People are strange

I got a ride in today.  Finally.  After three days of snow, I was able to throw my leg over my trusty Rig.  Getting in a quick ride was one of my goals today.  I had to drive to the dark side and pick up the boy.

He spent spring break with my father-in-law (otherwise known as 'Gran'pa').  It's a four hour drive, and I wanted (needed) to get out before we left.  I felt pretty good riding up the road for a quickie. 

The weather cooperated, and it was chilly but not cold.  I lumbered up the hill to get out of the neighborhood, and down to the bike path.  Under the wife-killer memorial bike tunnel, and across Union.  As I got about two miles into the ride, I noticed a man walking his dogs.  They didn't appear to be on leashes (naturally).  Fortunately, he saw me from about 100 yards, and gathered in his dogs.  As I got closer, I saw the bigger of the two - a brown boxer-pit bull type dog.  The smaller dog was close, but I could see him bending down, holding the brown dog.  I assumed he was soothing the dog, his face very close to the stubby ear of the dog. 

As I got closer, this is what I heard the man say:


STOP IT! THERE'S NOTHING TO BE AFRAID OF!!!

He was yelling this in the dogs ear.  Maybe not yelling as much as growling. 

As I passed, the dog was wide-eyed, looking at me.

I'm no dog whisperer, but this is what I imagine the dog heard:

BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLABADEE BLAH!

Not only did the dog hear gibberish, he saw me zooming by on... what?  But boy was it fast.  The dog could only have imagined how tasty I was, and the big dog was growling at him.  What to do?  Chase?  Maybe this fast thing was tasty.  Or at the very least, a playmate.

I can't imagine the dog learned anything constructive.

Other than that, the ride was pretty uneventful.  I didn't stop on the ride, which made me feel good. 

This particular loop is about five miles downhill, 2 miles on the base leg and 5 miles uphill, with a nice down and uphill in the last two miles.  In other words, a typical ride in Nirvana.

I did pass an epiphany. 

I passed him on a part of the trail where I often see homeless, indigent, unkempt, unwashed... you get the picture.  This part of the trail is a fairly steep, long (about 200 yards) hill.  It appeared he had all his belongings either on his back, in his hands or tied to his bike, all in some form of plastic bag. He was pushing his bike up the hill. I was huffing pretty hard as I came up behind him.  I called out 'on your left' as I always do.  He was walking in the middle of the trail (naturally), and turned to look at me as I passed. 

He had to have been my age, maybe a little older, but not by much.  He looked at me, and I looked at him.

There, but by the Grace of God go I.

I nodded and powered up the hill.

I'm going too fast.

If you know me, and you probably don't, you know I ride mountain bikes.  I ride mountain bikes on the dirt.  I ride on the road.  I ride on bike paths.  I ride bike paths to get to the dirt.  It's a blast, and riding keeps me healthy.  At least, it makes me sore, which I assume means I'm healthy.  I was sore when I was fat, but it was a different type of sore.  It was "I can't get out of bed without pain" sore.  It was "I can't walk very fast because I'm fat"sore.
Now, my hips are sore because I just rode 39 miles up a mountain on a singlespeed.  My knees hurt when I do squats and leg presses in the gym.  But, I think its a good sore.  It means I'm moving - living.

Now, if you know me, and based on what I just wrote, you might think you know me a little better, you know I'm slow.  Not "I ride the short bus" slow, but physically slow.  I used to race my high school friend David to the car.  You know, a couple of teenage kids running out of the mall to see who can get to the car first.  Kind of what I did with my dad (who always beat me, even though he was in his 50's when I was 8).  Anyway, David would always beat me.  Badly.  He would beat me by so much the car would be running and the heat was hot.  Not an easy feat for a '69 Cougar.  I tried the intramural thing in the Air Force.  Softball - I was the catcher.  That's where you put un-athletic fat kids when you have to play everyone.  When I went to Texas, I tried flag football.  The squadron didn't have much of a softball team, and the cool thing was to play football (this was Texas, after all...) Somehow, I made the team.  Maybe it was my willingness to play whatever position someone didn't show up for.

But I still remember my crowning glory.  In slow-motion.  Our team had just scored the go-ahead touchdown to win the game and put us in the base championship.  It was an extra-point, and I was the tight-end on the left side (where you put un-athletic fat kids when you have to play everyone). When the ball was snapped, I took off, as only an un-athletic white kid can (I was 24 at the time and, looking at pictures, impossibly skinny).   I'm sure the play was designed to put the ball in someone else's hand.  In fact I'm sure of it.  I'm sure because everyone else was covered, and I was not.  I was open not because of my superior athletic ability.  I was open because I hadn't made a play all season.  In fact, I don't think I had touched the ball. Ever.  So I'm running down the left sideline, with no one in front of me. I turn around, and somehow, the ball is coming toward me.  NFL Films couldn't have covered the play as well as I remember it.  The ball floated gently into my hands, and I was in the end zone.  I remember the ball was laid out in front of me, just like the pros.

I remember Ash, our quarterback shaking his fist at me.  YES!

So, I find it funny that, years later, I'm riding up a ridge on my 14 mile lunchtime loop.  The trail I ride is multi-use, which means I have to dodge horse-poop and old ladies in sensible shoes.  Don't get me wrong.  They hold races on this trail - it's not easy.  The ridge I'm riding up is the last bit before I get back to work. 

I had done the full loop, and I'm beat. Physically spent.  It's hot, and I'm nearly out of water.  Normally, I'm slow, but this day I'm slower. Six miles per hour is what the bike computer is telling.

So slow the computer actually says 'hurry up'. 

There are a couple of places where the trail dips downward, but it's generally an uphill slog.  I'm coming up on one of these little dips, and I coast down the trail. Up ahead, I see a couple of old ladies in sensible shoes.  You usually smell them first - the WalMart-perfume is a dead giveaway.  I hit the brakes and call out 'on your left', just as I always do.  The lady in the rear, who is obviously out because her friend made her, is picking her way through a stone in the middle of the path.  As I call out, she whirls around, and her eyes get BIG. So big I can see them behind her much-to-big-for-her-face sunglasses.  She turns, and runs to the nearest tree. 

She hugs it.

She hugs it like the earth is moving and if she lets go, she'll go flying into space.  As I slowly pass, I call out thanks.  The lady in front acknowledges me.  As I get down the trail, I hear the lady in back say:

"Those mountain bikers come up on you so FAST".

I guess speed is relative.

Did I say Craigslist sucks?

I did.  And it does.  At last count, I've gotten 4 bites on 2 bikes.  One guy sends an email - "will you take less?" - on the 26".  I reply.  Nothing.  Nada. Zip.  Crickets man.  The next guy leaves a message on my phone - "Hey man, wondering if the 29er will fit me".  Turns out he's 5'8", 200lbs.  No worries.  I was there once.  That's why I started riding bikes.  So I call back, we talk, I tell him it should fit fine. "Great - lets get together Saturday.  Give me a call after 1000".

Saturday rolls around, I call.  "Oh, sorry man, I bought one Friday".

What?

The last guy sends an email with a sob-story attachment.  "will you take less".  I call back, we talk.  He's a little concerned about fit.  I get that.  I've had to many ill-fitting bikes.  Then he asks "Are the wheels easy to take off?"

Excuse me?

So I explain the Redline tug bolts.  He works down the street, and I give him my address.  "I get off at 6:30.  I'll come by with the money".

Maybe he meant AM...

Of couse he never showed.  So here I am sitting on two bikes I probably won't ever rider again, hanging in my garge, mocking me.

"Really honey.  If you let me get this Rig on the credit card, I'll sell the other two and put the money back.

Thank goodness for tax refunds.

My wife still gives me those looks only the woman you love can give.  It's the "You lied to me" look.  Not lying as in "I never had sex with that woman" lying.  But lying about something you knew you could do.  "Who wouldn't want a 3 year-old frame with mid-level components, 2 wheelsets and a 2 year-old newish 29er singlespeed.  I can sell that. 

Yep.  Be right back.  Someone wants to buy both for double what I'm asking...