Here's a post from my old blog called The Fresh New Dumbness.
The drawings are by Joanna Buese.
I had never done a long distance trip but had three years of experience as a bike messenger, so this was going to be a piece of cake. Instead of signing up for the 35 mile or 75 mile options, I chose the 100-mile ride.
"Hell, I probably ride a hundred miles a day anyway. Gimmee that pizza next to you."
The night before the ride, which I kept calling "the race," I did a late night improv show, got loaded, and was in bed by 3am.
The ride started early the next morning in rural Illinois. The route consisted of farm roads through small towns before ending in Dekalb at Northern Illinois University. I showed up right before the cut-off time and wolfed down a complimentary Power Bar. I hadn't eaten anything yet.
But I was ready to kick some MS ass.
With competition as my mistress, I hovered around 20mph. I skipped the first two rest stops and didn't let anyone pass me.
I was so awesome.
When passing through downtown Sandwich, IL I pulled out my messengering tricks and blew through traffic signals and stop signs while those other chumps obeyed the rules.
What a bunch of suckers.
In Sandwich, they indeed provided as many sandwiches as you'd like. I dug into my ham and swiss and beef and cheddar in the crowded cafeteria, and noticed how many people were in groups. Or "teeeams."
I hate that word.
It makes me think of community theater.
Harmless but annoying.
I had already grown tired of these team people each squawking "CAR!" down my back as a car approached.
Yeah, no shit there's a car coming. Just shut up. Or say it differently.
You sound like a grating, overly cautious Christian in reverse echo.
I was getting grumpy.
The teams were all smiles and ready to keep riding their brand new carbon Treks with Campy components, whereas me and my early 90's Cannondale with used Shimano everything needed a nap.
On the way out of the cafeteria there was a handwritten sign on a door that read:
PLEASE OBEY THE RULES OF THE ROAD. WE HAVE GOTTEN COMPLAINTS FROM THE RESIDENTS. FAILURE TO COMPLY TO THE RULES WILL RESULT IN DISQUALIFICATION.
I continued passing more people, mumbling "on your left" in a laconic whisper when I got a flat tire on the rear wheel. I watched as all those "suckers" I had left in the dust were now blowing past me. Luckilly, I had my messenger bag with me and all my tools and I was back up in a few minutes.
I didn't realize how heavy my bag was until the afternoon. The other cyclists had little lightweight nylon knapsacks that were filled with water and little else. I had my large Timbuk2 bag filled with water and everything else: sneakers, change of clothes, tent, tools, U-lock.
One guy I passed cracked, "Whaddaya got in there? A boombox?"
The only thing I didn't pack was sun block.
Woops.
It was late June. There was no shade.
By 3 o'clock I was beginning to get fatigued.
My shoulders ached, I was losing circulation in my fingers, and my ass felt like it had been anesthetized by a 14th century barber.
To entertain myself on a lone strip of prarie land, I opened my water bottle and let the wind blow music out of it. I found that I could control the pitch by moving the bottle. I tried to learn a song, a long one like "Hey Jude," when an elderly man on a 3-wheeler and an official-looking helmet pulled along side me.
"Do you need water?"
I was no longer awesome.
By the time I got to Dekalb, I was dehydrated and focused on only one thing: getting to the finish line, setting up my tent, and eating the free dinner. And getting sunblock.
And aloe.
I blew through a few tumbleweed traffic signals and was in the home stretch when I heard an amplified voice behind me. It was a cop.
"OBEY THE RULES OF THE ROAD, BUDDY. UNLESS YOU WANT A CITATION."
Ugh. Isn't there anything better to do in...nevermind.
I crossed the finish line and lost the pesty cop.
I also the lost "the race."
In fact I was one of the last to finish.
Who cares, I needed to get out of the stupid sun.
So while hundreds of people were in the beer tent mingling to a Van Halen cover band, I was surveying my lobstery soreness alone in a tent.
And I vowed not to leave the tent until that asshole sun went away.
The piece of shit sun did eventually let up and that's when I headed to the food tent.
"Sorry. We stopped serving food at 8."
"What!?"
I was now really very fucking hungry and really very fucking angry. I'm glad I had masturbated in the tent to take the edge off. Then again if I hadn't masturbated I might've
gotten to the tent in time to eat.
I zombied around the campus until I found a gyros joint, and ate a big, sloppy burger that tasted like heat exhaustion. After staring at an empty cardboard french fry dish in yummy numbness for fifteen minutes, I went in search of aloe and sunblock.
The only thing I could find resembling a supermarket was a liquor store in a strip mall. I walked up to the counter but got shouted at by the doorguy.
Oh yeah. This is a shitty college town.
I gave the fucking rap-metal doorguy my ID and he let me walk to the counter, where a fat rap-metal kid was being obese by the register. I asked if they carried any sunblock.
His face contorted into that of a rich girl at a mall in the 80's.
"Here?"
I wanted to punch him and his horrible taste in music in the fucking brain.
I guess I raised my voice when I said,
"I don't know, MAN. I'm not FROM here."
I ended up getting aloe and sunblock at a gas station and retreated back to the tent, where I slept like an asshole.
So here are some tips if you are planning to do the 100-mile MS ride:
*DON'T get between 3-4 hours of sleep
*DON'T be hungover
*DON'T not eat breakfast
*DON'T be competitive
*DON'T skip rest stops
*DON'T get a flat
*DON'T wear an unnecessarily heavy bag
*DON'T not wear sunblock
*DON'T blow through traffic signals in front of college town cops
*DON'T masturbate in the tent before they cut off the free dinner
*DON'T go to a liquor store for sunblock
*DON'T be an asshole
But let's not forget who the real asshole is: MS.
No comments:
Post a Comment