tch
09-25-2006, 07:55 PM
…or Everybody Needs Their Dose of Humble Pie.
So I’m cool. I’m a biker and everybody knows it, and I own a really nice bike, and ride 50 or 60 miles at a shot which is a lot more than the beerguts who I work with, and I can even ride 28 mph (slightly downhill with the wind at my back on a good day), and I read an online forum where everybody knows a lot about bikes, and I think I know a lot about bikes and bicycle racing cuz after all I did that a couple of times a long time ago, and so I feel pretty good because I must be a real stud -- so when someone at works asks me to do the bike leg for a short local team triathlon of course I say yes. After all, it’s only 14 miles and I can go impress my co-workers and then take off and have a nice ride afterwards.
So I get there and it’s raining. Pretty damn good, too. And the wind is blowing right in my face. But that’s OK because I’m a hard man. And I take a little warm-up and then it’s time to grab the bracelet and go. After all, it’s only 14 miles. But pretty soon I realize there’s 14 miles and only 14 miles. The front part of the circuit is nice and flat and it’s windy as hell – but at least it’s raining. And the back side has a series of serious rollers that combine “oh-my-god-I’m-going-35mph-down-wet-broken-pavement-and-I-have to-swerve-to-avoid-the-potholes” with steep “my-chest-is-about-to-explode-and-my-bike-has-come-to-a-virtual-standstill-even-in-the-granny-gears” climbs. Fun. And it’s really 14, long miles. Twice around the loop, so in case I hadn’t suffered a myocardial infarction the first time, I got another chance at it.
And then the topper. I’m coming up on the transition area going fast because I want to look like the bike racer I imagine myself to be (and did I mention that it was raining and the road was sheeting water wet?), and I look up to see the race official waving towards my teammate over my left shoulder. It’s a god-damned 135-degree turn! And I’m going 30 mph the wrong way. So I did what any Fred does (please say he didn’t muckle onto the brakes for whatever he was worth. Please!).
I muckled onto the brakes for whatever I was worth. Big ole handfuls. And then there I was sitting on my a$$ going down the road with the bike all around me. YOUCH!!!!! And eventually I stop sliding and throw the bracelet and then it hurts all over not just my a$$ and my elbows but my pride and my dignity because there I am the stud bike rider ignominiously down on the pavement with everyone gawking at him and how many times have I told newbies not to grab the brakes when the road is wet and what did I do but forget all that I prided myself knowing (or thought I knew) and just act like a stupid no-nothing jerk (not The Jerk, but a common, garden-variety jerk).
And I feel like the most useless, pathetic hunk of humanity. What an egotistical, ignorant fool I am.
And to beat the point home, I got dusted by a 60-year old guy wearing a Blazing Saddles jersey with long white hair and a long white handlebar moustache who looked suspiciously like a grown-up version of Freewheeling Franklin from the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers.
Someone is telling me: Don't let yourself get too big for them britches!
My medal:
So I’m cool. I’m a biker and everybody knows it, and I own a really nice bike, and ride 50 or 60 miles at a shot which is a lot more than the beerguts who I work with, and I can even ride 28 mph (slightly downhill with the wind at my back on a good day), and I read an online forum where everybody knows a lot about bikes, and I think I know a lot about bikes and bicycle racing cuz after all I did that a couple of times a long time ago, and so I feel pretty good because I must be a real stud -- so when someone at works asks me to do the bike leg for a short local team triathlon of course I say yes. After all, it’s only 14 miles and I can go impress my co-workers and then take off and have a nice ride afterwards.
So I get there and it’s raining. Pretty damn good, too. And the wind is blowing right in my face. But that’s OK because I’m a hard man. And I take a little warm-up and then it’s time to grab the bracelet and go. After all, it’s only 14 miles. But pretty soon I realize there’s 14 miles and only 14 miles. The front part of the circuit is nice and flat and it’s windy as hell – but at least it’s raining. And the back side has a series of serious rollers that combine “oh-my-god-I’m-going-35mph-down-wet-broken-pavement-and-I-have to-swerve-to-avoid-the-potholes” with steep “my-chest-is-about-to-explode-and-my-bike-has-come-to-a-virtual-standstill-even-in-the-granny-gears” climbs. Fun. And it’s really 14, long miles. Twice around the loop, so in case I hadn’t suffered a myocardial infarction the first time, I got another chance at it.
And then the topper. I’m coming up on the transition area going fast because I want to look like the bike racer I imagine myself to be (and did I mention that it was raining and the road was sheeting water wet?), and I look up to see the race official waving towards my teammate over my left shoulder. It’s a god-damned 135-degree turn! And I’m going 30 mph the wrong way. So I did what any Fred does (please say he didn’t muckle onto the brakes for whatever he was worth. Please!).
I muckled onto the brakes for whatever I was worth. Big ole handfuls. And then there I was sitting on my a$$ going down the road with the bike all around me. YOUCH!!!!! And eventually I stop sliding and throw the bracelet and then it hurts all over not just my a$$ and my elbows but my pride and my dignity because there I am the stud bike rider ignominiously down on the pavement with everyone gawking at him and how many times have I told newbies not to grab the brakes when the road is wet and what did I do but forget all that I prided myself knowing (or thought I knew) and just act like a stupid no-nothing jerk (not The Jerk, but a common, garden-variety jerk).
And I feel like the most useless, pathetic hunk of humanity. What an egotistical, ignorant fool I am.
And to beat the point home, I got dusted by a 60-year old guy wearing a Blazing Saddles jersey with long white hair and a long white handlebar moustache who looked suspiciously like a grown-up version of Freewheeling Franklin from the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers.
Someone is telling me: Don't let yourself get too big for them britches!
My medal: