The Glory of 113th

Ugh. The Bogus Basin Hill Climb. I hate the BBHC.

It started well. For the first time ever I lined up near the front. There was only like one row of fast guys in front of me. There were like 10 rows of fast guys behind me.

Nonetheless I spent the first mile or so weaving through people as some started slowing and others started accelerating. I felt pretty good. I was flying in fact.

I think it was somewhere around mile 2 that I splattered all over the side of Bogus Basin like a bug on a windshield. I’m not really sure where it happened because it happened so suddenly. One minute ok, the next – not so much.

I think I got passed by about 100 people in half a mile. I was like that guy you see in the pro races who pulls off the front after a long pull and creates havoc as riders going much faster swerve all over to get around him. Yup that was me. Except without the long pull. Without any pull at all in fact.

An island in the stream, that is what I are.

Vrooom, there goes the furry guy. Vroom, baggy shorts guy. Vroom, women. Vroom, children. At least I didn’t cause a crash like those one poor bastards I saw.

One minute I was looking for gaps to shoot through, the next looking for goat heads to run over. Around mile 3 I really needed a flat tire. I knew that I needed a flat tire when I got passed by a guy woes helmet had an antenna topped by a fuzzy ball. Really. I got passed by a guy with a fuzzy antenna ball on his helmet. It was pretty much the worst moment in my life.

He looked over and yelled ‘WooHoo, what a great ride’. Strangely, at this, the worst moment of my life, I achieved my greatest mental feat ever. I thought ‘eff you’ so hard that I am pretty sure he heard it. He looked like he heard it. The expression on his face certainly changed. A little telepathy for you all. How do you like them apples?

At least I think I only thought that in my head.

After fuzzy ball guy passed me I was pissed. I grabbed the next wheel that went by and hung on. Around mile 5 or 6 I started to rally. I started to catch people.

I passed fuzzy helmet ball guy – thank god. I stared him down to see if he was still having a great ride. Apparently not, he didn’t say anything. Yes! I kicked fuzzy helmet ball guys ass!
So I spent the rest of the way passing people. I was feeling better. Either that or my brain disconnected from the rest of me. Two or three miles from the finish I caught Brad Turpin. He had some BYRDS kid on his wheel like a lamprey on a shark. The BYRDS kid had been there a while, I never saw him pull through the entire time I was coming up behind them. When I passed them they jumped on my wheel. When we got to the flat part Turpin pulled through with me while the BYRDS kid sat in.

You know what happened next. About 200 meters out the BYRDS kid starts sprinting. Sprinting for the glory of 113th place. WTF? Props to Brad for beating the greasy little fart to the line. Don’t get me wrong, I love the BYRDS. They are good kids, great riders, and are well coached by some good dudes, but I am about sick of that act.

So it goes I guess. Can’t blame them, they’re just out trying to rock it and kick some ass. I just wish it wasn’t my ass. I am probably just pissed to be robbed of the glory that comes with 113th place. Damn it. I didn’t even get 114th. Yup relegated to 115th. 1:10:45 or something like that.

How embarrassing.Better luck next time.

Going to Hell

I just got back from a ride, and I gotta say, my neighborhood is going to hell. On my cool down loop around the block I saw some of my neighbors sitting on their lawn chairs in the garage smoking and drinking Budweiser.

If you spend your Sunday afternoons sitting in lawn chairs in your garage, smoking and drinking Bud - you might be white trash. I mean what? Was NASCAR not on?

What exactly do you do in while sitting in the lawn chair while smoking and drinking Bud? I imagine it is something like this...

Guy 1 - 'There goes Elmer all spandexed up again - you think he's gay?'

Guy 2 - 'Don't know, pass me a Bud'.

Guy 1 - 'I'm pretty sure he is. You don't wear spandex and ride a bike if ya ain't. Get yer own damn Bud'

Guy 2 - (Getting up to get his bud) 'Look, now Elmer is mowing his lawn'

Guy 1 - 'Yup, broke out the craftsman. Say, while yer up will ya get me a bud?'

Guy 2 - 'You think thats the 3.5 horse or the 4 horse? Here's yer Bud.'

Guy 1 - 'Can't tell. Sounds like the 3.5. Definitely the 20 inch cutting deck though.'

Guy 2 - 'Yup, good call. If he sold that bike I bet he could get himself a deere (john). Thanks.'

Yes, I am pretty sure it goes something like that. Just had to get that off my chest. Gotta go mow the lawn now. With the Craftsman 3.5 hp, 20 inch deck.

Good Times

So the Bogus Basin Hill Climb is tomorrow. I am not sure how I feel about it. I mean, I think that I like it, but I am also pretty sure that I hate it. I do have a countdown-o-meter to it so it must mean something to me. Either that or I wanted something to take up space on my blog and couldn’t think of anything else to countdown to.

Anyway, the BBHC isn’t really a race. It just turns out that way – one guy on a bike is a bike ride, two guys on bikes is a bike race. There are like 300 or more people there – 350, just checked. They come out in all varieties.

GB racer guy? Yeah, he is there. Yellow jacket guy? And how. Performance guy? Lance Armstrong wanna be guy? Fixie hipster guy? Yup, uh huh, and yes even him. I wonder if GMBG will be there?

I guess the part that I hate is when all the people I make fun of pass me on their way up the hill. I don’t like it when furry guys beat me to the top, but I can live with it – happens a lot. I don’t mind getting beat by girls so much either – there are some very good women cyclists around here. Most of them aren’t even named Armstrong.

Getting rocked by baggy clothes guy is most unsavory – I don’t really remember, but I am sure it has happened.

I almost got beat by a guy on a fixie. I passed him on the flats just before the finish.

did get beat by a guy on a mountain bike. Ugh, did I just write that out loud?

I have been slayed by Clydesdales.

Ripped by children.

And even mocked by a guy on the side of the road wearing nothing but tidy whitey’s. That was below average.

You know the worst part of the ride? No, it’s not the hill. It’s at the top, when it flattens out and you pull a big group of guys for a mile and a half to the finish and then they sprint around you at the end for 73rd place.

Who the hell sprints for 73rd place? I mean really. God that kills me.

Good times. I can’t wait for tomorrow. I am on a downward swing. Three years ago I did a 1:07. Two years ago I did 1:10. Last year I did1:13. Using my Mensa like brain I can extrapolate that to a 1:16 tomorrow. Bank it.

My Own Little Mensa

So I was bump’n around the internets the other day. I saw one of those stupid little adds they jamb along the side of your Facebook page or email (those bastards). The add was for the Mensa ‘Fun’ Test – or something like that.

Those three words together have to be the ultimate oxymoron, so how could I not click it – I mean really, I gotta see what that is all about. Post click, I find myself in the ‘Fun’ test. Ok, so I have a little time to kill, I decide to give it a shot.

Guess what? It wasn’t really fun. It was a lot like a test. A kinda hard test. So I score a 25/30. The website says that’s pretty good, and I would probably be able to pass the Mensa test. Uh huh. Right. I mean, you read my blog – I’m barely literate.

So the 83% that was barely good enough to get me a ‘B’ in school is probably enough to get me into Mensa. Nice. All I have to do is fork up some cash and take a test. Excellent.

That would be so sweet. I could pay some money and take the test. Then, if I passed I could give them some more money (annually). I would probably get a certificate that says ‘you’re smart’. I could hang it in my office. I would probably get a ‘you’re smart’ magazine that I could leave laying around where people would see it. Best of all, I could probably get a chance to meet other ‘smart’ people – and we could hang out and tell each other how smart we are. Now that would be smart, wouldn’t it?

I wonder though, how smart are you really if you need other people to tell you that you are smart? Really. And how exclusive is this group of smart people if they need to advertise on Facebook or hotmail or wherever to find new members. I’m thinking that if I needed to find smart people for my smart people group I wouldn’t start looking on Facebook. There are dogs on Facebook. My dog eats poop.

I think I will start my own Mensa – type service. If you need someone to tell you that you are smart so that you feel better about yourself send me an email. I will send you one back that says, “Dude, you are so intelligent”. I won’t use the word smart, because intelligent sounds smarter than smart does. I won’t even charge you anything. You can print the email and put it on your wall. It will be sweet.

State Championship TT

I had this dream the other night that I had a lot of hair. A lot of blonde hair. It was down to my shoulders and curly as shit. Yeah, that was weird. Just thought I would share that.
So anyway, in reality I don’t have any hair – or not much, and I am a pretty piss poor bike racer. That’s what I found out this weekend at the state championship time trial. About the bike racing thing I mean, not the hair. I already knew about the hair.

So the race was a rolly polly 40k individual time trial. That’s 25 miles in American. As it turns out, that is way too far for a time trial. Especially if you suck like me.

I guess the most remarkable thing to me was that of all the people racing there, I only saw one without any special time trial equipment – you know a Darth Vader helmet, or deep dish carbon wheels, or a sweet tricked out tt bike. I am pretty sure there was like a billion dollars (retail) worth of equipment out there. Seeing all that made me think that the best way to stimulate the economy would be to make all the middle-aged guys in America compete in a time trial – that would get the money flowing.

I guess I am anti-american because I borrowed the tt bike that I used. It’s always good to ride a bike that isn’t yours in a bike race. It is always better if you borrow it like the day before and have very limited time to practice on it. Nonetheless, that is what I did.

So yeah, I rolled up to the start line on my (borrowed) Cervelo tt machine. For a little added bonus I had a borrowed front wheel from someone else. Yeah, the bike and the wheel had never even met before. I did have my own back wheel (borrowed cassette), and my own Darth Vader helmet though, that was ok. I don’t even know what the bikes name was. I will call it Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

Anyway, I started a minute behind state road race champion Tim Doelman, a minute behind state criterium champion Tim Doelman – how many state championships do you have to win before they make you cat up anyway? Apparently more than 2, not that it really mattered to me – there were like 10 other guys there better than me anyway.

The race itself was uneventful. Started a little faster than I wanted and suffered a bit. Then I passed Sarah Brown who was on her second lap. Then I suffered a bit more. I wanted to pass Sarah Barber too, but she was too fast and finished before I caught her. Then I suffered a bit more. Then I passed some 4/5 dude wearing knickers, a bit warm for that eh? Then I suffered a bit more. Then Rob Floth flew by me like I was standing still. That was nice. Not unexpected, but nice. I think he may be a bit faster than me? Then I suffered some more. Then I passed someone. Then I suffered some more. Then Dan Bechtold flew past on his way to glorious victory. Didn’t even say hi. Hi Dan. Then I suffered some more. Then I finished. 59:27.

I was shooting for an hour, so I guess that was good. Just a little disappointed about all the other people who were apparently shooting for a bit less than an hour. At least I didn’t finish 13th.

CCBB performed well. I think I went about as good as I could have, I don’t think I left too much out there. Maybe next year I will try training harder – nah, maybe I will just take more naps.

Munchkinland

I don’t know if I have told you this before, but The Wizard of Oz – pretty much the scariest movie of all time. If not the scariest, it is at least top five. Right up there with Alice in Wonder Land, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (original), and Darby O’Gil and the Little People. You gotta admit, monkeys with wings – now that is scary shit.

At the old Disney MGM Theme Park they have this ride. The Great American Movie Ride, or something like that. It is pretty cheesy. You go through all these different animatronic movie scenes while some Disney schlep acts out some dumb plot. I felt sorry for the Disney schlep. I really did. Anyhow, one of the last scenes was in Munchkinland from The Wizard of Oz. It was a big scene complete with the wicked witch of some direction. That wasn’t the scary part though. The scary part were the munchkins. There isn’t anything more creepy than a munchkin (except maybe a monkey with wings).

There was this one munchkin peeking out the window of a house – he had a hairline that had receded so far back on the sides that he had a little blond curly Mohawk. He was like a little white Mr. T. Now, receding hairline Mohican munchkins are scary by themselves, but the really creepy part was that he was staring at me the whole time. His beedy black eyes followed me through the room. It was like Chucky the receding hairline Mohican munchkin.

Talk about heebeegeebees. I’ll never go on that ride again.

Mission to Uranus

At Epcot they have this ride called Mission Space. Basically they put you in a box and shake you up a bit. They give you a couple buttons to push, a joystick to yank, and a little video screen to distract you from the fact that they put you in a box and are shaking you up. It is a pretty good ride.

After the ride I asked my son how he liked it. He thought it was swell, but was a bit disappointed that the ‘ship’ (box) only went to Mars. He said “It should be a Mission to Uranus”. Pronounced “Your Anus”. It killed me. I was laughing so hard that I almost missed the stink eye that a lady sitting nearby was giving us. That really killed me. I laughed so hard I cried. I don’t know where he comes up with this stuff. Really, I don’t.

You know what I don’t get about Epcot? Half the people there are from foreign countries. If you haven’t been there, most of Epcot is made up of little replicas of foreign countries. I guess the idea is that you can see these cultures (or stereotypes of these cultures) without ever leaving the states.

So anyway, what I don’t get is why some of these foreigners got in a plane, travelled halfway around the world, and then went to a replica of a country that they could drive to. Or a country that they actually live in. I mean really, I saw Germans in the replica Germany. I guess it’s like going to McDonalds in France. I like McDonalds. But I wouldn’t go to France to eat there.

My IASW

Ok, I’m back. Back from vacation. Back from work trips. Even back in the saddle again.
Disneyworld pretty much rocks. Except for all the people. Yeah, the people kind of suck. And the expensive food and beverage. That kind of sucked too, not a good place to have a cola addiction. Then there was the airplane stuff, that always sucks – but I already wrote about that. Other than that it was pretty sweet. But there is that other thing, you know, the “It’s a Small World” thing. Yes, there was that. That was significantly below average. Four times.

So I am rocking along in IASW. Feeling good, not a 300 pounder is site – I will wash right through this thing. Like a corn kernel through the gut. Quick. Like a fat kid on a funnel cake. That’s fast. Faster than a fat kid on a donut – in case you were wondering. So yeah, there I am like a fat kid on a funnel cake zipping through IASW.

Then it happened. My son started singing. It’s a small world after all. Oh shit. Not good. I know what it means the instant I hear it. He likes it. He thinks it rocks. He’s gonna make us go again. I’m looking at double jeopardy, a second tour – and that just ain’t right.

So the second time through I start wondering if it is appropriate to promote cultural stereotypes on a kids ride at Disneyworld. The third time through I am thinking that if your gonna do it, you might as well update the stereotypes. The fourth time through I came up with a plan to update the ride.

My IASW would be something like this…

When I think Holland, wooden shoes is not what comes to mind. In fact I am guessing that there are more people in Nikes than wooden shoes in Holland. But I don’t think about that. When I think Holland I think Amsterdam. When I think Amsterdam I think liberal attitudes, legal drug use, and legal prostitution. So in my IASW I would replace the wooden shoe dolls with pot smoking, acid dropping dolls, and throw in some scantily clad prostitute dolls for good measure.

The French people would be eating cheese. And swilling wine. And well, you know, surrendering. I might also add a few sucking at bike racing too.

The Italian guy wouldn’t be in that stupid little boat. They would be dressed up like Catholic church leaders and Mafia bosses. I don’t know what that stuff looks like. It may be hard to tell the difference.

The dolls from the middle east wouldn’t be charming snakes or riding carpets or any of that. They would have machine guns and wear Nike gear. There would be a burning American flag in the background.

Speaking of Americans, there wouldn’t be a USA in the ride. They sold their spot to all the other countries. There would be Americans though. A few in each country. They would be the fat dolls with money in one hand, and a gun in the other - telling everyone else what to do.
The Indians would be answering tech support calls.

You wouldn’t be able to see the Chinese people because there would be a brown foggy haze in that area. You would just be able to hear them making stuff.

The Canadians would be drinking beer, eh?

The Mexicans wouldn’t be wearing sombreros but may be sneaking across the border. I don’t know why.

The Central Americans would be making cocaine, being poor, and fighting gorillas.

The South Americans would be playing soccer, using only one name. And calling the American President a pubic hair.

Yup, that’s how it would go. Updated stereotypes. I don’t make them up, I just perpetuate ‘em.
Maybe the new IASW would have different music. I am thinking “We Didn’t Start the Fire” by Billy Joel, or “Tom’s Diner” by Suzanne Vega. I’ll leave you with that one.

Just Not Normal

You know how I remember that it is time to get a new drivers license? The lady at the airline check-in tells me the old one is expired. That is the system I have used the last two times anyway. I wouldn’t recommend it, but I honestly can’t think of a better way.

In case I wasn’t sure that the license was expired the TSA person re-inforced it – “did you know your drivers license is expired”, she asked. “That’s what I hear” was my response. She took it well, much better than the TSA person in Orlando on my way back when I used the same response to the same question.

Whats with those TSA people anyway? Do they recruit them that way or do they hire normal people and train them to be upity ass holes. Upity ass holes that don’t need brains because they have a long list of rules and regulations to do their thinking for them.

Or maybe its just being in an airport so much, it sucks your will to be normal. I mean, look at the passengers – you would think it was like floor seating at a concert the way people line up to get on a plane. They all disregard instructions to be the first to jam themselves into the aluminum tube. Or have you ever noticed all the sheeple at the baggage claim? Jamming themselves together as close to the outlet as possible, determined to be the first to grab their goods. God I hate that. Step back a bit, let the bags do the baggage dance, then step forward and claim yours when it presents itself. Eff people?!?

Then there is the plane itself. On my flight back from Orlando a dude in the row behind me went to the bathroom 4 times. Yeah 4 times in less than 5 hours. I know it was 4 times because every time he got up the little round woman behind me had to use my seat to leverage herself out of her seat – making it bend in most unconventional ways. Good times.

I would complain about the people who try to stuff their big bags in the overhead bins too, but I know they are just trying to avoid the sheeple at the baggage claim.

So anyway I was going to tell you about my vacation (it’s a small world after all) but I got a bit side tracked. Next time.

I'm on Blogcation

I deserve a vacation. I am going tomorrow. There will be no blogging while I vacate. If I chose to get one of those fancy smart phones I bet I could blog while I vacate, but I haven’t, so I won’t. I will just vacate. The good news is that stuff happens on vacation, and I will have something to write about when I get back.

The last time I took a vacation for the sake of vacationing I went to Disneyland. Turns out I went to Disneyland on Gay Day. No, not ‘the happiest place on Earth’ – gay. I mean GAY day, as in alternative lifestyle day at good ole Disney. How did I know, you may ask? Well, some of the students in my wife’s class told her before we left – but I think I might have figured it out anyway.

You see, on International Gay Day at Disneyland all the alternative lifestyle people wore red t-shirts. So Puritans labeled people with the scarlet letter, Nazis tattoo their victims, and at international gay day the gay people voluntarily wear red. I have always found that’s the best way to get accepted by society – make yourself stand out more. It is particularly endearing when you print inappropriate sexual innuendo on your label err, t-shirt. You should have seen the looks on some of the families faces when they realized to their horror that they wore their red shirt on the wrong day. I think the t-shirt shop did brisk business that day.

Whatever, I am all for being gay or whatever else you want to be. I am all for being proud about who you are too. I am proud of you for being proud. Self esteem is very important. Somewhere along the line though, pride turns into narcissism.

Speaking of self esteem issues, I went to the St. Chapelle winery yesterday for a little outside concert. The Corvette club was there. I don’t think I will elaborate on that.

So yeah. Went to Disneyland. It was International Gay Day. Somehow, my son went the entire day without saying something awkward or pointing out some oddity. That was all good. The real event of the vacation was riding ‘It’s a Small World’.

We had like 20 minutes to squeeze in a ride on ‘It’s a Small World’ before we needed to evacuate the park. We figured we were golden – there was no line, and how long could that ride take anyway. So we roll through the little line maze already rocking to “It’s a small world after all”. They are only loading one family per boat. It’s a small world after all. My wife, son and I pile into our boat. It’s a small world after all. We enter into a room with fake singing children. It’s a small world after all. We enter another room with fake singing children. It’s a small world after all.

My mind was numb when we ran into the boat in front of us. It’s a small world after all. The combined weight of the rotund couple in the boat in front of us caused the boat to bottom out. It’s a small world after all. Well, for some of us anyway. It’s a small world after all. Boats piled up behind us, but didn’t exert enough force to free the blocked up boat. It’s a small world after all. Apparently too small.

So there we were, stuck in the ride. It’s a small world after all. It must have been the ride operators smoke break, because we were there 20 minutes. It’s a small world after all. It’s a small, small fucking world.

I’m off…