At Least I Didn't Get Lapped

A few weeks ago, I decided it would be a good idea to race my mountain bike in our weekly mountain bike race right alongside people who actually like to race. I don't have a lot in common with folks who like to race, and I'm totally out of racing shape, but as the saying goes, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. As far as racing is concerned, there are parts I like and parts I don't like. I don't like the part when you are pedaling. I really like the part when you stop pedaling. For the folks who like to race, it's the other way around.

I am the race director, so before the start of the adult race, as usual, I was running around with a megaphone and handing out free creemee coupons to the kids who raced on the Goat Loop. All the kids who race the Goat Loop get a free creemee, just for getting to the finish. Even if their Mommy or Daddy has to carry them across the finish line while they ball their eyes out because they fell and hurt their pee-pee or whatever, they still qualify for a free creemee. The adults only get bragging rights and the chance to endure great suffering. That is good enough for them, apparently. If they want a creemee, they have to pay for one, just as I do.

At the start, as usual, I was making the weekly announcements and getting people into line. When I said "Racers ready, set, go!" I was one of the folks who had to go, so I went, and within thirty seconds, my heart was pounding like a timpani during the final measures of a grand concerto. My strategy at that point was to ride with the fast guys for as long as I could, then settle into some kind of tempo and maintain a decent position and finish with a bit of respectability. During the final lap, that turned into simply trying to not get lapped.

Two minutes shy of an hour after the starting gun, I finished. It was a great moment that almost made the racing part worth it, but not quite. Perhaps because there weren't a lot of spectactors cheering me on as I crossed the finish line. They had all gone home. Or perhaps because there was no free creemee awaiting me. Regardless, my lovely fiancee was right there, clapping and smiling, and she said I did great.

That was nice to hear, but I can' t shake the feeling that she was just saying that to make me feel better, considering that I looked like I had just crawled my way home after being stranded for days in a swamp. The racers who had finisihed ahead of me all looked like they had just finished warming up. Only a few short years ago, I would've given those guys a run for their money, but today it was all I could do to not get lapped. But I didn't get lapped.

Speaking of laps, it was time for a creemee.

The Rain in Maine Falls Plainly on my Brain

One of the most challenging things to face a working person is and will always be the re-entry to the workplace after a vacation. It's like waking up from a beautiful dream by falling out of the top tier of a bunkbed onto a cement floor, and then trying to smile. But, returning to the office after a stretch of time off does have at least one thing going for it: rainfall no longer has any effect on your well being. In fact, when you’re at work, stuck inside on a summer day and it’s raining out, more the better. During your only week of the summer off however…

We just returned from a week’s vacation in my home state of Maine. We had a wedding on each end of the week, but the week itself was to involve glorious camping adventures in the Moosehead Lake region. Unfortunately, our plans were thwarted by the rain monster of the summer of 2008. Instead of tenting on a secluded island watching for moose, loons and the starry sky, we were hunkered down in a room watching movies, commercials, and the Red Sox. The room did have lovely framed pictures of moose and loons however, as well as an ashtray. Apparently, in the outer fringes of our country, you can still enjoy a cigarette indoors, if that is your thing.

After realizing that the rain wasn’t going anywhere, we waved a white flag and drove to Mom’s. The way we figured it, since the joy was being sucked out of our week, we might as well bring some joy to someone else, and who better than my dear, sweet Mom. We left the lake fairly early in the day, and got to town before she finished work, so we decided to catch a matinee. Being a true sport, and seeing how excited my lovely fiancée was that it was playing, I agreed to go to the Mama of all chick flicks, Mama Mia. Defeated by the rain, sitting there at a movie theater in Farmington, listening to Meryl Streep sing one ABBA song after another, I could’ve fallen so deep into a pit of despair, that there would be no coming out, but oddly enough, I actually managed to get through the thing with a shred of sanity intact.

The week wasn’t a total wash out however, no. Sunday, on our four-hour drive home, it was absolutely beautiful out, which made for an absolutely fabulous drive. Yes, and to further enhance my driving pleasure, I had Dancing Queen, the Meryl Streep version mind you, stuck in my head the entire time, and it was still stuck in my head when I got to work on Monday morning.

So much for that shred of sanity.

The Storm Before the Calm

The following is the first installment of Retail Junkie Superstar, which will be published in the August edition of Vermont Sports.

Last Saturday at the bike shop was like one of the summer thunderstorms that have been passing through our area, spoiling our barbeques and softball games, seemingly every day since the snow went away. It hasn’t been the rainiest June on record, but the frequency of rainstorms is certainly worthy of recollection for years to come. I know I’ll be telling my grandkids about all this rain someday, and I’m almost positive they won’t care at all.

The day started peaceful enough, with a “hey, maybe it won’t get crazy today” calm. But a slow build-up of activity, like heavy rain clouds filling a clear blue sky, eventually climaxed into a full-on tempest, with thunder and hail, that left in its aftermath a shop in disarray and exasperated salespeople scattered about like blown over lawn ornaments.

Five or ten minutes before we opened there was a person out front pulling at the locked door (one), before squinting at the hours of operation sign (two), and then quickly glancing at the wristwatch (three). We call it the old one-two-three, as in, “There’s some guy out front doing the one-two-three. Should we let him in?” On this particular morning, we were all in good spirits so we flipped the sign from closed to open, let our friend in, and rolled down the awnings. It was so very calm, and it lasted throughout the morning, during which time we were able to catch up with the latest adventures in the lives of our fellow coworkers.

“So, what happened after we left Land Beaver’s party last night? How did Jesus H. end up with that contusion on his head?”

“Well, H. and I thought it would be a good idea to throw chairs at each other.”

“For real Bart? You mean those folding chairs that we were sitting on? And you actually launched one at H.’s head? Isn’t that kind of dangerous? You’re lucky you didn’t knock his eye out. Poor guy.”

“It’s his own fault. He brought his B-game to a chair fight.”

The funny thing, aside from the image of two people throwing chairs at one another, is that Jesus H. and Bart are two very smart, educated people. In fact, only a short time ago, H. was sitting in a folding chair during his commencement ceremony before standing up, walking towards the stage and accepting his master’s degree in English. Now he was walking around with a dent in his head caused by an airborne folding chair. Only a short time ago, he had written a thesis and everything.

Around noontime, like the first raindrops, customers began to appear, and then multiply. One needed to buy a helmet. Another wanted a BPA free waterbottle. A guy needed to be fitted to a road bike he bought on Ebay that was way too big and a gal needed to be fitted for a road bike before she bought one on Ebay that was way too big. And a regular customer of ours simply needed some major work done as soon as possible. When asked, “How does Wednesday or Thursday of next week sound,” the reply was, “Any chance you can have it ready this afternoon?”

Over the course of my bike shop tenure, I’ve gotten myself into trouble many times trying to be a hero, and this was the perfect opportunity to do exactly that, so naturally, I said, “No problem.” Like recommending a new saddle to a customer who thinks that riding a bike should be as comfortable as sitting in a sofa, I wanted to be a miracle worker and I was convinced that this was going to be an easy job and that it would even be fun. All I had to do was simply pull a drivetrain and then simply slap a new one on.

It started out smooth enough. In fact, I was already more than halfway through putting his bike in the stand before a customer needed my assistance buying a pair of 27” tires for his Scwinn Varsity that he had dragged out of the barn. He was going to commute to work on the thing.

And so it went for the rest of the day, but despite countless interruptions and unexpected hurtles, I managed to finish the bike and be a hero once again. Did I have fun doing it? Yes, but not as much fun as being hit in the head with a folding chair.