Just when you thought it couldn’t get any dumber

The better part of a working day had elapsed since my morning crash, so I thought it would be a good time to call DB. He lives in Houston. He’s 60. He’s a former marathoner. He’s a badass bike racer. And whatever story you’ve got, he will top it. Easily.

I told him about the morning adventure with my new Specialized Scratch. “So?” he said. “That’s fucking nothing. I’ve told you about Carlo’s new bike troubles, haven’t I?”

“Um, no…”

“Yeah, that dumb motherfucker was driving home with his brand new Trek Madone on top of the car, opened the garage, and eased in. But he was going really slow, and the car just ground to a halt. ‘What the fuck?’ he’s wondering, so he kind of backs out and looks to see if he’s run over one of the dogs or one of the kids, and he hasn’t so he eases the car back in. Same fucking thing. Grinds to a halt. ‘What the fuck?’ he says to himself. So he backs out again and this time gasses it a little bit. Fucking sounds like a bomb going off. Goddamn bike is mangled all to shit and he’s done $2,000 damage to the front of the garage.”

“Wow. That almost tops the time he…”

The technical word is “recidivist”

“I ain’t finished. So he gets another fucking bike, and sure enough, couple of months later he’s coming home from a race all beat to shit, hits the garage door opener, and plows right into the garage with his pretty fucking carbon bike. Looked like it had been run through a trash compactor, dumb sonofabitch.”

“That’s as bad as the time he had to take a dump and wound up in the…”

“Goddammit, I ain’t done. So he goes out and gets a third bike, and this time he wises up. ‘I’m gonna put that fucking garage remote in the glovebox so when I get home with my bike I’ll have to look for the remote, and while I’m looking for it that’ll remind me that the bike’s on top of the car.’ So he puts the remote in the glovebox, and sure enough, no problem. A few months go by, smooth as silk. Then one day he’s coming back from a race all beat to shit, and he stops the car in the drive, reaches into the glovebox and hits the remote. Just when he’s about to get out and take off the bike, his fucking cell phone rings. It’s his boss. Pissed off about some dental implant equipment or some shit that has gone bad and turned some poor fucker’s face into alligator mouth. So the boss unloads for about half an hour, Carlo all freaked out, and when he finally hangs up he’s forgotten about the fucking bike.”

I swear it had ceramic bearings

“Man, this is worse than the time we were on that ride and he had to take a dump and there was nowhere to go and so we pedaled up that dirt driveway and he drops trou and just as he gets going that farmer…”

“Yep, he just forgot all about the fucking bike, goes roaring into the garage and it fucking detonates the bike and I’m telling you it was fucking raining carbon shards for a week.”

“Well, at least it’s not as bad as having the farmer drive up and seeing him there logging the guy’s driveway and then pulling out that…”

“Yeah, but get this. He calls his insurance company, and the other bikes have put him over the deductible, so he gets the third bike paid for lock, stock, and barrel, tells them it has all kinds of shit that it never had, Zipps, Di2, Quark cranks, and they cut a check for the whole fucking thing.”

“…shotgun and filling his ass with buckshot.”

DB paused. “Yeah,” he mused. “It ain’t that bad.”

4 thoughts on “Just when you thought it couldn’t get any dumber”

  1. LMFAO!!! Same kind of thing happened at the Solvang Century years ago outside our hotel window…low overhang….2 bikes totally trashed…same sound 🙁

  2. A certain judge we know did the opposite, put his Paletti on his Z INSIDE the carport and then backed out. Forks popped out and forever more it looked like a giant steel clawed cat had run it’s claws half way down the Z’s roof. Little tiny voice on the phone after closing (well into beer thirty) at the shop “um, Phil, can I bring my bike down for you to look at?”

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