Pecan pie and milk to calm the nerves
January 9, 2016 § 17 Comments
I got the pre-ride queasies, and I never get the pre-ride queasies.
Seven weeks ago tomorrow I was hurrying to the Donut Ride, all fit and feeling great and shit, and I fell off my bicycle and fractured my hipbone, which is connected to my nutsackbone, which fuggin’ hurts when you mash it between the pavement and the steel rails on your saddle.
Now, though, I’m 100% healed up minus about forty percent, but it’s the forty percent that doesn’t matter so I’m headed off tomorrow for the Donut Ride to fulfill my date with destiny. Only thing is, chances are good that it will be a real loser of a date, where the other person is missing a lip, has a death’s head tattoo and a pierced tongue, and is dragging a duffel bag filled with shrunken heads and dynamite.
Usually I love going to the Donut but tomorrow I’m scared. Ever since I fell off my bicycle I have been scared. Scared of falling off again and re-breaking the crack that isn’t healed. Scared of falling off and whacking my head. Scared of getting smacked by a car.
But worse than all that is my fear of droppage. Usually on the Donut I get dropped but not until a bunch of other people have been carved up into bite-sized pieces and fed to the Destroyer or Surfer Traitor or Smasher Traitor or the G-Money or the Strava, Jr. or the Jules or the Frenchy or the Pony Girl.
Tomorrow though I’m going to be the chum. That’s how it is when you have more excuses than training miles. Here’s how it will go:
- Man, this hurts but I’m near the front.
- Man, this is awful but I’m not too far from the front.
- Man, I can’t stand this anymore I hope someone closes that gap.
- Man, I hope I can hang onto this fourth chase group.
- Man, I hate riding alone.
- I wonder if I beat that little kid who started with us on a mountain bike?
Yeah, it’s gonna suck and when I heard that Manzella and his West Side wrecking crew are coming I knew it was going to suck times a thousand. If you don’t know Tony, he is a very nice fellow.
Except he’s an absolute bastard the way he grinds you up into pulp and is then nice to you afterwards. It would feel better if he’d spit and curse a little bit but I’ve never even heard him say “fuck.” I don’t think he knows any dirty words and dog knows I’ve tried to teach him.
I also hope he doesn’t bring that other nice bastard Michael Smith. He is a wheelsucking bastard until he stops wheelsucking and rides away from you and then congratulates you at the top even though he weighs 250-lbs. and you’ve been dieting your way down to 135, that bastard.
The best policy tomorrow would be to stay home and ride the trainer and do Zwift. Do you know Zwift? A buddy in Japan sent me a link to it. It is the apotheosis of stupid. You get on your trainer and pretend you are racing people on a video screen.
I can pretend a lot of shit. I can pretend I’m president of the galaxy or that I’m fucking a movie star, for example. But I can’t pretend I’m racing an animated character on a screen. Oh, and I forgot to mention that on Zwift you pay money to race the fake cartoon characters.Why not just pay your wife to get on a trainer next to you and race her? Afterwards if you let her win you might at least get laid.
Like, I know bicycle people are maroons, but are they so stupid that they can pretend they’re racing Tom and Jerry? I guess the answer is “yes.” And please don’t send me some whiny-ass email about how it’s snowing in Bismarck or some shit. Put on another layer and go ride, you big pansy.
But back to the Donut, where I’m gonna get smeared. It’s going to be humiliating. How humiliating? There’s a 1-in-10 chance that I will get beat by Prez. All these wankers are going to blow by me and some of them will probably pat me on the back and say “Good job!” which in cycling means “Fuck you, loser.” Usually they just snarl at me, which in cycling means “You are awesome, dude.”
Prez has never beaten me on a climb because he is so fucking slow. One time I did the Donut after a lung transplant and I still beat his ass up the Switchbacks. That dude climbs slower than a vine in winter. But tomorrow he might whip my ass. You know how that’s going to hurt? I can see it now. “Wanky passed by Prez, who pats him on the back and says ‘Good job!'”
That fucker.
They say you have to get back on the horse but why, especially if the horse is nasty and has kicked your head in already? Can’t you just poison the sonofabitch, or shoot him?
Anyway I better go to bed but not before I have some milk and pie to calm my nerves.
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Cycling in the South Bay 
you’ve obviously not seen Tony’s “FUCK YOU” jersey?
But it’s a polite “Fuck you.” Plus I’m not sure he knows what it means.
Welcome to my world; the world of the 68-year-old-cat-6-fred-used-to-be-bike-racer. Harden the fuck up. You just might still enjoy riding your bike. I do. Plus, your visit to my world is just temporary.
I’d have vanilla bean ice cream with that pecan pie.
My, my.
My riding consists of riding the trainer six months out of a year. Anything that makes riding the trainer more bearable is awesome. Therefore, Zwift is awesome. It’s science.
… and fuck you. Your idea of cold weather is 50F.
49, actually.
I love it when you say things like “…slower than a vine in winter.”
Makes a weird connection, you know?
To some!!
[…] out to do the Donut Ride, his first group ride since cracking his pelvis a month and a half ago. Here is the link to his post about his apprehension. We texted back and forth a bit this morning. I miss that guy, even though I hardly know […]
Put about 1,100 miles on Zwift following shoulder surgery in October. Beats the hell out of normal trainer rides but isn’t close to real road riding. Amazing thing is you get the same riders as you get on club rides. Shit talkers, ass kissers and those who don’t say a thing because they are actually riding hard enough that they can’t text at the same time. All in all, I give it a thumbs up. And no talking about hardening up and riding in cold weather when you live in SoCal. Was down a week ago and laughed my ass off at all the riders in full cold weather gear when it was high 50’s. We don’t pull that stuff out until the 40’s here.
I guess it’s possible we may be lacking a bit of cred in the weather department. Shorts and arm warmers today … but a beanie underneath ‘cuz it wuz coooood.
You made it to the Dome pretty quick this morning. Good job!
Than Marc Spivey for the tow!
Well, I don’t think you ever really broke your hip in the first place, really, so there you go!
Charade from Day One.
You know that all those thing you described really suck but it does not super suck till you get passed by a pregnant lady pushing a stroller with twins. Your words not mine. As a victim of a hip replacement I have had all those things happen except different people with different names but it always hurts when those who are more of a wanker than you. Who you have always dropped and offered words of encouragement, drop you. Wounds of the ego always hurt more an wounds of the flesh
In sum, everything hurts all the time. Or you’re doing it wrong.