the front for the next few miles as some Lost River guys drove the pace a bit. Eventually I got shuffled to the back. I wasn’t too concerned but decided I needed to move up as we approached a few hills and tight turns. I took an inside line along the shoulder up to the front 5 or so.

When I get there someone says ‘you got a flat, just heard it’. Another guy says ‘yep, it’s going down’. Eff. Yup, this road doesn’t feel near rough enough for Canyon County. I pull off. Air is half gone.

The wheel car pulls up. ‘You got a wheel?’ the wheel guys asks. I didn’t, long story. I think to myself ‘self, you could grab someone elses and chase back on’. I think out loud – ‘ummm’… Wheel guy asks again ‘you got a wheel?’. I say ‘No’. It ain’t always easy doing the right thing.
So I swap out the tube. I use my car key. Left the tire iron in the car. That’s a little ironic. Takes a few minutes. Seems like ages. I get passed by like everybody. Sucks for me. I pull out just in front of the 4/5 guys and start my 50 mile individual tt.

On the start/finish hill I pass Kafka (the slower one), and catch Gary Casella. We ride and chat a bit, but I wanted to ride faster. I catch Mark Bockenstette and ride with him a bit too, but eventually move on. I see a group ahead 5 guys. This may be a good place to ride it out. Anthony Fisher, Carl Arriola, Brad Turpen, Cory Marsh, and Scott White. We noodle with the 4/5 group a bit and I inadvertently ride away from them. I eventually catch and pass Gene Harding, and Darren Lightfield (I think), and then Travis Kocain (I think).

During all that I pretty much hurt. It pretty much sucked. My legs cramped up and muscles popped out that I had never seen before. I think I had my face set to grimace about the entire time. Sometimes I set it to agony. I thought about a lot of stuff. The goofy ass tactics in the 4/5 race that were unfolding around me. How much I hate bee’s. How easy it would be to quit each of the 4 times I rode within feet of my truck. How nice it was of Kevin’s wife to hand me water. How it says Specialized like 26 times on my bike. They should pay me. How I really need to put wheels in the wheel car next time. How glad I am for sunscreen. How glad I am to have an excuse for sucking again. How I may need to get off and walk on the final climb. How they get Dick out of Richard.

You know, the usual stuff.

So at the finish I look down at my computer. 3.81 miles.

Building Time

I am building. Building to my comeback to the world of bike commuting. I stopped a month or so ago when I converted my commuting bike to my ghetto tt bike. I went the entire month of March without riding my bike to work a single time – the first such month in at least 6 years. So it goes.

So I am determined that next week will mark my triumphant return. I am determined because the price of gas is going back up. I am determined because riding 3 times a day was good training. I am determined because I am running out of things to write about on my blog.
So next week I will ride through the peculiar zone. Share the road with yellow jacket guy. Maybe see Lance Armstrong look alike guy. Maybe race against greenbelt racer guy. Smell the poo smell as I ride past poo island. Make fun of fixed gear hipster guy. Yell at dog on extendo leash lady, and huge stroller lady. Perhaps even see camouflage bike kit guy peeing on the greenbelt, or even not so smart guy smoking a doobie on the greenbelt. Probably flip someone in a car the bird.

Who knows, I could even run into another angry cyclist. I can’t wait.

It's All About the Hookie

Having some bloggers block today. Wanted to tell you about the other parents at my sons school. How vane and yuppy they are. Driving Caddy SUV’s with vanity plates that imply the vehicle is for their kids. How clueless they are to think that the vehicles they bought to stroke their own egos were really for their kids transport. How their kids would probably rather have an Escort and a Happy Meal.

Then I wanted to tell you about those stupid family stickers they all have on the back of their SUV’s. The ones with the little mom, dad, and kids stick figures. Those stickers were cool the first few times I saw them, but now they make me nauseous. What I want to see is one of those stickers with two women holding hands, or maybe a guy and two girls, or maybe two guys. Yes, two guys. This town definitely needs some ‘two guys holding hands’ stickers. I wonder where I can get one of those.

I was going to tell you that I noticed all this because I picked my son up from school so we could have out first hookie ski day. How I didn’t start hookie ski days till junior high, but I want my son to be better – so I am starting him in kindergarten. How we had a superior time skiing and eating french fries.

So that’s what I was going to share today, but I just couldn’t find the words. Maybe tomorrow.

My New Box Set

Sometimes I worry about putting the CDs I find laying on the road into my computer. I mean you never know what could be on those things. That’s why I put them in my work computer. Wouldn’t want to destroy my own.

Here is my new box set. I call it ‘Fresh from the Roadside’. Just like any box set there are a few good things and a bunch of stuff that sucks ass. The first one, Tracy Byrd, actually has a song on it that I like. The rest of the songs – not so much.

The next one is Cypress Hill. There are a few songs that tickle my fancy, but the thing I like most is that a CD in such terrible shape actually works.

CD three in the box set is the ‘Jigga My Nigga’ single by Jay-Z. Obviously the best part of that CD is the fact that they have to star out ‘Nigga’ on the CD. Apparently you are not aloud to write that in public. Oops.

Erica’s Mix is my favorite. There is so much to love. Like the cute little star and heart on the CD – ah fuck – the heart doesn’t show in the picture. Here is another one.

Sorry for the potty word. I learned it from Jay-Z. So anyway, so much to love. Cute little stars and hearts on a CD that is littered with classic songs like ‘Try to Catch Me Riding Dirty’, and my favorite ‘She’s a Bobblehead’. Let me tell you, Erica is a bad, bad, girl. Erica, do your parents know you listen to that stuff? Like OMG! Another highlight – note that someone (probably Erica’s x-boyfriend) tried to rub out her name on the CD. Or maybe Erica tried to rub it off so her parents wouldn’t know that it was her CD with such rubbish. Erica, you cannot have your CD back. By the way, did I mention you are a BAD, BAD, girl.

So there used to be a 5th CD in the box set. I loaned it to a friend and haven’t gotten it back yet. No worries, the songs were in Spanish and I didn’t know what the hell they were saying. The cool thing about it was that it was a flaming CD. Yes, a CD with flames on it. Don’t see that every day. Yep, that was the cool part.

Pick anything (or anyone) in this post. There it is. Wednesday’s tool.

Wiggle It!

Sign wiggly guy. That has to be the worst job on the planet. You have seen him. The zit faced teenager holding a sign on the side of the road going into convulsions. No matter how hard you try, you couldn’t look cool doing that. Go ahead, put the iPod on wiggly dude – maybe someone will think you are just dancing – with a sign. In the sun. All day. By yourself. With your sign.

My favorite is self storage sign wiggly guy. As if I would be driving down the road, see sign wiggly guy pimping storage sites, and say to myself ‘Self, you need a storage area, why not rent one from the pimply kid’. I don’t know, but storage areas don’t seem to be impulse buys – you know, the kind of thing that you might buy from a wiggly kid with a sign. $5 pizza maybe, a storage area – I’m thinking not.

You gotta know that your job sucks when you could be replaced by a stick. OK, I’ll be fair, a stick and a couple staples. Probably not as wiggly, but just as effective. Most of us could be replaced by a computer and some really good software, but to be replaced by a stick? Wow, that would suck. Significantly below average. The rest of us have the peace of mind knowing that computers are expensive, and that there is no such thing as really good software (except for maybe Asteroids – the first one). But sticks? Sticks are everywhere, and they are cheap.

Colorado Chaser

So I told you a few weeks ago that I spent my spring break in Fort Collins, Colorado. I thought that I had told you everything, but I remembered something when I was dropping off my very old, somewhat decrepit dog off at the vet this morning.

So there I was, riding along in the nastiest headwind of my life (50+ mph). Minding my own business, enjoying the fact I was on vacation, and the fact that if I turned my head just right I could almost see the sun. Anyhow, minding my own business when I catch something in my peripheral vision. I look.

Crap. German Shepherd. He’s got the angle. I am going like 10 mph. This may be the end. Wait, wait, wait a second – it’s the oldest, slowest German Shepherd on the planet. He’s got the angle, but he is too slow to use it. Hmmmm.

I have been chased by many dogs (and a badger), and am always looking for a chance for a little payback. I have gotten some vengeance with little dogs in the past, but never something as good as a German Shepherd. I think to myself ‘Self, this is too good an opportunity to pass up’.

I slow down a bit so the dog tears (in an old dog way) out onto the road a few feet behind me. He closes to about a foot – I can see the blood thirsty pleasure in his eyes. I speed up a bit, the gap opens to 2, then 3 feet – I see defeat and disappointment in his eyes. He is going to give up – I shout encouragement ‘come get me Rin Tin Tin’. The bloodthirsty pleasure returns. A little more speed, oooohhhh – disappointment. A little less speed – bloodthirst. A little more speed – disappointment. ‘Can’t get me Rusty?’ Bloodthirst.

He lasted about a half mile. Probably took him an hour to get home. If he made it home. I would be afraid of the bad dog karma but the way I figure it this makes me even for the time that the St. Bernard caught me.

I saw a bumper sticker on my trip. It said ‘333 only half evil’. I think I am going to use it. Mine will be ‘444 2/3 evil’. Or ‘555 almost completely evil’. Yes 555.

A Day Late and a Marble Short

I missed Wednesdays tool yesterday, here it is. A tool I found that I actually used. Used this week in fact. It’s the big hole drill bit thingy, not the angle drill. I found that too, but I found that at my parents house so it probably doesn’t count.

Note there is actually a whole in the picture that I drilled with it. The bit was a kinda dull, but then it was free. I got to drill the hole when installing my new microwave. The old one blew up. That’s a story for another day.

So I was watching dancing with the stars the other night. You know, to pick up some tips on how to improve my pasodoble. It reminded me of the article I read in the paper the other day about all the local women having sex with teenage boys. I don’t know why I thought of that, just did. Anyhow, there are like a dozen women in miscellaneous versions punishment at the moment for these evil crimes.

There was the horrible 21 year old who repeatedly had sex with a 14 year old. I can imagine his repeated screams every time ‘Oh please don’t do that some more’. There was the 37 year old who harassed her sons 16 year old friend by sending nudy pics. I can imagine he was crushed, so crushed he displayed them on his cell phone. Then there was the teacher that went after the student, oh the trauma. That’s the kind of stuff they write books about, songs too. Songs like ‘Hot for Teacher’.

I’m sure there is a horrible crime going on, but unless teenage boys have changed a lot in the last 20 years I’m thinking they might not be the victims. Maybe their mothers, or their friends, but probably not them. That’s like winning the lottery for a 14 year old, or getting your make-a-wish.

Couldn’t help to notice most got the same punishment that you get for running over and killing a cyclist around here…

The Omerta

I am going out on a limb here today and breaking the omerta. I am going to tell the truth. Here it is...

Bike racers lie. There it is. In it's simplest form it is cat 5 racers lying about how much they train. Bike racers never tell the truth about how much they train. They have to lie to use it as an excuse, or leverage when they are successful or unsuccessful at their next event. I can always tell when someone new to the sport starts being a bike racer - it's about the time they tell me they haven't been riding at all leading up to a race.

So part of the lying gig is making excuses. I didn't eat enough, I was coming down with a cold, my bike broke, some dude let a gap open, the lost river guy cut me off, I ran out of water, my dog ate my number, etc... I have decided to buck the trend. I am going to tell the truth. In the race sunday, some of the guys were better than me. In fact, most of the guys were better than me. They went faster, and I went slower. They were in a break, and I couldn't hold a wheel when it started.

Hmm, that wasn't very fun. I am going back to using excuses and lying.

Speaking of excuses, after the break went up the road with two team mates (and without me) I had the perfect excuse to sit in and do nothing most of the day. It was great. I sat near the front and gummed up pacelines, sat on chase groups and generally made myself a nuisance. I know its hard to believe, but I did. All until the last 5 miles or so. Then everyone left went faster than I could.

If I start working now maybe I can keep up next time. Or maybe I should just have a beer and make up some excuses...

SpaceBalls

Space Balls! The little angry man in the big Darth Vader helmet. That was me Saturday. An angry little man in a Darth Vader helmet. I got the helmet as a result of the ‘speed progression’ that I discussed the other day – Also known as my own personal progression into cycling dorkiness.

So anyway I got a time trial helmet. It is big and black, just like Darth Vader. I also added on the grey visor, for a little added Vaderness. I figured what the hell, I was already a dork, I might as well go all the way. Saturday was the first time I have worn it in public. I wore it at home once, but my wife pointed and laughed.

No one pointed and laughed Saturday. It seems there were other people with Darth Vader helmets. Some people had storm trooper helmets. Some even had Bobafet helmets. Johnny Atmos even had a homemade helmet.

I had thought about trying out my TT helmet before the actual TT, but couldn’t actually bring myself to do it. When I lined up at the start Lord Vader was taking his maiden voyage. So I started out fast. Being Darth Vader is kind of noisy, like a wind tunnel or something, but that’s ok.

About a mile in. Going 35 mph, I start breathing hard – like Darth Vader, sounds just like there is a little Darth Vader in my helmet – he isn’t saying anything, just breathing.

A couple miles further. Going 28 mph, (not downhill any more). I decide to take a look around. Bad idea. Apparently Darth Vader shouldn’t turn his head – especially when riding fast. Little bastard shoulda told me, but he just kept sitting there breathing hard in my ear.

Halfway there. 53 seconds behind my minute man. Closing in. Hey, who turned on the wind?

6 miles in. Vader speaks – ‘Your legs hurt. You should have warmed up more – moron’. Little bastard, but he was right.

7 miles in. 23 mph. My minute man disappeared. Hmm. Why is my stomach all the way up there in my throat?

8 miles in. 23 mph. I think my Darth Vader visor is blurry. Oh, never mind – that’s just me going cross-eyed.

9 miles in. 19 mph. This was a stupid place to put a hill. Look up there, a 1 km to go sign. Wonder how far a kilometer is. Lets see, if 1.6 km is a mile – ouch my head hurts.

10 miles in. 24:32. Quick, act like it didn’t hurt.

So yeah, there it is. The Jason Broome TT 2009. The Darth Vader Helmets maiden voyage. 11th place. I think I might take up lawn darts. I don’t think there are helmets in lawn darts.

Speed Progression

Have you ever noticed that the faster a car goes the cooler it looks. Whether it is a sports car or a muscle car the faster it goes the aesthetically pleasing. Bike racers are not like that. In fact they are pretty much the opposite. The faster you want to go on a bike the bigger a dork you need to look like.

When I started riding around 1990 I had a mountain bike. I wore baggy shorts without pads and t-shirts. Never wore a helmet.

Then I made a bad decision. I wanted to go faster. I bought a road bike. Then as now, if you were riding a road bike in normal clothes it meant that you were DUI guy. People in cars thought that I was a dork because I was riding a bike. People on bikes thought I was a dork because I wore normal clothes.

A few months later I decided that if I want to go really fast I needed some of them tight shorts. Besides that, they had pads in them and I sure could use some relief. I struggled with the no underwear thing for a while but eventually embraced the free-balling nature of cycling. Now I was a cycling dork, tight shorts – but I wasn’t one of those full blown cycling dorks. Hell no. I wore a t-shirt with my tight shorts. None of that faggy jersey stuff for me. I wanted to go fast, but not that fast.

I got a jersey a few weeks later. Turns out tight shorts have no pockets, besides tight jerseys are faster.

Then mom got me a helmet. I was a full-blown Greg LeMond wannabe (this is before Lance Armstrong kids). A least I didn’t have the Z-team kit. At that point I thought that if you had a Z-team kit that you probably actually knew and raced with Greg LeMond.

It took half a year, but I was a cycling dork. I still wanted to go faster. I heard that cycling shoes were faster than regular shoes, so somewhere along the way I picked up some sweet nike cycling shoes (with laces). Cycling shoes were great, but I knew that the true key to speed was clipless pedals. Made that upgrade early in year two, shortly after I bought some tight pants. Oh yes, now I was flying – at the pinnacle of speed.

I started riding with other people and soon learned I needed some new equipment. I began the hopeless process of trying to make my piece of crap bike nicer by adding some accessories and switching out components. The biking equivalent of pimping out a Ford Escort.

Eventually, I joined the ‘making payments on my bike, but not my car crowd’. Then I started racing. I started to shave my legs – not to go faster, just to fit in – and besides chicks dig it ya know. I thought that my dorkiness (speediness) had peaked when I joined a team and started wearing clothes with logos on my butt. The only thing dorkier than that is time trial equipment.

So I can’t afford to have a real time trial bike. I converted an old road bike. That is like putting lambo doors on a chevy cavalier. My first tt bike experiment was named Frankenbike. It didn’t work so well, so I sold it. Now I am on to stage 2 – ‘The Harvester of Sorrow’. I named it after the Metallica song – I thought a tt bike should sound angry and painful, because there isn’t anything fun about a time trial.

Just when I thought I would never go dorkier I folded and bought a tt helmet. It is HUGE. It has to be big to fit over my enormous dome, but this is ridiculous. It looks like I stole it from the alien autopsy show. When I ride down the road people are going to stop and say ‘did you see that enormous sperm just go by?’ I am going to wear it in public for the first time tomorrow. I should be ok as long as no one points and laughs.

Second Hand Stink

Have you ever walked into an empty bathroom and it smelled really bad? And then have you ever proceeded with your number 1’s and 2’s anyway? And then have you ever been washing up afterword, and someone else walks in? And then you are labeled with the stigma of ‘stinky poo guy’?

You know stinky poo guy. Egg white separating, broccoli eating, yogurt sucking, granola snacking, soy milk drinking, full of fiber stinky poo guy. You know, the guy that when you are walking to the bathroom and see him go in before you – you decide you can hold it a while, or that you might try the bathroom at the other end of the building. Yes, that guy.

Well, if that stuff has happened to you – you are that guy. At least in someone’s eyes. It isn’t like you can say anything like ‘wasn’t me’, or ‘last guy’. Not only is it unbelievable, it is more importantly a violation of bathroom edicii (that’s plural for edicate).

There you are stinky poo guy. A victim of second had stink.

Fistulation Found

For a long time I thought I may have imagined it. I swore that I had seen it, but no-one believed me. I searched in vain for years to find it again, or at least to find one just like it – but never did. I found some pictures on the internet, but then you can find pictures of anything on the internet - real or not. A few years ago I gave up, abandoned to an empty life without proof of the window cow.

But then I was out riding the other day and there it was. I proudly present to you Wednesday’s Tool – the window cow. Actually I don’t know if the tool is the cow, the window, or maybe the person who put the window in the cow. I don’t really care, any of them will do.

I will refrain from making any Holy Cow! Jokes, but admit that it did come to mind. I will also refrain from pointing out that this is how they make Swiss Cheese.

Turns out it isn’t really a window. It is more of a plug. The center comes out in case, you know, you want to stick your arm in a cows stomach. Why just the other day I was thinking to myself, ‘Self, you know what I would really like to do – yes, stick my arm in a cows stomach’. If it were really cold out you could wear one on each arm.

Hmm, yeah, that would suck. Significantly below average to role with port hole. I bet the other cows laugh and call him names.