Rants on Cycling and on Life


ah, lunch break....the time of the day where I stuff my face and guiltlessly write and read BLOGS
TimmyP and I had several exchanges back and forth on the topic of photo of a pretty girl we had each seen on the internet. No, not Pam Anderson or Jessica Simpson, but rather a simple face shot of a brown eyed girl with simple brown hair; natural. Just something about her eyes and that smile, perhaps there is something Monalisaesque about her, I never got the Monalisa thing so I will not expand. After all this build up I must get to my point, I told TimmyP that I was going to write a short story based on that image, I don't normally write short stories, I am anecdotal and enjoy streams of consciousness rants, but fiction is not my thing so bear with me....

It seemed as if Alice was on a roll. She had always been a passionate artist, growing up in a nurturing creative environment where she found a love for oil painting, acting, and bicycles, yes, bicycles. She was one of several children, her mother a crafty homemaker with a love for reading the great books and gardening, while her father was a nutty man with a passion for wheels (spoke wheels), well actually a passion for anything and everything that he touched;Clifford "Cliff" Braun was a tinkerer, an inventor, and a theorist. Cliff had a love for machines, mechanisms, and technology....and well for communication tools. Cliff's work space was filled with projects started, projects unstarted, and even a few near finished projects, always moving to the next thing, always more thrilled by the process more than the product. When the internet came to be Cliff jumped right on the case. The Ham radio, CB, and all the other outdated devices of communication were set aside. He built up his own server and started building low end information based web sites for himself and for his friends. From this new venue of communication Cliff was able to share all of his information and interests with anyone and everyone who cared to read.....and you know what they did read. That was all many years ago, part of the puzzle, but not the meat of the message. Alice had moved away from home after she finished college, in just three years, somehow in that time she managed to graduate with a dual major and a minor; Sociology/Theater and fine arts. She got a job as a social worker where she worked with urban children and tried to use painting as a form of therapy, in her time away from work when she was not lending her hand at the soup kitchen of riding bikes with the children from her program she was dedicated to local theater, always scoring the leading roles and receiving smashing reviews. Her popularity was shocking, for some reason her popularity grew beyond the scope of her local community. Her art had been selling via the internet for years and her acting performances had been packed houses as well. Alice Braun was a simple girl, not vain or conceited, she took the response to her art in stride and stayed committed to her goals. She was not driven by the fame, the applause, or even the money she received for selling her paintings or sculptures. Alice produced becuase it made her feel alive, a trait that she must have picked up from her father Cliff, a man who made his living off a small motorcycle repair shop, custom bicycle frame building, and an occassional patent. (most of his inventions cost more to create then they ever recouped in earning, but he did not invent for money, he invented for the pleasure of the task)
Over the years Alice had made a few friends and acquaintances of her admiring fans. At gallery openings and at post theater performances she would meet various people she had met before. Some of which were from different east coast cities or from surrounding towns. What had brought them this great distance never caused her any great curiousity. She was a lover of the arts and thought felt that there are those that love to catch a performance on Broadway while there are those that prefer the downhome smaller theater troops such as the one that she was teamed up with in Boston at this time.
At one of the gallery exhibitions in a downtown Boston, not far from the rural home that Alice grew up in just outside of Wooster, Mass, Alice noticed through the long, tall, clear glass windows that there were an extraordinary amount of bicycles locked up outside the gallery. Every No Parking sign, every coin operated meter, and every tree (yes....every tree....for shame) was surrounded by as many bicycles as could possibly be leaned and locked to. This caught her attention, as bicycles normally do, but this for some reason occupied the back of her mind. Throughout the rest of the evening Alice kept getting wierd signs and signs from the predomanantly male crowd at this gallery opening. When Alice met a thin blonde man with a wirey goatee she noticed that when she shook hands he had an odd brown oval on his hand, a mark that she had recognized on her own hands after a long bicycle tour one summer. That mark had been created by a space in the cycling gloves. There were other odd clues that she began to of the woman that seemed so interested in buying some of her art had some tattoos on her arms and legs as revealed by her sleeveless shirt and short skirt; all these tattoos had a recurring theme of the bicycle, some were cogs others were chains and the words..."the Revolution will not be MOTORIZED!" After a while she grew a tad curious about this bicycle culture that surrounded her. Was it due to the bohemian nature of artists and their love for bikes or something else. Then in a conversation with an old friend who had been going to her shows and plays, Alice brought up the topic of bikes and caught a slip in the conversation. The young man with the hairless body made mention of Cliff, almost as if he knew him. She asked. Oh, do you know my father?

more on this in a bit
need to get back to this in a bit

there are classic questions in conversation that people use to break the ice or should I get to know each other better....
where are you from? what do you do for work? is your hand bigger than your face? and
what are your favorite movies?
"What are your Favorite movies?" is a question that can identify people to a level of kinship or aversion similar to the label of Cat or Dog person. Earlier today while reading through SOOZ's Blog I commented on this same question....
here is what I came up with...
favorite movies?
that question can get different answers at different times of the day.....
but lets see what I have spinning through my mind right now
Favorite Documentaries-Ken Burn's THE CIVIL WAR
British Classic 7-UP
Bruce Brown's motorcycle epic ON ANY SUNDAY

Favorite Comedies
Barfly (to all my friends)

Favorite SequelMax Max/Road Warrior

Favorite Cycling films
Pee Wee's Big Adventure
Breaking Away
The Bicycle Thief

favorite Chic Flicks
My Life as a Dog
Roman Holiday

and favorites in my DVD collection
Planet of the Apes (box set from before Marky Mark was born)
Fist full of Dollars (the Man with no name trilogy)
Bill Jack Box Set

and of course

all of the movies listed here are MUST SEES!
if you have not seen these films
make this list of movies your selection
and then get back to me
I could have made a longer more detailed list
but figured that this was a good starter list
something to get you off the Police Academy Classics that you have been watching ever since your VCR ate your bootleg copy of FLETCH and CADDY SHACK
now is the time to take it to the next level!

and you do know that if your hand is bigger than your face the odds of your getting cancer are slim to none....
check it out...


okay, I admit it
my CUTTING AND PASTING is getting out of hand
but this posting by TIMMYP is a Mantra for life

take a moment of silence

or an extra step to hold your spouse

hug your child and don't let go

tell a friend how much you care

go outside and ride your bike

if I steal from someone's BLOG is it BLOGERISM?

The Cliffs.....
you tell the tale
lets see where the comments take you
I tried to write a piece on it
but came up empty

I was catching up with the actions of Jenny in Cali on her BLOG page when I noticed her COUNTER
I thought to myself that I may want a COUNTER
with a COUNTER I would like to know how many people are visiting my site
then I realized that a COUNTER would actually show me how few people are visiting my site
rapidly I played forward to my nights in front of the computer
there I could picture myself sitting with wide eyes with bursting blood vessels staring blankly into my computer screen
never blinking
just waiting
waiting for the COUNTER to move
hitting REFRESH to see if someone had logged on but that the COUNTER had not updated
feeling a raise of excitement in my heart
some butterflies in my stomach seeing that the counter had in fact clicked
then growing sad realizing that the COUNTER only clicked because I had loaded the page again
I was causing the COUNTER to COUNT
that I am my only reader
the comments via HALOSCAN increase because I comment there
and then my COUNTER WOULD COUNT from my own viewing of my own BLOG page
it is all very sad

if I were ever to publish a book
it would be dangerous
I would go bankrupt buying all the books to try and get myself on the Best Seller List!

[a friend of mine who once had aspirations of being a Juke Box hero told me that in the record biz they often use that method of buying their own records to put the records on the charts...they know which months are slow and they make their move then....I guess they sell the unused CDs (well LP records from the date in which that tale was told) back to the record stores when they start requesting more as they have grown to be so popular......not unlike a person I knew who used to get Airline Miles when she used her American Express card...when ever at dinner...she gathered the cash and paid with her Credit Card...always paid her bills on time...and get this....she got cash advances and paid the cash advances immediately....all to get more Airline Miles...they caught onto the cash advance loop hole, but only after she traveled the world]

Words interest me
now don't think that I am bright enough to really geek out on this stuff
but I do get curious about the root of certain sayings, terms, and/or words
these two words seem so close
the roots are not as similar as I would think
and the meanings are not that similar at all
yet they are similar spelling and formation


Main Entry: in·dig·e·nous
Pronunciation: in-'di-j&-n&s
Function: adjective
Etymology: Late Latin indigenus, from Latin indigena, n., native, from Old Latin indu, endo in, within + Latin gignere to beget -- more at END-, KIN
Date: 1646
1 : having originated in and being produced, growing, living, or occurring naturally in a particular region or environment
synonym see NATIVE
- in·dig·e·nous·ly adverb
- in·dig·e·nous·ness noun

Main Entry: in·di·gent
Pronunciation: 'in-di-j&nt
Function: adjective
Etymology: Middle English, from Middle French, from Latin indigent-, indigens, present participle of indigEre to need, from Old Latin indu + Latin egEre to need; perhaps akin to Old High German ekrOdi thin
Date: 15th century
1 : suffering from indigence : IMPOVERISHED
2 a archaic : DEFICIENT b archaic : totally lacking in something specified
- indigent noun

During my lunch break today I thought that I would check out a few other BLOGS
Cycling BLogs that I went to the CYCLING DUDE'S BLOG PAGE and he reminded me of an up coming event, BIKE NEW YORK!
for those with family or other responsibilities it may be too late to pack up and go to New York City for this weekend's tour of the 5 Boros, but maybe now would be a good time to mark it down for next year. For those of us on the East Coast it is a great excuse to head up to NY. Everyone has some family or friends in NY, so why not piggy back a friendly visit with an awesome bike tour. Several years back when Lisa and I were youngsters in love we went up and did this tour, we ended up riding separately as my free hub died at the start, but we each had a great time just the same.
If you can not make BIKE NEW YORK
well, then maybe BIKE DC suits your schedule better
This too is a great event. For several years now I have volunteered for this event with some other folks from City Bikes and the City Bikes Mountain Bike team. It pulls out all sorts. A great gathering.
Last year as I rode sweep with a backpack full of tools my timing was such that I rode along with Larry Black on one of those wacky 'big wheeled bikes' My pace was a tad faster, but stopping to repair a flat or do a minor brake adjustment gave him time to catch up and pass.
Personally I do not feel that the BIKE DC route does this glorious city much justice. But in this age of National Security, in a city where bikes are viewed as second class citizens, it is better than nothing and pretty darn good!
Check out the course, the dates, and your personal calendar.

who is Larry Black?
the owner of College Park Cycles and Mt Airy Cycles
he has a bad reputation
has shop has a certain reputation
as a consumer I made one bicycle purschase from them in the late 80's, that SM600
they did some things that pissed me off
and I have never spent another nickel there since
on the good side of things...Larry has contributed to the racing and cycling community. His shops have stocked track bikes and odd road stuff since before you got get a GT or Bianchi track bike out of a box. He holds very very strange records for riding on rollers and change change his clothes while riding rollers, all of his clothes


to quote a friend, "BLOG is BLAH!"
not unlike myself this person can stand strong on one side of an issue
then make a 360 degree turn in the opposite direction
sure enough ROCCO is now BLOGGING
and I have some catching up to do
get ready for comments on his site
here is his address

and check out Rocco's friend who is a girl's BLOG as well, Sooz's Blog Page

their BLOGS are fun
their COMMENTS are more fun

I need to get to work
as ROCCO says on his entry today...
bloggin and ebaying. the best way to ruin a day.
still,ebay could be the most exciting part of my day.sad? no. today i ebayed home a strong win. it was a very close call. the win was of course cycling stuff. so, i place a generous bid, way out in front of the current bid. at this point the auction has been quiet for 20 hours. with 4 minutes to go i close down other programs to allow for maximum recovery bid time. 55 sec go and someone has joined the bid war... they bid. they bid again. the price they select gets dangerously close to my maximum virtual bid. its creepin up. he wants it wil i have to rebid. is there time, MAN! ahh. mouse cursor hovering over the place bid button. hovering...times up. the mystery bidder was a dollar short. i win. selling is no way as fun.

I need to go the way of eBAY
so much junk to sell
but does my life have room for another addiction?


simple enough
mountainbiking is punk rock
skateboarding is also punk rock
and okay, snowboarding can be punk rock, but it a tad too expensive to really be punk rock
perhaps it is a little more electronic punk rock, aka new wave, what grew to be rave music, which is now electronica

in this day and age it is harder and harder to be punk rock
especially for a father of two working a straight 9-5 gig
but getting out on the trails and getting hardcore is as punk rock as I can get
as for the music
the music of many decades can often be the soundtrack to my rides
soundgarden Louder than Love
bad brains I Against I
these are two albums that pump me up as I get punk rock on my single speed in the woods of washington dc
and when it is not the woods
I am trying to catch the wave in the metal single track, traffic

now here is some very funny stuff
let me do a little CUT AND PASTE
as I steal this little piece from ROBLOG
very funny
very cool
do it!
read it!
share it!

and here it is

Wednesday, April 14, 2004
Reader Request

A faithful ETJB reader submits an excellent exercise. Try it:
1) Go to (type it in)
2) Type in -- weapons of mass destruction--(DON'T hit return)
3) Hit the "I'm feeling lucky" button, NOT the "Google search" button.
4) Read the "error message" carefully - the WHOLE page.
Thanks dear reader!
To all readers: please send more!
Posted by: r / 4/14/2004 09:48:58 PM

after trying that one
I typed in MORON and then hit "I am feeling Lucky!"
and got the desired results
a very odd and funny game that did not exist till this modern age
and to think people used to waste their time trying to figure out what their phone number spells!

the Individual Strengths of each Cyclists

Many years ago I remember passing John Stamstead on one of the last climbs on one of my laps at the 24 Hours of Snowshoe. My pace was strong enough to catch him, I cheered him as I passed, and kept pulling away. He never batted an eye. He was not threatened or challenged by the passing of another rider. Why? Because he was running his own race. As I was doing this race on a 4 person relay team, he was racing the same 24 hour race/the same rocky and rooty course, but solo.
In the daily journeys of a cyclist there are all sorts of encounters. At times when people are passed they feel challenged or threatened by the passing cyclist, so they pick up the pace and start a little race. Well, this little aspect of CYCLIST INSECURITY is a valuable tool, it adds to the fun, can add to the challenge, and can even make us all faster cyclists. But it is rarely a fair race. No one has the rules set up. One person may be on a mountainbike with knobbies, another may be on a vintage touring bike with panniers, and another on their Titanium race machine, the list continues.... there are fixed gear bikes....single speeds...cruisers...etc. While the of list of various bicycles can be a contributing factor then there is also the idea of how far each rider has ridden before the encounter and how far they plan to go. If I run alongside a rider on his fancy road bike with his team shirt and team shorts and sprint ahead and then turn off at the next intersection, have I won? How do I know if that individual is just on the start or finish of a 100 mile ride. That is why racing can only fairly happen when these things are discussed up front, as in an actual race.
This topic is approached because I had a discussion with a few friends on a prior posting where there was the mention of couriers. I ride in the city and through the city everyday, I have worked as a courier, and I know many couriers, and know other couriers by reputation. There are many who can ride. There are a select few who ride and race. And there are a long list of jokers out there scrapping for respect. Just showing up to work as a courier does not make a person an elite cyclist.
there are so many tales
but I can just dip back to the mid 80's and my commute home
I was in college and working as a messenger during my breaks from school
a great way to spend my time and a great way to get some beer money

Conneticut Avenue is a great route home from downtown Washington DC to my parent's house in Bethesda. It is a roller coaster of climbs, but with a little luck and some good timing it can be a glorious sprint.
Each day after a long day of work I would sprint home from work as a messenger to shower change and then head back downtown for a night on the town, often heading back downtown in a different outfit back on the same bike. To aid in my motivation to ride fast I used to reel in each cyclist that was within my field of view. There was always this one guy Scotty. He was a slightly older black gentlemen who did not like being passed, or at least he did not like being passed by the likes of me. Over a number of these informal challenges we got to talking, we pushed each other and pushed the pace, I looked forward to our encounters and our meetings. He is a clever and funny guy. Just a month or so ago I gave him several bicycles and some random cycling gear, he is still a cyclist and still making that Conn Ave ride, only he goes no further than Chevy Chase DC, I was going several miles further.
I forgot....
Okay, here is a better one....
So I am cruising up Conn Ave after a long day of work. Then appears in my blind spot is another young white courier on a mountainbike. We start pacing against each other. All sorts of risks are being taken. Mutual respect is earned. Our competition is healthy and strong. We are raging. As we hit a flat stretch of road before the intersection of Porter and Conneticut we pick up speed, as we get faster we notice that the light is red. This does not intimidate either of us. We each chose our own line. I go straight through the middle, the other rider opts to dip behind a the same cab that I went in front of. He hits a patch of sand and goes down. I glance back, his helmetless body is on the ground, clearly not hurt. I jam on forward and further, not letting up the pace.
I have been at too many parties where Chris Beach likes to tell that story....he tells that story and tells that is how we met, and how I was such an asshole for just riding on.....
Well, that is how it played out....
But from then on we were friends and always got a rush out of racing through the city streets together. We would go out of our way to catch the other. Shouting and screaming over the path of cars between us, running lights, popping curbs, and laughing all the way.
I must admit that he could do some things on the bike that I could never do.
There was a period one summer when the couriers would gather at Dupont Circle (circle jerks?) , there would be 40s in brown bags or even a keg tucked in the bushes. It was always a party....When the mood was right there would be some impromptu three lap races around the circle. There were no real rules. There was no real race. Just a mess of guys sprinting around the heavily trafficed traffic circle on their bikes. One time Chris and I were going head to head (the other competitors dropping off early in the first lap) and Chris bunny hopped the sidewalk barrier the gapped the different lanes of traffic. That blew my mind. At maximum speed the variables were high and the risks were higher. I can not recall who was able to do three laps faster, but I do know that I bowed down to him for that move. Bowed down to him then and I bow down to him now. He is a great dude with a big heart.

John Stamstead
I have never met him. But I respect his drive and his contribution to the sport. By pushing his own personal limits he has pushed the limits of the sport.

Chris Beach managed the local bike shop around here City Bikes (Adams Morgan), the same shop that sponsors my mountainbike team. He rides less than he plays hockey, and perfers to go fly fishing than to do carpentry or work on his house.

Scotty is still a messenger. He may be a lifer. He may be a late bloomer. I have not seen him since I gave him those two bikes, he may be riding them or those bikes may be taking up space in his basement. Scotty is a person that I have always seen a great deal of myself in and that is as much of a compliment as it is not.

RACE REPORT:April 26 2004 Michaux, Gettysburg PA

Michaux has a CLYDESDALE Class!
Hearing that Michaux had a Clydesdale class combined with the powerful roots and rocks reputation of the races hosted at Michaux really got me jazzed about racing this Sunday past. The buzz that surrounds this race caused a mixture of anticipation and anxiety, a level of anxiety higher than the usual prerace jitters. It was not until the day before that I had confirmation that I was going to go to Gettysburg, PA for this event. With my big blue truck in the shop and the presence of my 2 sons Dean and Grant, Grant only being 2 and a half months old it seemed like an unlikely weekend day escape. All the talk of others heading to the race was making me jealous, new captain Pooch was headed there, retired captain Kemler was headed there with my brother Marc traveling as film crew, the Team list serve made it appear as it others were itching to go, then I heard the fellow City Bike Mountainbike newbie and Mount Pleasant Neighbor Dave Vannier was going. Figured it was worth a shot and put in my bid. Asked the wife...Lisa gave me the go ahead with no hassle, there seemed to be no attitude or any hidden emotion, sure there was the "if it is important to you." But sometimes women say what they mean and mean what they say, so I left it best to take her words at face value and not try to find any subtext. I made the call to Dave, he was willing to pick me up for our 2 hour drive at 6:45 am. The prerace preparation began! Gear was gathered. Grub was packed away. Several Red Bulls were put on ice, Gatorade was set aside, and a Camelback was loaded with water and all of the race essential tools and tubes. Then a quick look at the bike. Everything seemed in order, the bottom bracket was no more loose then it was last time I rode the Rocky Mountain Blizzard and the seat post did not seem to be slipping any faster. A few turns of a truing key, slight tightening of the brakes, no more air needed in the tires, a generous application of PSYCHO LUBE on the drive train and a quick run through the gears. Everything was in order.
Both boys were down for a night's sleep and I was going to settle down in front of the TV with a glass of wine before I went to bed. It amazed me that it was already after 10pm, the night comes so much faster when your time is occupied with feeding toddlers, changing infant diapers, and bathing all the above. Lucky for me my wife is a machine and carries more than her fair share, as the portion that I take on is often more than I can chew. Get Dean and Grant crying at the same time with out Lisa here to help and I am tearing the last few hairs out of my nearly hairless head.
The time was getting late and there was nothing captivating my interest on the tube, nor did I want to start in on a full movie which would cut into my much needed sleep time, so I marched up to bed a few minutes before 11. My head rested gently upon the pillow, my eyes closed, butterflies flew within my stomach as I thought about the rock gardens of Michaux, a place that I have never been to but have heard so much about. It is said to be a course that wrecks riders and eats bikes. Part of me was pleased that the CLYDESDALE distance was set at the same as the beginner distance. Usually I contact race promoters asking them to extend the distance, there was even a case on a 104 degree day at the Susquehanna Scorcher where we were offered to do the race with on less lap and I objected. Trying to be some sort of one man Clydesdale advocacy group, aiding in earning clydesdales the respect and understanding that they deserve. The promoter oferred one less lap, before any other rider/racer could speak up I demanded our money's worth! As I slowly got the butterflies to flutter away my eyelids started to get heavy and I started to drift away into sleep. Then I heard an oh too familiar watery splash from the next room. After the splash came tears, another night with the RODA virus. I rushed to Dean's side pulling him from his bed. He was crying and covered in vomit. I held him tight and tried to console him, he wiped the vomit off his cheeks onto my shoulder than threw up onto my back. I ran down the hall with Dean in my arms and put him down in the bathroom and said, "face the toilet." Like a mullet wearing Florida redneck on COPS he assumed the position. Over the last few days he has grown oh too familiar with this position. He grasped the toilet bowl on each side and leaned in. He threw up several times as I went back to survey the area....his bed was trashed. The bbq feast I had grilled that evening and handmade ice cream from Dos Gringos were everywhere. I removed sheets, pillowcases, comforter; and then wiped down the walls. This was one of several nights were Dean made Linda Blair's famous pea soup scene from the Exorcist look like child's play! After the quick wipe down of the room I met up with Dean in the bathroom. He had filled the toilet bowl with vomit, he was cute and pitiful at the same time. His face and hair had a mixture of saliva and vomit, I did my best to wipe him clean and then dry. We went to by bed and I got him dressed in some clean clothes and they lied him in my bed beside me. He was asleep before I put him down. With some quick calculations I thought of how much sleep I still had time to get before the departure for the race the next morning. A little less sleep was not going to be a good enough excuse for me to dodge the rocks of Michaux. There had been enough sleep the night prior to make up for a little less sleep the night before the actual race.
As time passed here was some gurgling from my stomach as well as Dean's, yet we both slept. Then maybe and hour and half later there was that same splashing sound followed by crying, I jumped awake and grabbed Dean and rushed him to the bathroom, he clutched me close then pushed back and vomited right onto my chest, then down into the toilet in the appropriate fashion.As Dean threw up in the toilet I cleaned my bed, removing the comforter which absorbed all the vomit like a the paper towel that was modeled after it. Then retrieved Dean from the bathroom, shared some words of consolation, gave him a big strong hug and returned him to the bed beside me (Lisa is sleeping downstairs in the office/nursery with Grant, as he is only two and a half months and is still feeding in the night) after putting on another fresh set of clothing I went to put Dean into my bed, he asked to be put in his own, this worked for me. So I went and laid a towel on the mattress and pulled the quilt and pillow from the top unused bunk bed. I then settled in for some rest before the early set time for departure for Gettysburg and the race. The math was again calculated in my head, so I was short on sleep...this was not enough to stop me from racing.
The data is all a little fogged. Our system carries some sort of amnesia effect on the topic of pain and illness. As in the case of pregnancy, my wife delivered drug free when Dean was born, in great pain, inspite of the pain she consciously delivered Grant the same way. Somehow she forgot the pain, the blood vessels busting in her eyes, her violent clutching of my hands, all she remembered was the newborn baby in her arms. Not unlike a 24 Hour mountain bike relay race....where the racer leaves saying. "I am not doing that again!" only to relive the pleasures and sign up early the next year, I can not recall how many vomit sessions occurred or the span between them. But some time passed after I put dean down in his bed and I was up in that same position. It was daddy's turn. Out of my mouth shot with great volume and great pain was a pint of ice cream, a turkey sandwich, some jelly beans, a couple of glasses of wine, and then everything that was eaten at dinner. After hurling everything that my body could dredge up I pulled down the seat and sent some food out the other end in the same liquid form. Not too far into the process Dean was crying in front of me waiting patiently for his turn. A wipe of the seat and a quick flush and Dean was vomiting like a teenager in Tijuana. We were miserable. Dean finished his painful hurls and asked for some apple juice. I figured he could use some hydration and offered some GATORADE, he agreed. I had told him that he may throw up anything that he drank, but the fear of him dehydrating was great so I figured it was worth the risk.
As I came back upstairs Lisa was up tending to Dean, he was in the tub being consoled by his momma. The Gatorade was handed off to him and I was off to get some rest for my race.
By this time it was the middle of the night and the morning was rapidly approaching. The race was still in sight. No need to calculate the hours of sleep, just put my head down and steal the last few minutes of dreamtime.
Well, dreamtime became a recurring nightmare. In an hour plus time I was up at the toilet again. Tossing and hurling food I did not even know was their. How could I throw up anymore. My contractions dug deep. Some convulsions came up empty, while others splashed the the walls of the toilet. My eyes welled with tears as I begged that vicious RODO-VIRUS for forgiveness. The words were in my mind but it was as if I was saying them.....
With that I was released to go back to bed. Never to doubt the power and control of the RODAVIRUS again. Shortly after I woke. Diarrhea was the final symptom. The calm after the storm. A painless symptom in comparision to the violent convulsions of the night prior. At 6:45 I was half wake and heard the phone ring. Although I could not limp down the stairs fast enough to get the phone, it was clear that it was Dave in the alley behind my house. I meandered out back and greeted my carpool. As a father himself he understood the events of the night prior oh too well. I warned him of the cool weather that I anticipated in Gettysburg, wished him well, and dragged my worn and tired ass back to bed. I felt worse than most any mountainbike course could ever make me feel, only without the boastful tales.
Guess I will have to wait till the next race at Michaux to sample the rocks and roots.
All is better now.
Slept nearly all of Sunday day, then a long night of sleep into the morning on Monday. Had the foresight to call in sick to work on Sunday night. Monday was symptomless. By late lunch I was able to eat again and my system seemed back to normal.